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Chapter Text

Beatrice doesn't even know what she is doing here. Truthfully, it is very out of character for her to be sitting so late at a bar, and alone too.

Normally, Camila would have had to drag her out of her office and shove a glass of whiskey into her hands for Beatrice to come out with them --- Lilith needs much less convincing, given that she does absolutely anything involving Camila. The pining in between the two is getting intoxicating, Beatrice really wants to take them both by the shoulders and shake them like pear trees — but she only has two hands, after all.

But here she is, leaning against the bar, her chin in her palm, her bun tight enough to break her hair tie, a glass of whiskey twirling in her hand. Just one phone call from her mother and she is back to her bad habits from college. Lilith says it's borderline alcoholism, Camila that it's self-destructive tendencies. Sure, Beatrice does intend on getting drunk tonight, and she's already tipsy, but she has enough self-control to know her limits — now she does, after learning it the hard way. 

It's warm in the room, but she doesn't know if it's from the alcohol burning her throat or the agitation of the bar. The music is drowned out by voices, conversations, laughter. Even her own thoughts are fuzzy, like a buzzing noise in the back of her brain.

Someone bumps against her right side, without apologising, and she turns to discover a man, his back turned to her, talking to a young woman, not even seeing her as he keeps talking.

She doesn't know what he's saying, she doesn't care, but she is now laser focused on the young woman, on the way she is clearly turned to the bar, head slightly turned towards the man as he keeps talking, a polite smile on her face. Beatrice has learned to read body language from a very young age, knowing when not to get in her father's way, learning when it was best to retreat to her room when her mother was having a migraine, and if the woman's is anything to get by, she clearly doesn't want to be here, and is trying to find a way to leave without the conversation escalating into something dangerous.

Lilith would say she is being paranoid, but Beatrice can't help but keep her eyes on the woman, to detect any signal that would tell her to spring into action.  

The woman is young, awfully so, pretty, too, with her long messy hair waving down her back, her little summer dress, her red cheeks and her even redder lips. She nods politely as the guy keeps talking and talking, wrapping her lips around the straw of her drink — Cuba Libre, Beatrice guesses. 

He says something that she doesn't listen to, and the woman laughs, but somehow Beatrice has the feeling that this isn't her real laugh, it's fake, poised, controlled, it doesn't match the sparkle in her brown eyes. He reaches out and puts a hand on her knee, and that's when she sees it; the flash of panic in her eyes as she tries to find a way to get away. She raises her head, looks up, but her gaze finds Beatrice's instead.

She blinks, three times, and Beatrice knows.

She slides a twenty to the bartender, takes off her jacket that she wraps around her waist, rolls up the sleeve of her shirt. It's all in the details. Camila would be proud. The woman's eyes dart from the guy's face, clearly asking her to hurry up, and Beatrice complies.

She plasters a fake smile on, circles around the guy and puts herself in the woman's space, not quite in between the two of them but clearly stopping him from reaching out.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Traffic was insane."

The friend card, the friend card, she doesn't want to start a fight and put the poor woman in an uncomfortable position. If it was up to her, she would have asked for a bottle of their finest wine and crashed it on his head, just to relieve a bit of pressure, but it would have been mean and bad for the girl.

She expects everything — the woman telling her she misread the signals, the guy getting up and leaving, the girl smiling and starting a fake conversation about their fake mutual friend — but for the woman to turn towards her, a smile on her lips as she runs a hand over her collar.

"Hi baby."

And putting her lips on hers. 

It's just a peck, messy and unprepared, but Beatrice forgets for a second where she is. The woman's lips are soft, and warm, so warm that it feels strange for a shiver to make its way up her spine, her hair rising on her skin as if she was cold when in reality Beatrice can feel herself burning from head to toes. No doubt that she is as red as a tomato as the woman draws back, her arms wrapped around her shoulder, and Beatrice's hand finds itself on the woman's back. She tenses, and Beatrice starts pulling away, but the woman smiles as she starts playing with the little hair at the back of her neck.

She's fine, okay, got it. 

"You took your sweet time," the girl comments, and Beatrice can only stutter pathetically as an answer.

The woman's smile widens into the left side of her face, a teasing sparkle in her eyes, and oh how Beatrice is making a fool of herself but she loves every second of it. The woman's skin is warm and her lips are sweet and her smile is contagious and Beatrice would take every chance she can for her to smile at her, even if she has to embarrass herself in the process. 

Somehow, the guy is still here, looking at the both of them, and Beatrice thinks that it's getting harder and harder for her not to start a fight with him. 

"That's not a problem for me," he says.

"Excuse me?" Beatrice growls back, the other woman frowning too.

"Yeah, I'm into it, I can just watch, if you want."

Oh, manners be damned, Beatrice is going to slam his head on the bar and fuck him up if that's what he wants.

"You—"

"It's okay, baby, I've got this," the woman says in a very calm and sweet voice and somehow it sounds more dangerous than Beatrice's rumbling of fury. 

The woman fishes a couple of euro bills from the pockets of her dress, slides it onto the bar as she grabs her glass.

"Queer women are not here for you to enjoy, asshole."

And she throws the whole Cuba Libre at his face, jumps from the stool and grab Beatrice's hand.

"Run!"

They both dart for the door as he yells behind them, the woman pulling her into the night as they run into the street. She laughs and apologise as they slalom in between passers-by in a mix of English, Spanish and what Beatrice assumes is Portuguese and Beatrice can't help but laugh too as the girl lets out shouts of happiness and peals of giggles. 

Beatrice yanks on her arm as she nearly hits a car and sends her crashing into her own arms, letting out a yelp and breathing hard against her chest. They both watch in stunned silence as the car keeps driving, its driver yelling insults at them for being so careless, and then the girl laughs, squirming in Beatrice's arms.

"You almost got hit by a car."

"Not my first rodeo," the woman says, reaching out to put Beatrice's hair behind her ears.

There is something soft but intent in the way she touches, like every brush of her fingers has a purpose, like it's a means to an end.

"Thank you for helping me, you know, at the bar. Not that I needed saving, hey, I'm a strong independent woman, but my mother says she won't bail me out again if I keep getting into bar fights."

Beatrice can't stop the laugh that bubbles into her chest and pops on her lips, the woman smiling up at her with something akin to impudence in her eyes. 

Suddenly, her eyes widen and she takes a step back, and Beatrice feels cold all of a sudden.

"Oh God, did I steal you away from your friends? Were you with someone? Partner, friend, date? Jesus Christ, I'm gonna get arrested for kidnapping!"

Beatrice laughs again, she can't help it. Later, she'll blame it on the alcohol, knowing damn well it's a lie.

"Stop laughing! You're a stranger in a bar that I just grabbed on my way out!"

"You also kissed me," Beatrice adds, before being able to stop herself.

"Oh God."

"And no, I wasn't here with anyone, I was on my own."

The woman sighs in relief.

"Oh, thank fuck, that would have been really awkward."

She smiles again — and oh how Beatrice has been warned countless times against the dangers of a pretty smile on a woman's face but right now she would forsaken God if he came to admonish her. 

"I'm Ava," she says.

"Ava," Beatrice repeats, testing the name on her tongue and loving the way it sets on her lips, light and airy and beautiful. "I'm Beatrice."

Ava reaches out her hand with a smile and Beatrice shakes it, squeezing a little. She watches as goosebumps make their way across her skin, notes the swirl of wind around them and promptly unties the jacket around her waist to wrap it around her shoulders. 

"I— you don't need to— alright," Ava mutters, running her fingers on the hem as Beatrice adjusts it around her.

It suits her, and Beatrice's stomach flips a little — just a little —, at the sight of Ava in her jacket, pretty and a bit small, with her messy hair and even messier smile.

"That's three," Ava comments, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry?"

"Three times you save me."

Beatrice snorts out a laugh.

"I don't think you could have died of hypothermia today."

"It's night."

"It's June, Ava," Beatrice says, fitting so well into some sort of mutual familiarity that it scares her a little.

"Whatever!" Ava laughs, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "I gotta pay you back somehow. Does walking you home counts?"

For a very short second, Beatrice thinks about saying that she doesn't need to, that they could just go on with their separate life and makes this encounter just a funny story to tell their friends. She thinks about pulling into her own self-loathing and denying herself the joy of seeing her just for a few more seconds. 

But Ava smiles, raising an eyebrow, and Beatrice forgets about it all.

"Alright."

Ava jumps as she lets out a little squeal of victory, grabs her hand.

"Come on! This is the best night yet! It's my favourite weather!"

"You have a favourite weather?" Beatrce asks, bewildered.

"Yeah! It's when it's warm enough to stay outside during the night, the sky is clear of clouds and you can see the stars. Bonus point if you had a very tiring but washed it off with a shower before going on a little walk. It's..." She waves her fingers around as she tried to find the word. "Enchanting. That's the one. Enchanting." She smiles to herself, before turning to Beatrice. "You don't have a favorite weather?"

Beatrice shakes her head.

"There must be something you like. I knew a girl that liked thunder, she was a weird one but hey, whatever goats your boat."

"I like the rain," Beatrice mutters, ready to retreat into her own hideaway at the first sign of disapproval. "Summer rain, specifically."

"Yeah? What do you like about it?" Ava asks, squeezing her hand with a smile.

"The noise. I like that it makes the temperature drop. If I could, I think I would walk under it," she says, watching as Ava's eyebrows furrow, clearly about to ask why she wouldn't, and Beatrice isn't ready for that conversation, so she changes the subject instead. "Ava. Do you know where you are going?"

"Oh, right, no," Ava says, looking like she's holding back a laugh. "Where do you live?"

"I'm staying at a hotel for the night," Beatrice explains as she starts making her way down the street, not letting go of Ava's hand. "I leave tomorrow morning."

"Oh, you too? Where are you going?"

"Back to England."

"Ha! I knew you were the British gentleman. The accent, the jacket, the saving me? Yeah, totally English," Ava says, looking at her with a teasing smile.

"What about you?" Beatrice asks, concealing her laughter behind a cough rather than acknowledging how being called a gentleman makes her feel.

"Spain. It's funny, isn't it? We're both from different places and yet we found ourselves in the same place, at the same time."

"Switzerland will do that to you," Beatrice shrugs.

"It's like it's out of the world, like our own little bubble. Maybe it's not real. Maybe we're just living in a dream or something."

Younger Beatrice would have laughed and mocked her and said she was delusional, but this Beatrice doesn't want to. This Beatrice understands the feeling, this Beatrice wishes she could leave her issues and her anxieties at the border too. This Beatrice feels like this is too good to be true.

"Well, if we're in a dream, you're probably the best thing my brain ever came up with."

Ava stops in the middle of the empty sidewalk, and Beatrice nearly bumps into her. 

"What?"

Ava turns to her, her face even pinker — does that word exist? Beatrice doesn't know, the whiskey is getting to her head — than before in the neon light of the bar they're standing next to.

"Beatrice," she says very seriously, squeezing her hand as if she wants her words to carve her words into Beatrice's brain. "This is the nicest thing someone has ever said to me."

Beatrice blushes to the root of her hair. A part of her feels embarrassed for ever saying something so cliché, another part is sad that Ava hasn't been told pretty things before. Another, bigger part of her wants to kiss her right there and there, with the happy music flowing from the speaker of the bar — 'Dog days are over', she'll remember later. 

"Aaand, that's my favorite song. This feels like a fucking fantasy. Are you real?"

Beatrice takes both of her hands in hers, squeezing, and Ava looks up at her with those beautiful eyes of hers that make Beatrice want to drown herself in them.

"Yes, Ava, I am real. Are you real?"

"'Think so, yeah."

She giggles again, warm against the cool air of the night, pressing her hands into Beatrice's.

"Can I kiss you?"

"You already did."

"Can I kiss you again?" Ava repeats, rolling her eyes, and Beatrice smiles.

Beatrice doesn't think, for the first time in her life, her thoughts are quiet.

"Yes, Ava, you can kiss me."

And Ava kisses her, warm and sweet and airy like some sort of little angel, and Beatrice loses herself in the quiet noise that comes out of her throat when she responds, in the feeling of running her fingers through her hair, of touching her jaw.

Later, when she will be moaning her name into oblivion as Ava will come undone in her arms, she'll wish it was real.

Chapter Text

"Remind me again why we opened a department in Spain?" Lilith groans as she drops into the chair across from Beatrice.

"Because we can both get away from our parents without facing backlash from running away from our responsibilities," Beatrice replies, running a hand through her hair. 

Lilith huffs an annoyed breath, knowing that Beatrice is right and that she can't deny her.

"You're lucky I like you," she says, pointing a finger at her. "If it was up to me, we would be located in Russia right now."

"Doesn't the heat remind you of your first home?"

"Did you just... Did you just call me a demon?!"

"Yes," Beatrice states seriously. "Also, do not come here and pretend that you don't like the sight of Camila in shorts and tank tops, I have better things to do."

Lilith groans from where she is slouched in the chair.

Beatrice isn't one to complain about anything, really, so it's not a suprise that the heat doesn't bother her that much. Sure, she needs showers both in the morning and the evening, but that is nothing compared to the feelling of being soaked by the london drizzle. Plus, in the three months they have been living here, she has pratically overdosed on vitamin D, her skin has gotten darker and her freckles are now fully and completely there, after being concealed for years under pale skin and the bags under her eyes. She has even started thinking about going back to surfing if she ever feels brave enough. 

But of course, Lilith has to find something to complain about, otherwise she wouldn't be Lilith — Beatrice doesn't care, she would listen to her whining for hours and love every second of it over Lilith's dead silence from when they were kids.

Beatrice's little house is far enough from the city not to be completely engulfed in the polluted temperatures, but even the trees surrounding it cannot hide it from the scorching sun, and Beatrice loves it. It's her house, her own little space that she can fill however she wants, with whoever she wants. For now, it mostly contains books and plants but Beatrice is sure that once she feels brave enough, it will be filled to the brim with things she loves. 

"Anyways, that's not why I am here. I—" 

"No, Lilith, I will not go on a date with whatever girl Camila found," Beatrice answers, not even looking up from her laptop.

"Come on, it'll be good for you," Lilith insists.

Beatrice sends her a glare.

"You're just saying that because Camila promised to buy you coffee."

"Yes, and I also want my sister to be happy, is that too much to ask?"

Beatrice pretends not to notice how her heart jumps in her chest at the mention.

"I am very happy, thank you."

"How would you know if you haven't even tried? You haven't dated in years!" Lilith insists, getting up from her chair to circle around Beatrice's desk.

"Oh, look at that, I'm working! Too bad I'm too busy to listen to your nonsense."

"It's not nonsense!"

"How about you bring your complains to Camila?"

"I already did!"

"I'll go on a date when you confess your feelings for her."

"Why is there a car in front of your gate?"

"Yes you do— What?"

Just there, the doorbell rings, and Lilith jumps to lean against the back of Beatrice's chair to look at the little screen on her desk that shows the ring's camera.

It's a woman, with short hair cut to her shoulders, a weird button up open on a crop top, and a big smile that makes something in Beatrice's brain ring, but she can't figure out why.

Lilith rolls her eyes, press on the button to record something.

"We don't want journalists!"

Beatrice immediately berates her, as the woman takes a step back, surprised, saying something 'Oh look it's one of those fancy doorbell with a camera and all', before leaning over again to talk to the ringbell.

"I'm not a journalist!"

"Yeah, no, I know her. I know her from somewhere..." Beatrice shakes her hand, trying to gather her memories.

Was it from college? Was it from her first days at the company? No, it was from somewhere else, somewhere far away. What was her name? Eve? Eva?

"Ava," Beatrice says suddenly, surprising herself. "Her name is Ava. I uh... Met her in Switzerland about three years ago."

Lilith doesn't let the hesitation in her tone pass.

"'Met her', huh? That was the woman you hooked up with, isn't it? Talked about her like she hung the stars or something."

"Well, she was special," Beatrice insists, without knowing why. 

"How many?"

"Lost count."

"Now you're just lying."

"Am not," Beatrice replies as she leans back over the screen, watching as Ava fumbles nervously in front of the gate.

"Look, uh, this is Beatrice Kleine-Young's place, right? I know Google isn't, like, the most trustful source of information but I was—"

"Yes, Ava, this is Beatrice," Beatrice says into the microphone, stopping her rambling before Lilith decides to put an end to it her way.

"Oh!" Ava says, smiling. "Uh, hi! I'm Ava Silva!" She lifts something to show the camera and Beatrice finds herself looking at the face of a two year old boy. "And this is your son Diego! Say hi, Diego!"

"Hi Diego!" The child repeats happily.

"Motherf— I told you not to do that!" Ava says, turning him around to look at his giggling face. 

But Beatrice doesn't hear as they start bickering in front of the gate, she doesn't see or hear or touch anything. She can't even taste her own mouth as she stills, fingers hovering over the screen.

She feels like the Earth just opened to swallow her whole, heart dropping in her chest to then jump out of her throat. She feels like her lungs stopped working and that her whole mind is absolutely screaming at full volume and at the same time drawing in a complete blank.

This is so much worse than that one time she had to do a presentation and Penny Preston called her a dyke in front of the whole class. So much worse than when she came home to find her suitcases packed and her parents not looking at her.

Beatrice wants someone to yell out 'Sike' and for cameras to uncover themselves, for Lilith to laugh and slap her back and tell her it was just a well-elaborated joke, for Ava to giggle and say she was roped into this because this is Ava. She wants to wake up in her bed and press a hand to her chest as she breathes out in relief, telling herself that this was just a dream and then start googling dream's meaning only for it to tell her that she is actually waiting for a big opportunity or that she drank too much wine. She even wants to discover that she's actually bald and sleeping in a pod full of weird liquid with thousands of other pods and thousands of other bald people and that this world is just lines and lines of code. She'll take it. She'll take anything but this.

Beatrice realises that her face is completely drenched in tears when Lilith grips her shoulder and turns her chair to force her to look at her.

"Hey, Beatrice, can you hear me?"

Beatrice nods, because there is nothing else for her to do.

"You used protection, right?"

Beatrice nods.

"The girl is lying, then, there's no other way."

"She's not," Beatrice croaks out.

Bceause, from what little things she can remember of that night, she knows Ava wouldn't do that. And she knows that those eyes look a little bit too much like hers. 

"Beatrice," Lilith growls, gripping her by both shoulders and shaking her a little bit and Beatrice's head lulls back and forth. "Did you knock up a random girl?!"

That's all it takes for Beatrice to start hysterically sobbing, Lilith muttering curses as she circles the desk, running her hands through her hair.

She presses the button for the recording, interrupting Ava and the child's banter.

"You two!" Lilith booms. "Inside, now!"

She presses another button and the gate opens, and Ava grabs the boy's hand as they calmly make they way through the front yard to the door. Lilith opens a drawer, takes out a box of paper tissues and hands it to Beatrice.

"Pull yourself together, Klein-Young," she spits out, and Beatrice knows that Lilith is drawing herself away from the situation by putting on a mask she normally only uses in a board room. "We have to meet your potential baby mama."

"Lilith..."

"And I say 'potential', because there are big fat chances that the kid isn't even hers to begin with. Get up, wipe your face, and let's get this show on the fucking road."

Chapter Text

He looks too much like her. 

That's all Beatrice can think about as she is sitting at the living room table (which is here just for show, she only has two people visiting her in this house: Camila and Lilith and Camila likes sitting on the ground by the coffee table while Lilith hogs half of the couch to herself), folded in her chair. Lilith is seated to her left, just like she always is, Ava on the other side of the table from Beatrice, the child on her lap.

The boy is smearing colorful ink in a coloring book full of pictures of Lilo and Stitch, completely entranced in his activity as he kicks his little feet under the table. From time to time, he points to a sticker and Ava takes it off the page and sticks it on his little finger for him to place wherever he wants. Whereas Beatrice is practically nauseous with anxiety and Lilith is downright fuming, Ava and the boy are perfectly at ease, giggling and looking at each other with smiles on their faces. 

He has her freckles. That's all Beatrice thinks about as she watches in stunned silence from the other side of the table. He has her freckles and her eyes and Ava's smile and Ava's curly hair, only a few shades darker, just like Beatrice's. He pokes his tongue out just like Ava does when she takes off a sticker, he scrunches the brigde of his nose in a frown when he is particularly focused, he kicks his little legs to an imaginary song Beatrice doesn't know anything about, he doesn't even seem out of place, just like Ava always seem right where she needs to be.

Lilith sighs, arms crossed over her chest.

"Can you even prove that the kid is yours?" She snarls at Ava.

Ava looks up at her, not even disturbed. Beatrice has seen business men fumble to a single look from Lilith, yet Ava is completely calm, peaceful, even.

"Do you want to see his birth certificate or my stretch marks?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

Oh dear God Beatrice wants to throw up. Ava got pregnant, Ava carried him for nine months, Ava gave birth. Where was Beatrice for all of this?

The boy doesn't even seem to hear them as he keeps coloring in his book, completely oblivious to the conversation around him, and yet Beatrice can't help but remember her own loneliness as her parents discussed her future over her head.

"Do we really have to do this in front of him?" She asks, voice hoarse and broken.

Ava looks at her for the first time since their arrival, a quick glimpse, like she can't allow herself to look for to long — Beatrice doesn't blame her, she looks away as Ava raise her head towards her.

"Trust me, I tried. Tried to leave him with my brother, tried to distract him with a movie or something, I even tried to lose him in a park on the way here — I'm joking!" She exclaims as Lilith glares at her. "He wanted to come here."

Lilith sighs again, more annoyed than tired, really.

"Are you even sure it's hers?" She says, gesturing to Beatrice.

"Lilith," Beatrice hisses. "He's right there. Show some respect."

"Fine. Are you even sure he's hers?" She rectify, rolling her eyes.

Ava shrugs.

"You can do a DNA test if you want."

"Will do," Lilith comments, but nobody listen to her.

"I'm sure of myself. He's yours," she assures Beatrice, and Beatrice desperatly wants to retreat into a corner and never come out.

"How convenient," Lilith mutters under her breath, and Beatrice acts on instinct: she snaps her head towards her.

"Lilith!"

"I'm just saying," Lilith says, shrugging. "She appears out of nowhere with your kid on her hip just when you finally have your own part of the company and your own money and shit," she says, and Ava covers Diego's ears and sends her daggers through her eyes. "That's convenient."

Ava frowns, looking at Beatrice.

"Wait, hold on, you're rich or something?"

"Yeah, right," Lilith barks in a laugh.

"Lilith!" Beatrice yells back, definitely upset now — well, more than before.

"Honestly, I just saw your picture in the newspaper. Something about a new departement of a company around here. I googled your name, took me a while to find your adress but I have my ways."

She passes her tongue over her lips.

"I tried to track you down, you know. I soon as I found out I was pregnant. My mother went berserk on my ass, even hired a PI to find you. He didn't get past your hotel. Apparently you had given a fake name or something."

Lilith whips her head towards Beatrice, who folds herself into her seat with the idea of disappearing.

"I didn't want Mother to find me," she explains quietly.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Beatrice," Lilith sighs, massaging her temples. "Someday you're going to end up wanted on national TV."

"Anyways," Ava continues, brushing the boy's hair back. "I kept searching and all but after a while I got... Busy," she says, pointing to the child on her lap and Beatrice looks ostensibly at the window behind her. "I didn't want to just send you and email or something, didn't want to show up at the company with Diego, didn't even know if you'd read my letters, so I used some good old methods: barging in."

Beatrice runs her hands over her face, not knowing what to say, how to act. What was she supposed to do? Her heart is absolutely thundering in her chest, she feels sick and faint. She is going to break any seconds now, she is going to die right here on this table, across from Ava and the child — Whose child?!

A sudden buzz makes her jump, and both Lilith and her turn towards the door, on instinct.

"What's going on?" Ava asks, just as the boy raises his head from his coloring book to look confusedly around. 

"Someone is ringing the bell," Beatrice explains, reaching for the little screen she left on her desk.

"Jesus, is it another 'baby mama'?" Lilith asks from the living room table.

"Uh... I sure hope not," Beatrice replies as she makes her way back to her friend.

The screen shows a woman in a long coat, hair braided back on her head as she fumes in front of the door, what seems to be a shotgun strapped to her right side. She presses the doorbell again, muttering curses under her breath.

"Aunt Mary!" The boy yells as he finally sees the screen, and Ava nods.

"Oh, yeah, that's my best friend Mary. I ditched her on the way here because she has been promising to put a bullet through your skull since the pregnancy test," Ava explains calmly, like her friend isn't yelling at the gate to be let in. "Didn't want her to do it before dropping the bomb on you."

"How kind of you," Lilith comments, voice dripping in sarcasm.

"So your friend is going to kill me now?" Beatrice asks.

"Nope. Because Diego here," Ava says, gesturing to the child that beams at her, "is a man on a mission."

The boy looks at her with his mouth open and his eyes sparkling, like Ava is the most amazing thing there is on Earth. 

"Yes?!" He asks.

"Yes," Ava nods solemnly. "Your job is super duper important. You have to annoy Mary until she chases after you and you keep her away from me, okay?"

Unaware of what is at stakes, the child giggles and Beatrice realises that this isn't the first time Ava asks him to do that. She also guesses that Mary — whoever she is — knows him as much as she knows his mother. 

But the boy suddenly frowns, and turns back towards Ava, making a grabby hand at her, and Ava sends Beatrice a tired and annoyed look. 

"You see why I think he's yours?" She deadpans, and Lilith snorts out a laugh as Ava turns back to her son. "Two candies."

"Three," the boy insists.

"Jesus Christ, you're not even three yet, stop being a better business man than me," Ava says, and her son giggles. "Alright, three, but you take Meanie Lilith over there with you."

"Deal."

"Deal."

They shake hands, and the boy wriggles away from her lap to walk over the distance and take Lilith's hand in his.

Lilith looks at him, looks at Ava who remains imperturbable, and then sends a pleading look to Beatrice.

"Please."

"You heard the lady," Beatrice replies, shrugging. "Go with him. Keep her manic friend off my house."

Lilith grumbles and growls, but she stands up to follow the toddler out of the house and into the front yard, walking to Ava's friend to convince her to drop the target on Beatrice's back.

And Beatrice is left looking at Ava. Ava who hikes one of her foot up on her chair, fiddling with her son's crayon mindlessly. Ava that looks so much wiser than that night, Ava who hasn't lost the sparkle in her eyes but somehow seems too tired to explode anymore. Ava that has somehow changed so much and not at all and Beatrice hates it, hates that she doesn't know who she is and yet probably knows more about her than she does about herself.

"I mean it when I say I didn't know you were rich or something like that. I kept my research purely professional, if that's what you're worried about. I never believed any shit from the tabloids, my mother despises those," Ava says quickly, too quickly, she's rambling.

"Thank you, Ava," Beatrice says. "And I'm sorry for Lilith's assumption. She's... Protective of me."

Ava huffs out a laugh.

"Yeah, no, it's my friend that's currently at your doorstep with a shotgun."

Beatrice smiles, because Ava is right, because Ava is funny and Beatrice doesn't know what else to do — she could scream and cry and burn the world to the ground but she doesn't know Ava, she doesn't know her and she can't show her that.

"I feel like I have to ask, though. Are you one hundred percent sure that he's mine?"

Somehow her desperation must be perceptive through her voice, because Ava looks at her with sad brown eyes and a hopeless smile.

"Would you like me to say he isn't? To tell you I was just fucking with you so that you can keep living your life in oblivion? Would you like to back away before it gets too real?"

Oh how Beatrice whishes she could say yes. How she whishes she was careless and thoughtless and heartless and that she could ask Ava to leave her in that little bubble of dream from Switzerland. 

But Beatrice doesn't. Beatrice has learned to live to the consequences of her actions since she was seven. Beatrice knows that if Ava says that, she'll know she's lying, she'll watch her leave and put the two year old back in his car seat and she'll spend the rest of her life wondering which part is a dream and which is reality, and she'll know, deep down, that she walked away from something bigger than the world itself.

"No," Beatrice says, and means it.

"Yes," Ava whispers. "Yes, he is yours. I am sure of it as I am sure that I am his mother. Both because genetics don't lie, and because you were the only person I slept with during that time."

Beatrice drops her head in her hands, hiding her face in her palms, taking a deep breath and trying desperatly to keep her tears behind her eyelids. 

She has a son. Beatrice has a son. A two year old boy that carries half of her genes, and where was Beatrice for all of his milestones? Where was she when Ava was pregnant and carrying him? Where was she for his birth, for his first cry and his first breath? Where was she for his first smile, first laugh, first word? His first steps? Where was Beatrice when he was growing into the tiny two year old he is now?

She's been warned about so many things before, but none of them come close to the feeling of the aching hole expanding in her chest. 

And so Beatrice drops her hands, rises from her chair and makes her way around the table to drop in the seat next to Ava, turning herself towards her and looking into her eyes.

"Ava. I am so, very deeply sorry that you had to go through that alone. I should have been there. I should have helped you through it all, and I'm sorry that I wasn't there to support you. I'm sorry you couldn't ven make that choice."

She doesn't reach out to press her fingers against her hand, even though she wants to. Ava is a stranger, and somehow Beatrice has probably put her through much more than no one else ever did. They don't know each other, but now they are tied together by something much stronger than fate itself — a child. 

Ava frowns a little, a spark of confusion in her eyes. She's the one to reach out and put her hands on Beatrice's, because she's Ava, and Ava doesn't care about what manners or situations, she just acts and watches the consequences unfold.

"I'm gonna be honest, I didn't expect that."

"An apology?"

"Yes."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. I've been thinking about it since I discovered I was pregnant. Sometimes you'd yell at me for keeping him and tying you down, sometimes you'd walk out," Beatrice opens her mouth to say something, anything, but Ava silences her by putting a finger on her lips. "Sometimes you'd be happy and scared, sometimes you'd have another family to introduce to Diego. Sometimes I imagined being chased away by your wife or something," she laughs. "And sometimes you'd just be like me. Quiet. Silent. Not knowing what to do. But the apology? I didn't expect that."

"But I am sorry, Ava," Beatrice insists.

"I know," Ava says. "But I want you to know that I'm not. I'm happy. I chose to keep him. I made that choice and there is not a single second where I regret it. Diego is a gift, Beatrice."

She sighs, and Beatrice hears voices outside the house, accompanied with Diego's laugh — no doubt that he is making friends with both of their insane friends. 

"So," Ava says, clearing her throat. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I didn't come here just to drop the news on your lap and demand child support, you know. I came here to give you a choice. The choice to be involved in his life, or not."

Beatrice felt her breath hitch in her lungs, her heart drumming against her chest.

"And I'm gonna be completely honest here, Beatrice. We don't need anything from you, not your time or your love or your money — Like Lilith so kindly suggested. We're perfectly happy on our own, just the two of us. I'm not scared of raising him on my own, I was raised by a single mom for most of my childhood and it was awesome. We don't need you. We would love for you to be involved in his life, but it's not something we desperatly need. If you don't want to be involved, just say the word, we'll leave just like that. No stories, no drama, no shouting or screaming or demanding anything. I'm not looking for a fight here. And if you don't think you can do it, then say so. Don't make us hope for something that will turn out to be a half-job. I wasn't ready. I know you're not either. This," she says, pointing to the window where they can hear Diego's laughter, "is an opportunity. For you. For Diego, too, of course, I think he'd be lucky to have you, but like I already said, he doesn't really need you. This is only a chance for you. The ball is in your court, Beatrice, it's for you to decide what to do with it."

Beatrice closes her eyes, inhales sharply. 

Ava is right, and she knows it. They don't need her, they've got each other. They can do it on their own, and she's proud of that. Somehow, she's proud of Ava for managing through all of those years, even through her strangling guilt and crippling anxiety. She's proud of her, and it makes her sick.

Beatrice had never thought of herself as a mother. Both because of the obvious (who would want to love a freak like her?) and because the idea that her monstruosity was deeply embedded into her genes. Her trauma, her mental struggles, all of this were written in her DNA, and she had promised herself as a teenager that she would never put anyone through what she did. 

When all the girls in the boarding school either wanted to be carreer oriented or mother of five children, Beatrice would settle for a 'No, thank you' instead of explaining that she would be a terrible mother.

But Diego — Dear God, Diego —, Diego is alive and breathing and she saw him with her own eyes. He looks like her a little and he acts like her too, and he is here and he is a living breathing human being, a little miracle.

And he is real.

He is real, he exists. Beatrice knows that if she were to reach out towards him, she could have brushed a hand against his little head, and felt it on her fingers. He was terribly, agonisingly, beautifully real.

And that is what makes her reach out towards the world — her world.

"I'm in." 

Chapter Text

Ava doesn't say anything, just nods and let the silence fill the room. 

Beatrice thought she would have conditions, some reserve, anything that would make Beatrice feel less like a complete asshole that dropped her when she needed support the most.

Finally, she checks her watch, starts gathering Diego's crayons and coloring book, and then stuffs a hand into her pocket and takes out an USB key that she hands to Beatrice.

"Here," she says. "That's for you. Things about Diego. So you can catch up a little. Can I have your phone?"

"Sure," Beatrice mumbles, taking it out of her pocket and replacing it with the key.

There are several panicked messages from Camila who yells for her to answer, obviously angry at her for ignoring her. Ava sees the messages from her unlocking screen, raises an eyebrow.

"You should talk about it with your lady too, by the way."

"I'm sorry? I don't have a lady," Beatrice answers, frowning.

"But then who—"

"Oh!" She almost wants to laugh or gag at the mistake. "Camila is my friend. And her and Lilith have been dancing around each other for five years now, it's exhausting."

Ava's eyes sparkle.

"Your demonic friend has a little crush?"

"Don't tease her about it."

"Oh, I am so going to tease her," Ava promises, taking Beatrice's phone and going into her contact list. "Here. This is my number. Text me, call me, whatever. We can figure it out from here. Do you like ice cream?"

"I— Yes?" Beatrice answers, taking her phone back and sending her a confused look.

"Good, let's go for ice cream on Saturday. With Diego," Ava says as she puts his things back in his Buzz Lightyear backpack. "It's his off day. You know, the day he isn't at daycare. That way you guys can properly meet, you know. And uh... Maybe talk more when our respective friends aren't trying to kill us both?"

She is rambling, but Beatrice isn't even sure she is conscious of it.

"Thank you, Ava, I'd like that," she says, but at the moment she's not even sure she means it.

Ava nods, smiling back, and Beatrice walks her back to the door, because what else can she do? She still has manners.

She doesn't have time to touch the doorknobe, the door opens suddenly, hitting the wall behind it, and Mary barges in, her shotgun still strapped to her side. She's moving in a blur and Beatrice can only hear Ava angrily yelling at her friend to stop as Mary closes in on her.

She takes the first hit, doesn't shy away from it, letting Mary's fist collide with her face. 

"Mary!" Ava screams. "Jesus fucking Christ, stop it!"

But Mary ignores her, grabbing Beatrice by the collar of her shirt.

"I'm gonna fuck you up, you little—"

Beatrice doesn't let her get a second hit in. She grabs the hand at her collar, snatches it away with the other and twistes Mary's arm behind her back, pushing her to the side until she can slam Mary's front side against the wall, immobilising her.

"Oh, show off!" Lilith yells from the front door where she is taking Diego back inside, clutching him from the back of his collar. 

"Ava, where the fuck did you find that one?" Mary yells, trying squirm out of Beatrice's grip. 

"Fiiiiiiiiiight!" Diego cheers excitedly, throwing both fists to the sky.

"No! No fight!" Ava says firmly, pointing a finger at him, and then at Beatrice and Mary. "You two, stop it, right now!"

Beatrice hesitates for a really long second, ready to argue that Mary started it, but Ava snaps her fingers at her and she decides that she doesn't want to get on her bad side and releases Mary, who huffs out a breath and leans her hands on her knees. Beatrice raises her hand to her face, brushing against what she assumes is a split lip, Ava throws her hands to the sky, dark eyes glowing with fury in them.

"Jesus Christ, Mary, what the Hell?! What's this?! A little fight to show who's got the biggest?! Because let's be real — Diego, cover you ears —, I smoke all of you bitches!"

"Yeah, no, you can take a punch, kid. You got my respect," Mary coughs out, and Beatrice thinks about asking why she is calling her 'kid' when she's barely older than her, but decides that starting another fight would be really bad to start on good bases with Diego.

Ava is absolutely fuming at this point, shoving Diego's backpack into his arms and striding up to Mary to grab her by the ear, causing a litany of pained shouts and angry shrieks. 

"That's it, outside, people who do not live here! Everyone home, now!"

"Alright, alright, jeez, you sound like my mom!"

"Yeah, you sound like my mom!" Diego laughs from the front door, bouncing up and down with excitement. 

"You!" Ava points a threatening finger at him that does nothing to stop his giggles. "Don't start!"

"I want to ride with Mary!"

"Absolutely not," Ava responds, ushering her friend outside. "The only reason Mary is even allowed on that bike right now is because I can't ride it myself. Say bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye!" Diego roars, waving at Beatrice and Lilith, and Beatrice can only wave back in stunned silence as they start walking across her front yard back to the car — and Mary's bike parked next to it.

"I'm so sorry!" Ava yells one last time over her shoulder, pushing her friend and her son in front of her. "Please text me!"

And they're gone in a flurry of shouts and giggles from Diego.

Beatrice is left standing in front of her open front door, looking confusedly in the direction of the car that just left, wondering if this wasn't a dream — or a nightmare, she still hasn't decided. She walks to the door, closes it.

Lilith is still standing in the hallway, one eyebrow raised. 

"So?"

"So what?"

She doesn't mean to sound that mean, but she's too tired, too frustrated to do anything else. Plus her lip hurts, and it's hard to talk without feeling blood on her tongue.

"Do you know what you need to do?"

She needs to sleep for three weeks, bulldozer her house, break her parents' company and burn the world to the ground and smear the ashes on her face. Maybe that's her 'villain origin story', Camila would say.

She shakes her head, pressing a handkerchief to her busted lip, trying desperately to avoid her reflection in the mirror. 

"Call Shannon."

And it all makes sense. She has a plan. She'll call Shannon, and they'll devise a battle plan and figure out how to work this through. Shannon is a life buoy and it wouldn't be the first time Beatrice clings to her to keep her head out of the water. Lilith is all in the action, she would do whatever was needed but refuse to talk about it, Camila is both the best distraction she can find and the most insightful person there is, but Shannon — God, Shannon — is a grandmother and a therapist stuck in the body of a woman that has watched the birth of the world in the hands of God. Beatrice whishes she was exaggerating. Sometimes, Shannon is downright scary.

She needs to call Shannon. She needs to call her.

She takes her phone out of her pocket, heading for the sofa, and Lilith follows her, like she always does.

Ava's name and number sits heavily in her contact list, and Beatrice pushes past the nausea as she goes straight for Shannon's number. She hits the call button, plopping down on the sofa.

The tone rings once, twice.

"Oh, hi Bea! I was just thinking about you, I was about to call you. How are you?"

And Beatrice breaks.

She breaks and she shatters right here and there in the living room, sitting awkwardly on the sofa with one of Diego's crayon forgotten on the dining room table, Lilith looking at her with terrified confusion painted on her face. Tears spill out and stream down her face, and she wails out a bluster of words, chocking on her own sobs. She cries like a child, like when she had a nightmare and called for help in her house and received no answer. Her ears are ringing, her head is spinning, all she can feel are her own tears running down her cheeks.

"Beatrice?!" Shannon says, panicked. "Beatrice, where the fuck are you?"

"I'm here, Shannon," Lilith says, taking the phone from Beatrice's shaky hands. "What do I do?"

"Hold her!"

And so Lilith hits the speaker button, puts the phone on her lap, and awkwardly wraps her arms around Beatrice. Beatrice latches onto her, soaking her shirt and shaking like a leaf as she bawls her eyes out. She grips her shirt in between her fingers just like when Lilith found her sitting in the middle of the staircase at night, in their boarding school.

"It's okay," Lilith says, even though it's not. "It's okay. Just let it out."

She rubs circles into her back just like Shannon usually does, stroking her hair in the same way Camila does when someone cries into her arms. Beatrice hears Shannon's voice over her own sobs.

"It's okay, love. Just breathe for me, okay? Breathe, Bea. Lilith is here. I'm here. We've got you. You're safe. You're good, love. Breathe."

And so Beatrice does, because if there is one thing she has learned during all those years, it's that disobeying Shannon is not an option. She gulps down as much air as her lungs can contain, exhale slowly and repeats again.

"That's it, love. That's it. Good job. You're doing good," Shannon keeps saying, and Beatrice wonders how she can still sound so full of love even from across the continent. "Just focus on Lilith, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," Beatrice croaks out, and she does.

She just focuses on Lilith's hands drawing circles in between her shoulder blades, awkwardly petting her hair like Beatrice is a skittish kitten that is going to run away any second. Lilith is not good a dealing with emotions, both her owns' and others', but it doesn't matter ; Beatrice loves her anyway.

She loves her sisters, more than anything in this world, and if there is one thing in this world she's not afraid of: it's this love. This unconditional love she has for her sisters that found her in the darkest place and carried her into the light — Camila always says they never carried each other out of the dark, but rather started telling each other ghosts stories and laughing until their ribs hurt. It got her through the end of her world, and it would get her through it again, and again, and again.

Why would Beatrice doubt?

And so she gradually manages to slow her breathing down, staying quietly in Lilith's arms as Shannon whispers beautiful words back into her brain. 

"I'm sorry," she finally croaks out. 

"It's alright, love," Shannon says, and Lilith nods as she unwraps herself away from Beatrice. "There's nothing to be ashamed or worried about. I'm proud of you."

Beatrice really whishes she could feel something, anything, when hearing those word, but the feeling of being undeserving of Shannon's pride.

"I'm gonna get you some water," Lilith says as she stands up and heads toward the kitchen. "And tissues, or gauze. Your lip is bleeding again."

"Oh God, did you get into a fight?" Shannon asks, and Beatrice can't stop herself from chuckling — not knowing if it's hysterical or just nervous.

"No. No, it's not that at all. I... I did deserve it a little," Beatrice admits, taking the glass of water from Lilith's hands as she sits back down next to her — Beatrice should feel bad that her shirt is ruined by tears and snot, but she realises that it's actually her shirt and doesn't care anymore. 

"You?" Shannon laughs. "Beatrice 'I almost joined a convent' Kleine-Young? You pissed someone so hard they busted your lip open?"

Lilith snickers from where she is sitting on the sofa, and Beatrice takes the extended hand to change the wreckage of her heart into annoyance and exasperation.

"Oh right, I forgot about that. Dear God, Beatrice, what will become of you?" Lilith chuckles. "See, Shan, as we thought that Beatrice was the perfect image of chastity, she was actually on the other side of the Europe being a naughty girl."

"I don't ever want to hear those words leave your mouth," Beatrice deadpans, and Lilith snickers even more.

"Beatrice? What is she talking about?"

Beatrice fiddles with the tissue on her lap, wriggling uncomfortably, cheeks red with shame. The bad side of Shannon being their designated older sister is that she has too much respect for her to even mention sex in her presence — which was real torture when she decided to educate 'her girls' properly on sex education. She feels like a stupid teenage boy about to announce that he got a girl pregnant — hey, she's actually not far from that.

"IgotagirlpregnantinSwitzerlandthreeyearsago."

There is a long silence during which neither Beatrice nor Lilith breathe, even her sister being contaminated with her nervousness.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Lilith cackles and Beatrice lets out a tired sigh.

"I — Lilith, stop laughing —, I just found out that I uh... I have a son. I slept with a woman three years ago and she just found me today and showed up with a boy that is actually my son."

"Well, that's what she says. I'm not convinced," Lilith says, and Beatrice glares at her. "Yet."

For a few long minutes, Shannon doesn't speak and the phone stays silent on the coffee table. Beatrice is starting to think about repeating herself when Shannon starts screaming at the top of her lungs through the speaker.

"BEATRICE REBECCA SALLY KLEINE-YOUNG! You better be fucking joking right now! You got a girl pregnant?! Like some little horny teenager that can keep it in his pants?! Are fucking with me right now?! Have I taught you nothing?!"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Beatrice mutters as Lilith snickers next to her, delighted with the situation.

"THANK GOD YOU FUCKING DIDN'T!" Shannon yells, and Beatrice actually has to lean back slightly, looking fearfully at her phone. "So what, you just go around making babies with random girls?! I raised you better than that!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Beatrice whispers as Shannon stops to breathe.

"She's sorry, Shan," Lilith repeats.

"I love you, Shannon."

"We love you, Shannon."

"WELL I LOVE YOU TOO!" Shannon shouts back, and Beatrice and Lilith exchange a look, asking each other if hanging up the phone would save them from her angry rant. "Start the fuck over and I'll see for how long you'll be grounded!"

Beatrice gulps, but obeys. She tells her about Switzerland, about Ava, she skips over the details of their night together — Lilith smacks the back of her head to get her to speed up —, she recounts Ava's arrival earlier, she tells her about her claim that Diego was her son, even gives her the proof Ava gave her.

"He looks like me, Shan," she says, and her throat tighten and she feels like she's about to start crying again. "He... He looks like me."

Lilith huffs out next to her.

"Yes, I can't deny that. Same smart-ass little know-it-all. Watched him talk to his psychopathic aunt for twenty minutes, that child is an evil genius."

"Why didn't you stop the psychopathic aunt from punching me?" Beatrice asks, breaking away from her thoughts.

"Why didn't you?"

"Oh, that's where the split lip come from?" Shannon asks. "You got punched by the mother's sister?"

"Yes," Beatrice groans, the pain spiking up now that she awknowleged it. 

"I'm on your side through it all," Lilith stated, "but I was with her on that one. You deserved that punch."

"I would have punched you too," Shannon adds. "Hell, I want to punch you now."

"I know."

She sighs, runs her hands over her face.

"So, what's going on now?" Shannon asks.

"Ava asked me if I wanted to be involved. I said yes."

Lilith doesn't comment, Lilith doesn't try to tell her she's rushing into it to much, and Beatrice is both thankful and proud of her sister for that. Even through her doubts and distrust, Lilith knows that only the child's well-being matters.

Shannon sighs deeply over the phone, Beatrice can actually feel it in the hair at the back of her neck all through Europe. London is a country and a half and a sea away, but Shannon can and will still find a way to reach them.

"I'm rescheduling my relocation. I'll be here by Sunday."

Chapter Text

Lilith takes the difficult mission of calling Camila, who is visiting a business partner across the country. Beatrice isn't sure she's thankful or disappointed that Camila isn't physically present, but she knows there is nothing she can do about that.

"Beatrice knocked up a random girl three years ago and said girl just showed up with the evil spawn on her hip," Lilith explains over the phone, and Beatrice throws a cushion at her.

Camila stays silent for a moment, not even breathing.

"I'm on my way," she says, and hangs up.

Lilith raids her fridge for beer and whatever edible food she can find — she hides behind the couch and sends grapes at Beatrice from across the room with a spoon until Beatrice tells her she's not hungry and will kick her out if she keeps doing that.

Finally, Lilith retreats to the guest room, stealing another of her sweatshirts, calling her a dumbass and telling her she still loves her anyway.

And Beatrice is left wrapped up in her favourite fluffy blanket — if Lilith asks, she doesn't have one — staring insistently at the USB key on her coffee table. She wants to knock herself out with a bat, she's craving a drink, anything to keep away the madness knocking at her door. She narrows her eyes at the key, wondering if it's going to jump at her throat and plug itself into the lower back of her head — Damn you, Camila, for making her watch the Matrix, she's traumatised now. 

She snaps out of her thoughts, grabs the USB key and wriggles herself to her desk, plopping into her chair and plugging it into her computer.

The contents are exactly like Ava: organised, but in an Ava way. She could have expected files with Diego's age or something, but instead the names are something like 'Diego trying new food' or 'Mary kidnapping Diego'. 

She clicks on the file that reads 'Diego walking', finds a few videos and pictures, and immediately wants to unplug the key. She feels like she's intruding in someone else's life, like she's prying into Ava and Diego's privacy and it feels wrong to just see that part of them, that part that she didn't witness. 

But Ava gave her the key, Ava gave her the choice, and so Beatrice choses: she clicks on the very first video.

The first thing she sees is the blurred face of a man with dark hair and copper skin, moving around and putting his phone (she assumes it's a phone) to the ground.

'I'll get it this time,' he says, and Ava appears a few steps away, sitting on her living room floor with a baby Diego on her lap. 

'You said that last time. And the time before. And the time before that.'

'Oh you have such little faith in your own son,' the guy jabs back at her, and Ava smiles as he crouches in front of her.

'Oh no, I know he can do it, I just don't think he'll do it for you,' she says, putting Diego in a standing position with his feet to the ground. 

'Haha. Very funny. Come on, Diego, want to prove mama wrong? Want to walk for JC?' He says, extending his hands towards him, and Diego drools on his own fist as he smiles at him.

He wiggles his arms at him, drooling all over his chin, and Ava holds him up, trying to push him forward, holding him by the arms. He coos and yells and Ava and the man (JC?) both encourage him, to no avail. 

'I don't think this is working,' Ava giggles, lets Diego sit on the ground, wriggling to climb back onto her lap.

'Let's switch it up then,' JC says, taking Diego from Ava and holding him up in front of him, letting him stand on the ground with both of his hands on either side of him.

'Come on, D,' Ava says and she extends her arms towards him. 

'Yeah, go to mama, come on,' JC encourages him.

Diego smiles up at Ava, cooing at her and Ava smiles back, making grabby hands towards him.

'Come on, Diego, I know you can do it.'

He rocks back and forth on his little legs, about to lose his balance, and then puts a foot forwards, and then another. JC squeals behind him, pursing his lips with his eyes wide open as if trying to hold back a yelp, and Ava's eyes sparkle as she laughs.

'Come on D! Come on baby!'

Diego manages to take another step or two before collapsing into her arms, and Ava lifts him up to her chest as she laughs, and JC finally lets out a scream of excitement, and the video ends as they are all screaming at the top of their lungs with happiness. 

From then on, all videos of 'Diego walking' are just Ava and her family running after him. Ava chases him around her flat, JC tries to catch him in what seems to be a park, Mary races against him on the beach. Even when the video is not actively filming him, she can always find Ava running after him in the background, scooping him up into her arms and ignoring his scandalised cries as she laughs. 

And then Beatrice gets swallowed into the memories. She navigates haphazardly through the files, clicks on random pictures. She finds a compilation of selfies her friend took of Ava sleeping in random places, first as she is pregnant, bump growing in each photo, then with Diego, who starts growing too as the pictures pass. There are photos of Diego with food spread all over his body and Ava's kitchen, the baby looking flabbergasted as Ava points an accusing finger at him. She even finds a video of Diego beating his plate repeatedly with a spoon, and then the camera pans to JC and a blond man aggressively dancing to the beat, whispering so that Diego doesn't hear: 'Is this the thanks that I get for puttin' you bitches on?/Is it my fault that all of you bitches gone?' — the swearwords prevent her from googling the lyrics, this is a song that is definitely not played in church. 

There is an impressive collection of pictures of Diego with sunglasses on, mostly as he is on Mary's lap. There are lots of videos of Diego and Ava having dance parties, sometimes with children's music, mostly with Ava's music. There is even a video taken by Diego, more recent, where he carries the phone across Ava's living room, awkwardly filming Ava asleep on the couch, drooling over one of Diego's plushies —  'Mama is asleep,' Diego narrates. 'Silly ma!' Ava opens her eyes and the video ends as Diego screams in horror.

Beatrice was always a learner, feeding on any knowledge she was given and always searching for more — when she was fourteen, she learned the elves' languages from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, her mother didn't think it was that funny. It's no surprise that she craves for more, for any information she can get her hands on — what is Diego's favourite meal? Does he know how to put his coat on by himself? How the hell is he that well spoken at only two years old? Has he ever seen snow? Why does he always run when he gets the chance? What's his favourite colour?

She finds a picture of a newborn Diego in his bassinet, with a tiny hat on his tiny head and a tiny hospital bracelet around his even tinier arm, and she stands up from her chair, walks up the stairs with her blanket around herself, enters the guest room to stand beside Lilith.

"Lilith?" She asks, reaching out to tap her sister's cheek with her index. "Lilith, wake up."

Lilith wakes up with a gasp, burying herself under her blanket as she sees Beatrice standing in the dark. She sends her a somewhat scared and annoyed look.

"Beatrice? What the fuck are you doing standing in the room like Annabelle? It's 3 am! Are you trying to kill me right now?!"

"You have to see this," Beatrice explains, beckoning for her to follow. "You have to see this, I have to show you."

"Beatrice, what the fu—"

"Come see. You have to see this."

Lilith growls curses as she wraps herself into her blanket, following Beatrice back to her office, taking a chair and putting it beside Beatrice's in front of the lit computer.

"What? What was so important that you had to show me at 3 in the morning?"

"Look," Beatrice says. "It's Diego."

"Yes, I can see that."

"No, look," Beatrice says, taking Lilith by the chin and drawing the shape of his face with her finger on the screen. "It's him. He's alive. He's real. He has tiny arms and tiny legs to walk and move and hold things. He has tiny lungs that work and he has tiny vocal cords so that he can talk. And he says words, words that come out of his tiny brain, in here," she explains, pointing to his forehead in the picture. "He has thoughts. So many tiny thoughts. He's real. He has so many thoughts about colours and food and people and the world in here," she says, jabbing a finger into Lilith's forehead, who squints at said finger. "Do you have thoughts in here?"

"Bitch."

"I'll take it as a no," Beatrice says, turning back to the screen to click on a new picture. 

But Lilith forces her to turn back towards her, slamming her hand flat on Beatrice's forehead, eyebrows furrowed.

"Are you looking for my tiny thoughts?"

"I'm trying to see if you don't have a fever," Lilith explains. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Define sleeping."

"Did you sleep last night?"

Last night — a lifetime ago —, Beatrice stayed at her desk working until the sun was up, just because she wanted to. She considers both options for a long time — telling the truth or lying —, decides that she doesn't have enough energy to pretend and sell the lie.

"No."

"Jesus Christ, Beatrice, you need to sleep."

"No, thank you," Beatrice says, turning back to the screen.

"Yes, you do."

"I'm looking at Diego's pictures."

"Yeah, I can see that," Lilith replies. "Have you been drinking?"

"No."

"Are you lying? I wouldn't blame you for giving in, you know."

"No, Lilith, I didn't drink," Beatrice finally snaps back. "Look," she says, pointing to a new picture to distract her and — hooray — Lilith takes the bait.

It's a picture of Diego at his most recent birthday party, with a cake in front of him. Two candles are lit and they can only light his face and Ava's, to his right, both ready to blow on the candles. 

"Damn," Lilith says. "Do you think they were trying to drown the cake with sprinkles?"

"Maybe," Beatrice smiles, exiting the file to find a new one. "Diego can do a backflip."

"What?"

"He can do a backflip."

"I don't believe you. He's two!"

"Watch for yourself."

She clicks on a new video, which starts just as Ava puts her phone down on the ground, probably propped against her TV stand — there are so many pictures of her flat Beatrice has learned its agencement, she could probably draw a plan of it. She moves back to kneel in the shot, a mattress in between her and the camera. Diego is jumping up and down on the end of said mattress, waving his arms in the air excitedly. They're both dressed in sweats, as if they were both cleaning the place and interrupted themselves to do this.

'Okay,' Ava says, straightening her sweater. 'Are you ready D.?'

'Yeah!'

'Okay, let's go.'

He turns his back to the length of the mattress, Ava places one hand on his back, the other behind his knees.

Diego doesn't wait for her to give her his cue. He throws himself back, straightening his arms above his head, and lands straight on his hands, and Ava accompanies him the whole way as he flips himself until his feet touch the ground.

They're as stunned as Beatrice was when she watched that clip for the first time, and she watches with pride swelling in her chest as Lilith raises an eyebrow.

Diego tries again, to see if it wasn't just beginner's luck, and it's not: he does it again perfectly, and Ava and him start screaming in excitement and victory.

"Okay, that's impressive," Lilith admits.

"I know!" Beatrice laughs. "Even I couldn't do that when I was nine!"

They smile as Diego makes up a song on the spot and Ava hypes him up by dancing, they scream in horror when he almost falls into a fountain as he tries to touch the water — JC scoops him back onto the ground — and they absolutely lose their shit when Beatrice finds videos of Baby Diego running around wearing a wig of long hair on his little head, Ava wheezing as she tries to follow him.

Lilith falls asleep in her chair, curled up in a ball into her blanket, but Beatrice doesn't, Beatrice watches in reverent silence as Diego laughs for the first time, and as Ava looks back at the camera with a bewildered and amazed expression on her face, the sun rising outside her windows.

The sun is high in the sky when she wakes up.

Her neck is stiff, her vision blurry, she can only make vague forms in front of her. Lilith has left her chair next to her, and she hazily hears her talking in hushed whispers by the front door. 

She's asking herself whether or not going back to sleep on her desk would paralyse her for the day, when someone walks up to her.

"Oh, Beatrice," Camila says in a soft voice, and Beatrice is too tired to be happy to hear her. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

She wants to say no, to say she hasn't finished looking at Diego's ultrasounds, but she doesn't, for some reason, and lets her sisters carry her to bed. 

Chapter Text

When she wakes up again, the sun is high in the sky, or at least that's what she assumes, as someone — Camila? — has closed the blinds of her bedroom.

She feels like shit. That's the best way to put it, to explain the bad taste in her mouth and the pain in her back. Beatrice feels like complete, total and utter shit. She can almost pretend that she's back in college after a night of drinking that Camila dragged her to, but she knows that the sun outside is definitely not the British kind. 

She rolls out of bed, nearly hits the ground but has the reflex to land on both of her feet. She wraps herself back into the fluffy blanket, wonders what kind of crack the guy that invented them was on and how she can have some and finally goes down the stairs, wandering around her house.

Lilith and Camila are both in her kitchen, Lilith seated at the island in the middle of the room and Camila by the sink, fighting with a casserole plate. She wonders what that poor plate could have done to Camila for her to drown it in the sink like this, and wants to retreat back to her room when she realises that she's next. Lilith, on the other hand, is stuffing her face with puff pastry and black coffee, nodding at her when she sees her in the doorway.

"You're alive?"

"No, I'm Beatrice's ghost, delighted to meet you," she answers as she sits down on the other side of the island. "Can I have some?" She asks, extending a hand towards the paper bag in the middle of them.

Lilith immediately takes it, shaking her head.

"Lilith, be nice," Camila orders from her place by the sink, not even turning around.

Beatrice watches with delighted pleasure as Lilith's face falls, and she reluctantly pushes the paper bag towards Beatrice. There is a crushed croissant left in the bag, but she's not one to be picky, she takes what she can get. She calmly chews on her food, looking suspiciously in Camila's direction as the girl keeps putting her plate under the water and keeping it there, flipping it from time to time. She's about to ask when Camila is going to slap it and ask where the rest of the mafia is when her sister's voice echoes in the room.

"So. Are we just going to pretend nothing happened?"

She turns toward them, taking her dishwashing gloves off, leaning on the edge of the sink. She looks tired from the drive back here, but somehow Camila makes it look elegant, graceful, even. 

Beatrice sighs, drops her head on the island counter. Strangely, she doesn't feel anything at the mention of Diego, she took it all out last night and all of her feelings, physical and emotional, are just numb now.

"I don't know, Camila, what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure either."

Lilith stops chewing for a second, but then shrugs and keeps eating, like nothing is happening, like Beatrice's world hasn't just been turned upside down in the span of five minutes.

"We can always go punch something." 

"Like people?" Camila asks, and Beatrice pretends not to hear the pinch of hope in her voice.

"No, like punching bags," Lilith replies cautiously.

"I can't believe that the weirdest thing to happen today is Lilith refusing to punch people," Beatrice comments.

"It's not even noon yet," Camila states, like it's supposed to help.

"Your new best friend promised to teach me how to shoot," Lilith adds, pointing a spoon full of jam at her.

"Ava knows how to shoot?" Beatrice asks, rising from the island counter to frown at Lilith.

"No, but Mary does."

"Right."

"Shotgun girl?" Camila asks. "Why does all the fun happen when I'm not around? It's not fair."

"Fun?" Beatrice chokes out. "Do you want to switch places?"

"No," Camila replies, shaking her head. "And neither do you."

Beatrice groans as she drops her head back on the counter.

"Too soon."

"Alright."

Her phone rings just as Camila is about to add something, mouth open, and they all straighten up in their seats, looking confusedly around the room.

"Good Lord!" Beatrice swears as she realises she forgot her phone on her desk, and shoots up from her stool to sprint towards her office. 

Camila jumps after her immediately, yelling for Lilith to move, and Lilith stuffs her croissant into her mouth and runs after them both.

"Who is it?" She asks as Beatrice picks up her phone.

"Ava," Beatrice replies, hitting the answer button. "Hello?"

Camila is already reaching towards her, mouthing a quiet 'What is she saying?' and Beatrice rounds up the desk, trying to put some distance in between her and her sisters.

"Oh thank fuck you're alive. I thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry?" Beatrice asks confusedly, pushing Camila away.

"I woke up this morning and you had been sending me texts all night. Did you even sleep at all?"

"I— I sent you texts?" 

She gives her sisters the middle finger, rolls on the couch and Camila lands on her stomach as she tries to catch her, Lilith trying to follow them both.

"Yeah. You don't remember?"

"No! I'm so sorry, I was... I was..."

She tries to find an excuse, but her sisters are trying to take her phone away from her for some reason, and she's not about to admit to Ava that she's been dwelling in her own little well of madness this whole time.

"Uh-uh," Ava says. "I'm serious, did you even sleep at all?"

"No," Beatrice admits finally, rounds up the corner, throwing her shoes at her sisters — Lilith ducks to avoid it and it hits Camila right in the forehead.

"Wow. Wasn't Lilith with you?"

"Yes, she was. She is."

"I'm here too!" Camila yells, loud enough for Ava to hear. 

Beatrice runs up the stairs, climbing the steps two by two, and her sisters scramble after her, gripping the ramp to avoid falling. If Shannon was here, she would yell at them not to run in the stairs, but Shannon isn't here, and so they stomp their feet as they run up the steps and shout at each other. 

"Oh, boy. Are you running away from them?" Ava asks, the hint of a laugh in her voice.

"Yes, I am. Just give me a second please."

Beatrice throws herself into the bathroom, drops her phone on the washbowl counter and locks the door behind her, listening as her sisters bump against it while calling her name.

"I'm sorry, where were we?" She asks as she picks up her phone. 

Ava laughs in her ear, loud and clear. On the other side of the door, Lilith and Camila are yelling, but she doesn't know if it's at her or at each other.

"Why were you running away from them?"

"They're nosy."

"No yeah, I kinda got that vibe from Lilith," Ava laughs even louder. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"Yes, of course, absolutely, why wouldn't I be?"

It should be ironic, but Beatrice manages to make it sound genuine. In another life, perhaps she could have been an actress. Thanks mum.

"Because I just dropped some life changing news on your ass and then left you to deal with it?" Ava proposes, with a bit of something akin to pity or shame in her tone. 

Beatrice wishes she could make it disappear. She was never one to inspire pity. She is Beatrice Kleine-Young. She is respected. She is honoured.

But this is Ava. Ava is not trying to put her down, she isn't some mean and bad person that wants to prick at Beatrice's weaknesses. Beatrice doesn't know her, but she knows that Ava wouldn't start a war — although she would probably win it in the end.

"Yes, right... Uh... Well, I guess that played a role a little," Beatrice admits.

"Just a little?"

"Ava, please."

Ava hums calmly as an answer. Beatrice wonders where Diego is (He's probably at daycare, what time is it, what day is it?).

"Alright, alright, I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead. Can I do that?"

"I'm not sure if that's your role. To worry about me, I mean."

She can hear Ava's shrugs even through the phone.

"That's fair. But I've been in your shoes before. I just wanted to make sure you weren't alone to deal with it."

A question makes its way into Beatrice's mind.

"Were you? Alone, I mean."

"No," Ava answers. "I had Mary and my boys. Which is exactly why I know you shouldn't be either."

"I'm not," Beatrice assures. "I've got Lilith, and Camila. I don't think they'll be leaving me alone anytime soon. Camila is probably climbing up the wall right now to reach the bathroom window."

Ava laughs once again, and Beatrice wants to laugh too. This is supposed to be solemn, awkward, difficult, maybe — they're two dumb strangers that don't know each other and somehow need to communicate for the sake of a two year old —, but Beatrice just finds it ridiculous, even endearing, if she dared go that way.

She sits on the edge of the bathtub with her phone to her ear, surprisingly calm. She doesn't have anything to say, but she still listens to Ava laughing on the other end of the line.

"Ava, what are you doing?" A voice asks in the background.

"Ava?" Beatrice asks.

"Hold on," Ava says, and Beatrice is pretty sure she is covering the phone with her hand. "I'll be there in a minute, Hans!" She comes back. "Sorry, I'm at work right now."

"You're at work?!" Beatrice chokes out, almost scandalised.

"Oh, shush, I already have a boss, thank you," Ava says, and she can feel the roll of her eyes through the phone. "Do you want me to answer your question?"

"What question?"

"The one from the texts."

Beatrice takes her phone away from her ear, opening her messages, only to find a long series of texts she doesn't remember sending. Apparently she spent a good chunk of her night asking questions about Diego and then answering them herself from the clues she had gathered from the photos and the videos.

"Ava, I am so sorry," she repeats into the phone, nearly begging for forgiveness, and Ava laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

"Relax! I think it's cute that you want to know so much about him!"

Beatrice doesn't know what to answer to that, just promises herself to never let that happen again. She'll ask Lilith to punch her lights out if she has to, or request for Camila to put her phone in the phone jail, but she'll never do that again.

"So, do you want me to answer your question?"

"I can't remember what it was."

"You asked me what his first word was," Ava answers, smiling.

It doesn't take a genius to understand why Ava is so eager to answer said question.

"There is a joke somewhere, I believe."

"Damn right!" Ava giggles. "What do you think it was?"

"I assume it was 'mama' or something along those lines."

"Eeeehhh, wrong!" Ava yells, mimicking the noise of a buzzer. "Your son," (Beatrice can't stop herself from shivering), "was not made an evil genius, he was born an evil genius."

There is rustling outside her house, right under her window, but Beatrice pretends not to hear it, just for the sake of listening to Ava's answer.

"What was it, then?"

"'Dada'," Ava says. "Yeah, you heard me right, that little shit chose 'Dada' as his first word. Like, fuck us both, I guess."

Beatrice doesn't know why she laughs, maybe it's because she understands the irony of it, or because Ava always manages to make things sound ten times funnier than they are.

Camila's face appears at her window and Beatrice screams in horror as she chucks her shampoo bottle at her.

Chapter Text

On Saturday, Beatrice finds herself walking back and forth in the middle of a park, trying desperately to get a hold of herself. 

The previous week was a nightmare, both for her and for the employees of her department. Even Lilith asked her to stop traumatising the staff — and it was Lilith, they were usually much more scared of her then they were of Beatrice. Sleepless nights were followed by agonising mornings and sleep-laced afternoons until Beatrice didn't even know who she was. Shannon called on Friday and immediately ordered for Camila and Lilith to hold an intervention, which they did, kidnapping Beatrice from her office and dragging her into bed. She slept for thirteen hours. 

All throughout the week, she kept exchanging texts with Ava — well mostly she would ask a random question and Ava would send a meme back, and when Beatrice would tell her she didn't understand, Ava would simply tell her to 'fuck around and find out' which did nothing to help but somehow Ava thought it was funny.

And so on Saturday, Beatrice puts her big girl shoes on, gives herself a pep talk (which could be summarised to 'Grow up you stupid bitch'), and gets to the park Ava had told her to meet them to, trying to untie the knot in her stomach. Camila and Lilith both told her it was going to be fine — 'You'll do great, Bea!' Camila said, all smiley and sunshine. 'Just be yourself!'/ 'Nobody wants that,' Lilith said, and Camila smacked her with a cushion.

Beatrice huffs out nervously, trying to gather herself. Great, she's going to traumatise the kid even before meeting him. She groans, running a hand over her face.

Her phone vibrates in her back pocket, she pulls it out and immediately answers after reading the name on the screen.

"Hello?"

Ava seems out of breath as she answers.

"Diego's on the run, he's coming your way!"

Bewildered, Beatrice turns around with her phone still to her ear, indeed finding the little boy running up the little hill, giggling as he slaloms in between passers-by. Ava is a few steps behind, chasing after him with her phone to her ear.

"What do I do?!" Beatrice asks anxiously.

"You have my permission to tackle him rugbyman style!"

"Ava!" Beatrice exclaims, scandalised, as Diego starts getting closer and closer, looking behind him to see if Ava is closing in on him.

"Just call him, that should do it!"

"Alright," she says, taking her phone off her ear. "Diego?!"

Diego obviously hasn't planned for someone else to know his name, as he shouts something like 'Huh?!', turning around just in time to collide with Beatrice. 

She thought she had better balance than that, she really did, but they are on the top of the little hill, on the edge of the slope, and so it's not completely a surprise when Beatrice goes tumbling back. Diego yelps as they both lose their balance, and she can only close her arms around him as they roll on the grass, twisting her body to keep her weight off of him and stopping their fall, cushioning his fall with her own body. 

They both end up on the grass, Diego sitting on her stomach and looking surprised at her, one or two people nearby asking if they are okay.

"Are you okay?" Beatrice asks, trying to breathe the air that was knocked out of her lungs back in.

He nods, looking confusedly at her, and she can't blame him, she's a stranger after all.

Ava scrambles after them, kneeling on the grass and the sun, her phone still in her hand.

"Damn, we gotta stop meeting like this!" She laughs, and Beatrice wonders how she can be so sure of everything. "You okay, D.?"

"Yeah!" He says, dusting his knees and letting Beatrice sit up, leaning on her hands behind her. 

"Are you okay?" Ava asks Beatrice next, and she nods. "See? I told you 'running away from mama' is not a game!" She tells Diego. "This could have ended badly."

"But — "

"You can only play with JC or Michael, not when it's just the two of us," Ava adds, helping Beatrice up and pulling twigs and bits of grass out of her hair and her shirt like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Beatrice feels stupid, she feels impotent, because she doesn't know what to do with herself when Ava and Diego are talking together like this. She feels like a little kid watching two best friends remind each other of past shenanigans. She doesn't fit in this dynamic. 

But it's also very entertaining to watch, she'll give them that.

Diego has the decency not to roll his eyes, even if he seems to think that Ava is completely and totally wrong and that 'running away from mama' is the best game in the world. He sighs a little exaggeratedly, like he's mimicking someone — Beatrice places her money on Mary — , turns towards Beatrice.

"I'm sorry," he says as seriously as he can.

"Good," Ava nods.

"It's alright," Beatrice assures, putting her phone back in her pocket. "I guess I should have expected that."

She didn't mean it teasingly, but seeing the way Ava narrows her eyes, overplayed suspicion on her face, she realises it was maybe a little too familiar for that. Diego looks confusedly in between the two of them, like he's wondering what they're doing here.

"Alright, well," Ava says, crouching down and putting a hand on Diego's back, redirecting his attention towards him, "Diego, meet Beatrice."

Beatrice crouches down to get to his level, putting one knee on the ground and not caring for the grass stains. He really looks at her for the first time, she can see his eyes — Her eyes — running over her face, her hair, her freckles, her mouth. He looks at her with that lack of shame that children have, when they just found something worthy of their interest and want to study it until they get tired of it.

He raises his little hand towards her.

"I'm Diego Silva," he says, serious like a pope.

Ava hides her laugh by turning her head away and biting her lip. Beatrice smiles, takes his little hand in hers and shakes it, nodding.

"It's nice to meet you, Diego Silva."

"Mary punch you."

"Of course you had to remember that!" Ava says dramatically, straightening up and raising her hands to the sky in despair. "Out of everything, you had to remember that!"

Diego laughs at her antics, and Beatrice does too, standing back up. 

"By the way, I'm really sorry about that. Mary tends to punch people a lot. She used to punch me too when I was being a little shit as kids. I hate to break it to you," she says, putting a comforting hand on Beatrice's arm and grimacing like she's sorry, "but you ain't special."

Beatrice laughs, she can't help it. She shouldn't feel better knowing this wasn't a personal attack, but she does, somehow. 

Diego jumps excitedly from where he is, a big smile on his face.

"Ice cream now?"

"Try again," Ava says, not even looking at him.

"Ice cream now please and thank you?"

"Meh. Close enough."

Both Ava and Diego seem to be familiar with the ice cream vendor in the park, as they immediately start having a heated debate over which flavor they should have this time, crossing the others off their 'already had this one' list as the vendor looks tiredly at Beatrice, his eyes clearly reading 'See what I have to deal with?'. Beatrice doesn't care. Beatrice reads the tags in front of each container and tries to remember what it's supposed to taste like. 

"Okay," Ava says once they have both chosen something — cookie dough for Ava, watermelon for Diego, "what do you get?"

And Beatrice feels like a middle schooler about to admit she never had her first kiss. How can she say she doesn't have any idea what she's dealing with without sounding like she's been living in a basement all her life?

"I uh... I have no idea. I'm not... Well versed in ice cream flavour."

Ava widens her eyes, shakes her head, and Diego does the same, but Beatrice isn't sure he even knows what he's disapproving of. 

"Oh no, we gotta change that. Diego, buddy, you take it?"

He immediately nods, and she picks him up and props him against her hip, his back against her chest so that he can see the display. Beatrice hesitates, moving closer.

"Shouldn't we just pick something random?" She asks, trying not to see the impatient look the vendor gives them.

Ava sends her a look like she's trying really hard not to laugh.

"Beatrice. He can't read. It's gonna be random anyway."

Way to go, Beatrice.

"Right. I forgot about that."

"This one!" Diego says, pointing to a container filled with blue frozen mixture.

"That's blueberry, buddy," Ava says.

"Yeah!" He exclaims, like he already knew that.

"Okay," Ava shrugs, and Beatrice trusts his judgement, however random it is.

It turns out that Diego's judgement is absolutely horrific. 

Beatrice takes one mouthful of ice cream and gathers all of her self restraint not to grimace. It feels like biting into frozen fruit dipped into lime juice.

The cold ice cream cone in her hand feels too much like the one she held on that little graduation ceremony at boarding school, that little treat authorised by Mother Superion that they had all been delighted to discover. She remembers the stickiness of the ice cream melting over her hand as her parents stood with their back straight, looking down on her as they told that second place was unworthy of their family, and the whispers of the other girls around her as Beatrice silently cried, unable to stop the ice from melting onto her hand. 

Shannon had washed her dress off, Camila had wiped her tears, and Lilith had told her Penny Preston had cheated on both the exam and her boyfriend anyway, and so it didn't matter that she was first, she was a dumb bitch. 

Beatrice takes another bite of ice cream, and the effect is immediate, she's back at the park, with Ava, and Diego in between them. This time, she can't stop herself from wincing.

"You can just throw it away," Ava says, as Diego kicks into a peeble, both hands clutching his ice cream cone like he's afraid it's going to fly away. "I won't tell."

"How are you going to explain the disappearance of ice cream?" Beatrice asks with a smile.

"Ice cream paradise."

She says it so seriously it has Beatrice doubting whether or not Ava even believes in ice cream paradise herself, but then she smirks slightly, and Beatrice rolls her eyes.

"I can never tell when you're joking."

"Honestly? Neither can I," Ava says, gently grabbing Diego by the collar and putting him back in the right direction when he starts to get too lost in his ice cream to watch where he is going. "It's my default."

Beatrice watches the way Diego doesn't even seem to realise what Ava is doing, how Ava doesn't need to look to know he's going the wrong way, how they orbit around each other without a single second of hesitation. 

Diego gets distracted by a fallen leaf and he crouches down to start looking at it, holding his ice cream in one hand. 

"What did you tell him?" Beatrice asks before she can stop herself.

Ava turns to her and sends her a questioning look. 

"About me," Beatrice specifies nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. 

"Oh. The truth," Ava says, wiping her upper lip with her hand. "Mama's a hoe."

"Ava!"

Ava laughs again, and Beatrice is starting to understand how natural that laugh is to her, and she wishes she had that much freedom to laugh too.

"You're just so easy!" Ava grins. "I just told him it takes two to make a baby, and that you were the other one. That's all. He said okay. He's two, Beatrice. He's not gonna ask what's your social security number or where you grew up."

"Uh-oh."

They turn to watch in stunned silence as Diego's ball of ice cream slowly slips from his cone and lands on the ground. Beatrice isn't sure how she should react, and if she should react at all, and so she just stays quiet as they stare at Diego's ice cream on the ground.

Diego reaches out naturally to grab it off the ground and in an instant Ava moves, slapping his little hand away.

"Diego, no!"

Beatrice holds her breath. She expects tears, she expects cries, she expects a tantrum like she sees so many kids do in grocery stores or parking lots.

She doesn't expect, however, for Diego to reach back for his ice cream, faster than his mother, and throw it toward Ava with a shit-eating grin, and Ava yelps as she avoids it. 

They're both laughing as they throw ice cream at each other in front of a bewildered Beatrice.

Chapter Text

By the time they both calm down, they have washed Diego's hands at a nearby fountain and Beatrice gives him her ice cream and he decides that Beatrice is not allowed to chose ice cream flavours anymore — she sends a prayer to Saint Patience and she must have heard her, because she manages to not remind him he was the one to chose it in the first place.

"You can talk to him, you know."

They're all in front of a pond a few steps away from the main path, looking at the ducks and their ducklings. Diego is giggling as 'baby ducks' gather around him, like he's one of their own, and Ava hovers over him, far enough not to scare them away. 

"I can see you, you know," Ava adds, to make matters worse. "You're restraining yourself or something. He's not going to call you a witch."

"I'm sorry," Beatrice says, sighing as she nervously clench and unclench her fist. "I don't mean to. I'm just not good at this."

"At what? Being a parent?"

"Is that what I am?"

"If that's what you want, sure," Ava replies, shrugging, and they both smile as they hear Diego laughing even louder when a baby duck tumbles to the ground. 

And then it hits her. Ava doesn't know. Ava hasn't met them, and therefore she doesn't know. That little secret that Beatrice keeps until it spills out, until people discover themselves by seeing them, Ava doesn't know anything about that. And Beatrice has to tell her, because Beatrice has to warn her before things get too real for everyone involved.

"Ava," she starts, her throat too tight for her own liking. "I have to warn you that I'm completely new to this."

"Yeah, I know," Ava says, frowning a little in confusion. "I was too. Still am. Parenting isn't some inner shit you have when your kids are here."

"No, I mean I'm new to the whole... Concept of being a parent. Of watching one," she adds, hoping that Ava will take the hint. "Mine weren't exactly role models."

Shannon calls them 'cold blooded and heartless psycho', but Beatrice still feels the heavy sword of the whole 'defamation charge' looming over her head, even a country and a sea away. 'Keep quiet. Don't tell anyone. If you do, if the world knows, you'll get consequences.'

And so Beatrice leaves it at that, not telling Ava about the day she found her suitcases packed at thirteen years old when coming home from a study session with Niamh Lloyd or about that one time her mother threw wine at her face and her father called her a disgrace when she even suggested that England legalising gay marriage wasn't such a bad idea. She doesn't say it, and hopes it's enough for Ava to understand.

And Ava — God bless her — understands, she really does, as her eyes light up with that awareness Beatrice has seen in her sisters’ eyes every time her parents had the indulgence to visit her. 

"Oh," she says. "Oh! That explains a couple of things."

"What things?"

"Don't worry about it."

Beatrice totally worries about it.

"That's okay," Ava promises. "I didn't have exactly the most sunshine and rainbow childhood either, if it makes you feel better."

It doesn't. She understands what Ava means, but she wouldn't wish hardship on anyone — except for you, Penny Preston, you know what you did. 

"But I learned. I learned a lot. And I can teach you some shit, if you're okay with that."

It's funny how Ava can say so many curse words and yet send daggers at anyone that says them in front of Diego. 

Beatrice nods, maybe a little bit too fast, her neck hurts. But it doesn't matter, after all, she's always been eager to learn, eager to know. Ava smiles softly at her, grabbing Diego by the belt and pulling him away from the water a little.

"First lesson, you gotta build your side of the village."

"The village?" Beatrice stupidly repeats.

"Yeah! You know that saying like 'It takes a village' or something— I can't remember."

"'It takes a village to raise a child', I believe," Beatrice says, before she can stop herself. 

Ava nods, not even disturbed by the interruption. 

"Exactly. I've been building my part of the village, as you can see," she says, and Beatrice nods, because she knows that.

Ava seems to hesitate and then she takes a couple of steps away from Diego.

"Can I be honest here?" She asks, and Beatrice nods again. "That's one of the reasons I even told you in the first place. If Lilith hadn't been here, I'm not really sure I would have done it. I probably would have told you to mentally prepare yourself for the news, call someone you trust. If you had been completely alone, I would have stayed. But you had people. You didn't need me. You had your side of the village. So I let you deal with it your way."

Beatrice doesn't know what to say to that. She doesn't know what to think or what to answer to that, and so she just says quiet, let the moment pass and hope she didn't ruin it. And she thanks God for Lilith, no matter how annoying she is. 

"Second lesson," Ava says, pulling her out of her thoughts as she dances around Beatrice. "You can talk to him. You're going to stay a stranger for the rest of your life because — Breaking news —, he's a child. He's not gonna take the first step."

"I know that," Beatrice says defensively.

"Third lesson," Ava smirks. "You are officially the most uncool person to walk this Earth. Comes with talking to a kid. Everything you do, everything you say, you're gonna get your ass roasted, so stop being so nervous," Ava says, playfully slapping her arm.

Beatrice wonders if it's supposed to help her, because it really doesn't. Well, yes, it strangely makes her feel better that at least it's an universal experience to be a complete and total 'loser', like Camila says, but what is she supposed to tell the child?! She can't even remember being talked to until she was seven?!

Ava suddenly frowns, taking her phone out of her pocket and putting it to her ear.

"Mike what the f— Freak, I was going to say 'freak', mom," she says, rolling her eyes, nodding to Beatrice as she walks away.

And Beatrice is left to look after Diego. Which is okay, absolutely, thoroughly and definitely okay, why wouldn't it be? She's an adult woman, she can totally look after a two year old for a couple of minutes, who says she couldn't? Who's heart is beating that fast, definitely not hers, she's perfectly fine. 

Beatrice runs a hand over her face, sighs, takes a few steps closer to Diego and crouches down next to him. God forbid he falls in the water while he's on her watch. The boy is giggling as ducklings run around him excitedly, growing confused as they all start scattering away into the water. 

Beatrice immediately understands why as a goose appears from behind reeds, running after its babies.

Diego instantly gasps in fear, turning around. He sees Ava talking to the phone back on the path, and decides that Beatrice is definitely closer as he runs to her, flinging himself at her and tying his arms around her neck in panic.

She doesn't think, she wraps her arms around him and stands up, picking him up in the same move and putting distance in between him and the goose as it keeps squawking at them. If Camila was here, she would probably scream back, but Beatrice is not Camila, Beatrice can only place a hand on Diego's back and desperately try to find a way out — Dear God, is she going to have to fight a goose?! — when a dog runs past them and scares the goose away.

She breathes out in relief, especially as the dog — an overly excited Golden Retriever — runs back to her, proudly wagging its tail.

"I'm sorry ma'am," a man — probably the dog's owner — says as he walks over to them, "he didn't mean to scare your boy."

"It's alright," Beatrice says absentmindedly, patting Diego's back as he hides in her neck. "Diego? It's okay, it's gone now. Look," she says, trying to get him to stop hiding, "a dog chased it away. I think he wants to say hi."

It works — 'Pat yourself on the shoulder, Bea.' —, Diego looks down and laughs as he sees the dog rubbing himself against Beatrice's legs, looking up at Diego with curiosity. 

"Do you want to pet him?" She smiles, and Diego nods. "Can he pet him?" She asks the owner.

"Sure."

And so Beatrice crouches back down on the grass, putting Diego on the ground in between her legs and resting her elbows on her thighs, on either side of the boy. 

The dog immediately starts sniffing Diego curiously, and the boy giggles as he tries to push him away from his face, Beatrice not even realising that she is laughing until she hears her own voice. He must think that Diego smells good, as he starts trying to lick his face, and Diego hides back into Beatrice's neck, and she puts an arm out to try to stop the dog that tries to search for him.

"Hey, what's going on—"

Instantly, the dog's attention is redirected to Ava, and he jumps over to her, tackling her to the ground despite his owner telling him not to. 

Diego gasps in terror.

"He's attacking mama!"

"No, no, he's giving her kisses, see?" Beatrice reassures him.

Ava is laughing as the dog stands over her, either booping his snoot on her face or licking it, Beatrice isn't sure. 

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, he's friendly but he doesn't listen very often," the man says worriedly, and the dog picks up on his tone as he runs away after giving Ava one last boop.

"It's okay," Ava laughs even louder. "I have one of those too."

And both the dog and the man are off, Ava trying to breathe again as she sits up, a big smile on her face. 

"Wow, Diego, I leave for five minutes and you get a new best friend? We don't even know his name!"

"I want a dog!" He says excitedly instead.

"Nope, not until you're at least fifteen," Ava says, and Beatrice stands up as they both walk over to her.

She reaches out to help her up, and Ava dusts herself off, ruffling Diego's hair.

"Sorry about that. I tried to tell them I was busy today, but obviously nobody listened."

"It's alright," Beatrice assures, as Diego goes back to picking flowers.

"See, that's what you may think until I tell you what the phone call was about."

Beatrice whips her head in panic towards her, and Ava grins back.

"My mom wants to meet you. Don't freak out."

"Too late."

What else is she supposed to do but absolutely-fully freak out at the mere thought of meeting Ava and Diego's family? Oh, if she had known that she would need to meet so many new people... Well she wouldn't have changed anything anyway. Isn't it worth it in the end? She gets to hear Diego laugh. Isn't that priceless? 

She would literally crawl through Hell if it meant she could hear his voice — and okay, she's getting a little side-tracked here, this isn't that dramatic.

"Oh come on, I'm meeting Shannon too, remember?" Ava says, slapping her arm. "It's only fair you meet my family if I meet yours. It's a village, remember?"

"Okay, sure, alright," Beatrice says, more for herself than for Ava, wondering if thanking Ava for not questioning that her friends are her family would be strange.

"Plus, it'll be good for Diego— Nope, he's on the run again, come on!"

Ava grabs her arm and Beatrice can only laugh as they chase after a giggling toddler, trying desperately to catch him as he runs down the hill. 

"Alright, that was fun," Ava decides as they make their way back to the entrance of the park, half bent to the side to clutch Diego's hand. "Not the running away part," she adds, frowning at the boy, and Beatrice nods, dead serious face on, "that was not fun at all, 'Running away from mama' is not a fun game."

Diego giggles to himself but nods either way, and Beatrice knows that he is definitely going to do it again as soon as Ava has her back turned to him.

"Okay, say bye Diego."

"Bye-bye!" Diego says happily, and Beatrice crouches down in front of him with a smile.

"Bye Diego. I was very happy to meet you."

"Okay!" He says, and Beatrice laughs as she stands up.

A mischievous glint dances in Ava's eyes, she hesitates a little.

"Alright, hold on a second, D.," she says, dropping his hand to put hers on Beatrice's shoulder.

She stands up on her toes, cups her hand to whisper in Beatrice's ear.

"Don't turn around, but Lilith and Camila have been following us around for a while now. They're sitting on the bench over there," she says, gesturing slightly with a nod of her head. "I'm pretty sure Camila has cut hole into her newspaper to look at us discreetly."

Beatrice gapes at her, both bewildered and scandalised at her sisters' behaviour.

"Ava, I am so sorry, I promise I didn't know any of that!"

But Ava throws her head back as she laughs, taking Diego's hand back in hers.

"Don't sweat it! I'm glad to know your family is as insane as mine is. Diego won't get homesick anytime soon."

She smiles one last time, and they wave at Beatrice as they leave, Diego getting in a contest of having the last 'Bye!' that Beatrice is not going to let him win.

As soon as they have disappeared at the corner of the street, she turns around and charges towards her sisters, who immediately scramble to their feet and start running in the other direction.

"It wasn't my idea!" Camila screams, which indicates that it was definitely her idea.

"I have pictures of you fighting a goose!" Lilith yells behind her shoulder as she tugs Camila forward.

"I did not fight a goose!"

Chapter Text

The first time she went through that airport, Beatrice was alone. She was alone and nervous and so excited at the same time at the prospect of finally being away from them. It tasted a lot like running away, and she liked that, even though she knew it wasn't the case. 

Now, she's running through the front gate, her sisters by her side. Beatrice had been ready hours ago, but of course, Lilith and Camila had both taken their sweet time getting ready and now they were going to miss it.

"Why are we running?" Lilith yells against the voices in the speaker and the clattering of their feet against the ground. "It's an airport! We'll be just in time!"

"If we get arrested, I'm blaming it on Camila!" Beatrice yells back as she jumps to the side to avoid a luggage cart, resuming her run.

"Stop yelling and get a move on, ladies!"

Camila leads them toward the arrival gate and stops so suddenly both Beatrice and Lilith collide against each other in their haste to come to a halt. 

"Ouch! Watch it!"

"You're the one that hit me!" Beatrice answers.

"Shut up, you two, I can't see," Camila says, jumping up and down as she tries to look over people's shoulders.

Both Beatrice and Lilith grumble under their breath as they search for their friend too, Lilith having the advantage of being able to look over people's shoulder while smirking smugly at the both of them. Camila is already trying to climb onto Lilith like a tree —  'Un árbol alto muy atractivo,' she growls under her breath as Lilith tries to push her away, asking what it means — when Beatrice finally sees a tall figure walking through the door. 

"There she is!" She yells against her better judgement, startling the people next to them who have been watching Lilith and Camila bicker for five minutes now. 

Camila grabs her hand and yanks her forward, and Beatrice can only grasp Lilith's arm as she drags her behind. 

"Where are my girls?" Shannon shouts, a smile on her face. "Ah! There they are!"

Camila is the first to jump into her arms, nearly knocking her down with the force of the impact, hanging onto her like a baby koala, and Shannon laughs as she returns the embrace. Beatrice, whose arms Camila had to let go in order to hug Shannon, crashes into them, and retreats immediately, but Shannon reaches out for her. She wraps one of her arms around her shoulders, pulling her into the hug, and Camila giggles as Beatrice all but smashes herself into the both of them, Shannon pressing kisses to her forehead. 

"There are my girls," Shannon whispers to no one in particular. "Oh, I've missed you."

Beatrice really feels like crying now, and she closes her eyes, enjoying her sister's presence as best as she can. 

Shannon lets go of them, Camila detaching herself from her reluctantly, it seems. She cups Beatrice's face in her hands, gently, so gently it almost hurts. 

"I'm proud of you," she whispers, and oh okay, Beatrice is going to cry now thank you. "I'm always proud of you, and I love you no matter what."

"Okay," Beatrice chokes out weakly, not knowing what else to say.

Shannon presses a kiss to her forehead, and then straightens up, walking into Lilith's space who was wriggling uncomfortably behind them this whole time.

"Hi," Shannon says, wrapping her arms around Lilith, and Lilith closes her eyes and softens up into her arms, resting her forehead on her shoulder.

Shannon is tall, always has been and always will be, to the point people at boarding school would try to enrol her into a basketball team despite Shannon being anything but an athlete, but Lilith had a growth spurt when she was fifteen, and even ended up taller by a few centimetres, to Shannon's great annoyance and despair. Still, Shannon is and always will be the oldest — bigger, taller, stronger. 

And so it's no surprise that Lilith hangs onto her like a distraught kitten, Shannon stroking her hair and whispering something into her ear as Lilith nods. When she detaches herself from her, Lilith sends both of her sisters a threatening look.

"Not a word."

"Wasn't going to say anything," Beatrice replies.

"Yeah, you brought this on yourself," Camila adds, wiping her eyes. 

Shannon laughs, throwing an arm around Camila's shoulder and pressing a kiss into her hair, leaving Beatrice and Lilith to scramble after them while carrying Shannon's bags and suitcase — it's an unspoken rule that no matter what Camila never ends up carrying anything, they don't know why, it just happens.

"Did you have a good trip?" Camila asks.

Shannon shrugs. 

"It was a trip, I don't really care if it was good or bad. All I wanted was to get here. Back to my girls— Jesus Christ, you guys weren't lying about the sun!" She yells out, pulling her sunglasses on her nose, making Camila laugh.

Beatrice's car is waiting for them in the parking lot, under the scorching sun and the heat waves that melt the tar under their feet. 

"Did you talk to my parents?" Beatrice asks nervously, almost running after Shannon's long strides.

She's not short, thank you very much, she has average legs, unlike half of their little group. Camila is even shorter than them, perhaps shorter than anyone on Earth, but she always toddles rather than really walks, so it's easy for her to be fast — 'You haven't mastered the gay walk, Beatrice,' she always says. 'It'll come, don't worry.'

"No," Shannon says. "What do you want me to tell them, seriously? 'Congrats on your sudden grandson'?" She exclaims, and Lilith sneers behind them (Beatrice tries to trip her, without success).

"Okay, that's—"

"Back to business, girls," Shannon says, pulling her sunglasses up on her head, tucking her hair back with a serious look on her face.

Beatrice knows better than to answer, instead unlocking the trunk and lifting Shannon's suitcases up into it ('Show off,' Lilith whispers, and Beatrice definitely trips her this time)

"I want to know everything," she says, and Lilith groans.

"That's all she's been talking about for hours," she accuses, pointing a finger at Beatrice.

Camila giggles, stabbing her elbow into her ribs.

"Shut up, it's cute."

Lilith grumbles under her breath, and Beatrice really thinks about taking the moment to her advantage and getting her revenge, but Shannon snaps her fingers in front of her face.

"Talking to you, troublemaker. I want to know every single details. And when you're done, I'm going to meet this Ava and we're going to have a little chat."

Beatrice pales suddenly, Lilith and Camila snicker to themselves, visibly delighted with the situation. Oh boy. This is going to be one Hell of a ride. 

As soon as she opens her front door, Beatrice is greeted by a shout of joy.

"Bea!" Diego yells, grinning at her. 

"Hi Diego," Beatrice smiles back.

He's holding both Mary's and Ava's hands, surrounded by the both of them, bouncing up and down with excitement (unless he's on a sugar high, she's not completely sure). Ava beams at her, somewhat nervous, and Beatrice wants to yell at her to run while she still can, but it's too late.

With one firm hand on her shoulder, Shannon pushes her to the side, and stands in the doorway, both hands on her hips.

"Which one of you is Ava?"

There is a short silence of bewildered confusion, and then Mary raises an eyebrow.

"Take a wild guess."

Shannon's gaze falls on Ava who gives her a lopsided grin, but it doesn't work on Shannon. She grabs her by the collar, her other hand finding Beatrice's who is trying to run away, and she drags them both inside like two guilty kittens, Ava screaming bloody murder as Diego laughs. 

"Let's have a little talk, shall we?" Shannon says, as Beatrice tries to get out of her grip, Lilith and Camila cackling from the kitchen.

"Oh, this is gonna be good, can I come too?" Mary asks, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sure," Shannon says, pushing both Ava and Beatrice towards the living room, Mary telling Diego to go annoy Lilith and Camila while the grown ups talk.

Shannon throws them on the sofa and they nearly fall on each other's laps, wriggling away from each other and trying to find a way out. Mary, delighted with the scene, drops into a chair at the corner of the room, like it's some sort of very entertaining show.

"Okay, let's get this fucking party started," Shannon says, and Ava hides behind a pillow that Shannon steals from her. "Have you two learned nothing? Don't you guys know how to use protection? I don't know about you, Ava, but I sure as Hell know that I taught Beatrice better than that!" She says, pointing an accusing finger at Beatrice who reaches behind her to throw the TV remote at her face — she steps to the side and it falls on the ground, Ava laughing at her. 

"Yeah, no, she's right, your mom's fancy sex education classes should have taught you better, Ava," Mary adds from her seat, and Ava gives her the middle finger. 

"And even without that, you leave a way to contact people you have sex with! Because what do we get from sex?"

"Babies," Beatrice and Ava say in chorus, like good little students.

"STDs," Shannon sighs, rubbing her temples in despair. "We get STDs."

Beatrice purses her lips, looking away from Ava who is trying to hide her laugh into a cough. They shouldn't be laughing, really, they shouldn't, but Shannon is being way too dramatic for them to take anything seriously.

"God, this is worse than when I tried to teach you how to drive."

"When I taught Ava how to drive, she almost ran over her brother. She said she would get the inheritance money earlier than expected," Mary intervenes. 

"Lilith convinced Beatrice that the car would take a screenshot if she stepped on both pedals at the same time," Shannon answers, turning to her. "And Camila snuck into the trunk and screamed the first time we got to a red light."

"She kidnapped a dog the first time I let her drive alone."

Ava turns to Beatrice, raising a questioning eyebrow, and Beatrice shrugs as an answer.

"I feel like we're interrupting on something," Ava whispers.

"You and me both," Beatrice mutters in the same tone.

"You think if we sneak away they'll see us?"

"You go first."

"Hey!" Shannon yells, snapping their attention back to her. "Don't think I've forgotten about you! Honestly, I expected better than you Beatrice. I never thought you'd be the one to have a random kid."

"Yeah, me too, my money was on JC, but that's because he's dumb, and a hoe."

"If I had to take a guess, I would have said it would have happened to Camila," Shannon says, turning back to her. "Just because the girl lives in a telenovela, so it would have been a random plot twist."

"Ava thinks she's living in a telenovela."

"Ava is starting to think that this whole conversation is getting out of hand," Ava grumbles back.

Beatrice nods a bit too energetically — you go Ava —, but she really wants to get out of here.

"Seriously," Ava says, standing up. "I appreciate the shovel talk, it's cute and all, but how about we start acting like fucking adults with this? I mean, it's not anybody's fault. It was a team effort — a fucking great one, sure —, but neither of us could have planned that this would happen. But it happened. It's done. There's no point to start dwelling on the past and the 'what if'. The little shit is born. Let's deal with it."

There is a long silence, Beatrice raising both eyebrows towards Shannon, trying to silently send her a 'See?'. And Shannon smiles, big proud grin, walks over to Ava and envelops her into a bear hug. 

"You're my new favourite person."

"Okay?" Ava says, clearly confused. "Did I pass your test or something?"

"Oh, with flying colours," Shannon nods. "You're both good people, I'm really glad to know that."

She takes a step back, Ava scratching her head in confusion.

"Now, let's meet the little one, I've heard too much about him not to see him in person," she says, wrapping her arm around Ava's shoulders and walking her towards the kitchen.

Beatrice is left to scramble after them, nearly bumping into Mary as she bends towards her.

"Hey. Hey Beatrice!" She whispers.

Beatrice turns to her, questioning look on her face.

"Is your friend single?"

Beatrice looks at her dead in the eyes, filing the whole interaction for future therapy.

"I hate you."

Chapter Text

They are all seated on the couch, all smashed against each other like a bunch of canned sardines. Lilith's face is beet red as Camila is halfway on her lap, Beatrice's thigh is pressed against Ava's, as Mary is looking curiously at the scene in front of them.

Shannon and Diego are both seated on either side of the coffee table, looking intensely at each other. It looks like Shannon is trying to read his mind, eyes narrowed at him, and Diego is determined not to lose their staring game, doing a pretty good job at attempting to intimidate her. They have been doing this for a little more than five minutes, in complete silence, like Shannon is conducting a police interrogation and Diego is clearly not going to break.

Lilith squirms uncomfortably from where she is seated, knocking into Beatrice's knee.

"Shouldn't we do something..."

"Shhh, I wanna see what happens," Ava shushes her, extending her hand over Beatrice's lap to wave it in front of Lilith's face. 

Lilith who sends a questioning and somewhat annoyed look at Beatrice, who just shrugs back. Okay, she wants to see what happens too. What about it? And she's not about to make a decision about this when Ava clearly knows better than her. Beatrice follows her lead. That's all she does. 

Finally, Shannon raises her chin, Diego rests his head on his little hands, elbows on Beatrice's coffee table. 

"Do you like strawberry?"

"I like pirates," Diego answers, like it makes sense.

Beatrice doesn't miss the confused frown on Lilith's face, and the amused smile on Ava's lips. Shannon nods wisely, like he just gave her the right answer to a test.

"Okay, you're cool, I like you."

Diego nods back, and Ava laughs behind her hand as they both start talking about pirates and treasure hunts, like they have completely forgotten that they have an audience. 

Diego is accepted into their weird family in an instant.

They're all gathered around the dining table in the garden, right in front of the double glass door. That dining table, Beatrice uses it more than the actual table in the living room. Sue her, she likes working in the sun after years of being cooped up inside of a londonian office. The garden is small, but it has a very tall tree at the back, and that's enough for her. What would she do with a garden if it wasn't for Camila and her love for sun-bathing in the grass? Now, it's useful, as they all sit around the table with fresh glasses in front of them, and Beatrice feels like she has finally found a purpose for her little expanse of grass. 

Camila is sitting sideways on her chair, having ditched the shoes again to just walk around barefoot, Lilith sits with her back so straight Beatrice could literally stape a ruler to her spine and she wouldn't feel it. She's waiting for Camila to jab her index into the middle of her back to get her to loosen up, like she always does at some point. Mary waves her hands in the air as she tells a gruesome story that Beatrice can't find the patience to listen to, Lilith sneering at the worst details, and Shannon is silently watching her from the corner of her eyes, a strange little smile at the corner of her lips (Both Camila and Lilith look as sick as Beatrice every time they notice it, as if they were watching mom and dad making sex jokes in front of their kids). Ava is folded into her own chair, knees tucked against her chest, only straightening up when Diego needs her help to uncap one of his pen. And Diego is simply sitting next to her, drawing on a sheet of paper — well, she assumes he is drawing, to her, he is just smearing colours everywhere in random places —, happily swinging his little legs back and forth. 

'One day at a time,' she repeats to herself, using the words Ava told her. 'One day at a time. We're just rolling with it and seeing where it goes.'

"So, you guys all work in the same company, right?" Mary asks, pointing a finger at all four of them, settling her gaze on Shannon with a weird teasing smile.

Beatrice really wants to yell something like 'Ew, gross!', and she hears Camila whisper to Lilith that if they do that again she'll start crying. Ava bites her lip across the table, like she's trying really hard not to laugh. 

"Yes," Shannon says in a moduled voice and Camila really looks like she's about to pull the crying card. "I'm the head of Human Resources, Camila over here is the Director of Security," she adds, pointing to Camila who waves while pushing her sunglasses further on her nose. "And Lilith is CFO, but really she just yells at everyone and sends me more complaints than anyone else," she says, glaring at Lilith who smiles brightly at her, showing all of her pointy teeth. 

"Huh," Mary says, like she doesn't want to comment (Beatrice is starting to think that Ava might have threatened her to get her to be on her best behaviour). "What about you?"

Shannon nudges Beatrice, forcing her to look away from Diego's drawing that she's trying to understand to look up at them.

"Hmm?"

Ava is smiling slightly to herself, Mary raises an eyebrow, and Shannon just grins at her, like she knows exactly why Beatrice is so distracted. 

"Beatrice is the CEO," Shannon supplies, and Beatrice nods immediately, thankful for her help.

Lilith looks delighted with the whole thing, no doubt that she's filing all of this to tease Beatrice later. 

'Do you own the company?" Mary asks.

Ava stretches a leg to kick her under the table, really not discreetly, Beatrice might add.

"Ouch! What?"

Ava just shakes her head disapprovingly, Mary giving her a confused look back.

"No," Beatrice says. "No, I don't own it."

She leaves it at that. Ava knows, because she had to do some research to find her, she has already told her, and she might think that Mary's question would hurt her, but it just takes Beatrice's respect for Mary up a notch. She could have searched, she could have googled her name and found everything she needed to know about her, but Mary didn't, Mary respected the boundaries and is going to let them have their privacy.

Maybe Beatrice is not totally against letting Shannon flirt with her after all. Doesn't mean she's not going to be a little shit about it, though.

Suddenly something is patting her arm, and she looks down to find Diego with his sheet of paper in his hand, handing it to her.

"Bea," he says, and she feels like her heart is about to blow up inside her chest — She went straight from ‘Beatrice’, too hard from him to pronounce, to ‘Bea’ and oh how she absolutely secretly loves it but tries her best not to show it. 

"Oh, what's that?" Beatrice asks, without stopping the smile that stretches on her face.

Shannon has the decency to distract Lilith from teasing her by asking her a new question, Beatrice doesn't listen. 

"That's for you," Diego says, and she takes it, heart drumming in her chest.

As soon as his hands are free, he latches himself onto her pants and climbs in her lap, like a tiny little monkey on a tree. Beatrice stills — okay, this is happening —, looks at Ava on the other side of the table, who just smiles at her. 'Relax,' she mouths silently at her, and so Beatrice does, letting Diego settle on her lap and ghosting a hand over his back to make sure he doesn't fall. 

"That," he says, pointing to a vague purple shape, "that's an ephelant."

Beatrice has always found it annoying whenever someone butchers a language, but now she doesn't care, because it's Diego, and Diego makes it endearing. She smiles despite herself. 

"You mean an elephant?"

"Yeah! An ephelant!" He repeats, like Beatrice is the one saying the wrong word and he's teaching her the right one. 

"Okay," Beatrice laughs, giving in. 

"And that," he says, pointing to a blue and brown shape, "is a pirate!"

"The pirate has an elephant?" Beatrice asks.

"Yeah!"

"How does the elephant fit on the ship?"

"No," Diego says, shaking his head. "He helps the ship."

"You mean pull the ship, right, D.?" Ava proposes, like they've already had this conversation a thousand times before. 

"Yeah! He pulls the ship!"

"The elephant pulls the pirate ship?" Beatrice asks, and Diego nods. "Makes sense."

It doesn't make any sense, and Ava giggles on the other side of the table, but Beatrice is not about to break it to him that the elephant would drown immediately. 

"Thank you, Diego," she tells him, smiling. "That's a very beautiful drawing."

She's trying to find something to say, something to do, before Diego gets tired of her silence and leaves. She knows she's supposed to make the first step, but every time her brain draws a blank and she just can't find anything to say or do.

Ava kicks her in the shin and she has to bite her tongue not to jump or let out a curse. 'Fridge,' she mouths, and it takes Beatrice a second to get the hint but eventually she gets there, nodding that she understands.

"Do you want to help me put it on the fridge?" She asks, and Diego gasps like it's the best idea he's ever heard. 

He scrambles off her lap, takes her hand in hers and Beatrice stands up too, ignoring the looks her sisters send her as walks back into the house. Diego is almost bouncing as he walks, his little hand so small he can only grip two of her fingers.

"Where?" He asks, and Beatrice smiles back.

"This way," she says, leading her towards the kitchen. 

It's obvious to her now how her house is completely impersonal. The kitchen is spotless, she doesn't spend enough time in here for it to have traces of her passage, all of her dishes are white or silver, the only colourful one being the mugs Camila has convinced her to buy. When she looks back into the living room, she realises it's the exact same thing, the only thing she really likes is her fluffy blanket folded neatly on the arm of the couch and Camila’s forgotten shoes in front of a chair.

Beatrice lives in an empty house and she doesn’t know how or what to fill it with. 

Diego stops in front of her impeccable fridge, so small against it. There is only one magnet on it, one that Shannon bought and then gifted her as a joke, as it shows the city of a forgotten town in Texas, that probably nobody even knows the name of. Diego takes the drawing back from her hands, lifts his little arms over his head.

"Up," he says, and Beatrice immediately complies, setting him on her hip like she has seen Ava do so many times before.

She helps him take the magnet off the fridge and place the sheet of paper against it, securing it with said magnet before taking a step back to admire their work. It's sideways but Diego grins at her and Beatrice decides that it's perfect — She knows she’s going to spend the next few days pointing to the drawing on the fridge and proudly repeat ‘Diego drew that’ to anyone that didn’t ask. 

"Good job," she says, presenting her hand for a high-five that Diego gives her happily, like Ava and Mary do all the time. 

"I tell mama!" He decides as Beatrice puts him down, and a second later she's chasing after him as he runs back to the glass door. 

She doesn't know how she manages to sense it in the short second it happens, but somehow she does. 

Diego is still shouting for Ava as he trips over the edge of the sliding glass doors, and Beatrice sees the accident, the shock of his little head against the concrete and she acts on instinct, grabbing him by the belt and lifting him off the ground. Both Mary and Ava freeze from where they were scrambling out of their chairs, after years of doing so so many times before, and Diego looks confusedly at the ground under him. Beatrice breathes in nervously to calm her beating heart in her chest, slowly puts Diego back into a standing position, setting him on the ground as she kneels in front of him. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Ava putting a hand on Mary's arm as she relaxes in her chair, trusting Beatrice to do the right thing. 

"Jesus Christ, that was close," Lilith mutters, and Camila sighs in relief, her hand pressed against her heart.

Beatrice ghosts a hand over his back, gently pushing his hair out of his forehead to look for injuries. 

"Are you okay?" She asks, trying desperately to keep her voice calm, normal, to not freak him out. 

He looks a little confused at her, but grins nonetheless.

"Yeah!"

"Are you sure?"

"He's fine, Beatrice," Ava intervenes from her seat, a reassuring smile on her face. "It's not his first rodeo."

Somehow her words tickle something into Beatrice's brain, but now is not the time to ponder over it, she stops herself from wrapping Diego into her arms and pulling him into a hug, that would just freak him out.

"Okay," she says, “be careful, alright?”

And Diego nods, skipping towards his mother without running this time. 

Beatrice takes her place back in her seat, breathing out to calm herself down. It was just a fall. Diego is okay now, there is no reason to freak out. Camila is already distracting him with questions about pirates, and Ava sends her a nod over her son's head, like she's telling her that she did an okay job. 

She understands what Shannon meant whenever she complained that she would have grey hair by the time she hit thirty. 

Chapter Text

The door to her office slams open and Beatrice snaps her head up, her neck stiff and her eyes blurry. 

"'M not sleepin'," she slurs stupidly, typing on her keyboard blindly. 

"I can see that," Shannon answers as she strides across the room, a pile of books in her arms. 

Dora is standing in the doorway, fidgeting slightly with an apology on their lips.

"I'm sorry, Miss Kleine-Young. I tried to tell her you were busy but she didn't listen."

"Busy taking a nap?" Shannon answers, a teasing smile on her lip.

Beatrice sighs, rubbing her eyes.

"It's alright, thank you Dora. Miss Masters is always allowed to enter my office, no matter the circumstances, unfortunately."

Dora nods.

"I'll take notes of that," they say as they leave, closing the door behind them.

Beatrice likes Dora, they never ask questions, never contest her judgement. They're well-organised, have good manners, and extremely polite. And they probably should have been an FBI agent rather than Beatrice's assistant, with how much they can find on people in such little time. Sometimes Beatrice thinks that they spend too much time with Camila. What a waste of potential.

"What do you want?" She all but growls at Shannon, burying her face in her hands.

She doesn't get much sleep these days, but that's okay, she mourned it, she's over it. 

"I got you some things," Shannon says, dropping a mountain of books on her desk, and Beatrice startles so badly her favourite pen falls off and rolls on the ground.

"What are those?" She asks, bending down to retrieve it.

"Parenting books. Approved by Ava Silva herself."

Beatrice knocks her head against her desk, shouting an exclamation of pain as she rises up, her pen clutched in one hand, the other trying to soothe the bruise she can feel appearing on the back of her head.

"You're talking to Ava?"

"You're not?" Shannon exclaims, scandalised.

"No, I am, I just... I didn't expect you to talk to her."

"Well, I am," Shannon replies, dropping into one of Beatrice's chairs on the other side of her desk. "She's funny. I find it interesting how she doesn't take anything seriously, unless it comes to the kid. As soon as it's about Diego, she's suddenly serious. Points to her."

Beatrice narrows her eyes at her.

"You're just saying that because she gave you Mary's number."

"And that too, I guess. But what Mom does during her free time is only Mom's business, got it?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, I'm not going to ask you for details."

"Yeah, no, I feel like we already know too much about each others' sex lives not to have abandonment issues. We know too much. If we fall apart, we're going to have to hunt each others down."

"You know nothing about my sex life?" Beatrice says, confused.

"Its product is literally running around and calling Ava 'mama', you dumbass," Shannon says, rolling her eyes, and Beatrice really considers throwing her pen at her face. "Anyways, read those," she says, pointing to the books on her desk. "It'll be good for you."

Beatrice nods immediately, grabbing the first one without waiting to be told twice. She's going to do it right, she's going to learn and to learn again and again so that she can be what she wants. 

"Also, good luck on meeting Ava's mom."

Beatrice glares at her, stopping herself from giving her the middle finger — it's Shannon, after all — and Shannon leaves cackling.

"Are you trying to murder someone?"

Beatrice stops kicking the punching bag for a second, resting her foot back on the floor to glance quickly at Lilith. Lilith who is standing next to her, arms crossed over her chest, hair braided back. 

Somehow the gym always makes her more anxious than relaxes her, but she desperately needs to punch something and her options are few. It's something about being exposed, about being vulnerable, about being in a place with so many people that could watch her mistakes and use them to their advantage. It's something about failure and being observed, but Beatrice still comes, she still punches and kicks and sweat her frustration off, until her body is screaming for help and then she collapses back into her bed, finally relaxed enough to get some sleep. Or she could take a girl into said bed, too, but now it just felt weird. Inappropriate, unproper, not-a-good-example.

"I don't know, are you trying to piss me off?" She snapped back, clenching her fist again before lunging a hit again into the bag. 

"Oh wow, okay," Lilith said, shrugging but taking a step back.

They can tease each other all they want, they know when not to test each other. Lilith knows when to back off, when not to test their friendship. There are times to rile each other up in a friendly competition and times to run for your life and pray nobody would tell you were the one to eat the last cookie.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Beatrice hits harder than ever before, goes as far as to try a roundhouse kick that gets the punching bag swinging back and forth. She breathes out, wipes the sweat off her forehead.

"He's two."

"Yes," Lilith nods.

"He needs constant care. He has to rely on people all the time. He's... Weak?"

The word tastes bitter and wrong and desperately horrible on her tongue.

"Try again."

"He's vulnerable," she says, again, and Lilith nods.

"Better."

"Everything is dangerous for him. Cars and stairs and windows and large bodies of water and even when there isn't anything, he can still find a way to hurt himself. Everything could hurt him."

"I feel like there is a subliminal message in there."

"I could hurt him."

"There it is."

"Lilith."

That one is a warning, and Lilith raises her hands in the air in surrender. 

They sit side by side on the ground, leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder. They both smell like sweat and old socks and almost completely faded sunscreen. She remembers sitting with Lilith like this a lifetime ago, hidden in a supply closet, exchanging whispered stories and dumping trauma on each other and then laughing it off — because they had no other choice, because crying was forbidden, crying was a weakness and they weren't about to give that power to each other (Now they've both held each other sobbing with snot covering their faces, and learned that it was more bonding than drinking their problems away together). 

"I've always thought I would be a terrible parent."

"Because?"

Lilith doesn't try to convince her otherwise, and Beatrice is thankful for that — it would just make her hate her.

"I don't know what a good parent is."

Lilith stays quiet for a little while, jabbing her index finger into her shoe.

"I do," she says, looking down at the ground. "Ava. It pains me to admit it, but she's a good mother, from what I can see. And Shannon too."

"Shannon isn't completely a parent. We didn't have to rely on her for basic tasks. She didn't have that power over us."

"Do you feel like you have some sort of power over him?"

Beatrice immediately shakes her head. It makes her feel sick to even think about it that way.

"It's terrifying," she admits finally, running her hands over her face. "What if I hurt him?"

Lilith sighs.

"I wish I could say it's not going to happen. Because it will. You will hurt him at some point, whether you want it or not. When you'll tell him no candy before lunch or when you'll say no to playing outside after six. And I know you're scared of being the bad person, even though we all know you won't be, but... I won't let you."

Beatrice looks up, and Lilith is serious but soft, severe but kind. 

"You promise?"

"You and I both know we have been red flags detectors since the age of seven. We're hyper aware of what abuse is, unfortunately. I won't let you become that. What did Silva say again? Right, the village. We're your village, Beatrice, you're not in this alone."

She sighs, takes off her shoes and wiggles her toes in her socks.

"And for what is worth, I think you're a good person. I know," she says, cutting Beatrice before she even starts talking, "I know you hate being told that. I know you don't believe a word I say, but I think you're a good person. You're a good friend, and a good sister, and I truly believe you'll be a great mother, if that's what you want to be. And I think... I think Diego is a damn lucky little boy for having someone like you trying to love him."

Beatrice really wants to say something, anything, but her mind just draws a blank. She wants to tell Lilith she loves her, but the words are just stuck in her throat, heavy and sweet at the same time. 'Love is a weakness, love is an open wound,' her father would say, and Beatrice had believed it for so long she had forbidden herself to ever love anyone. Her sisters had warmed her cold little heart as best as they could, and God how she was thankful for that. For them.

But of course, Lilith has to just ruin it.

"Are you going to tell them?"

Beatrice snorts out a laugh.

"Are you joking? They'd send their church to take me out quietly in a dark alley. It'd be a disaster. And I... I don't want them to know about Diego. He's too good for them. They don't deserve him."

Lilith nods.

"I get that. You love him. You barely know him, and yet you love him so much you don't want them to even know about him. They don't deserve you either, you know?" She says.

And Beatrice can't stop herself from leaning to the side, resting her head on Lilith's shoulder.

"But... Please, don't be ashamed. Not of them, not of Ava or Diego or what happened. I know you still have trouble coming to terms with... Other things," Lilith says, as delicately as she can. "But not them. They don't deserve that."

"I don't think I could ever be ashamed of anything related to them. I've never been ashamed of my family."

"You—"

"The real one," Beatrice smiles. "You're my real family. You'll always be my real family. You're my sister. Forever. No one will ever change that."

They don't hold hands or say I love you — they don't need to. Beatrice knows Lilith loves her, like an undeniable truth that she can't shake, even truer than God himself, dare she say. She knows Shannon loves her, she knows Camila loves her, and she knows Lilith loves her, and she can only hope they know she loves them just as much.

She already feels lighter as she stands up, pulling Lilith up and listening to her grunt and complain about sore knees.

"Lilith?" She asks as they are walking in the night, right before they go their separate ways.

"Mmh?"

"I think Diego is very lucky to have you too."

She comes home to Shannon absolutely destroying her kitchen in a hopeless attempt at cooking.

There is tomato sauce everywhere, and Shannon swears it attacked her. They laugh and clean up the kitchen and drink wine as they wait for their take out to arrive, and Beatrice points to Diego's drawing on the fridge, sole survivor of Hurricane Shannon, and proudly says once again: 'My son drew that'.

Shannon rolls her eyes but kisses the top of her head, telling her 'I know, dear' like a prayer she's been practising every day.

Beatrice unwraps the little pirate ship she has bought in an antique shop on the way home, puts it on the shelf in the living room, next to her new books about parenting, and can't stop the smile on her face as she falls asleep.

Chapter Text

 Beatrice is standing completely still in front of the gate separating her from a small court, and the big house enclosing it. The air smells like the honeysuckle climbing up on the stone walls of the place, and the gravel that screeches under her feet.

She is standing stupidly in front of the sign that reads "Dr. Salvius" with the number of the house on the street, eyes fixed onto the name of the owner. She has tried to convince herself that this was a mistake, that she had gotten the wrong house, but she has checked multiple times the address Ava gave her, and she's at the right place. Unfortunately.

Blindly, she starts tapping on her phone, putting it to her ear and listening to the ringing before a voice answers her.

"Yes?"

"Your mother is Jillian Salvius?!" She almost yells into the phone.

Ava laughs at the other end of the line, and she can hear Diego's voice in the background, but Beatrice doesn't laugh, Beatrice is two seconds away from throwing up from the shock and the anxiety.

"Hello to you too."

"Hello. Your mother is Jillian Salvius?!"

Ava laughs even louder, and Beatrice is pretty sure she can see a curtain fluttering from where she is standing, no doubt that Ava is looking at her through one of the windows. 

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"It's not a big deal."

Beatrice pinches the bridge of her nose, exhales loudly. 

"I've studied her thesis, Ava!"

There is a short silence on the other end of the line, and then Ava bursts out laughing again, Diego asking loudly 'What's going on? What's going on?'.

"Oh, you're not mad at me, you're nerding out!" Ava says.

"I'm not!"

"You are! You're a nerd!"

"No, I'm not!" Beatrice yells back, practically buzzing with irritation.

"Yes you are! Diego is a nerd, I should have known it was your end of the gene pool!" Ava giggles, and Beatrice can almost see her laughing her arse off from the other side of the courtyard.

"It's not funny!" Beatrice exclaims, pacing back and forth in front of the gate. "I am going to make a fool of myself! I'm going to embarrass myself, Ava!"

Ava is laughing so hard on the other end of the phone she is wheezing now, and Beatrice really wishes she didn't have such a communicative laugh, because she's now smiling like a fool instead of properly freaking out like she desperately wants to. 

"Mom's chill, it's gonna be fine."

"Your mother," Beatrice hammers into the speaker, "is the CEO of a worldwide biotechnology and cybernetics company. What part of that is 'chill'?!"

She wonders how Ava can even breathe with how much she's laughing. She can hear Diego giggling excitedly in the background, wonders what he's doing and if he even understands what's going on. 

"Beatrice," Ava says, calmed down but still with a smile in her voice. "You're not meeting the business woman. You're meeting my mother, and Diego's grandmother. Stop freaking out."

"I'm not."

"Stop being a nerd, then!"

"I'm not!"

"Beatrice," Ava laughs into the phone, like she can't believe she's having this conversation. "Come on, it's gonna be fine. I survived Hurricane Shannon, I'm sure you can handle a little awkwardness with Jillian Salvius."

"'A little awkwardness'? Is that what we're calling what happened?"

"No, its name is Diego."

"Ava, for the love of—"

"Relax," Ava chuckles. "Just be your own gentleman self and it'll be alright. Mom is not here to judge you. I mean, she is, but she's not going to put a lawsuit on your ass for knocking up her daughter."

"Oh, dear God."

"I'm making it worse, aren't I?"

"Yes!"

Ava starts laughing again, and Beatrice runs a hand over her face.

"It's not fair. You had Mary with you when you met Shannon. She kept her distracted."

"Uh-uh, would you rather have one of your sisters with you right now?"

Beatrice doesn't even need to think about it. As lovely as her sisters are, they would either ruin this introduction for her or team up with Ava's family to embarrass her even further. 

"No."

Ava giggles.

"I've opened the gate," she says, and said fence starts sliding to the side in a screeching of tiny gravels, leaving an opening for Beatrice to walk in. "And I've sent Diego your way to the door. Thank me later."

She hangs up, leaving Beatrice who grumbles under her breath as she crosses the courtyard, making her way to the front door, straightening the collar of her shirt and smoothing the fabric of her pants. She's about to make a complete fool of herself, Diego better live for at least a hundred more years or she's going to be really pissed at God.

The door swings open right as she raises a hand to knock on it, and Diego appears, a toothy grin on his face. She can't stop herself from smiling back.

"Bea!" He yells out, throwing his arms in the air.

Beatrice doesn't even have time to answer as Ava calls from inside the house.

"D.! Did you ask the question?"

Diego's eyes widen as he realises that he, in fact, did not ask the question.

And he promptly slams the door in her face.

Beatrice can hear Ava's muffled laugh and a 'Well not now!' before Diego starts speaking again:

"Who are you?!"

She chuckles behind her hand.

"My name is Bea," she answers, loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the door. 

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for a little pirate named Diego. Do you know where he is?"

He giggles to himself on the other side of the front door.

"No!"

"Really? I was pretty sure I was at the right place," she says, pretending to sound disappointed. "Well, I guess I'll have to go knock next door."

He laughs as he opens the door once again, and Beatrice can't help but wonder if the door isn't going to go flying off its hinges with the force he puts into it. 'Hello Mrs Salvius, yes, I'm the one that knocked your daughter up and the result of that just stole your door'.

"It's me!"

Beatrice pretends to be flabbergasted at seeing him, widening her eyes, opening her mouth in an 'o', the whole thing. 

"It's you! Where did you go? I was talking to that strange little boy behind the door!"

Diego howls with laughter as he throws himself at her legs, and — okay, this is getting old now — Beatrice goes flying backward, landing lying on the gravel with Diego on her stomach. 

"Diego!" Ava yells as she runs into the entrance. "Jesus Christ, you have to stop doing that!"

"I'm a pirate!"

"Pirates still listen to their mothers, so stop giving Bea a heart attack every time, seriously," Ava says, throwing her hands to the sky in disbelief.

Beatrice can't stop herself from laughing, as Diego grins up at her, clearly thinking that Ava is being silly and that they both know this is the best game ever. 

"That, dear, is called karma," a voice says from behind Ava.

Jillian Salvius is standing behind her, a playful smile on her lip as she looks at Beatrice sprawled on the ground, trying to wrestle Diego out of her. If there is one word to describe Jillian Salvius, it's brilliant. She stands tall, with her hands loosely hanging from the pocket of her slacks, her shirt ironed elegantly, not a single strand of her blond hair out of place. She has that knowing smile of the women that are far too clever and know it, but with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Mom!" Ava gasps. "Don't encourage him!"

"I'm just saying, Ava, I had to stop you from getting into fights since you were twelve. The fact that you're the one that has to stop him now is clearly the consequence of your own actions."

"That seems to run in the family," Beatrice mutters to herself against her better judgement as Ava grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet.

She dusts herself, tries to look presentable, or at the very least decent. Ava's mother looks at her with one eyebrow raised.

"You've met Mary," she says, extending a hand for Beatrice to shake, which she does, just like her father has taught her — not too hard, not too light, not too long or too fast, just firm enough to show an opponent that she's not her for fun.

Beatrice really hesitates as to what to say, ponders over what to answer, bringing a hand to her neck to hide her embarrassment. The woman saw her lying on the ground with a two year old attacking her, surely she can't embarrass herself any further. 

"More like her fist met my face," she mutters, more for herself than for Dr. Salvius.

Dr. Salvius who nods knowingly, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes, the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.

"That tends to happen with Mary. She's a lovely girl, but she tends to get a bit... Handsy. I wouldn't take it personally."

"I'm not," Beatrice says, and it's true: she knows Mary now, and even though she is definitely going to make her life a living Hell, she knows she is a good person. She thinks so, at least. 

Dr. Salvius smiles then, turning around and gesturing for them to follow, and Ava and Diego clasp hands together, Diego taking Beatrice's other hand in his, and she has to bend to the side a little to hold it.

"Come on, tea is almost ready."

Somehow Ava ends up on a question spree, whirling around her mother's kitchen without sitting still for a single second. Dr. Salvius — "Jillian, please," she insists, and Beatrice feels like it would be rude to decline — seems used to it, humming tirelessly 'Yes dear', whenever Ava stops to breathe. Diego climbs onto Beatrice's lap to steal some biscuits, and she lets him, only fighting weakly just to make him laugh. 

"Question," Ava says again, hopping onto the counter with her legs dangling off. "If I were to drink five RedBull instead of just one, would I have five times more energy or would it just last five times longer?"

"Dear God, Ava," Jillian says, putting a hand on her forehead with an exhausted smile. "What kind of education are you giving to Diego?"

"Diego asks even more questions than I do because someone here," she says, nudging Beatrice with her foot, "forgot to mention that she's a total and complete nerd."

"No, I'm not," Beatrice says defensively, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Hmm-mmh," Ava hums with a mischievous smile, Diego using their inattention to shove cookies into his mouth. "Something something 'My name is Beatrice and I read your mother's thesis', something something 'I'm a CEO or whatever'."

Beatrice buries her face in her hands in embarrassment, Diego giggling at her from his seat on her lap. No doubt that he's in on Ava's shenanigans, like they always are.

"You're silly," he says, and Beatrice has to stop herself from smiling at that.

"You've read my thesis?" Jillian asks.

"A long time ago," Beatrice says, trying to drown herself in her cup of tea. "I promise I didn't know."

How could she have known? Ava is everything Jillian is not: where Jillian is neat and well-organised, Ava is chaotic and messy, where Jillian seems more interested in science and facts, Ava likes people and wishes on a shooting star. 

"And drinking five cans of RedBull would just lead to caffeine overdose and possible toxicity. Your heart rate would rise, your blood pressure would spike up and you would have tremors. All which are symptoms of a stroke. You would not be having a good time," Beatrice adds, because she's pretty sure that Ava's questions are clearly not hypothetical. 

"Impressive," a voice says from the doorway. "Try it, Ava. It'll be good for the group chat."

A blond man is standing in the doorway, broad shoulder leaning on the frame, big mocking grin directed at Ava. Beatrice remembers him from the videos (apparently he is the 'chaos enabler', as Camila called him), and from the pictures she has seen hanging around in Jillian's house.

"Michael, do not encourage your sister," Jillian warns, directing a stern index at the both of them. 

He rolls his eyes, enters the kitchen and kisses his mother's hair. Next to him, Ava is a Hobbit, as she tries to trip him by extending a leg, but he just grabs her ankle and lifts it up, Ava screaming as she lands on her back on the counter, Diego laughing at their foolishness.

"You're Beatrice, right?" He asks, nodding towards her.

Diego raises his hands over his head, nearly knocking her out with chocolate stains on his fingertips.

"It's Bea!" He yells out, and Beatrice has to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him and squeeze him against her chest or straight up eat him — Good job Beatrice, jumping straight to cannibalism.

"Yes, I am," she answers instead, brushing cookie crumbs from the corner of Diego's mouth — she's pretty sure he is going to be on a sugar high for the rest of the night. 

"Huh. Have you met Mary?" He asks then, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ava huffs in annoyed manner, adjusting herself on the counter, Beatrice hesitates for a few seconds.

"Yes, I did."

"Oh, good!" The guy says, loosening suddenly and extending a hand for her to shake with a smile. "I'm Michael."

"I know. I've seen you in the pictures," Beatrice says, shaking his hand and securing Diego on her lap with another.

"What's with you all and that overprotective bullshit?" Ava says, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"We just want what's best for you and Diego," Jillian says carefully, as Diego climbs out of Beatrice's lap to run into his uncle's legs.

"I'm a pretty good judge of character," Ava whines, Michael lifting Diego in the air and laughing with him.

"No, sweetheart, you are definitely not," Jillian says with a somewhat sad smile, and Ava rolls her eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Beatrice asks before she can stop herself.

"Well, you met Mary and you survived, so that must mean you're not bad," Michael explains, putting Diego back on the ground after kissing his cheek. "Usually people that can't take her in a fight end up hurting Ava, so I guess you are now cleared."

"Thanks for the trust," Ava hisses with bitterness in her voice, sticking her tongue out at him. "You're one to talk, she broke your ex's nose!"

"No, you broke my ex's nose! Mary tried to double-tap it!" He tells her, as Diego manages to climb onto Jillian's lap, laughing at the both of them.

Ava jumps off the counter as they start yelling at each other, Ava in Portuguese, Michael in Spanish, and Jillian shakes her head, looking over at Beatrice.

"Do you see what I have to deal with?"

She means it playfully, Beatrice knows that. She loves her children, both of them, but Beatrice cannot blame her as they go forehead to forehead just to have the last word — Well more like forehead to chest, Ava is still very short.

"Não tente lutar comigo, idiota," Ava tells him with a big smug grin on her lips. "Você sabe que eu iria ganhar e você iria chorar para a mom."

"Moooom!"

Beatrice has never been more confused in her entire life.

Hey, she's a fool, but at least she's a happy one. 

Chapter Text

Shannon doesn't even knock on the door as she enters her office, she just puts an iced coffee in front of Dora and walks in, hanging onto the doorknob and nearly swinging the door off its hinges. 

"Drinks tonight, are you coming?"

Beatrice looks up from her screen, her brain taking a few seconds to catch up. She's wearing her hair down, for the first time in a very long time. Today she's going to be brave, and she's not going to do it halfway. And so she wears her hair down and her shirt with one button undone — she had unbuttoned the second one, looked at herself in the mirror and decided that being brave didn't equal being daring, closing it again. 

"No, I can't," she says, and Shannon is already launched into a long rant before she can even add to it. 

"Yes, you are. You've been working yourself to the bone, I'll drag you into the goddamn bar myself if I have to. It's not an advice or an invitation, it's a therapist's prescription."

"I'm having dinner with Diego and Ava," Beatrice says instead, resting her hands on her desk and waiting for the information to make its way into Shannon's brain.

"Yes you are— What?"

Beatrice takes a few seconds to collect her thoughts. It's not that she doesn't want to talk about it, it's just that Shannon would ask question she's not ready to answer and probably send her into a panic attack.

"Diego has been asking questions. Questions about my family. Apparently he's a bit confused with how everyone is tied together. Ava doesn't know how to answer him either. So we've decided to have dinner, and we'll make some sort of family trees for all of us to understand better."

Shannon opens her mouth, closes it, hand still on the doorknob. Her eyes trail to the ceiling as she thinks, nodding from left to right a little.

"That's actually a good idea. Who came up with that?"

Beatrice just shrugs, she doesn't even remember after the thousands of memes Ava drowned their conversation in. 

"And what do you think of that?"

Beatrice shrugs again, turning back to her screen to stop Shannon from seeing the look of uncertainty on her face. 

"I don't know. Nervous, I guess."

"Good nerves or bad nerves?"

"Meh nerves."

Shannon rolls her eyes, and Beatrice can't stop the little smile at the corner of her lips. Somehow using Camila's expressions always lightens the mood. 

"Do you want me to stay for dinner?" Shannon asks then, and Beatrice shakes her head. 

She can do it, she can handle it, she's going to be brave, isn't she? 

"No, thank you," she says. "We'll be alright."

And she means it. Shannon smiles, winks at her, and then she's gone in a jif, leaving the door open because of course she does. There's a reason she calls Shannon her sister.

She sighs, gets up and crosses the room to close the door, and her phone buzzes in her back pocket just as she turns the doorknob, quietly throwing a look at Dora who is sipping their iced coffee in quiet fascination as they type on their keyboard.

She doesn't think before answering, a smile on her lips.

"Good evening Ava."

"Don't 'Good evening' me, I'm still mad at you," Ava gruffs back, and Beatrice chuckles as she sits back in her chair. 

"I didn't do anything."

"You went full British-bonding with my mother and made fun of me!" Ava says, but Beatrice knows she doesn't mean it, knows Ava doesn't even care, but that doesn't mean she's not going to be a little shit about it. "It's not my fault I don't know shit about tea: I don't like it!"

"You pronounce chamomile 'shamamale'!"

"I'm gonna hang up on you!"

Beatrice laughs then, because what else can she do? Nobody had warned her of the amount of crap that could come out of Ava's mouth and how much she would be a little shit. 

"Why did you call me anyways? Aren't you at work?"

"Oh, right, about that..."

Beatrice can hear a man's voice behind, a flurry of German words tied together in an annoyed tone.

"Is Hans okay?" She asks.

"Yeah he's... He just dropped a crate of tequila on his foot, so he's gonna need some time to recover."

"Will I still be able to play the violin?" Hans asks in the background, and Ava giggles as she tells him to shut up — Beatrice guesses it must be a private joke in between the two of them, and that if Hans can find humour in the situation, then surely he'll be okay.

"But that means I can't pick up Diego right now, so could you do it?"

It's not Ava asking her if she's free to do it, somehow she knows Beatrice would drop everything if Diego needed her, it's Ava asking her if she's ready to do that. 

And Beatrice is brave, Beatrice is courageous, and so she just nods, before remembering that Ava can’t see her.

"Yes. Yes, I can."

It comes out a little more choked out than she intended, but it does the job.

"Great. You remember the address?"

Of course she does, she has it all written down: the daycare address and phone number, a list of Diego's allergies and his doctor, she even has Mary, Michael and Jillian's numbers saved in her phone. She's going to do this right. 

"Yes."

"Great. I'll just call them to tell them you'll be picking him up. They should just make you sign some papers and shit and — hold on. Fuck, I forgot, you don't have a car seat."

She's right, Beatrice doesn't have a car seat for Diego, and she immediately grabs a pen to write it down, promising herself to fix it as soon as she can.

"We can take the bus," she says into the phone, as she knows Ava is going through her mental list of people that can pick her son up. "Will he be okay with that?"

For some reason Ava doesn't really like the car, Beatrice has learned that they only use her car if they need to go outside of town. Diego probably knows more about the buses and the tramway than Beatrice does. 

"Uh... Sure. I mean, if you make sure to keep an eye on him at all times, of course. So far 'running away from mama' hasn't extended to other people but I won't take any chances."

"I won't let him out of my sight," Beatrice promises. "I needed to go grocery shopping before dinner tonight too. Will he be okay with that?"

"Sure," Ava says, and she can feel her shrug even through the phone. "He'll try to convince you I let him eat all the chocolate he wants, don't fall for it."

"I won't," Beatrice laughs. 

"And if you leave him in a freezer, I won't blame you, but I'll let Mary loose on your ass."

Beatrice nods, wondering if it's another of Ava's jokes or some kind of warning from a dutiful mother.

"I understand. I will return him safe and sound," she promises, a little too serious and dramatic, but that does the job.

"I know," Ava buzzes. "I have to go now. Good luck."

Somehow Beatrice feels like she's mocking her a little, like Beatrice is signing up for something of which she does not know the extent of the chaos.

She gets up, crosses the room and opens the door to poke her head towards Dora.

"Dora, I don't think I had any meeting tonight, do I?"

"No, miss Kleine-Young," they say, shaking their head.

"Right. Well, I'll be leaving shortly, could you make sure I'm not disturbed for the rest of the night?"

At this, Dora's mouth hangs open, straw falling from their lips back into their iced coffee. 

"You're... Leaving?" They ask, bewildered.

Beatrice nods as an answer. Alright, she knew she was a bit of a workaholic, but Dora is clearly exaggerating, she isn’t that bad. 

"I'm... Of course, miss Kleine-Young," they stutter then, trying their best to hide their surprise not to offend her and completely failing.

"Thank you," Beatrice says, and she gathers her things to be ready to leave.

When the gossip group chat Camila and Shannon think she doesn't know about — the one where all of the employees exchange rumours — learns about this, they're going to have a field trip. Beatrice lives to serve, after all.

"Bea!"

She's standing at the front desk of Diego's daycare, after giving her name, explaining why she's here and watching the woman sigh and leave to find the child. 

He throws himself at her, like he always seems to do, but this time she has learned, this time she lifts him up in the air, making some kind of 'Wooosh' noise with her mouth as she does. Diego smiles as she sets him on her hip, immediately reaching to play with her hair.

"Hello Diego."

"Why are you here?"

She expected for someone to have explained it to him, or at least warned him, but apparently she must be wrong. She smooths out his hair that is sticking out on one side, clearly still messy from a nap.

"Mama was held up at work. She asked me to pick you up."

"Okay," Diego says, wriggling his shoulders like Ava does. 

The woman turns to them then, chewing loudly on her chewing-gum. 

“Who are you?” She asks. “To him,” she adds, nodding towards Diego.

Beatrice freezes. What is she supposed to answer? And more importantly, what is she? She’s not one his aunt, she’s not his mother either, she’s not exactly a friend of the family. What is she? What is she to him, what is she to them, what is her place in the village?

“I’m…” she finds herself stuttering. “I’m his… Well I— uh…”

“She’s my Bea!” Diego says then, dragging her out of her panic well as he throws his arms in the air, and Beatrice laughs even though he almost punched her in the nose. 

"Right," she says, smiling at him. "I'm his Bea."

The lady seems to think they're ridiculous, almost rolling her eyes, but Beatrice doesn't care, Beatrice is trying to stop herself from covering his little freckles in kisses and tucking his hair behind his ear instead. 

She smiles one last time before putting him on the ground, turning towards the front desk lady, who raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me for an ID?"

The woman sighs again, like Beatrice is really asking too much, hands her a paper and a pen for her to sign, attesting of who she is and showing her ID. The woman doesn't care, but she complies anyway, and Beatrice files that information for later, because it's strange, but she doesn't want to assume anything. 

Diego waves her goodbye as they leave, but she's already turned around as they walk out the building. Weird. 

She's holding his little hand in hers, carrying his Buzz Lightyear backpack on her shoulder, and Diego is already chatting her ears off as he tells her about his new painting. 

Somehow she's never been happier. 

Chapter Text

When they walk through the automatic door to the grocery store, Beatrice is pretty sure she can hear Diego whisper 'Open sesame' under his breath, and she can only shake her head with a fond smile.

She remembers his favourite game and decides not to push her luck and unlock a wheeling cart, putting her bag and Diego's backpack inside and unfolding the child seat — it's funny how humans create things that are functional enough to make their lives easier but still add features to hold their young. Somehow Diego already knows what she's doing, as he raises his arms in the air and lets her pick him up, setting him into the seat and making whooshing noises with her mouth as she does. 

"Are we ready?" She asks, and he nods eagerly. "Let's go."

She starts pushing the cart and they enter the first aisle, Diego humming under his breath. 

"I'm hungry," he says then, and Beatrice nods.

She's not panicking, she had planned this, she knows he needs an afternoon snack, it's nothing new. It doesn't stop her heart from racing as she tries to look for a solution. Her books talk about fruits and vegetables and smoothies and cereals and words like starchy carbohydrates. And although they have everything at hand, they're in the middle of shopping and she can't exactly whip up something that easely, and they definitely can't put crumbs everywhere — she's not about to give more labour to the workers here. 

Her solution narrows as small fruit, because she can't cut an apple or a peach or something else in the middle of the aisle, and she can't have Diego choking on them either. She stops the cart in front of the fruit stands, considers her options.

"Do you like blueberries?" She asks him. 

"Blueberries," he nods. 

"Does mama give you blueberries?"

He looks at her like she just asked him what the square root of pi is, and so she picks up a little box.

"This? Does mama give you this?"

"Yes!" He nods. "Blueberry!" 

It sounds a lot more like 'bluebry', but Beatrice takes it anyways, opening the box and handing him one of the berries. Diego immediately gasps, eyes wide.

"You steal!"

"No, no," Beatrice answers quickly, as customers around them turn a little in surprise. "It's not stealing. We'll pay for it once we get out of the store. With the bar code, see?" She says, showing it to him.

She has to admit it's a little comical too, and she can't stop herself from smiling. Diego doesn't seem to understand the logic behind a bar code, and she just shakes her head. 

"Just trust me," she says with a smile. "I'm not a mean pirate. I don't steal."

Diego finally seems to accept, and she tucks the little box on his lap, in between his belly and the handle of the cart, and he starts eating quietly, looking around him with wide eyes.

Ava was right. She's definitely the most uncool person in the world and she is getting 'her ass roasted'. 

She takes the grocery list out of her pocket, making a mental plan of which aisle to visit first. It's logical, they'll work their way down the aisle to the back of the store and then go to the register rather than walking back and forth in the store. And, because she's already here, she naturally starts taking the vegetables she needs. 

Avocado, grapes, spinach, sweet potatoes, she probably hasn't bought that many vegetables since she moved away from London — and from Shannon — but Shannon says she can't live on coffee and instant ramen and Beatrice decided to listen for once. 

"What's that?" Diego asks, pointing a finger at the paper bag in her hands.

"Courgette. Do you like courgette?"

"What's that?" He asks then, completely ignoring her.

"Tomatoes," she smiles.

"What's that?"

"Cucumber."

"What's that?"

"Potatoes." 

"Potatoes," he repeats, and he starts humming a little song about potatoes.

She doesn't even try to contain her smile as she keeps gathering the ingredients, nodding her head up and down to show that she is listening. Once he is finished, he resumes his activity of eating his blueberries. 

"That's a good song," Beatrice comments, a smile on her lips as she pushes the cart around. "Did you invent it?"

"JC," Diego says. "JC sing the potato song."

"I like it."

"Mama laugh. Mama say it's funny."

"Mama is right. It is a funny song."

She enters a new aisle, pushing the cart in front of her, Diego picking blueberries in between his little fingers and shoving them into his mouth. His lips are turning a little bit purple but there is nothing Beatrice can do about that and so she just lets it happen.

"Faster!" Diego cheers.

"This is a cart, not a race car," Beatrice laughs.

"Yes! Faster, faster, faster!"

Beatrice bites into her lip remorsefully, because she's really tempted right now even though she knows it's improper. She turns her head back, looks around to make sure nobody else is in the aisle.

Diego keeps cheering and so she pushes her feet against the ground and starts gaining a little bit of speed, Diego giggling as they roll down the lane.

He's full on belly laughing as they cross the main aisle, and Beatrice laughs too as she puts her feet on the bottom of the cart, gripping the handle and balancing herself with Diego in front of her.

A person appears at the end of the aisle, Beatrice has to stop herself from letting out a curse as she drops her feet back on the ground, gripping the handle.

"Whooo!" Diego cheers as the cart stops so abruptly his little head sways back and forth and he nearly loses his grip on his blueberry.

The lady glares at them a little, Beatrice dropping a hand into Diego's hair as she tries not to laugh.

"Lo siento," she mutters, and the lady shakes her head as she turns around to enter another aisle, Beatrice and Diego giggling at each other.

She keeps on walking as calmly as she can, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Again," Diego says, and she shakes her head.

"No, we can't do that.”

“Yes, again, please,” he says, like it’s going to convince her.

Beatrice shakes her head again, this time, she’s not going to give in.

“We could have an accident."

Diego seems to really think for a second, looking into his blueberries like they are going to talk to him.

"Okay," he says finally, and Beatrice knows this is the end of it. 

Somehow the rest of their shopping trip is less chaotic, they're both on their best behaviour as they check off the items on the list — Beatrice keeps Diego distracted by giving him the list and he pretends to read it for her, telling her they need 'chocolate' and 'candy', and Beatrice doesn't fall for it, like she promised Ava. They checkout, Beatrice putting the items on the treadmill as Diego explains to the cashier that they didn't steal blueberries — 'We're not mean pirates,' he says, nodding and showing the half empty box of blueberries. 'We have the bat code.' The cashier giggles a little, throwing a fond look towards Beatrice who smiles back. 'I know, dear. Good job,' she says, and Diego beams with another proud Look Bea!

They leave the cart back in its place, Beatrice carrying the grocery bag with one hand, holding Diego's in the other. He offered to help her carry it, but couldn't even lift it off the ground, and Beatrice asked him if he could hold her hand for moral support instead, and he took that task very seriously.

They find the bus they need to take, wait at the bus stop, Diego swinging his little legs as he sits on the metal bench. The bus stops in front of them and they both walk up to the door.

"Hop hop," Beatrice says mindlessly, holding Diego's hand as he leaps inside of the bus. 

They stop in front of the driver, Beatrice puts the grocery bag in between her feet to stabilise it.

"Can you hold this for me?" She asks Diego, handing him one handle, and he nods as he grips it tightly, and she tries not to feel too proud of herself for finding a way to stop him from running off. 

She pays for their trip, thanks the driver as he starts the engine back on, nodding to her.

"Thank you," she tells Diego as she takes the grocery bag, and they start moving down the aisle.

It's a bit tricky to keep her balance with a grocery bag in one hand and Diego in the other, but Beatrice still manages, and even finds two seats behind one empty space designed to let people stand, letting Diego take his seat near the window, the grocery bag at her feet. 

She's sending a text to Ava to update her and tell her they're both alright when Diego tugs on her sleeve.

"Look! Look, Bea!"

She does as she's told, turning towards the window and they watch with smiles on their faces as the bus drives past the aquarium, with hundreds of posters showing fish and dolphins on it.

"I go there," Diego says.

"You went there?"

"Yeah!"

"With mama?" 

"And Mike."

'Michael,' Beatrice remembers. Apparently Diego really likes giving nicknames to everyone, and nobody has the heart to ask him for their real names. 

"What was your favourite part?"

"Turtles!" Diego yells excitedly, throwing his arms in the air as he looks back at her with a thrilled light in his eyes. 

"The turtles?" She asks, smiling back at him.

"Yeah!"

"I like turtles too. They're very clever."

"Clever," Diego repeats to himself, turning back to look outside once again.

They both fall into quiet contemplation as the bus rolls through the city, the whole vehicle vibrating and lulling them into comfortable silence. The sun is starting its descent towards the sea, and Beatrice can feel it hitting her face from time to time as the bus turns from one side to the other.

An old lady enters the vehicle and she doesn't think, she gets up from her seat with a polite smile to give it to her. Diego immediately freezes, eyes widened as he sends Beatrice a panicked look.

"Bea!"

"It's okay, it's alright, I'm right here,"  she says with a reassuring smile.

She stays right in front of him in the space dedicated for people to stand, leaning back against the window with her bag in between her feet, putting an arm over the bar separating her from him.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" She proposes, and he immediately latches onto her, clutching her hand in between both of his.

The lady takes her seat next to him, smiling at the both of them. 

"Hola, cariño. ¿Vas de compras con tu mamá?" She asks in her sweetest voice, but Diego simply looks at her in silence.

It's late, he's been through a whole day of daycare and Beatrice just dragged him through new adventures. He's had his share of strangers for the day. Plus, Beatrice is not his mother, she's not his mamá, and neither of them know how to explain that. 

And so Beatrice just smiles at the lady, squeezing Diego's hand to tell him it's okay.

"Lo siento," she says. "Esta un poco cansado."

The lady nods, she understands. 

Diego stays holding Beatrice's hand against his chest, looking outside as they leave the centre of the city, and she runs her thumb against his knuckles. Because she can. Because she wants to. Because Diego slowly relaxes into her touch and she's never felt more powerful.

Chapter Text

The walk from the bus stop to Beatrice's house is a bit of a hike, but Diego manages to walk all the way there, and if he complains about having sore feet and being tired, she distracts him with questions about turtles and the pirate boat and Ava — because Ava is his favourite subject to talk about. 

They enter the house, both sighing happily at the same time, and she helps him take off his shoes, kneeling in front of him as he sits on the bench over the shoe rack. 

"I'm going to put the groceries away and get started on dinner, do you want to take your colouring book into the living room?" She proposes nervously, not used to being completely alone with him.

So far Ava was always around, always there to gravitate around him, but now it's just the two of them and she has no idea what his routine is like.

"I wanna stay with you," he says instead, words slurred together just like Ava's and Mary's are.

She smiles, stands up and carries the bag into the kitchen, Diego following after her and being very careful not to step on the edge of the tiles — 'Or I'll be on fire,' he explains despite Beatrice not asking. 

Diego naively asks if he can help her put the groceries away, but they quickly realise that it's not going to work with how small he is in the kitchen.

"Okay, you do it," he decides, handing her the bag of grapes, fingers gripping it tightly, and Beatrice quietly chuckles to herself.

She sorts all of it into her fridge in an organised game of tetris, wondering if Shannon isn't going to take a picture and frame it in her office just to mess with her. Once they're finished, she gives Diego his mandatory high-five, and he sighs happily, clapping his hands together --- Beatrice wonders if he even realises how much he mimics the people around him, if he does that consciously, or if it's just his little two year-old brain learning from others. 

As soon as she closes the door to the fridge, folding the grocery bag to put it back in his place, she hears a little gasp, and turns around to find him looking up at the front of the fridge, mouth open.

"My drawing!" He says, surprised.

Beatrice can't help but smile, lowering herself to her knees next to him. 

"Yes, we put it there together, remember?"

Diego makes a thoughtful noise, like he definitely didn't listen to her — that seems to happen more often than not.

"I make another one!" He decides, and runs to grab his little backpack from the entrance.

Beatrice shakes her head as she stands up, she needs to add magnets to her mental shopping list, because she's going to really need them now.

Diego sits at the kitchen table, his colouring book open in front of him and his pens spread out all around. Beatrice moves in comfortable silence around him as she starts cooking, following the recipe from the book Shannon forced her to buy. Diego hums at the table, stopping from time to time to ask her to uncap one of his pens.

The sun is almost fully under the line of the horizon when Beatrice picks up a pan, and Diego tears himself from his book to look at her. As soon as she puts the pan on the stove, he gasps.

"No, no!" He says. "You have to wear your appon!"

Now, Beatrice isn't one to be confused about languages. She speaks at least five of them, she can nearly guess any foreign word thrown at her based on their root.

But she can't figure out for the life of her what Diego is talking about. She stops immediately, realising that continuing her task might frustrate him.

"I'm sorry?" She asks.

"Your appon. You have to wear your appon," he says, drawing his hands behind his back and pretending to tie an invisible knot — for some reason she sees Ava in that movement.

"You mean an apron ?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I don't have one, but I can still cook without it."

But Diego shakes his head, faking a little sigh like Beatrice is a real dumb-dumb for not understanding him. 

"No, no," he repeats. "You wear appon, or your shirt is fire. Mike don't wear appon, and his shirt got fire on it. He got a boo-boo."

Beatrice widens her eyes, she can't help it. Michael seemed fine when she saw him, and she doesn't think that Diego could invent such a lie, so she imagines that it must have happened a while ago. Whether Diego was here to see it is still a mystery to her, and she's not about to ask him questions that could remind him of something that bad.

"That must have hurt a lot," she says instead.

"Yes. But Mike is very big! And now, he fights fires!" Diego explains proudly.

Beatrice nods — from what she understood, Michael is currently training to become a firefighter, and Diego thinks it's the coolest thing on Earth. 

Still, she wonders how she's supposed to deal with Diego basically teaching her about kitchen security at two years old.

"Okay, I have something to show you," she says, reaching her arms towards him in a question.

He puts his pen on the table, reaches for her and she picks him up, setting him on her hip and moving towards the stove. 

"Mama's stove looks different, doesn't it?"

Diego nods, his little index in his mouth — she made sure to wash his hands as soon as they got home.

"That's because mama's stove works with gas. With fire," she adds — and she's guessing and hoping she's right and that seems to work. "My stove doesn't work like that. It doesn't have fire."

She puts a hand on the circle drawn on the glass surface, hearing Diego's little gasp in her ear.

"It just warms up. Like a radiator. Like this," she adds, marching towards the adjacent living room and stopping in front of the radiator at the side, putting her hand on it and letting Diego do the same. "My shirt can't get on fire. But you're right, it's always better to wear an apron. To not get our clothes dirty. Okay?"

"Okay," Diego says, reassured.

They're back inside the kitchen when the front door opens and Shannon walks inside, her jacket slung on her arm. 

"Shan!" Diego immediately yells from where he is sitting at the kitchen table, Beatrice using the distraction to turn on the stove and put her pan on it. 

Shannon looks up in surprise, face breaking out in a smile.

"Is that my favourite pirate?" She says excitedly, and Diego giggles. "What is he already doing here?" She asks then, turning her head towards Beatrice as she takes off her shoes.

"Ava got held up at work. She asked me to pick him up," Beatrice replies absentmindedly — she's focusing on greasing the pan and making sure Diego doesn't start drawing on himself, give her a break.

"Huh," Shannon says, walking into the kitchen and ruffling Diego's hair. "And you didn't even call me to freak out?"

Beatrice stops for a second, frozen in front of the stove, before focusing back on her task.

"Well, I guess I forgot."

"To call me?"

"To freak out."

Shannon smiles at her, big proud grin, that Beatrice pretends not to see. 

"Good," she says, dropping a kiss on Beatrice's forehead. "Good job."

"Good job," Diego repeats from where he is sitting, and they both giggle to themselves behind his back.

"I'm just dropping by," Shannon announces. "I'll be out in ten minutes, just time to change."

"Okay."

"Say hi to Ava for me," Shannon says then, ruffling Diego's hair once again despite him groaning at her, and disappearing upstairs.

"Mama!" Diego yells as soon as Ava walks through the front door — after Beatrice had unlocked the gate from the inside of the house.

She drops everything to wrap her arms around him and pick him up in the air, letting out a cry of joy.

"Baby! Oh my God, I have missed you so much!" 

Beatrice understands what Lilith meant when she said Ava is a good mother as she watches discreetly from the kitchen as Ava covers his little face in kisses, spinning him around as he laughs. 

"Did you have fun with Bea?" She asks him, all smiles and happy eyes.

"Bea steal."

That little shit.

"That is not true!" Beatrice yells back, both Diego and Ava giggling at each other at the trick he played on her. "I already explained it to you, now you're making me sound like a criminal!"

She's pretending, she doesn't really care, she knows he's just messing with her.

"You taught him to shoplift?" Ava asks with a mocking grin. "I wanted to do that! Don't worry, D., tomorrow I'm taking you bank robbing."

Beatrice rolls her eyes, retreating back into the kitchen. Against their duo, she doesn't stand a chance. Ava puts a couple of more kisses on Diego's face before carrying him into the kitchen, her backpack on one shoulder as she drops him back into his chair.

"Smells good in here!" She comments, hopping up on the counter — sure Ava, make yourself at home, it's not like Beatrice just spent fifteen minutes cleaning it like her life depended on it. 

"Is Hans okay?" She asks instead, separating the food into three uneven plates — she doesn't have any plastic cutlery for Diego and she feels really bad about that, but there's nothing she can do right now. 

But at least she's cooking food with green vegetables and proteins — Good job Beatrice, you're finally an adult.

"Are you kidding? The guy tried to flirt with a nurse!" Ava exclaims, waving her arms in the air, scandalised. "You know what's even funnier? She gave me her number in front of him just to fuck with him. Girl was a lesbian."

It's funny how even after all those years, that simple little harmless word still makes her heart jump in her throat. But she's free now. She has her own home, her own family — plus she can't exactly deny it when she has the proof running around accusing her of stealing. 

"Anyways," Ava continues, hopping off the counter to go to her bag that is slumped in a corner. "We've got everything we need, and," she continues, dragging the word off to create some sort of suspense as she grins at Diego, "I even got glitter!" She says, holding a little tube of golden glitter out.

"Yeah!" Diego yells out.

"Yeah!" Ava replies in the same tone, taking out sheets of colourful paper and glitter pens and putting them at the end of the table, away from where Beatrice just set the dishes. 

There's already a plate in front of Diego, one of Beatrice's smallest glasses set in front of him. The more she looks at it, the worse she feels about the fact that she doesn't have anything for him. She's a stranger, and although it felt reassuring at first, now it's just bitter. She promised herself to do it right, but all she's done since is absolutely nothing.

And at the same time, she doesn't want to step over Ava's boundaries. Ava has raised him for most of his life, she's not about to barge in and demand the same thing she has. She's a stranger.

"You got any napkins?" Ava asks naturally, like she's been living here her own life. "Unless you want your floors to look like Carrie was filmed in your kitchen, it's your choice."

"I've got paper napkins. They're in the top drawer next to the sink," Beatrice says as she sets forks and knives on either side of the plates, giving Diego a spoon and her smallest fork — and he immediately starts biting the fork because he's Diego and he's weird.

Ava snorts a laugh as she finds the take-out napkins Beatrice carefully collects and stores in the drawer every time. 

"Oh, you're worse than me. I'm supposed to be the Hispanic mom."

"I'm Asian?" Beatrice proposes, confused.

"Exactly, Diego's gonna grow up with paper bags folded into a bigger paper bag, a stash of take-out napkins and a chancla to beat up his bullies," Ava states as she tucks the end of one napkins into Diego's collar.

Beatrice doesn't know what to say to that, and so she just focuses on cutting Diego's food into tiny pieces, seeing the approving nod from Ava as she sits on the other side of the table, one foot hiked up onto her seat. 

"Okay, you ready for this?" She asks once Beatrice is seated across from her.

And Beatrice nods, reaching for her notebook and her pen as Diego carefully blows onto his food before putting it in his mouth, kicking his little legs happily.

"Oh my God," Ava grins, mouth already full. "Are you gonna take notes? You're such a nerd."

"You're taking notes too," Beatrice points out, nodding to Ava's supplies.

"Yeah, but I got glitter and gel pens, you can't even compete," Ava says, beaming, because of course Ava is the type of person to take pride in having gel pens. 

Diego giggles while looking at Beatrice, like he agrees with Ava; Beatrice is so uncool. Ava wiggle on her seat, sending him a wink.

"Okay, let's start with me. 'Cause trust me it's gonna be one Hell of a ride."

"Alright," Beatrice says. 

"Are you seriously writing my name right now?"

"Yes."

"God, do I need to give you my middle name too? Beatrice, you're a serial killer," Ava says, rolling her eyes as she picks up a piece of vegetable that has fallen from Diego's fork and pops it into his mouth.

"Thanks?" 

Ava laughs, and Diego laughs too, but she's not sure he's even listening to them, engrossed in his meal. 

"Okay, so. Ava Silva. Little ol' me," Ava says, pointing to herself. "Born in Portugal to a very cool single mom, but you already knew that."

"I've read her thesis, of course I know," Beatrice says, rolling her eyes.

"No no," Diego says, shaking his head. "Not granny. Avó."

She looks at Ava for confirmation, and Ava nods.

"Yes, not granny. My other mom, the first one. His Avó," she adds, nodding to him. "Mãe died when I was seven, in a car accident."

She says it very lightly, shrugging like it's not bad, like she's dealt with it already a long time ago. Beatrice freezes, pen stopping on her page, wondering what she's supposed to say or to do. All of those 'I'm sorry for your loss' feel stupid now, inadequate. 'It's not my first rodeo,' Ava had said that first night, and now it makes terrible, horrific sense.

"I'm... That's..."

"It only gets worse, so save it for the end," Ava says, smirking slightly, like she's doing her a kindness. "From the accident, I got paralyzed basically entirely, from the chest to the toes," she says, gesturing to herself. "And then when I was twelve, Jillian found me. She had been developing biotechnologies, as you know, to cure her own son, and decided to help me too. So then, ta-da! It works, and me and Michael become medical miracles."

"You went through the Halo procedure," Beatrice breathes out.

"Yup," Ava says, like it's not a big deal, wiping Diego's mouth with his spoon before giving it back to him. "Jillian decides to adopt me — write that down — and Michael becomes my brother. From then on, I have the most annoying little butthead criticising everything I do, as you saw."

Filing all of her apologies for later, Beatrice focuses on what Diego told her earlier.

"Did Michael's shirt catch on fire?"

Ava narrows her eyes at Diego, who grins back at her.

"He told you about that."

"Yes."

"Yeah, since that, all I hear is 'appon mama, appon'. Being taught by a two year old that your kitchen is basically a safety hazard wasn't on my bingo card but yeah," she says, sticking her tongue out at Diego and he giggles with his mouth full.

"Is Michael okay?"

"Are you kidding me?" Ava asks, raising an eyebrow. "Dude's insane! He ripped his shirt, put the fire out and decided 'yeah, that's what I wanna do with my life'! And now he's gonna be a firefighter. The guy is out of his mind," she says, shaking her head.

Diego giggles at the mention of his uncle, and Beatrice can't help but smile.

"Then, there was Mary," Ava says, practically bouncing in her own seat. "Gotta admit, this story isn't very glorious," she warns, frowning at Diego like she is telling him not to remember that story, and Beatrice's heart skips a beat because what could be worse than being paralyzed for six years? "I went through the teenage rebellion thing, got into big big trouble. Mama was very very bad," she tells Diego, bopping his nose. "So you better have very tame teenage years, 'cause I'll know everything. If you do bad things, I'll know it, 'cause I've been there before."

Diego grins at her, like he doesn't understand a single word but still thinks it's funny, and Ava uses the distraction to scrape his little plate and feed him the last bits of vegetable left.

"Mary found me, yelled at me for a bit and dragged me by the ear back to mom. Since then, mom makes her a plate every Christmas," she says, rolling her eyes. "Mary's my ride or die. I've seen her put grown men back in their place and shoot whiskey faster than anyone — and I'm a bartender. Also, don't drink anything she gives you, she tends to spike everything and then forget about it. Except when it comes to Diego."

"And JC!" Diego exclaims, like he's reminding her of him. "We have JC!"

"Right, JC, I was just making sure you were following," she teases him, tickling his neck — and he laughs and finally manages to get his hands on the tube of glitter.

"JC who sings the potato song?" Beatrice asks.

"Oh God," Ava laughs, burying her face in her hands in despair. "The worst is that we can't even tease him about that, he's very proud of the potato song, he thinks it's gonna become a summer hit."

"I understand," Beatrice nods. "It truly is... Something quite special."

The teasing light in Ava's light doesn't disappear, Beatrice knows she better change the subject before the conversation drifts to her.

"So uh... How did you meet JC?"

"College party. I have no idea why we clicked. I pretty much lost contact with everyone when I dropped out, except for him. JC stuck around. We've been friends ever since."

"Really?" Beatrice looks up, surprised. "I thought he was your boyfriend or something like that."

"Well... We had some sort of friendly agreement for a while."

Ava's lips stretch into a teasing grin, mocking light into her eyes. It takes Beatrice a few seconds to catch up.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

Diego pops the lid of the tube open, they both jump at the sound, but Ava is quick to continue.

"So yeah, that's pretty much it. For my part, at least," she shrugs. "That's all the people in the village."

Diego immediately takes the hint.

"No, no!" He says, shaking his head.

"What what?" Ava asks.

"Me! I'm Diego!"

"Who's Diego?" Ava asks, pretending to be confused as she turns to Beatrice. "Do you know a Diego?"

"I have no idea who Diego is," Beatrice shakes her head, playing along.

Diego laughs at them, because they're being silly, and that's funny.

"I'm Diego!" He says, and they both have to reach to stop him from throwing glitter around everywhere.

"Riiiight," Ava says finally. "I forgot about that Diego."

"Silly ma!"

"Yup, silly me. Diego Rodrigo Silva, born April 1st 2021, write that down," she teases, but Beatrice does it anyway, and Diego looks over her shoulder and pretends to make sure she spells his name right.

"May I ask why Rodrigo?" Beatrice says, looking up.

Ava's cheeks burn red and she bites into her lip, wiggling uncomfortably in her seat.

"Okay, don't laugh. Listen, I was pregnant, I couldn't do anything, I was bored out of my mind! So I just went back to my roots, you know, and watched this telenovela and there was that very hot guy named Rodrigo and well long story short there he is now."

For a very long second Beatrice just looks at her in silence, blinking at her.

"You named him after a telenovela?!" She says, a little louder than she expected.

Diego laughs hysterically, unaware that his teenage years are about to be a nightmare.

"I was pregnant and hormonal and he seemed like a cool dude!" Ava says defensively, waving her arms in the air. 

Beatrice shakes her head, turns to Diego.

"You should be thankful she didn't watch cartoons. You could have been named Spongebob after all."

This time it's Ava that buries her head in her hand to hide her laugh, like Beatrice has done so many times before. 

"Spongebob! I'm Spongebob!" Diego says excitedly.

"Rodrigo is a very respectable name."

"You should come up with another story before people start asking questions. Invent a dead relative or something," Beatrice proposes.

"Whatever!" Ava laughs, shaking her hands. "Let's move on. Diego Rodrigo Silva, what can I say about him?" She mutters to herself. "Oh, right, I met him in a hospital room when I was hyped up on a lot of drugs," she grins. "He was yelling at everyone but at least he was pretty cute so I decided to keep him around, you know, for plot purposes."

Diego giggles, pushing her away like they're best friends in the world and he has some leverage to tease her — he probably does, but he's two, he doesn't know when to use it. 

"The rest, you already know. Or well, you're about to find out. If you stick around, that is."

"I'm not running out, Ava," Beatrice frowns.

Ava shrugs again. 

"Anyways," she says, cutting Beatrice before she can explain. "Your turn."

Chapter Text

Both Diego and Ava immediately push their plates away to spread sheets of papers on the table, as well as multiple colourful pens, Diego's sheet of stickers and a couple of more things that Beatrice has no idea what they are. 

"Okay, let's go," Ava grins, shaking a pen in her hand. "Beatrice Kleine-Young."

"No, no," Diego shakes his head. "Bea."

"Right, sorry, Bea. Who's Bea again?" Ava asks then, pretending to be confused.

"Bea."

"Make sense," Ava nods, like Diego is always right.

"You have this," Diego says, pointing to one of his stickers — a turtle, but she doesn't know if he chose it on purpose —, Beatrice takes it off to put it on his little finger, and he places it next to her name.

"Now, where do we start?"

Beatrice rests her chin in her hand, small smile on her lip despite the seriousness of the situation and the anxiety rolling deep in her belly — she can't help it, those two bring it out of her.

"There's not much to know. I was born in England, lived there for most of my life."

"Right, the accent," Ava grins. "That one's obvious, where are the details, where is the drama?"

Beatrice chuckles. 

"There is no drama, Ava."

"Of course there is, you're part of the telenovela now."

"I went to a boarding school in Switzerland, and then went back to England to follow in my parents footsteps," she tells her, shrugging.

It's horrible how casual it sounds and how much she hates it. She didn't have a choice. She did what was asked of her, she didn't make waves anymore. She survived on cheap wine and her sisters’ laughs, but she doesn't say that. She doesn't tell. Diego doesn't need to know. Diego is small and kind and he's better off without knowing any of that.

"Right, Switzerland," Ava says, a slight smile on her lips before nudging Diego: "that's where we met."

He looks at her quietly for a few seconds, like he couldn't care less.

"Okay," he says, turning back to his stickers, and Beatrice has to stifle her laugh in the palm of her hand.

"I considered taking my vows and joining a convent before going back, but I was told by the Headmistress — and Mother Superior — that it wasn't for me."

Ava freezes in her seat, pen a millimetre away from the paper.

"Did I defile a nun?!" She all but exclaims, and Beatrice reaches out towards Diego like she wants to cover his ears, but he's not even listening.

"Ava, for the love of God," she hisses. "No! I didn't take my vows, I said I considered it, not that I had made it!"

"Potato, potatoe, you almost became a nun!" Ava nuances. "Oh my God, Diego, you could have had a nun instead of a Bea! That would have been so complicated! Picture me this, one week at mama, the other at the nunnery! Wait, he's a boy, he wouldn't have been allowed!"

Beatrice shakes her head, trying to drown her laugh in her glass of water. She puts it down, toys with one of the colourful pens. 

"I believe you know the rest. I opened a new department here and then you found me."

"You're lacking drama. Where's the juicy stuff?"

"I'm sure Shannon can tell you all you need," Beatrice says, shifting the conversation to a more comfortable ground.

"Shan!" Diego yells out, and she notices that he has a sticker on his cheek but she leaves it there.

"Yeah, Shan," Ava nods, writing her name down as well. "Is she like a role model or something?"

Beatrice snorts out a laugh.

"That's what she likes to believe. And in some ways, she is. But she also curses like a sailor and always manages to get into trouble. Once, she accidentally participated in a French strike. They adopted her as their own, they said she was the most fiery of them all."

She also remembers the drunk texts Shannon sent them, telling them that French people knew how to party.

"A very chaotic older sister of some sort, then," Ava says, and Beatrice nods.

It's funny how talking about her sisters is so easy, how it just comes out naturally. Diego puts a little star sticker next to Shannon's name, tongue sticking out in his efforts.

"I met her at boarding school," Beatrice adds. "She was some sort of star student, I think. That's also where we found Camila."

"Cam!" Diego exclaims — thank God Beatrice doesn't have that many people, or he's going to have to get creative with his nicknames. 

"Right, Cam. What about her?" Ava asks.

"Short. Feisty. Bites your ankles."

"Oh come on, I'm shorter than her!" Ava yells, offended, and Cam's name is decorated with a gold coin sticker.

"Short people are the most feisty, Ava, that is a fact," Beatrice smiles. "And you can't tell me I'm wrong."

Ava grumbles something under her breath as she keeps writing — doodling is more adequate — things down. 

"Camila is actually from Spain," Beatrice continues. "Everyone always loves her, it's unnerving. She's also some sort of computer genius, don't give her your phone, she'll hack it."

"Will do," Ava whispers. 

"Then there is Lilith."

"Lily!" Diego says, and Beatrice has to try really hard not to smile when she imagines Lilith's face at the nickname. 

"Yes, Lily," she says encouragingly, hoping that he sticks to it until Lilith is driven mad. "We already knew each other because we were in the same circles growing up, but we were never really friends. Then my parents sent me to the same boarding school as her, and we ended up as friends. She's my more demonic Mary, I'd say," she tells them, smiling.

There is a little dragon sticker next to Lilith's name, and another one on Ava's hand, but she's not sure she's aware of it. 

"Right and..." Ava starts, looking suspiciously at Diego to make sure he's not listening. "When did the... CamLilith situation start?"

Beatrice laughs then, clear and happy, because she can't help it.

"First of all, that is an awful name. Second, you have to stop looking for drama."

"Beatrice, if you think that I'm going to stop just because it's ethically wrong, then you are deeply mistaken," Ava says, and she knows she's telling the truth.

"It was always there, I think," Beatrice supplies, shaking her head. "Lilith had a crush on her since boarding school, Camila followed as we were in college, and since then it's been a will they won't they situation. It's awful."

"It's incredible," Ava corrects. "Free entertainment! I had to pay to get the latest episodes of the whole Rodrigo-telenovela. And all of my friends are little assholes that everyone hates, there's no juicy drama in my life, I'm basically living through you now."

Beatrice can't help but laugh, Diego grinning at her despite not understanding the conversation. 

Ava wriggles uncomfortably in her seat, and Beatrice knows she's about to hate the next turn to the conversation.

"I gotta ask though. Do you have parents?"

She's not exactly asking for herself, Beatrice knows that. She's asking because Diego is two, he's in daycare, he's listening to the other kids talking about his family and realising that his is a little different and that leads to questions that Ava needs to be prepared to answer.

She swallows.

"Yes, and no. My parents are still alive, but I try to keep contact with them to the legal minimum."

"Estranged from them, then?"

"Not exactly."

She tries not to think about the monthly business emails in her inbox and the impersonal conversations on the phone. She's not out of their claws. She never will, she has accepted that.

"Just," she says, sighing. "I don't want them to know about Diego," she states, throwing a look in his direction and he is too busy trying to take off the sticker stuck on his hand to even listen. "Not that I am ashamed, I— They're just not good people. I don't want them to try to get into his life, in any way."

Ava nods, she gets it, she doesn't push. 

"If he asks, what do I tell him?"

"I... Just that they're not around anymore. I'll deal with it. I'll fix it," she promises. "Tell him that they don't matter. What do you tell him about your Mãe?"

Ava smiles, like she appreciates her efforts in calling her mother like that. 

"That she's dead," she shrugs. "No Heaven and Hell thing, just that she was there and the next she wasn't. It's not good, it's not bad, it's just the way it is. There's nothing we can do but honor the chance she gave me at living."

Beatrice sits in her little kitchen that doesn't look like hers, and she's never felt smaller in her life. She remembers the first time she went to a funeral, to a great uncle or an older cousin of her mother. The colour of her dress, matching everyone else's clothes, her mother's grip on her hand. It was the first time she ever saw her cry.

She remembers the sadness of the church and the sorrow embedded deep into the incense. She remembers how empty she felt, how confusing it was, but how all above that she knew that it was sad, she knew that it was painful.

And yet Ava is sitting on the other side of her table with a big sunny grin on her face, and Beatrice thinks that perhaps she hasn't ever seen anyone that brave in her life.

"Ava," she says before she can stop herself. "You are quite the miracle."

Ava frowns then, putting the cap back on her pen. 

"I really hope you're not about to say what I think you're about to say."

"What do you think I am about to say?" Beatrice asks, chin in her palm.

"I've heard it all, I'm a former quadriplegic orphan whose only purpose in life was making her caretaker's life a living Hell. And then I was given some very performant technology, and I learned how to walk. A medical miracle, the messiah of science. Some shit like that. But you wanna know what? I worked my ass off to get to that point. There wasn't any miracle, just lil' old me doing it all because I wanted to."

Beatrice nods, thinks about whether or not she should reach out and hold her hand to get her point across. 

"Exactly," she says. "After all you went through, you still chose life. You still chose happiness and love. You're not a miracle because you have some device that helps you walk embedded in your back. You're a miracle because you didn't let what happened to you dictate your life. And I think that's very brave."

Again, Ava seems surprised. It's a little sad that she always seems to never expect kindness from Beatrice, or from anyone in that matter. She looks around, searching for words, and then frowns.

"Where's Diego?"

His seat is empty, he has left his sheet of stickers on the table. The last memory Beatrice has of him, in the back of her mind, is when he sighed deeply and dramatically, tired of being ignored.

"Oh my God," Ava says, scrambling to her feet and Beatrice follows, guilt in the pit of her stomach. "Do you think he ran away again?" She exclaims, running for the door. "It's locked, he couldn't possibly have used the window—"

"Ava."

She's found him.

Diego is asleep on the couch, Beatrice's fluffy blanket tucked under his chin. It looks like he tried to make himself a little makeshift bed, arranging the pillows around him to make it look like what Beatrice assumes is his bed in Ava's place. His little socks are carefully put on the arm of the couch, she can't help but smile at his attempt at tidiness.

"Oh my God," Ava whispers. "Look at him."

At that moment, they're not strangers anymore, not even soon-to-be friends. They're just two people looking at the same child in quiet reverence, trying not to wake him up with the weight of their love for him. 

Beatrice knows there and then that she has made the right choice, there is no doubt in her mind — there are thousands of doubts, about the world, about herself, about who she is and what she wants and who she will be — but her love for Diego is not marked with uncertainty. For the first time in her life, she knows, and she doesn't doubt.

Ava smiles at her in the dark, like she knows too.

"Well, I guess that's my cue," she whispers.

She turns around and goes back to the kitchen to gather their things, and Beatrice takes a few cautious steps towards the boy. 

He's sleeping soundly, cheeks red from the fatigue, bottom lips tucked into his mouth. There is still a sticker on his cheek, another in his hair. She reaches out to take that one off, brushing his curly hair away from his face — she doesn't find anywhere to put it and just sticks it on her own hand. 

With caution, as carefully as if she was manipulating a porcelain doll, she slowly wraps him up into the blanket, tucking it under his back and then back around, making sure he isn't cold and that he doesn't wake up. Ava is putting her shoes in the entrance as she gingerly picks him up, as slowly and as silently as possible. His head rolls to the side and rests against her chest, and she feels like laughing, all of a sudden. She feels like laughing and singing and dancing — which is very unlike her, but she doesn't care.

"Can you—- oh," Ava says as Beatrice walks up to her, Diego still in her arms. 

She doesn't press a kiss to his hair, doesn't breathe him in. She's restrained, moderate, she doesn't push. Ava opens her arms and she carefully transfers him against her, and it's funny how natural it seems to them, how Diego tucks his face into her neck and sighs in his sleep, how Ava's hands secure their grip around him, firm and soft and gentle . 

"What about—"

"Let him keep it," Beatrice whispers.

She doesn't give a single fuck about the blanket right now.

"Alright," Ava says, quiet and peaceful, as Beatrice opens the door to let her step outside. "Goodnight, Beatrice."

Beatrice stops her as she turns around.

"Ava?"

"Hmm?"

It's funny how easily everything in Beatrice's life has changed, how a couple of weeks ago Ava was standing in that same doorstep with the boy in her arms. How she has never felt more scared, more terrified and nervous in her life, but so happy — God, so happy — and content and peaceful, for the first time in her life.

"Thank you," she says, "for finding me."

Ava smiles back, a tired look in her eyes.

"Anytime, English."

Beatrice closes the door behind her as she leaves. 

Chapter Text

Beatrice is having the time of her life.

She woke up that morning fresh as a daisy, with a big smile on her face. Birds were singing outside, the sun was rising in a cloudless sky, and Shannon was snoring her heart out in her guest room. She went out of her way to prepare a perfect breakfast, waking Shannon up with fresh coffee and a smile. 'If I didn't know you'd been hanging out with Ava and the evil spawn, I'd think you'd gotten laid,' she had mumbled, and Beatrice had completely ignored her. She still had the decency not to sing in the shower — she still had a bit of self-restraint — but was so cheerful it seemed to scare her sisters a little.

And she had dragged a very reluctant Shannon, a brooding Lilith and a chipper Camila to a store, promising herself not to leave without the perfect car seat for Diego.

Which is why she is currently standing in front of the displays, looking over the instructions and the measurements as well as the safety measures.

"How are we even supposed to choose it?" Shannon asks.

She is wearing big sunglasses to cover the bags under her eyes and simping a bottle of Camila's miracle nettle tea. 

"Well, Spain follows Europe's regulations and approval standards which is named the R44/04 standard and has been operative since 2006—"

"Beatrice, love, you know I absolutely love your thirst for knowledge and how useful it is that you know all of those random things. But right now, I'm hungover as shit and I need you to cut it short if you want me to help you," Shannon interrupts as gently as she can, taking a big sip of Camila's bottle. 

Beatrice shakes her head. She's too joyful to even let that ruin her mood.

"Right, sorry. It's all about Diego's weight and height. He currently weighs 13 kilograms and is 87 centimetres tall, which means that his measurements have to fit in the range indicated on the orange label that you can see here, on the side," she says, gesturing to the bright orange label sewn into the fabric of the seat. "There should also be 'Universal' written at the top, that means the car seat can go into any type of car."

Shannon groans, rubs the space in between her eyebrows as Beatrice pretends not to see her, smiling to herself as she stands on her toes to look at another tag. 

"Jesus Christ, if you'd told me a couple of weeks ago that I would be checking out car seats for your — Beatrice 'I almost became a nun' — two years old, I wouldn't have believed them."

"You and me both," Beatrice says, pointing to the orange label. "Can you read this? It's too high for me."

Shannon pushes her sunglasses up on her head to look at it.

"Yeah, no, it's from 18 kilograms to 36 kilograms."

"Too big."

"That's what she said."

Beatrice raises an eyebrow.

"That was awful, even for you."

"I can hear colours, give me a break."

She sips another mouthful of tea.

"Don't you think it's weird? That we lived three years and almost four months without knowing anything, meanwhile Ava was pretty much growing a whole-ass human on the other side of the continent. It's weird as fuck."

"I know," Beatrice replies.

That one hurts a little, she can't stop herself from feeling the guilt creeping back in. She should have been there. Or, at least, Ava should have had the choice to ask her to be there. Beatrice is pretty sure she wouldn't have been completely involved in everything, Ava seems to like her own side of the village just as it is, but at least they should have had the choice. Sometimes, she hates herself for making stupid decisions — like giving a fake identity at her hotel and not telling Ava her whole name. 

"I mean, I don't know how she did it," Shannon continues. "I saw a documentary about pregnancy and childbirth once when I was fifteen. I nearly damn threw up after that. Got me pretty much sterilised for life. What a good day to be a lesbian."

Beatrice snorts out a laugh, crouching down to examine another car seat. 

"That won't save you," she responds teasingly.

"Yeah, no, I saw that. What I mean is," she says, putting her sunglasses back on, "if I ever end up having kids of my own, it sure as hell won't be biologically. I'm not putting myself through that. Shout out to all the moms out there," she says, extending her arms and nearly knocking out a poor man passing by, "but that's not for me, thank you."

She jabs her foot in the side of Beatrice's shoe.

"I'm pretty sure Ava is entitled to a lifetime of unlimited ice cream from you, or something."

"I know," Beatrice says, picking up a car seat and weighing it.

"Let me be clear, you little shit," Shannon says, dramatically whipping up her sunglasses to get her point across. "I know you're practically the goddamn image of the gentlewoman already, but you better respect that woman with everything you have. Me, I have nothing but high esteem for her, 'cause I honestly can't believe what she put herself through. If you guys end up fighting and dragging each other to court or something, it doesn't matter. You show that kid that you respect his mother, and he'll follow. And we're raising a respectful boy, got it?"

"I know," Beatrice mutters, before seeing Shannon's raised eyebrow. "Yes, sir."

"Asshole."

"You're awfully educational today," she comments.

"That's the tequila talking."

"Bea! Bea, look!"

She turns around to see Camila brandishing a car seat from the other end of the aisle, big grin on her face. If Shannon and Lilith can't handle a hangover, Camila makes it her bitch. She rises out of bed cordial and youthful, humming to herself as her sisters practically sobs for her to keep her voice down. Beatrice sometimes thinks that Camila is a whole other species in herself, because there is no way her metabolism is that fast. 

"It has pirates!" She squeals happily.

There are indeed little ships printed on the padding, and Beatrice can't stop herself from being swallowed by Camila's excitement. She’s a grown woman that loves pirates and turtles now, there's no denying it, no shame attached to it. She'd probably worship unicorns if that was what Diego was into. 

"That's great!" She says, smiling. "But it's designed to be installed facing backwards. It's for a younger baby. Diego is too big already."

"Oh..." Camila responds, disappointed. "What if we keep it for me?"

"You better not make any more babies!" Shannon warns, spilling the end of her tea.

"No! God, no!" Camila cries out, attracting the attention of another customer. "It's for me to ride in it, of course."

"Your butt wouldn't fit," Beatrice supplies teasingly.

"Put the car seat back, Camila Delcàn," Shannon hisses. "Nobody but Diego is getting a car seat, I swear to God."

Her phone buzzes in her pocket as Camila stomps her feet, putting the car seat back where she found it. 

It's a couple of images from Ava, a picture of her and Diego. They're standing in front of a big mirror in what seems to be a dance studio, both in their workout gears. They're flexing their biceps like they're showing their — non-existent, on Diego's part — muscles, grinning at the camera. The next picture is more blurred, it's a shot that Ava must have taken accidentally. She's falling on her back, laughing her lungs out, as Diego is hunched over himself in front of the mirror, mouth open in a silent scream — she's pretty sure he's trying to imitate the Hulk (thank you Camila for dragging her into her latest obsessions, she can now catch up to a lot of pop culture references all on her own like a big girl). 

She laughs as she shows the pictures to Shannon and Camila, and they all giggle like a bunch of little kids. Beatrice switches to her own camera, directing towards Shannon's face with a big smile.

"If you take a picture of me, I'll tell Ava about the playlist thing!" She threatens, a finger pointed at her.

"Go ahead!" Beatrice responds. "I have no shame. It was a genius move."

"It was a sociopath move," Camila comments.

"I'll tell her about the golf cart incident, then," Shannon adds, and Beatrice lowers her phone.

"You wouldn't."

"I will!"

"You said you'd take it to the grave. We made a blood pact!" Camila exclaims.

"With Ketchup!" Shannon says. "And we said we'd all die at forty without kids or spouses, but someone decided to break that, so I'm just using my rights. I'll tell Ava about the golf cart incident," she insists, proud grin on her face.

Beatrice sighs.

"Fine. Fine!"

She shoves her phone into Camila's hands, who immediately starts taking a picture of herself — for some reason she loves taking pictures of herself and her friends from a very disadvantaging angle, with the camera up against her forehead, looking down. Shannon nudges her as Beatrice weighs another car seat, a tiny smirk on her lips.

"See? This is why I'm pretty sure you got it handled already. First, because you look the part. The flip-case is a dead giveaway."

"It protects my screen!" Beatrice sighs.

"... And because you already have toddler-training with this one," she adds, pointing to Camila who is currently squinting at the camera — she really hopes Ava won't show Diego whatever picture Camila ends up sending, he'd be scarred for life.

Beatrice watches as Camila hops up and down as she checks out another car seat — this one with dinosaurs on it. 

"Do you think you would have been more fit for this job? Parenthood, I mean," Beatrice asks — she's found the right car seat, it's secure, up to standards, there aren't any decorations on it but she doesn't think Diego will care.

"Nope," Shannon says. "If anyone had to end up with a surprise kid, I'm glad it's you."

She slips an arm around her shoulders, presses a quick kiss on her hair. Hangover Shannon doesn't know restrains.

"This boy is already so loved. The way Mary talks about him..." She shakes her head. "I don't think you can even grasp the extent of it. Everyone, and I mean everyone, loves him to death."

"I know."

Fuck yeah, she knows. She probably knows much more than Shannon does. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to put words on it, a name, a colour. She hasn't told her about that moment last night in her living room, when it almost hit her, when it grazed her and she felt its breath on the back of her neck. She wants to keep it to herself, just for a little while. She needs to keep it safe, to keep him safe.

Shannon drags Camila to the front of the store as Beatrice pays for the car seat — if they eye her weirdly because she's a young woman accompanied by a hangovered one and a kitten reincarnated in a woman's body, she ignores it — and they prepare themselves to leave.

"Wait, hold on, where's Lilith?" She asks.

Shannon and Camila freeze from where they are wrestling in the frame of the automatic doors, wide eyed. 

It turns out that Lilith is waiting for them in the cafe across the street, hitting the stop button of the timer on her phone when they find her. 

'Thirty-nine minutes!' She screams, scandalised. 'It took you thirty-nine minutes to realise I was gone! What is wrong with you people?! I could have been kidnapped!'

'And they would have given you back immediately,' Shannon answers, stealing her coffee and grimacing because there isn't any sugar in it.

Watching Lilith shout that it's a scandal and that they should all be in prison, Beatrice shakes her head and gives Shannon a teasing grin.

'And that,' she says, 'is why I think none of us will ever be ready.'

Chapter Text

Shannon drags her to a therapist's office on Saturday, despite Beatrice fighting for her life and trying to escape multiple times during the week. In the end, she promises they'll get coffee after if she behaves like a civilised person and that she won't make her go again if it doesn't go well.

And so that's how Beatrice ends up sitting in an armchair with her hands folded onto her lap, her back straight and her gaze fixed on the poster of a frog. Dr. Müller, as her name was marked on her door, sits on the other side of the room, she doesn't talk, completely at ease, quietly drumming on her notebook.

"So," Dr. Müller finally says with a smile that Beatrice only sees from the corner of her eyes, instead looking at the trinket that looks like a shark. "You're Beatrice. Is it okay if I call you Beatrice or should I call you something else?"

"Beatrice's fine," she mutters under her breath.

"Alright. Would you like to tell me why you're here?"

"Why are you here?" Beatrice asks instead, before being able to stop herself.

Dr. Müller shrugs.

"People like to tell me what bothers them. What clouds their mind. Some of them can't find what's wrong in their lives and need my help to figure that out. Once that is figured out, we make some sort of plan to try to fix what's wrong, if we can."

"I don't need a plan."

"That's okay," Dr. Müller says. "Some people don't need a plan. Sometimes they just need someone to listen to them."

"People pay you to listen to their problems?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like a scam."

Dr. Müller shrugs, humming to herself.

"Some people don't have anyone else to listen to them and give them advice."

"I do. I have my sisters," Beatrice says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

She's found the crack in that whole system. Thank you Dr. Müller, nice meeting you, we don't need your help here.

"That's good. What did your sisters give you for advice?"

And Beatrice deflates like one of those balloons that take forever to fall off the ceiling after being forgotten there for too long.

"To come see you," she mutters out.

"Ah. And what do you think of that?"

Beatrice glares at her, she's not stupid, she knows what's happening. Dr. Müller just laughs at her murderous glance.

"Alright, I'm sorry. Maybe your sisters feel like they can't deal with the situation at hand on their own, that you need some extra support. Like a safety net."

Beatrice sighs, rubbing her forehead. She hates it. She hates that place, hates that woman, hates the frog poster and the shark trinket. She's not about to give in. She's strong and she's a fighter, she won't tell that woman what she needs to know to break her. She made that mistake so many times before, she's not going to do it again.

"So, would you like to tell me what prompted that advice from your sisters?"

"I... I have a son."

Somehow that part is easy. Talking about Diego is easy.

"I see. What's his name?"

"Diego. He's two and a half."

"Ah, the age of discoveries."

"Isn't that the case for any age?"

Dr. Müller laughs again.

"You're right. It's never too late to learn. Even I still learn new things every day. And what about Diego?"

"He's... He's good. He's funny, and he's kind, and he has way too much energy for his little body. He runs around everywhere he goes, no matter if he falls or if others fall. He likes pirates and elephants and watermelon ice cream, and dogs and ducklings too. But he doesn't like geese."

It's strange how easy it is for her to talk about Diego. How she immediately smiles and starts waving her hands in the air as she explains something, happy and excited and cheerful, all of a sudden.

"Neither do I. Geese are terrifying," she says, and Beatrice can't stop herself from smiling as she nods.

"And he likes drawing things, even if they look more like scribblings than actual drawings. I think he's trying to redecorate my fridge with all of them. I need to buy more magnets," she mutters to herself, frowning.

Dr. Müller smiles, but her smile is not mean or practised, it looks like one of those smiles Shannon gives her when Beatrice does something really uncool but that she loves anyway, like organising her books by colours or giving all of her plants a name. She doesn't know what to make of that smile.

"And what about Diego? Why do your sisters think you need to come talk to me about him?"

Her hands fold back on her lap, she nudges the carpet with the tip of her shoe, looking intensely at the floor.

"I... I didn't know he existed until a couple of weeks ago."

Dr. Müller puts her pen down, Beatrice looks up. She's looking at her in silence, like she's trying really hard to keep her expression neutral. She's not doing a very good job at it, it makes Beatrice want to laugh a little — Whoo, she managed to shock her therapist during her first session, nice one.

"What?"

"It's... A long story."

For a long second, Dr. Müller looks at her quietly, and Beatrice can't stop herself from smiling. She knows she shouldn't feel that proud of herself for shocking the poor woman into silence, but she can't help it.

And she tells her the whole story. Again. It's funny how every time she does that she can find a new detail that is either funny or infuriating depending on her audience. Dr. Müller takes it all in like Beatrice is telling her about the latest episode of one of Ava's telenovelas. 

When she's finished, she looks at her in silence, folding her glasses and putting them on the table next to her.

"Can I offer some very unprofessional comment?"

"Go ahead."

"That was wild as fuck."

That's what breaks it. Beatrice snorts out a laugh, she can't help it. Yes, it is 'wild as fuck', and yes, she has no idea how she got there, but it's also hilarious in her deranged little mind. 

"Why would you give a fake name at your hotel?!" She says, sounding just as scandalised and annoyed as Shannon.

"I don't know!"

"Yes you do!"

"I didn't want my mother to find me," she admits, rolling her eyes.

"She lives in Switzerland?"

"No, it's just... At the time I wasn't really allowed to go anywhere without her approval."

At this, Dr. Müller blinks.

"But you're an adult woman."

"Yes."

"And your mother controls and supervises every single one of your moves?"

Beatrice stays silent at that, just looking at her quietly. Okay, she got her in the end. That one is on her, she didn't mean to let the conversation derails off tracks.

Dr. Müller sighs, putting her glasses back on.

"Now I know why your sisters wanted you to come to me."

There isn't any judgement in her tone, nor pity or accusation. For some reason Beatrice gets the feeling that Dr. Müllr doesn't like her mother very much — they have that in common. Still, she narrows her eyes at her.

"Scam."

"Oh, come on!"

Shannon does get her coffee, but then she gets called for a work emergency and has to leave — 'As you friend, I'm going to hold that against you for two days,' Beatrice tells her. 'As your boss, I'll fire you if you don't go right now.'

And Beatrice is left wandering around the sun-bathed streets, her skin somehow feeling raw from her visit in Dr. Müller's office, chewing on the paper straw of her iced coffee — for some reason the image of Diego nibbling on his fork refuses to leave her mind. She never really liked iced coffee before moving to Spain, but now she feels like if she takes a hot coffee in the middle of the afternoon she will combust — 'My armpits are crying,' Lilith says all the time with the finesse that is so hers.

She's taking the ruined straw out of her cup and throwing it into the paper trash when she hears a voice right next to her.

"Hi Bea."

Now, Beatrice is pretty good at not letting surprise show on her face. It's something she has developed after years of Shannon's pranks, figuring that if she stopped showing a reaction, Shannon would just take Lilith as a victim. She has a mean poker face.

But here, in the middle of the street, lost in thoughts and still trying to remember what happened in her therapist's office, she doesn't have the reflex to stay still.

No. Instead, she yelps, turns around and jumps instinctively into a fighting stance, legs wide, shoulders aligned with her feet, arms ready to strike.

Ava raises an eyebrow at her, face almost disappearing behind a grocery bag. She doesn't move one inch, and Diego, next to her, tries to lower his own grocery bag to look at her, asking 'What? What?' repeatedly.

"Ava!" Beatrice says, surprised, dropping the fighting stance and realising that she never let go of her cup.

"Ayo, you're some kind of ninja or something?"

She has at least two gabs hanging from her elbows, one hand clutching a pack of milk with another bag stacked on top of it and the other her keys. Diego's bag is slipping out of his hands, even though it's probably the least heavy out of all of them. 

"Bea!" He smiles as soon as he sees her over what seems to be a paper bag of grapes.

"Hello Diego," she smiles back.

"Don't 'Hello Diego' us, I asked you a question," Ava says, nudging her with her foot. 

She has impressive balance, swinging the bags higher up her arms as she puts her foot back on the ground. Beatrice is too busy thinking about whether or not proposing her help would be pushing Ava's boundaries to come up with an entertaining answer.

"I practised aikido for most of my childhood and teenage years, that's all."

Diego grips the bag so firmly between his fingers his knuckles are turning white, and yet he doesn't ask for help — he'll probably wait until all of the groceries are on the ground to do that.

"'That's all'?" Ava repeats, somehow sounding offended. "You're basically a Black Widow and you're just dropping that on us now?"

"Diego is dropping his bag."

"What— Oh, shhhh... oot!"

She stands on one leg to secure the pack against her raised thigh, extending a hand towards Diego, but Beatrice is quicker ; she grabs the bag right before it touches the ground.

"Right, how about we switch it up?" She proposes, gesturing to her almost empty cup. "Can you hold this for me please?"

Diego's eyes sparkle as he takes the cup in both hands, and Beatrice adjusts her grip on the bag as she takes the one on Ava's thigh, forgetting all about asking because she's pretty sure that Ava will decline the help and end up with all of her groceries on the ground.

"Thanks," Ava breathes out, lowering the bags around her elbows to her hands. "For the record, we don't do that every week. I just forgot the uh... The cart thingy today and didn't realise until we were at the checkout."

"The cart thingy?"

"Caddie, trolley, carro de compra, whatever."

"One of those old ladies’ trolleys?" Beatrice asks, frowning.

"Oh shut up, my cart has little carrots drawn on it, it's awesome."

"That's what I'm saying," Beatrice answers, unable to stop herself from teasing.

Ava rolls her eyes, like she always does when she has nothing to answer. Diego, who was lost into his quiet contemplation of Beatrice's cup, suddenly grins up at them.

"I drink this please?"

Beatrice waits for Ava's dismissal, but Ava just looks at him, then back up at her.

"This is about to be a real teaching moment, are you ready for this?"

For whom it will be educating, Beatrice has no idea, but she nods all the same, ready to watch and to learn and take mental notes as Ava turns back towards her son.

"It's a grown-up drink. It's yucky."

That warning, of course, only fuels Diego's curiosity even more.

"Please?" He insists, smiling at Ava like it's going to make her yield.

"You can try," Ava says, shrugging. "But it's very very gross. I warned you."

Diego doesn't care about her warning, he brings the cup to his lips, tips his head back to drink through the hole — Beatrice has never been more thankful for the lid.

As soon as the liquid touches his mouth, he draws back, nearly dropping the cup as his mouth turns downwards in the most disgusted grimace Beatrice has ever seen. She can't stop herself from laughing as she takes the cup from Diego's hands before he drops it, Ava raising an eyebrow at him as he pokes his tongue out of his mouth repeatedly, trying to push out the taste.

"How is it?" She asks.

"Yuck! Yucky, mama!"

"Yeah, I told you," Ava grins.

Beatrice throws the cup in the trash, Ava adjusts her grip on the multiple bag in her hands and on her arms, and Beatrice is about to ask if she can take a couple more when Ava turns to the boy.

"Can you hold Bea's hand as we walk back? Mine are full."

One hand still brushing at his mouth and tongue, he nods, and sticks out a hand that Beatrice takes as gently as she can, trying to keep her jumping heart back in her chest. Diego's hand is so incredibly small in hers, and his skin is a little lighter than hers, and Beatrice is busy comparing their two hands that she doesn't realise immediately that they have started walking through the street.

They fall into familiar silence as they move through the streets towards Ava and Diego's flat, Ava is humming a song that Beatrice vaguely recognises under her breath, Diego jumps up and down on the little marks he can find on the tar, leaving it to Beatrice to guide them through the city. He insists that they walk solely on the white stripes on the crosswalk, or else they'll be on fire , he waves at the people on the bus even though they don't see him, he walks closer to Beatrice every time he sees a dog. 

Ava gravitates around him without even noticing it, giving Beatrice a smile or a teasing raise of an eyebrow every time their gazes cross, like she's daring her to tell Diego that the asphalt isn't actually lava.

Their apartment building is hidden in a narrow pedestrian street, where Beatrice can hear voices through the open windows. Ava stops in front of a gate, balances one of her bags on her thigh as she opens it, and Diego leads Beatrice inside, the gate locking automatically behind them.

Somehow it seems strangely joyful and bright, even though the paint is peeling off the walls and the sun is hidden behind the roof. Ava whistles as she makes her way to a staircase, Diego tugging at Beatrice's hand to get her to hurry up. 

It takes them a while to get to the right floor, because Diego climbs the steps one at a time, and Beatrice keeps holding his hand, watching him and rising at his pace. Ava pretends that the grocery bags are too heavy to go faster, staying a few steps in front of her until they reach the fourth floor, and she unlocks a door.

Diego immediately darts inside.

"Shoes off!" Ava yells after him, and he comes back, huffing out an annoyed sigh that Ava pretends not to see.

Her kitchen is to the left, Ava immediately marches inside, leaving it to Beatrice to close the door behind her. She puts the bags on the floor, looking at the hint of the sun on the adjacent building and the drawings on the fridge. But there aren't just drawings. There are pictures of Ava's friends and grocery lists and tickets from the aquarium and the fair and drawings made by Diego as well as baby pictures of him and letters magnets and other magnets from different places that Ava has probably visited. 

And there are burnt kitchen gloves hanging from a hook over the sink, and little buckets full of utensils too, and colourful dishes drying by the sink and a toaster forgotten in a corner, and a pitcher of water with a broken handle and growing sprouts of basil and mint and two sliding doors painted in light blue opening on a pantry on the other side of the countertops. 

Somehow Beatrice's pristine clean kitchen has never felt sadder. 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, a text from Shannon asking her a question snaps her out of her reverie. 

"Do you need help?" She asks as she puts it back in her pocket, trying to push away her responsibilities just for a few more minutes.

Ava is already putting away the groceries, kneeling by the open drawer.

"Nope," she says, shaking her head. "We're all good."

"Alright I— I need to go," Beatrice says, against her will.

Ava grunts as she stands up, leaning her weight on a stool before making her way to the entrance where Beatrice is awkwardly standing without knowing what to do with herself. 

"Thank you, Bea," Ava says with a genuine smile. "For everything."

It's not just about the grocery bag, but Beatrice nods anyway, not knowing what to think of it.

"It's nothing."

Ava shrugs, turning towards the living room, to the right. 

"Diego, come say bye-bye to Bea."

Diego shoots out of the living room in an instant, a sticker on his finger. 

"You have this," he says, taking Beatrice's hand and pressing it on her skin.

Ava groans in despair, pinching the bridge of her nose, but Beatrice laughs as she kneels down to get to his level.

"Thank you, Diego. It's beautiful. It makes me really happy."

"Okay!" Diego nods, because of course it makes Beatrice happy, stickers make everyone happy, why wouldn't it?

He's still waving at her through the open door, Ava smiling with one hand on the doorknob as Beatrice makes her way back down the stairs.

Shannon grins teasingly at her when she sees the frog sticker on her hand, and Beatrice flips her off — quite beautifully too, Diego's stickers make everything she does better.

Chapter Text

Beatrice knows the way to Ava's flat, it's no surprise she doesn't need her to tell her the floor or which door to ring, she figures it out all on her own like the big girl that she is. A group of teenagers walk out just as she's about to buzz the intercom and she simply walks in, wondering if that isn’t technically breaking in and entering.

The sun is slowly starting its descent in the sky and she grips the metallic railing as she makes her way up the stairs. Dark clouds are blooming over the last ray of the setting sun, the air is thick and buzzing with the lingering smell of incoming rain. She didn’t have time to change, unfortunately, she’s still in her work attire, but at least she’s on time and if there is one thing Beatrice values, it’s punctuality.

She finds the doorbell with ‘Silva’ written on it, pushes the button. She hears a few muffled yells, tries not to think about it as she waits like an idiot on Ava’s doormat with ‘New home, who dis?’ written on it.

The door opens, and Diego stands in his pyjamas on the other side, lowering himself from where he was standing on his toes. Beatrice frowns — Ava is going to have to learn to lock the door now that he knows how to open it — but he just grins at her.

“Bea!”

“Hello Diego,” she says, crouching down to get to his level. “Where is mama?”

“With JC!”

“Ew, why are you saying it like that?” Ava’s voice comes out, muffled and distant.

“Why are you saying it like that?!” Another voice answers — she recognizes JC’s voice from the video.

Beatrice shakes her head, extending a hand towards Diego.

“Come on, let’s go back inside.”

God forbid he decides to make a run for it. Ava’s flat is so warm it’s suffocating, heavy air tangling itself into her lungs. She closes the door behind the both of them, Diego leading her towards the kitchen, and she can hear Ava and JC screaming and screeching as she opens the door.

Ava is kneeling on her kitchen table, brandishing a towel in front of her like it’s a sword, JC is perched on the counter, yelling something as he points to a corner.

Diego giggles as he looks up at her.

“They are silly!”

“They are silly,” Ava mimics in a stupid voice, pointing her towel at him. “Boy when I get down from this table, you’re next.”

Diego just laughs at her, hiding behind Beatrice’s legs.

“Why are you on the table?” Beatrice asks curiously.

“There’s a spider in there somewhere but someone stopped looking at it and now we don’t know where it is,” JC explains, and Ava’s towel lands right on his face.

They’re already back to yelling at each other as Beatrice looks around, Diego giggling as he hides behind her pants.

“This spider?” She says, pointing to the dark spot on the floor next to the fridge.

Both Ava and JC immediately start screeching at the top of their lungs, and Diego startles, raising his arms towards Beatrice.

“Up. Up, please,” he asks, and she obliges, grabbing him and carrying him towards Ava who extends her arms to take him.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you, baby.”

He tucks himself into her arms as Beatrice turns around, walking towards the spider and crouching down. It tries to escape but she’s faster, trapping it in between her hands and crossing the room to open the window, and she throws it outside before closing the window again. When she turns around, Ava, Diego and JC are all looking at her in stunned silence.

“What the—”

“JC!” Ava yells, covering Diego’s ears.

“Oh you were right, she is a Black Widow!” JC says as he lowers himself back on the ground.

“See? I told you!” Ava laughs, handing Diego back to Beatrice before getting down from the table.

Diego immediately reaches out to play with the collar of her shirt, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. JC extends a hand towards her, big grin on his face.

"Words going around you got punched by Mary. Don't worry, I did too. Welcome to the family!"

She shakes his hand, the other still occupied by holding Diego.

"You know, some people engrave names in wooden napkins rings as tradition," she comments, and Ava giggles by the stove.

"Well, we get punched by Mary," he shrugs. "To each their own."

"JC, don't you have someone else to bother?" Ava asks, rummaging into an open cupboard.

"Shut up, I'm only here for Diego," he says, and Diego laughs and gives him a high-five.

Ava raises an eyebrow, looking insistently at him.

“Beatrice, put Diego down,” she orders, and Beatrice obeys without a word. “Diego, go get me my chancla.”

Diego immediately runs to the living room, but JC is out of the front door before he can even come back.

“But JC?” Diego asks, surprised, as Ava takes her slipper from him, putting it on her foot.

“He had a doctor’s appointment,” Ava explains, turning the stove back on.

She has a pink apron tied around her waist, with little kittens printed on it. Beatrice really wants to tease her about it, and about the trolley tucked away into the entrance next to the door, but Diego tugs on her pants, handing her another apron, blue, with flowers drawn on it.

“App-on,” he says, frowning severely at her.

“Yeah, Bea, put on your apron, it’s mandatory,” Ava sneers as she opens the window to let some fresh air in.

“Manda-tory,” Diego repeats mindlessly as Beatrice ties the straps around her waist.

She looks ridiculous, with the blue apron over her work clothes, but Diego doesn’t seem to mind, grinning up at her — and if he’s happy, then so is she. Ava, on the other hand, seems to hide her mocking smile behind her hair as she shakes her head, dropping the wooden spoon back into the saucepan.

Beatrice is helping Diego fold up the sleeves of his pyjama shirt when Ava starts hopping up, hand in the air, trying to reach the top of a cupboard where a jar of tomato sauce looks down at her.

“Would you like some help?” She asks, trying and failing not to smile.

“I’ve got it,” Ava huffs out, putting one hand on the counter and trying to push herself up. “Usually I have a little stepladder-thing but JC broke it.”

Diego lets out a little fake laugh, like he just remembered how JC broke it and thinks it’s very funny.

Ava sighs, taking a step back.

“Okay, you do it.”

Beatrice smiles as she remembers how Diego told her the exact same thing a few days ago. Unfortunately, for all her mocking pride, Beatrice isn’t that taller than Ava, and she ends up with the tip of her fingers just a millimetre away from the jar, but still too far to reach it, frowning sadly as Ava laughs.

“Ha! See? That is what I call karma.”

Still, Beatrice turns to Diego who is looking curiously at the both of them.

“If I pick you up and lift you, do you think you could take it?”

They could just take a stool and step on it, but this would be much more funnier, and Diego grins up at her, nodding.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

She picks him up, fingers splayed around his rib cage to make sure he is secure, adjusts her grip around him by resting his back against her chest for a second. Ava stays next to them, looking curious as to what is going to happen.

“Up,” Beatrice warns as she starts to lift him at arms’ length, elbows locked to make sure he doesn’t fall.

Diego laughs and Ava echoes him.

“Come on, baby, you can do it!”

He wraps both of his tiny hands around the jar, body tensing under the effort.

“Arms around it,” Beatrice breathes out.

“Yeah, give it a hug!” Ava adds.

God forbids it falls after all this trouble. Diego wraps his arms around it, tucks the jar against his chest with his chin on the lid, legs wiggling happily.

“You got it?” Beatrice asks.

“Yeah!”

“Okay, I’m putting you down now.”

“Don’t drop it, D.!”

Their laugh is the same, Beatrice realises as she slowly lowers Diego down, although Ava’s is a little rougher, hoarse, almost. And their smiles mirror each other, as Ava manages to unwrap the iron grip Diego has on the jar, Beatrice wrapping her arms around his waist, chin on his head.

“Awesome, thanks,” Ava says, shaking the jar with a flick of the wrist, slapping the bottom before unscrewing the lid. “Tomorrow, we’re doing that at the toys’ grapple at the fair.”

“Ava, no.”

Diego squirms out of her hold and runs away to the living room where his toys are waiting for him. That only leaves Beatrice and Ava in Ava’s kitchen, settling in comfortable silence as Ava continues cooking, and Beatrice cleans up the mess she leaves — she doesn’t know why she does that, she always does. She always needs to do something when she is at someone else’s place, sometimes Camila invites her just because she doesn’t want to fold her laundry, and that tricks Beatrice into doing it for her (she doesn’t care, Camila always feeds her in return). Ava doesn’t even seem to care as to what she is doing, like she doesn’t realise how much of a mess she is leaving behind her.

Dark clouds keep rumbling over them, the electricity in the air rising and rising so much it's almost too hard to breathe. People start yelling drunkenly in the little street under the window, and Ava closes it quickly, throwing a look towards Diego who keeps running into the kitchen to show Beatrice one of his toys — a plastic dinosaur, a shark plushie, a strange doll called Moose, and even a 'cool rock'.

“I have a question,” Beatrice says as she puts the cutting board into the sink, Diego running back to the living room after she complemented his lonely piece of puzzle.

“Can’t promise I have the answer, but shoot,” Ava answers, bringing the wooden spoon to her lips.

“How do you install a car seat? I’ve been trying to figure it out for days now and I still can’t find out how it works.”

Ava bites into her lower lip, throwing a look towards the living room where Diego is digging through his toys box, but Beatrice feels like she’s pretending a little.

“Alright, can I let you on on a little secret, Beatrice Kleine-Young? ‘Cause I feel like you and I know each other enough at this point, but I don’t want to give out compromising information for free.”

Beatrice hesitates for a second, wondering if Ava is being serious, what she is supposed to do.

“Sure?” She says, more of a question than an answer.

Ava puts one hand on her shoulder, forcing her to lean to the side a little as she raises herself on her toes to reach her ear.

“I have no fucking idea,” she says, and grins proudly as she takes a step back.

Beatrice is left looking at her in disbelief. There is a child car seat in Ava’s car, she knows that. Is it buckled improperly? Is it just left the way it is?!

“What…?”

“Yeah, I get Michael to do it for me and pretend to listen as he gives me instructions but really he just does it on his own and I just sit there and nod,” she laughs.

Beatrice stares at her in silence, mouth open.

“You’re evil,” she says, stupefied.

“Maybe. But I’m pretty, so it’s okay. Just look it up on Youtube, you’re a nerd, I’m pretty sure you can figure it out from here.”

Her phone starts ringing just as she reaches into her spice drawer, Ava answers the call without even looking at it.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m busy, JC?”

“Dude, you didn’t tell me you had a kid into the British royal family!—”

“Okay, DIEGO!” Ava calls through the open door, Beatrice jumping in surprise. “Phone call for you!”

Diego immediately runs to get the phone from Ava’s hands, putting it to his ear.

“I’m Diego Silva,” Beatrice hears as he walks away.

Ava just turns back to her stove, adding spices into the sauce she is preparing as Diego’s little voice fills the background. No doubt now that she uses Diego to get out of an annoying phone call, given how easily he answered the call.

“What?” Ava asks, and Beatrice realises she’s been staring at her, bewildered.

“I’m not royalty,” she says stupidly.

Ava snorts out a laugh.

“Sure. You have a British accent, you’re rich as Hell, you’re a gentlewoman and you act like you’ve been raised in a mansion.”

“Manor,” Beatrice corrects from the tip of her lips.

“Jesus Christ, Bea.”

“I’m not part of the royal family, I don’t even know them!”

“I don’t believe you,” Ava sing-songs, bringing the wooden spoon to her lips to taste the sauce. “Someday Diego is going to end up with lawyers calling him because all the princes mysteriously died and he’s next in line.”

“What?”

“That is going to be the biggest plot-twist for the sixteenth season of my telenovela,” she explains.

“Which one are we on?”

“You don’t wanna know."

Chapter Text

Beatrice doesn’t know how it’s possible, but somehow Dinner At Ava’s Place ends up being even more chaotic than Dinner at Bea’s Place. Mostly because Diego is on a rant about daycare and his super awesome toys and how Michael is the coolest person ever and Ava lets her deal with it. It ends with Beatrice fork-feeding Diego while nodding insistently and wondering if she shouldn’t google what the Hell Flounder-the-fish is as Ava simply watches, clearly amused. 

They have to wash Diego’s hands and face in the sink with how much pasta he put on himself, Beatrice carries him and Ava flicks water at them until Diego starts yelling at her like she’s just killed him. 

That’s when Ava declares that it’s bedtime. Of course, Diego takes it as his cue to drag Beatrice into his bedroom to show her all of the toys he couldn’t bring her in the kitchen. By that time her mind is a little fuzzy with the endless stream of his little voice and all she can do is nod and agree to anything he says, maybe a little overwhelmed with all the information she’s receiving but happy nonetheless. 

Ava finds her way to her, shoves a clean diaper into her hands, lets Beatrice examine it like a case study for a couple of minutes (it’s one of those less complicated one, that just need to be slipped on like a pair of trousers), hands behind her back as Diego keeps talking about his animal farm, a small smile on her lips.

“You think you can handle it?” She teases.

“It can’t be harder than your mum’s thesis,” Beatrice teases back.

Which is, in retrospect, the wrong thing to say. Because one of Ava’s eyebrows shoots up, a challenging light in her eyes.

“You know what? I’m not even gonna comment on that one. Good luck,” she says, patting Beatrice’s arm and then taking a seat into the egg chair at the corner of the room. 

Good luck indeed, as Beatrice tries desperately to get Diego on board with the idea of wearing his diaper. Even as she is helping him put it on, his little hands gripping her shirt as he slips one foot after the other in each hole, she has to beg him to focus as he keeps talking about his future pet lion. Ava watches the whole scene from the egg chair, shamelessly giggling at Beatrice and not even trying to hide it. 

Finally, she manages to get the diaper on and breathes a sigh of relief, reaching for his pyjama pants to put them back on, only to turn around and see Diego running off into the hallway, shrieking happily to himself as Ava laughs from her seat. Beatrice doesn’t even wait before running after him, unable to stop her own smile from spreading on her face. Diego runs into the living room and hops on the couch, escaping Beatrice’s hands by running towards the other end. Beatrice manages to catch him mid-jump as he throws himself off the couch, scooping him up into her arms as he tries to squirm away.

“I’ve got him!” She yells for Ava, making her way back towards Diego’s room. 

This time, she lays him on the ground and tickles his tummy as she puts the pyjama pants on, and finally ends up with a fully dressed toddler. 

Ava is still giggling as Beatrice picks him up with a whooshing noise and holds him against her hip, trying desperately to stop her own smile.

“Hey, what did we say about running away?”

But Diego doesn’t even listen, cupping her face and pressing on her cheeks with a happy little squeak.

“I feel like you’re not a very attentive audience, right now,” Beatrice comments, Ava laughing as she stands up.

“No, he isn’t. My bad, he gets that from me. Come on, D. It’s sleepy time.”

“No!” He whines.

“Yes,” Ava whines back. “Come on, say goodnight to Bea.”

Since Diego is clearly upset about going to bed, it’s Beatrice who wishes him a goodnight, allowing herself to brush his hair behind his ear — just this — before handing him over to Ava, slipping away back to the kitchen to let them have their own alone time. 

She can hear Ava’s whispering voice from time to time as she cleans up the kitchen, Diego’s louder voice slowly growing more and more hushed until all Beatrice hears is a quiet hum that echoes inside the flat. The sky has turned a dark shade of grey outside, so dark it almost seems an angry black, one that tells Beatrice exactly what is going to happen. 

The kitchen is almost back to its organised chaos (unlike the mess it was when Beatrice arrived), when she hears the door carefully being closed, and Ava walking into the kitchen. Beatrice is still by the sink, putting the last pan to dry when she walks back into the room, yawning and ruffling her hair.

“Diego down,” she announces. “Thanks,” she says, gesturing to the kitchen. “You didn’t have to.”

Beatrice smiles.

“Is it weird that I genuinely like washing dishes?”

“A little bit,” Ava nods. “But hey, I wave bye-bye to the train even when Diego isn’t around, so you’re good.”

Beatrice chuckles, following after Ava into the living room, where she instinctively starts gathering Diego’s toys to put them back into their box. Ava, who has taken a seat on the sofa, reaches over the arm to take something into her laundry basket and throws it at her.

“Jesus, get a life! Seriously, what do they feed you in Buckingham Palace? What’s next, you’re gonna start organising my socks by colors?”

“Depends,” Beatrice answers, picking up the sock Ava threw at her face. “Where’s the other one?”

“Ah, Hell nah, you don’t touch my fuzzy socks, Beatrice Kleine-Young. They’re my most prized possession, even Mary isn’t allowed to touch them.”

Beatrice laughs as she chugs the sock back at her, and Ava catches it, quite impressively, she might add, sliding the laundry basket towards her to start folding the clothes as Beatrice puts the toys in the box.

It’s their first time alone, just the two of them, since that fateful day in Beatrice’s living room, when Ava turned her world upside down for the rest of her life. Somehow, it feels familiar and peaceful, even through the hot stickiness clinging to Beatrice’s skin and the discomfort of being in a place that’s not her own. 

She takes extra care as she puts Moose the Doll on top of all of the toys, laying her down with a little makeshift blanket before putting the lid on the box and sliding it into the shelf under the TV. 

There are baby pictures of Diego she hasn’t seen yet hung on the wall, a few of them with Ava’s family with him. But they’re mostly photos of Diego and Ava, unlike the ones Ava put on the key she gave Beatrice. It’s like she purposefully made sure she wasn’t that present in the pictures she gave her, a careful precaution that Beatrice hadn’t realised until now.

The biggest picture is a print of a photo of Ava in a hospital bed, a newborn Diego lying on her chest. She’s facing the camera, mouth open in a silent word, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lip. Her hair is still long in that photo, just like Beatrice remembers it from that night. Diego looks small and red on her chest, a little baby hat on his head, dark eyes wide open with one hand laying on Ava’s collarbone.

“Mary took that picture.”

Beatrice turns around, but Ava isn’t looking at her, instead folding a shirt on her lap. She looks up at her, smiles slightly. Beatrice doesn’t know what to say.

“I know I was the one doing most of the work, you know, making a whole baby and shit, but I like to remember it as a team effort. I was barely left alone during that time, I had to kick them out so I could get some rest.”

Beatrice smiles, making her way across the room to sit on the other side of the sofa.

“Although I can understand the inconvenience, I’m glad you had them. That could not have been easy.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t. But it was also… I don’t know, it was a really good time. Still is.”

She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, and maybe it doesn’t after all.

“By the way,” Ava adds, a laugh in her voice. “I’m really sorry about J.C. earlier. He just can’t keep his mouth shut. If he made you uncomfortable, trust me when I say he didn’t mean it.”

“It’s alright,” Beatrice smiles. “You were interrogated by Shannon. I think we’ve both seen worse.”

“Yeah, no, what’s this I hear about a playlist thin—”

Thunder cracks over their heads just at that moment, ripping the peaceful silence to shreds in seconds. It takes Beatrice by surprise just a little, contrary to Ava who all but jumps out of her skin, at least she thinks so until she sees her run into the hallway, towards Diego’s room, just as a cry echoes into the flat.

Not knowing what to do, Beatrice just stays still with her hands on her lap, fiddling slightly until Ava makes her way back in the living room, Diego in her arms. He has a pacifier into his mouth, a stuffed bunny with long ears tucked against his chest and a few tears in his eyes.

“Knew that wouldn’t last long,” Ava comments as she presses kisses on his cheek, sitting back on the sofa across from Beatrice.

“Did the thunder scare you?” Beatrice asks, Diego nodding and mumbling something around his dummy that Beatrice doesn’t understand.

“I know,” Ava says, rubbing his back. “That was scary. But it’s just a big noise, D. Nothing to be scared of.”

That’s the moment said thunder chooses to make a loud come back, booming over them and even Ava jumps this time, tightening her hold on Diego and running a hand through his hair.

“Holy guacamole, it’s really loud.”

Because she doesn’t know what to do, and because her brain is still a bit fuzzy from the tiring day of work and the overstimulation that followed, Beatrice doesn’t really think before talking.

“We don’t really like thunder either,” she says, not even hearing herself, too focused on the way Diego lays his head on Ava’s chest with his eyelids pressed together. “There were a lot of storms during the spring in Switzerland. Camila would invent the greatest stories to explain them.”

“Like what?” Ava asks, and Beatrice realises that she should have shut her mouth. 

“Forget it.”

Ava only grins at her.

“Now I’ve gotta hear it, come on.”

“I… Only remember one of them, but it’s not… Very educational. It’s actually quite stupid.”

Ava raises an eyebrow, Beatrice closes her eyes for a second, reminding herself that she was supposed to be a diplomat.

“God’s fart.”

Ava snorts out a laugh, and although Diego probably doesn’t know much about God, he can still recognise the word ‘fart’ and raises himself, grinning at her.

“We were fourteen,” Beatrice pleads. “And in catholic school. Camila loved messing with the nuns here. We all did.”

“Oh no, it’s an awesome idea,” Ava laughs. “I’ll make sure to ask her about it. I’m sure saying that there is a big guy in the clouds farting over her is not her best idea, and I wanna hear it.”

Diego giggles at her, like she just said the funniest thing in the world, Ava drops a kiss onto his nose.

“I’m not gonna lie, knowing how much of a nerd you are, I was kinda expecting some science thing or something like that.”

“I mean, we can still track how far the storm is.”

Diego crawls away from Ava and into her lap, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Beatrice worries for a moment that Ava is going to be upset at the loss, but she just smiles quietly.

She adjusts her grip around him, making sure he doesn’t fall and also trying to comfort him a little.

“We just have to wait for the lightning, and then we start counting.”

They do wait, for a few seconds, until a flash of white rips the sky in half, and Beatrice starts counting, putting her fingers up and letting Diego play with them so that he can follow.

“One, two…”

Diego mutters the words as she goes, they get to nine before the thunder clashes again, but this time Diego doesn’t jump.

According to her long passed maths classes, the storm is at least three kilometres away.

“See?” She says. “It’s very far already. I bet the rain is going to start falling soon.”

Either Beatrice is actually a goddamn wizard, either God is actually listening and thought her stupid story was funny, because some warm rain almost immediately starts falling, pattering against the windows and the streets below. Ava raises an eyebrow, Diego looks at her like she just pulled a white rabbit out of his ear.

“Totally did that on purpose.”

Ava hides her grin behind her palm, back resting against the arm of the couch, as Beatrice starts counting again after the next flash of lightning. Diego drops his head on her chest without a word, his stuffed bunny tucked under his chin, looking towards Ava who doesn’t say anything. Beatrice freezes for a second, hands hovering over him without knowing what to do until Ava nudges her with the tip of her foot, and she rests one hand on his back, the other on his neck, not daring to move a single muscle. 

She doesn’t know how much time passes, how long they stay like this for, but the rain is pattering outside and the thunder has passed and disappeared, and Diego has fallen back asleep on her chest.

Beatrice’s mind is too tired to properly freak out, she just stays still, trying to imprint the moment into her memory, the weight of Diego on her chest, the feeling of his breathing against her shirt. Her thumb strokes his neck, brushing against his curly hair, and it almost feel like her own chest is too small, all of a sudden, like it cannot contain as much air as she needs with the way her heart is doubling in size and pushing against her lungs (she knows it’s not possible, it’s just the only way to describe it). She feels that very same feeling she had that night in her own living room, when she found Diego asleep on her couch, slowly wrapping her up in its hold and suffocating her in the best way possible.

“You should put him back to bed,” Ava says in a yawn, almost making her jump.

“I’m— Alright, do you want to…”

She trails off, and Ava smiles, eyes lidded with sleep.

“You know the way now.”

She does.

She adjusts her hold on Diego, making sure he is secure before standing up, and walks slowly out of the living room. The hallway is plunged into darkness but it doesn’t bother her, she’s barely looking around, staring at Diego sleeping in her arms. She miraculously manages to not step on any of his toys as she crosses the room all the way to his little bed, carefully puts him down and makes sure to support his head in the process — after it lulls back a little bit too harshly and Beatrice freaks out a little, putting a hand in his hair. She tucks him in, pulling the blanket all the way to his chin, placing the stuffed bunny next to him (with the blanket to the bunny’s chin too, he deserves to be tucked in). 

For a never-ending second she stays still, kneeling next to his bed with his hand on his chest. His dark eyelashes, his button nose, his round lips, his little fists, closed in his sleep. She reaches out, settles a hand over his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek as softly as she can. 

It almost hits her then, but she pushes it back. Instead, she allows herself to stare just for one single second, and then she stands up, makes her way across the room and closes the door behind her, leaving a gap.

Ava, too, is asleep when she finds her. She has fallen on her side on the couch, one leg bent over the other. Beatrice looks around the room, finds a blanket and smiles when she realises this blanket was once hers. She drapes it over Ava’s sleeping form, tugs on it to make sure it covers her whole body, hesitates for a second to tuck a pair of socks at her side just to mess with her but decides against it.

She turns off the light, and leaves. 

Outside, the rain is pouring. Beatrice doesn’t run as she makes her way to her car, she walks, and she smiles the whole time. 

Chapter Text

From that moment, Dinner With Bea, Ava and Diego becomes a weekly occurrence.

Sometimes they do it at Ava’s flat, sometimes at Beatrice’s house, mostly it doesn’t matter. The only thing that seems to bother Diego is that Beatrice still hasn’t gotten around wearing an apron in her kitchen, and he acts like it’s personally offending him — which should not be as funny as it is.

She learns more about daycares and cartoons and toys than she had during her own childhood, which is a little bit overwhelming and confusing at times, but Ava laughs and tells her she’s confused too so at least she’s not alone. She learns that puzzles and board games inevitably always have missing pieces, that if Diego doesn’t have a nap during the afternoon it’s like hanging out with a little demon, that his favourite colour changes every time she asks him, that his favourite meal is mac and cheese but only when it’s made by Ava, that the reason he speaks so well at only two years old (and a half) is probably because he’s a bilingual/trilingual baby as he speaks English but Portuguese with Ava and some Spanish (she learns that Ava specifically searched for an English-speaking daycare so that he wouldn’t fall behind).

She also teaches him to say ‘Bless you’ after someone sneezes (although she didn’t really mean to do that), that clouds aren’t evil creatures that will eat his toes but rather ‘strange water’ that won’t come down because they’re having a lot of fun in the sky, and to put his toys back in the box after using them (Ava holds out her hand for a high-five and yells out ‘Parenting!’ very loudly until Beatrice obliges and slaps her hand against hers — although according to Ava they still have a long way to go, Diego only does it when Beatrice is around).

She also learns that Diego thought that Beatrice tucking Moose in the box that first night was the funniest thing ever and now has decided to start tucking everything like the objects are going to fall asleep (Ava threatens to ban her from her flat after finding her bottle of shampoo on her pillow with the blanket over it), Shannon and Camila thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world and Lilith says that he’s just as dumb as Beatrice is.

And then, there are also Bea-and-Diego times, which Beatrice is pretty sure is a little bit in between Ava needing a break from time to time and genuinely wanting them to grow closer to each other (not that she’s complaining). Mostly, they don’t do many complicated things, just playing or drawing together. She reads him books, but he likes it better when Ava does it, because she does the voices and he thinks it’s funnier. But he also thinks that Beatrice is better at doing puzzles and drawing with him, because apparently she ‘doesn’t dance’, which is probably referring to the way Ava always wiggles when trying to stay still. They try to go to a little farm one time, as Camila suggested, but Diego sees a goose, grabs her hand and they both run away and agree to tell Ava it was much scarier than it actually was.

And yes, she also finally learns how to install a car seat, which takes an hour and Shannon supervising (criticising everything Beatrice does) for her to achieve.

On one of those late afternoons where Beatrice is waiting for them to come, finally sticking all of her new magnets on her fridge (Camila helped with those), Lilith is the one to show up first, which isn’t very surprising. Apparently, everyone has decided that Beatrice’s house is also their house, so she’s getting used to finding people in her living room at least five times a week. She should probably feel more annoyed about it, but the truth is that she doesn’t really care (she barely realises Mary started invading too until she finds her spinning in her office chair while Shannon tells her about an asshole from accounting).

So yes, it’s no surprise Lilith presses her doorbell unannounced, but according to what Beatrice understood, she had the feeling Lilith liked Ava and Diego better when they weren’t around (which was a lie, but Beatrice isn't a snitch).

“Did Satan finally kick you out?” Beatrice asks as a greeting as Lilith makes her way into the house, sticking a magnet of a cartoon character above Diego’s fifth drawing.

“Ha ha. You should have been a comedian,” Lilith says, rolling her eyes.

Beatrice waits for her to elaborate, but Lilith doesn’t, avoiding her gaze. Which is not very Lilith-like, since her sister likes to stare into someone's soul as if lasers are going to shoot out of her retina. Beatrice is pretty sure she has seen her burgundy red sweater in Shannon’s closet at some point, but cannot remember when she could have stolen it. Something is definitely and completely wrong.

“Ava and Diego are about to be here, is there something you want to talk about?” Beatrice asks.

In lieu of an answer, Lilith throws an envelope on Beatrice’s kitchen table, waiting for her to acknowledge it. Lilith’s address is written on it, but there is the name of a laboratory on the flap of the envelope, indicating where it comes from.

“Lilith, what is this?”

Lilith mutters something, nose tucked into the inside of her sweater, something that Beatrice doesn’t understand.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“The DNA test results.”

For a very long, agonising second, Beatrice stands still, staring at her without a word, trying to make sense of what she heard.

“What?” She asks, a little too loud.

Lilith sucks in a deep breath.

“I just received the results of yours and Diego’s DNA testing. It’s yours if you want to open it.”

“I’m sorry, since when was there a DNA test?” Beatrice scoffs, indignation rising with every passing second. “I didn’t do that.”

“I did,” Lilith says, straightening up and squaring her shoulders, as if waiting for Beatrice to scream at her. “I did.”

“What— Why… What the Hell is wrong with you?!” Beatrice shouts. “Why would you do that?!”

Fire and thunder rumbles into her chest, claws at her rib cages and tries to pierce her throat with its teeth. Beatrice was never a creature of fury, but she feels like something akin to one right now, watching the way Lilith’s jaw tightens, just like when her mother used to visit her in boarding school.

“Because you are my sister, Beatrice,” Lilith says, sharp and cold too. “I know you better than anyone and I know you’d never question it, so it’s my job to do so. You could get robbed of your wallet and offer your coat too.”

She would not offer her coat.

“I wouldn’t…”

“You know what I mean.”

She doesn’t. Beatrice tries her best to be good, to be kind, but that doesn’t mean she would let herself be deceived like that. She is not stupid. She is not a child. Doesn’t Lilith trust her?

“Ava said he was mine. And I believe her,” Beatrice grits out, her tongue feeling a little bit like a sour lemon.

“Yes, I know. I know you do.”

“Are you saying you don’t? Have you seen him, Lilith?” She scoffs.

She’s defensive, she knows that, but her throat is raspy with anger and contained rage, as she tries to keep the words into the barrier of her mouth. Because she feels a little bit like kicking her down right now, and she knows she would never forgive herself for it later.

“I did,” Lilith says. “I’m— Look, Beatrice, I know you’re angry, and trust me, I understand, but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”

“Explain.”

Explain and I’ll know whether I’ll ask Shannon to have a word about it with you or throw you out of my life.

“I did it the day right after you received the news, I think. I sent both samples, yours and the kid’s, to the laboratory.”

“But how did you—”

“I have my ways.”

“You deceived me.”

“I did,” Lilith admits. “I did. At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought… Well, you know what I thought.”

Yes. She thought Ava was a crook. She thought she was just here after Beatrice’s money, or to cause chaos, or to fuck things up because people seem to do that a lot around Beatrice. Beatrice might be guarded, but Lilith has an imaginary army wrapped around her with swords pointed at anyone that tries to approach her.

“But now,” Lilith continues, looking down at the ground like it’s physically painful for her to admit it. “Now I don’t know anymore. I mean, I do know. I know the boy is yours, he’s just as annoying as you are, but I don’t… I’m not—”

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Look, I had planned to open it as soon as I received it, but now I don’t want to anymore. It’s for you to decide. The letter is here, it’s yours to open. Or not.”

Beatrice doesn’t know what to say — she does know what she wants to say, but she’s not sure Shannon would forgive her for it.

“I’m not… Who do you think I am, Lilith?!” She shouts. “Do you really believe me to be too stupid to make my own decisions? Or that Ava is just what, a crook? Is that what you think of your own friends, Lilith?”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I know you’re upset, and I understand. I knew my actions would have consequences. But I love you. And I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

The doorbell rings just as Beatrice opens her mouth to say something else, Diego grinning at her from the camera she can see on her phone. She lets them in, points a stern finger at Lilith.

“I’m telling Ava about this. You are on very thin ice right now.”

Lilith doesn’t answer, just disappears into the living room, abandoning the envelope on the kitchen table.

Diego runs straight into the house and into Beatrice’s legs as she opens the door, Ava crossing the garden behind him. She plasters on a smile, lifts him in the air and sets him on her hip, like she does every time. Diego bumps their forehead together, their designated hello, waves his arms in the air.

“Bea! I’m a monster!” He roars into her ears, Beatrice has learned to keep her face neutral and not wince.

“That’s great,” she says as she puts him down, tugging on his orange shirt (his favourite colour this week) where it’s riding up his tummy. “You’re my favourite monster now. Can you go into the living room to see Lilith? I have to talk to your mama for a minute.”

Diego doesn’t question it, running into the living room with a shriek ‘Lily!’, as Ava stops in front of her, frowning.

“What the—”

“Hi, how are you feeling today, how was work, Lilith did a DNA test,” Beatrice says, putting a hand on her shoulder and ushering her into the kitchen while closing the door behind her.

“Wow, Bea, what?” Ava asks, turning around in confusion.

“Lilith did a DNA test for Diego and I and received the results today,” Beatrice says, gesturing to the envelope. “I didn’t know until five minutes ago,” she adds, to make sure Ava knows it definitely wasn’t her idea.

Ava turns towards the kitchen table, eyebrows still brought together in confusion as she picks up the envelope, looking at it.

“It’s not open,” she says.

“No, it’s not. Lilith doesn’t want to know anymore. Or maybe she already knows?” She asks, more for herself than anyone else, as she can hear Lilith agreeing softly as Diego talks excitedly in the living room.

“I see,” Ava says, putting the envelope down.

She’s wearing her hair down today, with another strange button up with pineapples printed on it open on a low cut top (‘It gets me more tips and makes Hans jealous, double win, Bea!’). The ensemble is another kind of weird, but Ava somehow finds a way to make it lovely, the bracelet Diego made her jingling as she scratches her head.

“Well? Aren’t you going to open it?”

Beatrice stares at her for a moment with her mouth wide open, offended.

“No! Why would I— I trust you, Ava,” she says, frowning in confusion.

“Oooh, okay, my bad,” Ava says, like she just realised it, which is fifty times stranger than her outfit right now. “But like… Don’t you want to? Just for your own curiosity?”

Beatrice is going to call her therapist as soon as this conversation is over, because what is going on with everyone today? Things were just beginning to settle down, why does everything have to turn confusing again?

“Do I have reasons to doubt?” She asks, throat dry.

“Oh, no, of course not!”

She shakes her head, puts her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders with a smile, like she just realised that she might have scared her a little.

“Trust me, Bea, even if any of us wanted to, there would be no way to deny that the kid is yours. I mean, have you seen him?” She snorts out a laugh.

Maybe later, Beatrice will find it amusing how they both used the same explanation to make their point, but right now this isn’t the matter at hand.

“And I told you, I know as much as I know that God is definitely a woman that Diego is yours.”

“Then why—”

“Because my telenovela is starting to run out of plot twists and I feel like the writers would definitely pull out some ‘false results’ bullshit just to fuck with us.”

Beatrice can’t help but smile slightly at that, rolling her eyes but relaxing under Ava’s hands, still on her shoulders.

“So your so-called curiosity is just for plot-purposes?”

“Obviously,” Ava grins. “And also because I want to rub it in Lilith’s face and hold that over her for the rest of my life.”

The rest of her life. For Beatrice, it’s just one day at a time, and it’s exactly what she needs. It’s all she can do right now, she’s not ready to change it, although she knows she will one day. But Ava is so certain of her own future it feels a bit strange at times. She knows that Diego is going to become a teenager, that he will try to convince her to adopt a dog now that he'll be old enough, that he will go to college with the money she’s been saving up for him. And somehow, she seems to know that Beatrice will be here too. That the village will still stand. That she will still annoy Lilith and talk about gardening and crocheting with Camila, and let Shannon hug her from time to time when she will feel down.

It feels strange. It feels scary.

Beatrice doesn’t want to think about it right now.

“What do I do, then?”

Ava’s face softens.

“Whatever you want, Bea. There’s no pressure. You can throw it away and not think about it for the rest of your life. I don’t care. I’ll find something else to pressure Lilith with.”

Beatrice snorts out a laugh, but her gravity runs back.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you.”

“I think you made it pretty clear that you do.”

“But do you believe me?”

Ava takes a step back, bumping into the table, looking down at her shoes.

“I’m trying to.”

That’s good enough for now.

Beatrice fiddles with the envelope, Ava watching her without a word. The open space of her house carries Diego’s laugh, the hair in the back of Beatrice’s neck rising at the sound.

“For the record, I’m going to hold it over Lilith’s head too.”

And she snaps the envelope open. Ava laughs, peers over her shoulder as she unfolds the sheets of paper and looks over the printed letters, the medical jargon.

Finally, she finds it, reads over it so quickly the words barely form in her brain.

99% of parent match.

Ava is already laughing in her ear, jumping towards the living room.

“Ha! Suck it, Lilith!”

She takes off her shoe so fast Beatrice stands still, impressed, chugs it at Lilith’s face with a shit-eating grin. Lilith ducks to avoid it, Ava runs around Beatrice’s sofa, hopping on one leg as she takes off her other shoe, yelling and laughing as Lilith tries to run away.

She manages to stop Diego from taking off his own shoe as Ava throws hers at Lilith, and it hits her in the back of the head.

“No, only mama is allowed to throw her shoes,” Beatrice says.

“Why?”

Ava is already jumping on Lilith’s back, screaming at the top of her lungs with Lilith answering with angry shrieks.

“Because she’s a grown up,” Beatrice says. “Also, congratulations. There are fifty percent chances that you’ll need glasses in give or take seven years.”

Diego looks at her like she’s the weirdest person in the entire world, which she probably is.

“Okay.”

Beatrice doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting here.

The kitchen’s light is so bright and white it hurts, it pricks behind her eyes and tickles the back of her neck. A plate of leftover pasta sits in front of her, long cold (another one of Shannon’s failed attempts at cooking). Shannon isn’t here, she’s out, Beatrice doesn’t really know where — it’s not her business anyway. Camila has dragged Lilith to a d&d session, after Beatrice had lied to her and told her Lilith was interested — her punishment for going behind her back with this whole DNA testing thing.

It’s raining outside, but not like that storm that passed the first night at Ava’s flat. It’s cold and humid, it sticks to the tip of her fingers and her toes.

She hates it. It sounds and smells too familiar, too much like England and its light drizzle. It’s the lump in her throat and the contained tears hanging onto her eyelashes after her mother discovered a stain on her shirt, it’s the fear in her chest and the tornado in her mind after she came home with a bad grade, wondering if today was the day she would be killed, already knowing that death was more than physical.

Beatrice hates that rain.

She’s been feeling it creep up her spine, the back of her neck, the whole day, trying to distract herself with work or by looking at the few photos Ava sends her regularly of Diego (the latest was a picture of Diego walking ahead in the street with his little backpack on his shoulders, Ava telling her he was running away and joining the circus, to which Beatrice asked what act he was going to be performing — ‘Don’t you want to stop him?!’ Ava had asked. ‘I’m being supportive,’ Beatrice had replied).

The rest of her life.

It refuses to leave Beatrice’s mind. There is something so deeply eternal embedded in it it scares her a whole lot. She always thought of herself as temporary, ephemeral. They were people, and people died. They always did. Beatrice is going to die, someday, but she always felt closer to it than anyone else she had ever met. It wasn’t scary, it just was. She had grown used to the temporary nature of her existence, barely seeing past the next three or five years.

But here, now, it does sound scary. Because if she were to die in a few years, then she wouldn’t be able to see Diego grow up. She wouldn’t be able to teach him to ride a bike, to write his name and to tie his shoes. To love and to be loved. And it hurts.

She doesn’t want to live like she is going to die tomorrow.

She pushes the plate away, gets to her feet.

She’s a real person, with real people to love, and a whole tiny person that she gets to call her son. There’s no turning back now.

Shannon finds her with all of her cutlery out of her cupboard, organising them and trying to find a way to put them back so that tiny fingers won’t be able to reach them. Water trails behind her as she makes her way inside the house, at least having the decency to take off her soaked shoes before being too surprised to take off her coat too.

“Beatrice, what—”

“This house is not very safe,” Beatrice says as an explanation. “Knives are reachable and the stairs aren’t secure and I need to put the cleaning supplies of higher shelves. And there isn’t plastic cutlery nor—”

“Wow, Bea, breathe,” Shannon says, cupping her face, and her fingers are wet from the rain and cold and it shocks Beatrice back to her senses. “Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Beatrice says, taking a step back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I… What’s this about?”

Beatrice looks down, cheeks warm, a bit embarrassed and a bit scared too.

“I don’t want to be a stranger in Diego’s life anymore. This is his house too, now.”

She leaves it at that. She doesn’t want to explain herself, like it’s some sort of little secret she needs to keep safe from everyone that will come poking at the edges of her perfect little life — although Shannon would never judge, would never even care.

“Okay,” Shannon sighs. “Do you have a list?”

“Of course,” Beatrice scoffs. “Who do you think I am?”

Chapter Text

“I can’t do this anymore!” Shannon exclaims as she walks into the kitchen, throwing her scarf behind her shoulder.

“Can’t do what?” Mary asks, fumbling with the scarf that landed on her face. “Can’t love me anymore? Is that what this is?”

Shannon rounds up the island, opens a cupboard, closes it.

“Yes, no, I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

“You don’t know if you love me?” Mary shouts, putting the scarf on the kitchen stool, leaning against the counter.

“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” Shannon scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step back, defensive. “We both know you never really loved me, you loved the idea of me.”

“Oh really?” Mary laughs, without happiness.

“Really!”

“After all this time, Shannon? All we’ve shared? You’re just going to throw it all away because, what, you don’t know anymore? Is our marriage even worth anything?”

Shannon pinches the bridge of her nose, blows through her mouth.

“I’m leaving, and I’m taking the kids.”

Camila gasps next to Beatrice, apologises when she realises she’s been too loud, Shannon hiding her smile behind her hand.

“The kids? You never even cared about them!” Mary continues. “They barely know who you are, what are you trying to do?”

“I just want to reconn— yes Lilith?”

Lilith has her hand raised next to Camila, a prop book in her other hand.

“In this situation, are we the kids? Because I’m not going with anyone, I’m running away to Mexico.”

“Can I come too?” Camila asks excitedly, bouncing on the couch. “Can we take my pink truck?”

“Okay, but I’m driving,” Lilith says, putting an arm around her shoulders (which Camila seems very pleased about) as they both walk away, towards another room of the fake flat.

Shannon hides her laugh in her fist, turning around to hide her grin, as Mary keeps her cool, looking at Beatrice.

“What about you, Beatrice?”

Beatrice blinks at her, her list still tight in her hand. People are walking past them, she can feel them behind her back as they make their way through the store, looking a bit curiously at the whole scene. She takes a few seconds, tries to think of something clever, but nothing comes out, she’s not as funny or creative as them.

“Well I was thinking of joining Diego’s circus, so…”

“Jesus Christ, does anyone in this family even care about each other?” Mary asks, dramatically throwing her hands to the sky.

“People are watching,” Beatrice comments nervously, trying to ignore the other customers and some of the employees who are probably going to kick them out soon.

“Yeah, because this is an amazing performance, and they want to recruit us to play in their posh people theaters,” Mary explains. “And what do we say? We say: ‘You’re welcome, come see us everyday after 4pm because it’s nap time before that’,” she says, bowing exaggeratedly.

Beatrice decides to take her chance and stands up, dusts her pants and walks away, pretending that she doesn’t know them and that she’s not hearing Shannon laugh behind her as they try to catch up with her.

Asking for Mary’s help was probably a good idea, in theory. Mary knows what she is doing, unlike them, she knows what to do and what to buy, she knows what is useless and what is needed. But she also has made it her life mission to annoy the Hell out of Beatrice and found this to be the perfect opportunity — not to mention that she has gathered all her sisters in her boat and now Beatrice has to deal with the four of them ganging up against her.

She can’t believe grocery shopping with Diego was less stressful than this one.

She’s looking at some weird foamy things that look like colourful snakes or bigger versions of the things Camila uses to keep her toes separated when she puts nail polish on her feet when they find their way back to her, a little bit calmed.

“Those are for the doors,” Mary explains, leaning on the handles on the cart. “You stuck it on the swinging part, and that way it can’t close. No tiny fingers chopped off.”

“Oh,” Beatrice says. “How many do I need?”

“How many doors do you have?”

As she is mentally trying to count them all, Mary claps a rough hand on her shoulder.

“Relax, kid, you don’t need that many. Some doors are meant to be left closed to keep little gremlins out.”

“What if I lose some of them? I should just get a lot, in case.”

Mary looks like she’s going to object, but then she closes her mouth, shrugs.

“Okay. You do you, I guess.”

She puts three packs in the cart, fumbles with her list as they start walking again. In front of them, Camila is trying to convince Lilith to throw her in a big basket full of pillows, as Shannon looks at the plushies, a tiny smile on her lips that tells Beatrice that she’s going to find one of those in Diego’s possession in a few days.

“I never apologized to you, for that first day,” Mary says suddenly next to her, leaning her forearms on the handle of the cart as she pushes it, putting her weight forward and almost dragging her boots on the floor. “For punching you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Beatrice confirms, narrowing her eyes at her suspiciously.

“Well, I am now. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that and I won’t do it again. At least, I’ll try.”

Beatrice nods, appreciating the effort.

“Ava made you talk to Diego, didn’t she?”

“Yup,” Mary grins. “Had to sit him down with a little juice box and tell him shit like ‘Violence for violence is the rule of the beasts’.”

Beatrice frowns.

“Ecclesiastes?”

“Obama from someone’s weird dream on Tumblr, jeez, Shannon wasn’t kidding.”

She doesn’t explain herself, and Beatrice doesn’t ask. It’s not her fault she almost became a nun — it totally is, but that’s not the point here.

“Bea, look!”

Camila is brandishing a bunch of plastic plates over her head, grinning at them.

“They’re rainbow coloured!” She squeals. “They’re perfect.”

“Oh, you just want to make a pride flag with them, don’t you?” Mary asks.

“Of course I do,” Camila scoffs. “ You get a gay plate, and you get a gay plate,” she sings happily, adding them to the cart.

“They also have matching cups and forks, spoons and knives,” Lilith adds, handing them the items in their plastic wrappings.

“Are the knives sharp?” Beatrice asks, taking a page out of her books (safety rules with a toddler or something like that) and plastering it at the front of her mind.

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to ask, because Lilith claps one of them in her fist and stabs it into Mary’s arm, who just raises an unimpressed eyebrow as it just pokes at her black jacket.

“No, it’s fine,” Lilith decides, adding the knives to the cart as Shannon shakes her head.

“Damn, are you guys always like this?” Mary asks.

“Unfortunately,” Shannon comments.

“No wonder you’re so tense all the time.”

They all stop and stare at the both of them in silence, Shannon burying her face in her hands and laughing in her palms as Mary glares.

“I did not mean it like that and you all know it.”

“This feels like learning that mum and dad are having sex,” Camila comments.

“Wait until you learn how babies are made,” Mary says.

“Can we focus, please?” Beatrice says. “We need to find a gate to block the stairs. Wait, should I get two? One for the top and one for the bottom of the stairs?” She asks, more for herself than for anyone else.

“Get one for each step,” Mary proposes. “That way you’ll be sure Diego won’t fall down.”

“That’s not funny,” Beatrice says, shaking her head.

Just thinking about it stresses her out, how can Mary take this so lightly?

“Look, kid, he’s going to fall and hurt himself at some point, whether you want it or not,” Mary sighs, rubbing her eyes. “You’re making your house safer, and that’s good, but don’t overdo it. Put a gate at the top of the stairs and it’ll be fine.”

She does have a point, but what if Diego goes all the way up the stairs while she has her back turned and falls down? The gate would be useless.

“Yes, but—”

“Hey hey, which one of us has baby-proofed a house before?”

“You,” Beatrice growls reluctantly.

“And which one of us has lived with a toddler before?”

“You.”

“And which one of us has been called for help here?”

“You.”

“Call me dad.”

“No.”

Mary laughs, a loud and raspy sound, Beatrice doesn’t, too focused on her growing list of things to get to react — and also her list of least favourite type of stores, with furniture stores in third place (underwear and clothing stores are both moving up and down first and second place depending on her mood).

“Are you going to get Diego a bed?” Mary asks then, poking at a double bed's matress as if to test its elasticity.

“No,” Beatrice mumbles. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Because although they’ve all grown closer to each other, all of them, Beatrice is still somewhat of a stranger in Diego and Ava’s life. And sure, she’s planning on working on that, but she’s also not going to push Ava’s boundaries like they’re nothing and demand the same thing she has (although their plan is some sort of agreed shared custody that is stressing Beatrice out a little right now, but it’s good nerves).

“He has a travel bed, right?” She asks. “We’ll just use that when he sleeps over.”

“Why?” Mary says, scratching her head in confusion. “You’re basically remaking your house already, you’re not getting cold feet now, are you?” She asks, frowning.

“No, of course not. I just need to talk about it with Ava first,” Beatrice says, picking up a little step-stool and looking at it from every angle.

“Ah. Alright.”

“But she is moving the guest room to the ground floor,” Shannon adds, putting another toy in the cart. “We’re, like, putting it where her office used to be. That way she’ll hear Diego from across the hallway when he does sleep over.”

“Where is your office going then?” Lilith asks.

“I won’t need it anymore,” Beatrice explains, putting the step in the cart too, being careful not to squish the shark plushie too much — call her too sensitive but she still hates to hurt plushies, for some reason (She blames Camila for making her watch Toy Story when they were fourteen). “I’m trying to leave work at work and focus on other things at home.”

Therapist’s order. Apparently, everyone thinks Beatrice is a workaholic, Beatrice thinks they’re all being dramatic. But she even bought a couple of knitting needles and a ball of yarn and made knots until she was so frustrated she stashed it into a drawer and promised to never try again.

Still, Lilith stares at her blankly for a second, then lifts one arm and pats her awkwardly on the top of the head.

“Good,” she says, before walking away.

Beatrice looks at Shannon, who just shrugs back, like she doesn’t understand either and thinks it’s better not to ask.

They do end up finding the right gate for the stairs, and Mary adds a few things to the cart, namely some weird rubber things that are supposed to go at the corner of tables to make sure Diego doesn’t burst his head open on them.

Beatrice adds another fluffy blanket, and pretends not to hear Shannon when she asks where her other one is.

(Ava and Diego invade her house two days later and spend thirty minutes shrieking at each other every time they find a new item Beatrice bought, Beatrice walking behind, more confused than she’s ever been but still happy.)

Chapter Text

Today is a big day.

Which means, in Beatrice’s language, that she has already cleaned every available surface of her house, has checked that everything was secure and safe at least five times already and that she has organised her books by colours, which earned her weird looks from Shannon and Mary who were passing by — without even warning her, her house was basically a mill at this point.

Today is a big day, which means that she has it planned down to the second, even though everyone and their mother told her there was no need for that.

Ava will come with Diego during the afternoon, stay maybe an hour to get him settled and give Beatrice a few last recommendations, and then leave. That’s the part that scares her the most, because Diego always starts freaking out a little when Ava leaves, and Beatrice is not sure she’ll know what to do if he starts crying (she knows what to do, she’s just not sure it’ll work). Then, they’ll just spend time together, maybe playing or colouring books — the more time she spends with him the more she thinks she should have pursued a career in acting. Then she’ll get started on his night time routine, give him a bath and get started on dinner, and approximately at that time, Shannon will come home like she has promised because Beatrice still needs a safety net. They’ll have dinner just the three of them, then they’ll get started on Diego’s bedtime routine, and finally put him to bed. After that, she’ll do exactly as she does every night — that’s a lie, she’ll spend the whole time listening in case he starts calling for her — and go to bed. When he wakes up in the morning, they’ll have breakfast, get ready for the day, and then Ava will come to pick him up.

What could go wrong?

Even though she’s been waiting for a while, Beatrice still jumps when Ava rings the doorbell, the camera showing both Diego and Ava dancing and singing together like they have forgotten where they are — knowing them, they probably did. 

When she unlocks the gate, she hears Ava’s voice as she opens the door.

“Who can get to Bea the fastest?!”

They both start running as Beatrice smiles like an idiot, Ava letting Diego win by pretending to be slower than she actually is, and Diego throws himself into Beatrice’s legs with a giggle, hiding behind her as Ava follows, panting like she is out of breath — Ava, too, should have gone into acting.

“Jesus Christ, dude, you’re fast.”

Diego extends his arms towards Beatrice with a shout that sounds happy, and she picks him up and sets him on her hip, bumping his forehead with hers as a hello.

“Maybe you’re just slow,” Beatrice teases.

Ava only grins as she slams a hand over Diego’s eyes and gives Beatrice a proud middle finger, Beatrice rolls her eyes, takes Ava’s bags and moves them into the house.

“I packed my bag!” Diego announces, trying to reach for his Buzz Lightyear backpack that Beatrice helps him take off.

“Did you? Please tell me you didn’t forget Moose, we don’t want her to miss you.”

Thankfully, Moose wasn’t forgotten, she does, however, have a new purple pencil mark behind her ear, which Diego explains is a war injury as he climbs on her lap while Beatrice sits on the couch.

“Yeah, she was wounded in the Great Battle Against The Mighty Plastic Tyrannosaurus,” Ava explains, plopping down at the other end of the couch.

“Tynanarus,” Diego repeats, nodding wisely, Ava doing the same, and Beatrice doesn’t have the heart to correct him.

“Oh my. Were there other casualties? Was anyone else hurt?” Beatrice asks, Diego reaching towards his backpack to pull out something.

“I mean, my favorite spoon took a hard hit, but I’m sure it’ll recover,” Ava says when she realises Diego isn’t going to answer. 

Beatrice looks up at her in disbelief.

“You have a favourite spoon?”

“Yeah! It’s perfect, you can get cereals and milk at the same time! You don’t have a favourite spoon?” She asks, frowning.

“I’m… I don’t think I do.”

“Spoon!” Diego announces as he pulls out a plastic spoon with a drawing of Bluey on it.

“Yeah, he wanted to bring it,” Ava says, laughing behind her hand.

“I have plastic spoons, you know,” Beatrice tells Diego who insists that she looks at his in reverent contemplation. “I have all the colours too.”

“Yeah, but he really wanted this one. By the way, D., maybe we should give Beatrice her gift.”

Diego immediately gasps, just as Beatrice straightens up, embarrassed and put on the spot, like she always is when someone offers her a gift. She can’t help it, she just feels awkward and she doesn’t know how to react — and there is also a tiny part of her brain that feels undeserving too, but that’s not the problem.

“Oh, there was no need to—”

“Trust me, Beatrice, you’re gonna want to wait until you see it before you say that,” Ava smiles. “Bean, will you go get Beatrice’s gift?”

Diego jumps off Beatrice’s lap and darts off into the hallway, where they have left his bags, and as soon as he has disappeared behind the angle of the wall, Ava shoots forward and wraps an arm around Beatrice’s neck, pulling her down to put her mouth next to Beatrice’s ear. Beatrice is so surprised she doesn’t even think about fighting back, just staying there all limp as Ava waves her free hand menacingly in front of her face.

“Listen, I know it’s funny, but you can’t laugh. If you laugh, I’ll laugh, and then he’ll think we’re making fun of him. And he was very happy to find your gift, and he spent a lot of time watching me wrap it, so you better not laugh, Beatrice Kleine-Young, or your sisters are never finding your body.”

“Can’t breathe,” Beatrice mutters into the crook of her elbow, and Ava suddenly seems to realise how she’s holding her.

“Oh sorry,” she says, loosening her grip on her, and Beatrice straightens up her, fixing the collar of her shirt while Ava grins innocently at her.

Diego runs back in the living room with a weird shaped package covered in Christmas themed wrapping paper, basically throwing it on Beatrice’s lap as he hurls himself at her. She doesn’t know what to do, she feels stupid, but she still smiles at him.

“Thank you, Diego. I really appreciate it.”

Ava hides her smile in her palm as Diego bounces up and down in front of Beatrice.

“Open it! Open it!”

It takes her a while to manage to rip the paper, with how much tape Ava used, and she pulls out a colourful piece of fabric that she unwraps. It’s a cooking apron, rainbow coloured, and Beatrice is not stupid enough to ignore that the stripes of colours are clearly arranged to form a pride flag. It hurts the eyes a little, and she finds herself voiceless, staring at it with her mouth open. Did she just get called a lesbian by a two year old? (He wouldn’t be wrong, but still.)

“We didn’t know your favourite colour, so we had to improvise. Diego chose it.”

“Colors, colors, colors!” Diego chants, and Beatrice can’t help it, she breaks into a wide grin, delighted.

When she starts laughing, Ava immediately sends her a murderous look, and Beatrice moves away at a safer distance, waving her index finger in front of her in an effort to stop her from strangling her.

“Wait, wait! I’m not laughing at that! I’m just… Hold on,” she says.

She stands up, putting the wrapping paper on the coffee table and walks to the kitchen, taking the route that is furthest from Ava, just in case. She comes back with an orange apron in her hand, child sized, that she bought two days ago after Diego confirmed that it was his favourite colour forever (she doubts it, but it doesn’t matter).

“See?” She tells Diego. “We thought the same thing!”

He immediately snatches it from Beatrice's hands and inspects it critically with a happy grin. Ava is laughing as she helps him put it on, trying it behind him and insisting that Beatrice puts on hers. She looks stupid, she knows it, but Diego shrieks happily as he grips her leg, so accepts it: she is going to look stupid for the rest of her life, and that’s okay.

“What do we say, Diego?” Ava asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Thank you!” He shouts, too loud, it pierces Beatrice’s ears — but that, too, is okay.

She’s happy, picking Diego up and comparing their apron, until Ava takes her phone out of her pocket with a grin.

“Don’t you dare,” Beatrice warns.

“Nope, I want a picture, you can’t escape it,” Ava says, shaking her head.

“I don’t… No,” Beatrice says, shaking her head, Diego mirroring her in her arms.

She hates pictures. Always has, since she was a kid. She always looks stupid or bored, if not ugly — but she’s not supposed to say it, she’s working on that. Nevertheless, pictures make her sick, they just bring out her mother’s piercing voice and nothing else.

“Beatrice,” Ava says, softly. “Trust me when I say that you’re gonna want to remember this. Older you will thank you for this.”

Beatrice huffs out a breath, but decides to give it a chance. 

“You do like this,” Diego says, before breaking into the widest grin, showing all of his teeth to the camera.

Well, if she’s going to be stupid, at least she should do it completely.

And so she does exactly like him, grinning as wide as she can, and it’s forced because it feels forced, but also it makes Ava laugh behind the camera, which in turn makes Diego laugh, and Ava snaps the picture just as they are all laughing.

She doesn’t look at herself in the picture, she looks at Diego’s laughing face and Ava’s thumb peeking at the bottom.

“Diego, aren’t you going to finish your plate?”

She’s been wearing the apron since the moment he gave it to her, to the point she even forgot it was there. Diego, on the other hand, has already taken his bath and been changed into his pyjamas, and his apron is hanging by the door of the kitchen. His hair is still a bit wet, but at least there aren’t any more bubbles in it, which took an awfully long time to wash off, longer than Beatrice would like to admit.

Thankfully, he didn’t panic too much when Ava left, as they waved goodbye at her by the front door after Ava had spent a good five minutes kissing him and promising she was coming back. He did get a bit quiet as he watched her drive off, but Beatrice quickly distracted him by asking if he could help her set up his room.

Now they’re all eating dinner, all with their plastic colour plates, because Shannon insisted that she wanted the green one, and Beatrice realised there wasn’t any reason for them not to use plastic cutlery — Her and Shannon still use regular forks and knives, as someone needs to cut Diego’s food in little pieces. 

“Come on, it’s broccoli, you like broccoli, don’t you?”

Diego still shakes his head, even though they both know he does like broccoli, which Beatrice isn’t complaining about. He looks tired, having grown quiet as they ate, apparently exhausted after playing and laughing with Shannon so much — sometimes Beatrice thinks he is downright mocking her, but he wouldn’t, right?

She throws a look at Shannon, who simply shrugs back. ‘You’re the parent, not me,’ she seems to be saying.

“Do you need help finishing?” She asks, and Diego nods wordlessly.

She picks up his little fork, his plate, stabs at the pieces of vegetable and starts feeding him like this, Diego humming from time to time as he chews. Shannon chuckles behind her, giggling into her glass.

“What?” Beatrice asks.

“You do the same face as him,” she says. “When he opens his mouth, you do it too.”

She picks up her fork and mimics Beatrice, feeding the air while opening her mouth and closing it with a thoughtless look in her eyes.

“I don’t do that!”

“Yes, you do. Diego, my man, back me up on this one. She does that, right?”

Diego grins, nodding. 

“Yes yes.”

“See! He agrees. Two against one, you lose.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, making Diego giggles as she gives him his last piece of broccoli, and now that she thinks about it, yes, she does open her mouth, like she’s trying to direct him on how to do it.

Shannon takes out her phone with a smile, Beatrice points her now empty fork menacingly at her.

“I’ve had enough cameras for today, thank you.”

Shannon sticks out her tongue at her, Diego laughing and mimicking her, and soon they’re in a contest of sticking their tongue out loudly at each other across the kitchen table as Beatrice clears out their plate.

It's peaceful, it's quiet, it's happy. How could someone so small change this whole place in such little time?

“By the way, your apron makes you look gay.”

Chapter Text

Beatrice wakes up with a jump, eyes flying open as she searches the darkness of her bedroom.

Last night was pretty uneventful after dinner, Diego was so tired she didn’t have any trouble helping him get washed up before bed, Shannon following around without a word but still as calming as ever. If he started getting upset when he realised Ava wasn’t here to kiss him goodnight, he was too tired to really fight her and settled into bed easily, smiling as Beatrice tucked Moose into his travel bed next to him. He was used to sleeping at other people’s houses, of course, as he sometimes stayed at his grandmother’s or at Mary’s apartment, but it was his first time in Beatrice’s house, and she could understand it made him nervous. 

Truth be told, she was probably as tired as he was, if not more, and so she cleaned up the kitchen and the living room, wished Shannon a good night and then went to check on Diego very quickly, leaving his door slightly open before plopping down into bed and burying herself under her blanket — and leaving her own door open too (she had asked Ava if she shouldn’t use a babyphone, but Ava had told her that Diego would start hysterically crying when he was left alone with one, and she had decided against it).

But here she is, waking up suddenly in the middle of the night to the sound of a wail from the other side of a corridor.

Beatrice doesn’t take the time to think, she rolls herself as fast as she can out of bed, tangling her legs into the blanket and falling off the mattress with a thud. She mutters a curse, fumbles with the sheets and jumps on her feet, all but running out of her room and to the other side of the hallway, slowing down as she enters Diego’s room.

He’s standing in his bed with both his hands on ledges, his pacifier in his mouth as he cries out loudly, sobs breaking through his chest. He doesn’t stop as he sees Beatrice in the doorway, only quiets down slightly. 

Beatrice walks across the room and picks him up, wrapping her arms around him with a shushing noise she hopes is soothing. 

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay.”

She wipes away his tears with her thumb, brushes away his hair. He doesn’t cry anymore, only hiccups from time to time as he looks at nothing in particular, eyes almost still asleep. 

“What’s wrong?”

It’s the wrong thing to ask, as Diego only starts crying again with a loud wail, Beatrice wincing slightly — she really hopes this doesn’t wake up Shannon. He still has his pacifier in his mouth, but somehow he manages to form a few intelligible words.

“Mama!” He wails. “Want mama!”

“I know,” Beatrice whispers. “I know you miss her. I understand, she misses you too.”

“Want mama!”

“I know,” Beatrice repeats. “But mama isn’t here right now, she’s at home, remember? You’re at Bea’s house.”

“Mama!” He shouts, more angry than sad.

“I hear you. But she’s asleep right now, everyone is asleep. Shannon is asleep, Mary is asleep, mama is asleep too. Everyone is asleep, why isn’t Diego asleep, hmm?” She asks, bouncing him on her hip with a smile, and Diego seems to calm down a little.

“Mama,” he sniffs.

“She’ll be here in the morning. She’ll come back with the car and she’ll go inside the house, and you’ll go and say hello,” she rambles, as it keeps him focused on something else. “And she’ll be so happy to see you. So so happy. And then she’ll ask if you had a good night, and we’ll tell her that you ate all of your broccoli, remember?”

He doesn’t say anything, but she knows he’s listening, 

“And then,” Beatrice continues, “she’ll give you so so so many kisses,” she says, nuzzling his cheek and dropping a kiss there. “And you’ll be so happy. And you’ll show her the drawings you made with Shannon, and she’s going to be so proud of you. But before that, we’ll have breakfast, Diego and Bea and Shannon, and we’ll get ready for the day, and we’ll have so much fun. I promise.”

Diego has stopped crying for good now, only hiccuping from time to time. 

“Breakfast now?”

“No, not now, it’s night, see?” she says, pointing to the darkness around them. “We can’t have breakfast now, we’re all too sleepy. You’re sleepy too, aren’t you?” She asks, as his eyes seem to close on his own.

Diego nods, drops his head onto Beatrice’s shoulder, one of his little fists into her sleep shirt.

Somehow, strangely, she can feel like she can breathe a little better, even though it’s not possible with a toddler weighing fully on her chest. But she does, she feels like she can finally breathe, like the air is sweeter or fresher. She can’t help but smile to herself, rubbing his back while rambling about things they’ll do and how much Ava loves him. She feels like she can’t get older or stronger than that, like some younger version of herself is smiling proudly at her.

Yep. Having a child is another shade of weird.

When his breathing starts getting slower and steadier, Beatrice turns back towards his bed and bends down to put him back to sleep, only to have Diego tighten his grip around her, shaking his head.

“No!”

“Diego, you have to go back to sleep, my love. You can’t just stay awake all night. Look, you’re already falling asleep,” she says, brushing his brow with her index.

But Diego soldiers on, insistently shaking his head.

“No,” he says, again.

“Diego, come on now, what are you doing?”

Diego only shakes his head even more, gripping her shirt tightly. Beatrice sighs, looking for a solution, trying to understand what is wrong.

“Do you want to stay with me?” She asks.

Diego doesn’t answer, but he stops shaking his head, staring silently at her.

“Okay, let’s go back to bed, then,” Beatrice says, turning around.

“Moose!”

“Oh, right, sorry, we can’t forget about Moose,” she says, turning back to take the doll out of his bed and hand it to him.

He tucks Moose under his chin as she walks to her bedroom, sets him on the bed and climbs in after him. She has to pull harshly on the blanket to get it back on the mattress from where it has slipped down.

“What what?” Diego asks.

“I fell when I was trying to get to you,” Beatrice explains, pulling the blanket up to cover both of them.

Diego lies down next to her, Moose tucked in between the two of them, his little head on one of her pillows. The bed seems enormous compared to him, or perhaps it’s Diego who looks so small. Beatrice lies on the other side, turned on her side towards him, tucks the blanket up to his chest.

Diego is still looking at her, dark eyes following every single one of her moves.

“Go back to sleep, my love,” Beatrice says mindlessly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

He closes his eyes, and not even five seconds later, Beatrice is pretty sure he is already asleep.

Beatrice doesn’t go back to sleep right away, though. She stays awake, eyes wide open as she contemplates Diego’s sleeping face, not even daring to breathe too loud in case it would wake him up. She doesn’t know who he looks most like right now, her or Ava. Maybe he just looks like him. Maybe he just looks like Diego.

“You’re beautiful,” Beatrice whispers against the darkness of the night.

Diego doesn’t hear her, of course, but she vows to, one day, tell him when he’s awake, and keep telling him over and over again, until the words are carved into his soul.

Moose looks weirdly at her, an empty smile on her face.

“Oh, shut up, you’d do the same,” Beatrice says.

She’s not sure of that, though.

She wakes up in the middle of the night to a kick in her ribs.

She’s almost all the way on her back, still tilted towards the inside of the bed. Diego is cuddled up against her chest, one arm extended across her torso with his hand gripping her shirt, his little face tucked into her neck. Moose is forgotten on the other end of the bed, face down on the pillow, she’s not sure where his pacifier has gone. His mouth is slightly open as he breathes, round cheeks turned slightly red from the warmth. She’s pretty sure he’s drooling on her, but she forgives him. One of her arms is tucked under him, the other resting against his back.

Beatrice is too tired to react. She just tightens her hold on him and goes back to sleep.

She wakes up again to tiny fingers tapping against her cheeks and the sun falling through the closed blinds.

“Hello hello,” she hears a little voice say as her eyelids flutter on their own.

She opens her eyes to Diego looking at her, smiling when he sees her awake, and she can’t help her own smile from stretching her lips.

“Wakey,” he says, as Beatrice rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

“Good morning,” Beatrice greets him, pulling him up towards her and kissing his cheek — because she can, now, she’s done it a few times and she doesn’t want to stop. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Bea.”

“Yes, that’s me. You got upset in the middle of the night and didn’t want to go back to bed, remember?”

He doesn’t answer, but plays with her lip while cooing to himself and Beatrice pretends to eat his fingers to make him laugh.

“What time is it?” She asks, reaching for her phone laying on the bedside table. 

She turns it on, squints at the screen, trying to read the time as Diego babbles to Moose, who he has found on the other side of the bed.

10: 24.

Beatrice shoots up in bed, Diego tumbles down and she has to grab him by the arm to make sure he doesn’t fall too harshly.

“Oh my God!” She exclaims. “Oh my God! We are so late! Your mother is going to be here any minute now and you’re not even dressed!”

“Mama?” Diego asks, lying on his back on the blanket.

“Yes, quick, quick, we have to get you ready!”

She practically runs down the stairs after cleaning him up and struggling with the gate, puts Diego on the ground in the hallway.

“Go wake up Shannon, go, tell her we’re late!”

Diego is immediately overjoyed at the idea, the little pitter-patter of his bare feet on the floor echoing as he runs towards the guest room.

“Shan!” He shouts as he practically kicks the door open, and Shannon’s scream of horror covers his giggles as Beatrice makes her way to the kitchen. 

The doorbell rings just as that moment, Beatrice lets out another curse as she lets Ava in, Shannon enters the kitchen while holding a screaming Diego upside down.

“Why didn’t you wake up?” She asks.

“I don’t know!” Beatrice says, maybe slightly panicked. “I don’t know! Ava’s here and he hasn’t had breakfast yet!”

“Hun, it’s okay—”

Someone knocks on the door and Beatrice realises she hasn’t unlocked it since yesterday, running past Shannon who is pretending to eat Diego’s foot to get to the entrance. She swings the door open, revealing Ava in another funky patterned button up.

“I’m so sorry!” Beatrice says before she can even open her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, I promise I had it all prepared! It wasn’t supposed to be like this, we just didn’t wake up and now nothing is ready and Diego hasn’t eaten—”

But Ava’s lips are slowly stretching into a smile, which turns into a little giggle, which turns into a laugh, and now Ava is cackling like a madman in front of Beatrice’s front door.

“What… Why are you laughing?”

“Your hair!” Ava says. “I’m so sorry, it’s just… Your hair—”

Beatrice takes a step back, looks at herself in the mirror of the entrance, eyes widening. Her hair is a bird’s nest, sticking to one side widely while the other part falls freely around her face.

“Crap,” she says, reaching to try and straighten it, and Ava keeps laughing and she feels so stupid and embarrassed she just wants to disappear.

“No, it’s— Hold on, let me do it,” Ava says, taking a step forward and moving Beatrice’s hands away, reaching out to entangle it.

Beatrice is left standing there like an idiot, staring at Ava’s face as she works, the ghost of a smile resting on her lips.

“Hello,” Beatrice says, realising that she has forgotten to even greet her in her haste.

“Hi,” Ava answers, all in bright shiny smiles and bubbling energy. “What happened?”

“Diego got upset in the middle of the night. He missed you.”

“Did he?”

“Mmh-hmm,” Beatrice nods, Ava’s tongue poking out as she finds a particularly messy knot. “He didn’t want to go back to bed so I took him in mine. Was that okay?”

Ava smiles again, it blinds Beatrice a little.

“He does that to Mary too,” she says. “Sometimes he does it to me. I’m pretty sure mom and Michael are lying when they say he spends the night in his bed. It’s all good, Bea. You did okay,” she assures, and Beatrice feels like she can breathe a little better. “Did he kick you in the butt?”

“In the ribs,” she says, and Ava laughs.

“Yeah, he’s a kicker. My uterus has PTSD now.”

“Well, he doesn’t get that from me, I sleep like a corpse.”

“Are you calling me a kicker?” Ava says, gasping as she lets her hands fall to her sides, satisfied with the state of Beatrice’s hair.

“You kick people even when you’re awake, Ava.”

“Mama!”

Diego runs into the entrance, Ava smiles brightly and immediately catches him in her arms, picking him up and bouncing him around.

“Bean!” She cries out, covering his giggling face in kisses. “I missed you so much!”

Beatrice closes the door behind her, sighing and giving up on the fact that they’re all still in their pyjamas as Ava is all perfectly prepared and ready.

“We were supposed to have breakfast,” she says, defeated.

“Oooh, what’s for breakfast?” Ava asks, struggling to detangle Diego’s enthusiastic grip around her neck.

“Pancakes,” Shannon announces, poking her head through the kitchen door, pointing a thumb at Beatrice. “She’s been practising for a week.”

“Maple syrup?” Ava smiles.

“Of course, I’m not an animal,” Beatrice scoffs, crossing her arms.

But Ava grins back at her, brushing her cheek over Diego’s curly hair, as the boy coos happily at her.

“Can I have some?”

Beatrice can only smile back at her, like an idiot.

“Of course.”

“Oh, so she can get pancakes, but when Mary asks you say you’ve put spices in the batter?” Shannon asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’m telling her.”

“Mary switched up the salt and the sugar, she had it coming,” Beatrice replies as she enters the kitchen, Ava following after her while blowing raspberries on Diego’s neck.

“Put your apron on, Bea.”

“Yeah, put your gay apron on, Bea.”

“I hate all of you,” Beatrice growls as both Ava and Shannon laugh together, Diego asking if he can put on his own apron.

It’s a lie, and they all know it.

(She find Diego's pacifier forgotten in her bed during the afternoon, and drives all the way to Ava's apartment to give it back. She doesn't mind. Diego puts a star sticker on her arm, and she feels like the most accomplished person ever.)

Chapter Text

“Diego’s daycare is asking to see you.”

Beatrice paused, her pen nearly touching the paper as she froze in her seat. It was morning, and Ava’s call took her by surprise, although it did not inconvenience her. She was alone in her office, did not need to talk to anyone for a while, she could take Ava’s call. And since Ava usually called about emergencies (complaining about ‘your kid is imitating your accent’), she wasn’t about to dismiss it.

“I’m sorry?” She asked.

“Yeah, they asked to meet me to talk about Diego’s family situation, and they specifically told me to bring his father. I assumed that was you.”

Beatrice put her pen down, frowning and taking her phone in her hand from where it was tucked between her ear and her shoulder.

“But I’m not—”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Ava replied, and there were noises behind her, like she was walking in the street. “At first, I honestly thought they were talking about JC, but he’s never picked Diego up from here, I’m not even sure the dude would be able to tell you the address. I even thought they could be talking about Michael, which, ew, but he's listed as Diego’s uncle, so he’s out. So unless some dude has been picking up our son without our knowledge, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Are you sure they’re talking about me? Because I’m all for the deconstructions of gender roles, but I don’t think of myself as that.”

To be fair, she doesn’t think of herself as anything. She’s just the lady that takes Diego in for sleepovers and chases him around the house to give him a bath and wears a rainbow apron to bake cookies with him. Yeah. She’s just Bea.

“Yeah, I asked Diego about it. I tried to find out what he had been telling everyone, and all that came out was your name. ‘Bea, Bea, Bea’, all the time. Honestly, I think now might be a good time to clear that up with them.”

And that’s how Beatrice ends up entering Bar La Vasseur on that sunny afternoon, ready to meet up with Ava before going together to Diego’s daycare.

It’s quiet and nearly empty, most tables are left unoccupied, a TV in the corner seems to be playing a replay of a match of some sport, the whole front of the building letting in the light as it opens to the terrace.

Ava waves her closer with an enthusiastic grin, a bottle of liquor in her hand. Beatrice slides onto one of the stools available, as Ava asks her customer for a second before taking a step towards her. 

“Hi!” She greets her. “How was work?”

“As boring as ever, I’m afraid,” Beatrice says, following the movement of Ava’s hands as she pours something into a shaker, smiling to herself. “What about you?”

“Quiet,” Ava comments, shrugging. “I’ll be done in five minutes, can I give you some water while you wait?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

A glass slides into Beatrice’s hands in an instant, Ava giggles at her confused face as she turns back towards her customer, a middle aged woman with a leather jacket.

“I’m telling you, Darla, just leave the asshole already!”

“Ava, honey, when you’re old like me, your options are either some emotionally unavailable machos or recently divorced dads just looking for a housemaid,” the woman says with a gravelly laugh. “And I don’t like kids.”

“Geez, I’m looking forward to it,” Ava groans, making Darla laugh. “Well yeah, but do you really think you’re not better off on your own?”

“You’d get less headaches,” a man comments from the other side of the bar.

“Thank you Johnny.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Hey Beatrice.”

Beatrice has already met Hans, once, when she had to hand Ava a toy Diego had forgotten at her place. And she’s been hearing much more about him than she can possibly remember, so there’s that too.

“Hello, Hans.”

He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t need to. Beatrice likes Hans’ silence, it’s peaceful and comfortable. They both exist in the same space, and their circles simply don’t ever cross. That’s all. Sometimes Beatrice wonders how someone so different from Ava could handle her every day.

Hans interrupts Ava’s conversation’s for a few seconds to ask her something in German (Beatrice believes he’s asking where she put the lemon slices) and she hears the echo of a conversation around her.

“... Who that girl over here?” A man says.

“Don’t touch that,” another answers. “That’s Ava’s.”

Beatrice’s whole face immediately flares up.

Thankfully, Ava is already gone, having taken off her apron before disappearing behind a door, probably to get her things before leaving. Beatrice doesn’t think she would have been able to look at her in the eyes if she had heard that.

She looks up, only to find herself staring back at Hans, who sighs before looking behind her, probably towards another table.

“Guys, she’s a person, not a ‘that’.”

She hears a few muttered ‘sorry Hans’ as she manages to regain composure, the tip of her ears still feeling slightly burned.

“What did they mean by that?” She whispers.

Hans shakes his head, wiping a glass clean.

“Nothing.”

“Hans.”

“Look, at least they leave you alone. I’d take that as a win.”

Beatrice doesn’t know what to say, especially as Ava exits the backroom, adjusting her cardigan over her shoulders.

“Are you ready to go?” She smiles, and Beatrice can only nod sharply, handing Hans her empty glass before standing up.

“Bye guys!” Ava waves at the customers. “Darla, don’t drink too much, you make bad decisions when you’re drunk.”

“That’s a terrible way to run a business, honey,” Darla laughs.

“And that’s a terrible way to run your life! Bye Hans, have fun!”

She leads Beatrice towards an adjacent parking lot, jiggling her keys as she walks. 

“Freaking out yet?”

“My blood pressure is constantly staying in between 120 and 140 millimetres of Mercury.”

“Jeez, Bea,” Ava laughs, and the sound is starting to be a little too familiar to Beatrice, but in a good way. “They’re not going to eat you alive.”

“It’s a daycare. They bite.”

“Not the staff!” Ava laughs even louder, and some strange part of Beatrice wants to pat herself on the shoulder for some reason. “Give it a good pull,” she says, gesturing to the passenger door of her car. “It’s old.”

The door screeches as Beatrice opens it, climbing into the passenger seat. She struggles with the seatbelt, as Ava twists the key into the ignition, jiggling her colourful keychains. Diego’s car seat is strapped behind her, there is a sun shade with a happy giraffe on it stuck to the window and stickers on the inside of the door. There is also a little duck on a swing hanging from the rearview mirror, but she thinks that this one is more for Ava’s enjoyment than anyone else’s.

Something pokes into her back as Ava starts driving off the parking lot, Beatrice fumbles around for a minute, trying to reach for the thing she apparently accidentally sat on. She ends up with a crisp in between her fingers.

“Oh, that’s mine!” Ava shouts.

She immediately extends a hand to take it from Beatrice, and Beatrice quickly puts it out of her reach.

“Ava, no.”

They both fight for a few seconds, their hands fumbling together as Ava tries to steal it from her and Beatrice desperately attempts to stop her, vainly trying to block her. Finally, Beatrice manages to open her window and throws the crisp out under Ava’s disappointed gaze.

“Booh. You’re no fun.”

“I’m not letting you eat some expired crisp before meeting with our son’s educator,” Beatrice insists, closing her window.

“Chips.”

She narrows her eyes at her.

“Crips.”

“Oh, come on!” Ava shouts, but she’s just pretending to be upset, there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t have anything here!”

“You could get sick, Ava.”

“Yeah, sick of deez nu—”

“I dare you to finish that sentence. I dare you.”

Ava has at least the decency to only laugh as she continues driving, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shifter. She sits straighter than Beatrice has ever seen, eyes darting all around, never staying in one place and always on the lookout for some danger. Still, there is a smile on her lips, a playful light in her eyes. 

“Don’t stress it, Bea,” she says, then, her voice more peaceful. “You’ll do great.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. And I know you’ll do great. Because it’s what you are. Great, I mean.”

She reaches over to give Beatrice’s knee a gentle pat, and Beatrice’s blood pressure is not low enough for her to even think about that. 

Thankfully, they do make it to the daycare in time — ‘It’s your fault,’ Ava says. ‘You’re corrupting me.’.

At the front desk, they meet with a young guy with a sticker reading ‘Tomas’ on his chest, who looks weirdly at them, like he’s trying to figure out who is what.

“Hi, wait, where’s uh— Patricia? Isn’t she the one usually in charge of the front desk?” Ava asks, frowning.

“Yeah, she just walked out one day. Took her break and never came back,” Tomas says, shrugging.

“We’re here to meet with the headmistress, we’re Diego Silva’s parents,” Ava says, gesturing to the two of them.

Beatrice lets her take the lead — not that she would even dare step in front of her in that situation, Ava probably knows better than her.

Tomas looks in between the two of them a few times in silence, blinking like he just doesn’t understand. Finally, he shrugs, shakes his head.

“I do not want to get in the middle of that one,” Beatrice hears him mutter before he gestures for them to follow them.

Ava’s face is permanently stuck in a frown, turning towards Beatrice with a question mark in her eyes, but Beatrice does not have an answer, she can only shake her head in confusion as they walk across the hallway, filled with children’s drawing and colourful paintings.

The door at the end of the corridor reads ‘Miss Martin’ in stern letters, Diego is waiting for them on a little chair with his backpack already on, grinning and jumping into Ava’s arms as soon as he sees them.

“Hey D.!” Ava laughs as she bounces him. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes,” Diego says, reaching for Beatrice, and she takes him in her arms and presses a kiss to his little cheek.

“Good. We have to meet with your headmistress for a little while, Tomas here,” she says, gesturing to the man with one hand on Diego’s back, “is going to stay with you until we’re back, okay?”

“My name is not Tomas,” Not-Tomas says, then, as Beatrice puts Diego down on his chair.

“Then why do you have a name tag with ‘Tomas’ written on it?” Ava asks, confused.

Not-Tomas only shrugs as an answer, Beatrice doesn’t have it in herself to question it. But Ava is about to, until the door next to them suddenly opens, a woman with rectangular glasses looking at them.

“Miss Silva?”

“Yes, that’s me!” Ava says, moving forward with an easy smile. 

“Come in, please.”

Another older woman is waiting in the small room, sitting behind her desk, dyed blonde hair drawing a white halo around her face, Beatrice assumes this must be the headmistress, Miss Martin, with how she sits straight and proud in her office chair, looking them up and down with a sour look on her face.

“Ah, Miss Silva, please, sit down,” she says with a polite smile, in-lieu of greetings. “Have you done what we’ve asked?”

“Yep, this is Diego’s other mom, Beatrice,” Ava says, pointing a thumb towards Beatrice, to her right, as the other woman — Diego’s educator, probably — closes the door behind them.

Beatrice sticks out a hand, trying her best to appear at ease and controlled. Yes, she’s a cold hearted workaholic bitch in her office, but this is not her place, not her field, and she can’t stop herself from feeling slightly nervous.

Especially when Miss Martin looks her up and down without taking her extended hand, and the feeling that something is deeply and truly wrong starts setting in her stomach.

“I think you didn’t hear me right, miss Silva, I asked you to bring Diego’s father.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t have one,” Ava explains, dropping into the chair across the desk, and Beatrice wordlessely follows her example. “This is his other mom, she just wasn’t in the picture until now.”

She leaves it at that, Beatrice is not about to expand the details of that whole mess in front of a daycare headmistress. Headmistress who turns towards Diego’s educator who is sitting by her right with a nod.

“I see what you meant,” she whispers, but they both still hear her.

When she turns back towards them, her smile has turned stiff and tight.

“Look, Miss Silva, we wanted to meet with you about some things Diego has been telling everyone about his life at home.”

“Oh, okay, what is it?”

Had it been anyone else, Ava probably would have made an awkward joke, pretending that ‘no, she didn’t let him drive the car’. But she doesn’t, waiting for Miss Martin to expand on that, and the feeling of dread starts sinking in more and more, Beatrice’s stomach doing knots as she tries to find what is ticking her off.

“He’s been talking about… About uhm… About visiting his other mom.”

“Yeah, he is,” Ava nods. “The plan is for us to have shared custody of him, so he’ll live one week at mine, one week at Beatrice’s.”

Miss Martin seems taken aback, silently looking for her words before sighing, and the educator nods empathically at her.

“Look, Miss Silva, our establishment’s policy is to keep a neutral environment for the children, to keep politics or social ideas out of our classrooms, as they are too young to understand such things.”

Oh. There it is.

Beatrice feels the familiar knot slowly tighten in her throat, struggling to breathe properly as she refuses to make a single move. She feels cold, all of a sudden, and at the same time there is a burning warmth in the pit of her stomach that won’t disappear. This is bad. This isn’t safe.

Ava still doesn’t understand what she means, when it is so clear to Beatrice, still frowning in confusion.

“Uh, alright, I don’t see what that has to do with us.”

“We don’t want the children to get the wrong idea,” the educator intervenes. “We wouldn’t want them to be influenced by what Diego has been telling them.”

“Telling them what?”

“Ava,” Beatrice whispers.

She has to get them all out of here. Maybe they’re going to stab them with their fountain pens. Or maybe Ava is going to understand, to turn to her and tell her that they’re right, that Diego shouldn’t be around her and that she shouldn’t be trusted with his education. Although she doubts it a little.

“Every child should grow up with two parents, Miss Silva. We understand that your case is a little… Unusual, and we’ve always tried to be understanding with you and Diego, but this is taking it too far.”

“Too far? What does that mean?”

“Ava.”

“What?” Ava asks, turning to her, but Beatrice doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to explain it.

“Diego needs a mother and a father, Miss Silva. This,” she says, gesturing to the two of them — and Beatrice wants to disappear, jaw clenching painfully —, “is unnatural.”

Finally, finally , Ava’s eyes widen, mouth open in disbelief. Beatrice sighs, running a hand over her face. She’s tired.

“Oh my God,” Ava says, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God!”

“We understand that this is hard to take in—”

“This is a homophobic daycare!”

“The safety of our children is our first priority—”

“Safety?” Ava yells, a little too loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Miss Martin is taken aback, bringing an offended hand to her chest. 

“Miss Silva! There are children around!”

“Oh yeah, you’ve made that painfully clear! Well, our son can deal with having two moms, why can’t you?!”

“Homosexuality,” Miss Martin says in a whisper, like she can’t even say it out loud, “is a sin!”

For a second, Beatrice is sitting across from her mother at the dinner table, gripping her fork in her hand and trying desperately not to cry in front of her parents, rage in her heart and despair in her mind. For a second, she is thrown painfully back there, trapped into the memory as the woman keeps looking at her with such disgust it makes her sick a little.

Then, Ava turns towards her, a baffled look on her face.

“I’m about to beat this bitch to the ground.”

Beatrice can only jump from her seat to wrap an arm around Ava’s waist, yanking her back as Ava tries to jump over the desk, waving a fist in front of the offended faces of the two women.

“We’re pulling our son out of this place, good day,” Beatrice says as she nearly carries Ava out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Diego is waiting on his little chair, looking a bit fearfully at the two of them, Not-Tomas nowhere to be seen.

“Let me at her!” Ava shouts. “Let me slap some sense into her!”

“No!” Beatrice decides, her arm still wrapped around Ava’s waist as she struggles against her grip. “You would get arrested for assaulting someone in front of children! You could lose Diego!”

Ava huffs out an angry breath, but does calm down, releasing herself from Beatrice’s hold and walking away while furiously muttering in Portuguese.

“Come on, Diego, let’s go home,” Beatrice says, picking him up when she sees how concerned he seems.

“Mama is mad?”

“Well, yes, but she’s not mad at you, love,” Beatrice assures, walking out of the hallway and out of the daycare centre, out into the street. “She’s just a little upset right now. You did nothing wrong,” she promises.

“Okay,” Diego says, but he doesn’t seem so sure of it.

Ava is shouting angrily at her car like it’s going to answer her in a flurry of Portuguese, Beatrice only able to make out the word ‘filha da puta’ and ‘merda de merda’ in the middle of it.

“Ava, stop it, you’re scaring Diego,” she calls out.

Ava drops her foot from where she was shooting in a fallen leaf, sighs while rubbing her brow, a painful look on her face.

“I’m sorry, bean, I did not mean to scare you,” she says, taking Diego from Beatrice’s arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “My emotions got the best of me, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Diego says, again, and he seems a little more convinced this time.

“Are you okay?” Ava asks, taking Beatrice’s hand in hers.

Beatrice doesn’t know what look she must be wearing on her face for Ava to show such worry, she doesn’t have it in herself to change it.

She can only squeeze back Ava’s hand, brushing a strand of hair behind Diego’s ear.

“I think we need to find him another daycare.”

Chapter Text

“This is Hell,” Ava comments from where she is sprawled out on Beatrice’s living room floor.

Beatrice raises her head after crossing another name on her list. Diego is sitting on the ground not very far from Ava with his puzzle, oblivious to the conversation around him. Why Ava chose the floor instead of the perfectly capable living room table where Beatrice is currently seated is still a mystery to her, but she doesn’t question it.

“It’s not Hell, Ava, this is just paperwork.”

“Yeah, and paperwork is Hell!” Ava insists, raising herself onto her elbows to look at Beatrice. “At this point I just think we should release him in the woods and teach him how to hunt.”

“How are we going to do that with our jobs?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right, you should just hire him as your assistant.”

“But I like my assistant.”

“Your second assistant, jeez, Bea, work with me a little!”

Beatrice smiles slightly to herself, flipping a page, the table covered in sheets of papers and notes. 

“Diego needs proper care and education, not to become some kind of feral child.”

Ava groans in despair, letting her head fall onto her arms.

It’s been a week since that disastrous incident at Diego’s daycare, and he hasn’t set foot in that building since and probably never will again. For a while Beatrice was worried that he would get sad about leaving his friends but Diego never mentioned them, so she assumed he was alright. 

Since then, they’ve all been taking turns at taking care of him for the day. Ava managed to get her day off on Monday, Beatrice took him in on Tuesday, Camila went on an adventure with Diego on Wednesday, Michael took over on Thursday and finally Mary all but kidnapped him and decided that he was now hers on Friday. Both Ava and Beatrice have also been working to look for another daycare centre for him, only ending up with a long list of dead ends. They would always find something wrong, whether it was the state of the bathrooms or the lack of surveillance of the children.

And so that brings them today, on Sunday afternoon, with Diego playing a puzzle while they desperately try to find a solution.

Beatrice hears a discreet sound of wrapping paper screeching and doesn’t even bother looking up.

“Are you eating the last cupcake?”

Ava is looking at her with a cheeky grin, said last cupcake indeed in her hand. 

“It’s mine.”

Beatrice wasn’t about to even question it but now Ava is clearly inviting her to answer, and so she bites.

“You’ve already had four, you are going to end up in a sugar coma,” she comments, pushing away her paper to focus on Ava’s grinning face, as Diego looks up to witness their exchange with curious interest.

“It would be totally worth it though.”

“Ava.”

“Beatrice.”

“ Ava .”

Ava sighs loudly, too loudly, she’s playing along to make Diego laugh.

“I earned my last cupcake.”

“Based on what?”

“Based on… On…”

She looks around, trying to find something to answer, before smiling as her gaze sets on Diego.

“D., who do you think deserves the last cupcake, me or Bea?”

For a second Diego looks in between the two of them in silence, before leaning towards Ava with a bashful smile. Beatrice gasps, a hand on her heart as she pretends to be heartbroken, Ava cheering happily and pressing a kiss to his cheek as he giggles at Beatrice’s antics.

That was always a lost cause, Ava is Diego’s favourite person. Beatrice can understand the feeling — wait, what?

“Okay, I’m a good sport, here,” Ava says, tearing the cupcake in half and presenting one part to Beatrice. 

She takes it from her, fingers covered in icing and crumbs, and hands it to Diego.

“I did not actually want one.”

“Well, damn, now I look like an asshole,” Ava comments, as Diego happily bites into the cake, icing all the way to his nose. 

Ava’s remorse doesn’t last long, as she just shoves the whole cupcake into her mouth, making Diego laugh, icing falling onto his shirt. Beatrice has long abandoned the idea of trying to get them not to dirty their clothes.

The doorbell rings just as Ava and Diego are smearing icing onto each other's faces while giggling like crackheads. Lilith is standing in front of the gate, sighing to herself like she wants to be anywhere but here. 

“Lilith?” Beatrice asks.

“Yes, it’s me, just… Open the gate. I’ve got something for you.”

Last time she had something for her, Ava threw her shoe at her face and Beatrice is not entirely sure she won’t start again. Which is something Lilith must be aware of, so the fact that she still showed up knowing the risks means that whatever she has for Beatrice must be really important.

“Lily!” Diego yells as soon as she enters the living room, closing the front door behind her to make sure he doesn’t escape.

He wriggles away from Ava’s hold where she’s trying to clean his face up with a paper towel, runs into Lilith’s legs, tying his hands around her knees and giggling while looking up at her. Lilith doesn’t even seem to notice it, handing Beatrice a new-looking file with an emotionless look on her face.

“Here,” she says. “Data collected about that daycare downtown. Accessible on foot and by car, impeccable building, reports of great success in the future from the children, town-hall approved and highly recommended by the parents,” Lilith announces as Beatrice flips through the pages.

Ava leans over her to read the file in front of Beatrice, one of her hands on her shoulder, a curious look on her face.

“That’s very thorough,” Beatrice comments, handing Ava a page that shows the number of children for the number of staff members — everything says that they’re greatly supervised.

“Yes, they even have an option for vegan lunches,” Lilith says, like she couldn’t care less, as Diego squeaks happily from where he is gripping her trousers.

“Where did you get all of that information?”

“Bethany from HR, her daughter was in here a year ago, she recommended it.”

Beatrice lowers the page she’s reading, Ava doing the same next to her.

“Bethany from HR?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you hated HR, you say they’re whiny little pricks,” Beatrice says, Ava taking her page from her hands and giving her hers.

“Well, yes, but… Whatever, are you taking the file?”

“Yes, thank you,” Beatrice says, moving away her lists to start spreading Lilith’s papers on the table.

Diego is still hanging from her legs, stepping on her feet and buzzing with some kind of ‘Meanie Lily, Meanie Lily, Meanie Lily’ song.

“Am I forgiven now?” Lilith asks, standing in front of them like a petulant child.

Beatrice looks up at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Why are you asking me? She’s the one you owe an apology to,” she says, pointing to Ava.

Ava who grins smugly at her words, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Lilith with a challenging look in her eyes. For a second Lilith looks like she’s about to insult Ava’s whole lineage, but then she inhales, looks at Ava in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I doubted your words, and I apologise for breaking your trust. It was not my business and I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy. I should have believed you.”

With a happy grin, Ava steps around the table and stands in front of Lilith, reaching up to tap her right shoulder, than her left.

“You are forgiven,” she says dramatically, and Beatrice has to hide her smile in her palm.

“Great. Can I go now? Your demon child is biting my knee.”

“No.”

“Come on, hop,” Ava sing-songs as she picks up Diego to put him to the ground, closing the car door behind him. 

Beatrice walks around the car to join them and Diego extends his arm to give her Moose, but he is only reaching for her hand, giggling as Beatrice and Ava both swing him forward as they walk.

Lilith was right, this is probably the best option they’ve ever explored so far. Beatrice is pretty sure it’s even better than Diego’s initial daycare, but then again it’s not very hard to achieve — well, they still have standards. Not to mention that there is a beautiful park just across the street, which is definitely a plus.

There is a woman waiting for them at the gate, a cheerful smile on her face. Beatrice is still wary and guarded, but she can already tell that this woman is probably much better than that desk lady (again, not hard to achieve).

“Hello,” she says, extending a hand to shake theirs. “I’m Yasmine, I’m the head teacher for the preschool class of two and three years old, it’s nice to meet you.”

She shakes each of their free hands, even offers one to Diego, who just hides behind Ava’s legs with a shy smile.

“I’m Ava, this is Beatrice, and this gentleman is Diego,” Ava greets her with a pleasant smile.

Yasmine’s smile is puzzling, almost too bright and cheerful, as she lets them inside the school’s enclosure, around the playground towards the main building. She’s walking so fast they have to speed up to keep the pace, Diego toddling in between them.

“It’s a good day for you to visit, the school is empty as all the classes went to visit the aquarium. We try to organize a school trip at least every trimester for the children.”

“Really?” Ava asks as they walk through a hallway painted in bright colours that hurt the eyes a little.

“Yes, last time, we went to a greenhouse and the children went home with flower seeds. We also go to the local library every two weeks, although the children don’t know how to read yet, they like to look at the pictures and the librarian reads to the whole class,” Yasmine explains, bustling with energy and passion.

She opens the door and leads them inside a room, which is once again painted in bright and lively colours. There are paintings and drawings stuck on the wall, a whole area filled with toys and even a toy kitchen. On one side, there are easels so close to the ground they’re almost touching it, with a little sink next to it and little aprons hanging on a hook. On the other, shelves after shelves filled with strange objects (wooden letters, boxes filled with colourful peebles, a few foam shapes). 

It smells like oil chalks and rubber. Beatrice doesn't remember much from her childhood, but watching Diego look around in curiosity, she can almost see herself. She wonders what she looked like, if she would have liked this place (well, older her does like this place), if she was already naturally quiet or if it just came with the years of silence that was asked of her. Who knows? 

“We follow the Montessori methods, so we’re focused on independence and freedom within directions. We believe the children are naturally eager to learn, therefore we focus on hands-on learning and developing real world skills instead of focusing on performance,” Yasmine explains, waving her hands in the air and knocking over a cup full of paintbrushes. “This is a small classroom, we only have about ten children, with our teaching assistant, so they’re all heavily supervised.”

There are lots of little bean bags instead of desks or chairs, markings on the ground to form a rectangle in front of a chalkboard. Ava has an amazed smile on her face as she looks around, like a child on Christmas. Beatrice wonders who is the most excited in between her or Diego, the both of moving with the same excited curiosity.

“Who knows, maybe Diego will find his favourite activity here?” Yasmine says, kneeling down in front of him with a friendly smile.

Diego still hides shyly behind Ava, tugging on her jeans to get her to kneel next to him before whispering something into her ear.

“What is it?” Yasmine asks.

Ava chuckles a little.

“He says Moose has to come with him.”

“Who is Moose?”

“Her,” Diego explains, taking Moose from Beatrice’s hand and squeezing her against his chest with a little smile.

“Well, I’m sure we can find Moose a place in here,” Yasmine nods, her smile still on her face.

Diego and Ava then move towards the little bookshelf with sensory books in them, whispering to each other as they look around. Yasmine straightens up, dusting her skirt.

“What do you think?” She asks.

“It’s… It’s great,” Beatrice says, and she means it, deeply and truly. “It’s definitely so much better than his last daycare.”

“Which one was it?”

“A bad one,” Beatrice simply says. “We didn’t want him to go back.”

“Well, I don’t want to assume but, he seems to like it,” Yasmine smiles, just as Diego laughs after Ava pulls out a puppet from in between two books. “I think your wife also does,” she laughs.

Beatrice’s whole face bursts in heat, from her chest to the roots of her hair.

“Oh, Ava isn’t my wife.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

“We… We raise Diego together, but that is all.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” Yasmine apologises. “It’s just… I’ve seen married couples have much worse behaviors than you do. I think you’re doing a pretty good job at raising him, then.”

Beatrice cannot help the smile that breaks across her face, looking down at the ground. Ava has Diego propped up on her hips, both of them raising their hands to touch the stars hanging from the ceiling with the same smile on their faces.

“Excuse me one moment,” Beatrice says as she moves towards them, looking up at the little paper stars with them. “What do you two think?”

“I like it,” Ava says, voice dripping with excitement. “I think it’s wonderful. I don’t think we can find better than this.”

“I agree.”

“They go to a greenhouse, Beatrice,” she whispers then, in a slightly deranged way. “A,” she presses a hand on Diego’s ear, “fucking greenhouse. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real one!”

“We need to take you to one, then,” Beatrice says, before turning towards Diego. “What about you? What do you think?”

“Moose like it.”

“Does she? What’s her favourite part?”

“House,” Diego says, pointing towards the toy kitchen. 

“That’s a good part.”

Ava smiles, bright and lovely as she presses a kiss to Diego’s hair.

“What do you think?” She asks, as Diego turns back towards the paper stars while singing a little song to himself.

“I really want him to go here. I think he’s going to learn so much. He’s very clever, I think he’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah,” Ava smiles. “Me too.”

They look up at the paper stars, Beatrice reaches to brush one with the tip of her fingers, Diego still singing to himself.

“What are you thinking about?” Ava asks, and her voice sounds peaceful and sweet-toned.

Beatrice can only smile back at her.

“I think I want to take Diego to the planetarium.”

It happens on a random Saturday night, as Beatrice is getting Diego ready for bed.

They’re both in their pyjamas in the bathroom after dinner, Beatrice trying to brush Diego’s hair as he is propped up on the counter, his back leaning against her chest as they look into the mirror. He keeps squirming and giggling that Beatrice is tickling him, which she denies — although she totally is, but pretending not to know what he’s talking about. 

She’s smiling as she finishes her task, putting the hairbrush on the counter and running her fingers through his hair to try and straighten it up (she secretly likes it unruly and wild). Diego pats his own face while singing to himself, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Poom pa-loom pa-loom,” she hears as he starts tapping his little fingers across his cheeks.

Diego stops suddenly, quiet as he looks at the both of them in the mirror.

“You have that.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You have that,” Diego repeats as he turns towards her, reaching for her face and tapping his fingers on her cheeks the same way he did for himself.

Freckles. He’s talking about her freckles.

“Yes. Those are freckles.”

“Feckles.”

“FRekles,” she says, accentuating the r.

“Freckles,” Diego repeats, imitating her tone, and she chuckles a little. 

“Eyes,” he says, index fingers reaching for her eyelids. “Nose. Mouth. Ears,” Diego says, reaching for her ears and gently playing with them.

“Yes. You have those too.”

Diego reaches for his own ears, feeling them under his fingers as his face takes a more grave look, seriously looking at her with curiosity. Beatrice would give anything to know what he is thinking. 

“You are like me,” he says, then, like he’s trying to think really really hard and struggling to understand what he’s seeing.

“Uhm… Yes. I guess so.”

“Yes. Feckles. That,” he explains, reaching for her face and tapping his fingers against her cheeks. 

He draws the shape of her eyes then, before feeling his. Traces her nose, before touching his. Runs his fingers along the curve of her mouth, before doing the same with his. 

“Oh. You mean I look like you.”

“Yes.”

She’s not even sure he’s listening as he keeps playing with her hair, silently thinking to himself.

And suddenly, it starts.

Suddenly, Beatrice isn’t just here, she is here. She’s not a person in the world, she is right here and then, standing in front of the bathroom counter with Diego kneeling in front of her, with his little fingers on her face, and she is not just perceiving his touch, she is feeling it.

And he is real, he is a real person with flesh and bones and thoughts and words. He is real, beautifully and breathtakingly real. He exists, he is not fleeting or momentary, he is real forever and ever, and he’ll grow and grow every day, and Beatrice will be here to see it. To feel it.

Because she is real, too. She is a real person with a real place in this world, she is not surviving through life anymore, she is slowly but surely starting to live it. This life that she is building, it is beautiful and exciting and terrifying and wonderful. This is the life she never thought she’d have. She has feelings and thoughts and a voice, and she can touch and feel and see and smell and taste and all of this is so glorious she could cry. 

Finally, she’s breathing. She was stuck under water and she just punctured the surface and inhaled some air back into her lungs. She is alive, she is real, she exists. 

God could give her a place in Heaven and she would decline just for a few more seconds standing there in front of her stupid bathroom counter. 

Beatrice does not want to cry, strangely enough. No, she wants to laugh at the top of her lungs, like this is the funniest thing she has ever felt in the world, and she wonders if that’s what it feels like to be alive (to be Ava).

She pokes at Diego’s little face with her index finger, wondering if he’s going to disappear, but Diego only gasps, offended.

“Hey, hey!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Beatrice apologises, dropping her hand. “Are you real?”

She can’t stop her own smile as she asks, Diego’s little face instinctively mirroring hers.

“You’re real,” Beatrice whispers. “You’re a real person.”

“Okay.”

“You’re real!”

And she scoops him up into her arms and twirls them around like a madwoman, Diego laughing and squealing in her arms as they whirl around into the hallway.

“You’re real. You’re my son.”

“Waaaow!”

“Shannon!” She calls out. “Shannon, come here!”

Shannon runs up the stairs and jumps over the gate, a worried look in her eyes, seeming puzzled as she sees Beatrice holding a giggling Diego in the middle of the hallway.

“What? What is it?”

Beatrice only holds Diego at arms length while grinning from ear to ear.

“He’s real!”

“He’s real!” Diego chants, as Beatrice takes him back for another twirl. 

“Yeah, I know, he ate my KitKat,” Shannon answers, frowning in confusion.

“No, no, he’s real real,” Beatrice insists. “And you’re real, and I’m real!”

She puts Diego to the ground and he giggles as he tries to walk into a straight line, loosing his footing because of his dizziness. Shannon is looking at her like she has lost her mind, but there is a gentleness to her gaze too, something that tells Beatrice she’s been there and at the same time could never understand.

“You okay, Bea?” She asks.

Beatrice is still grinning like a fool as she nods.

“I think he needs a new bedroom.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, Diego, don’t move,” Shannon says as she kneels down, tying the end of the string to his belt loop.

They all stand silent as she does, until Shannon stands back up with a victorious smile, Diego spinning around with a red balloon following after him. 

“Really? That’s your solution?” Beatrice asks as Ava scratches the back of her head in confusion.

“Judge me all you want, I get results. It worked for Camila in London, it can work for him in a furniture store,” Shannon answers, shrugging.

“Yeah, no, I support you, but this is weird, even for you,” Mary comments from where she’s leaning on the handles of the cart, Camila having jumped inside.

“It was either that, or the leash,” Shannon says calmly, pulling a leash out of her purse, Beatrice immediately forcing her to put it back.

“Why do you have a leash?” Ava asks, grabbing Diego by the sleeve of his shirt to pull him back towards them, fumbling with the balloon.

“Can I use the leash on Diego?” JC asks, raising his hand like a little student.

“No one is using the leash on Diego!” Beatrice decides.

Once again, she gets caught in her own trap. 

She had nervously asked Ava if it was okay to set up a bedroom for Diego at her house, only for Ava to answer ‘Yeah, dude, we gotta help you with that if you don’t want your house to look like a walk-in pride flag’. And so now she is once again back at the store, trying to figure out if asking for her friends’ help was a good idea or setting up her own demise.

God help her.

And that’s how Beatrice ends up surrounded by a bunch of idiots, an overly excited toddler, and Ava — she respects her too much to call her an idiot, even though she’s often acting like one. She doesn’t know if she would have wanted Lilith to be here, if she’s relieved not to have her complaining in her ear, or if she should have taken a page out of her book and refused to come too.

She grabs Diego by the wrist, tugs at it to get him to drop the piece of polystyrene he was bringing to his mouth.

“Diego, no.”

“But popcorn!”

“That’s not popcorn, that’s polystyrene. If you eat it, you’ll get sick.”

“And die,” Ava comments from where she’s twirling a pan in the air, flicking her wrist as she does.

Diego immediately gets upset, whining as he walks away, his little balloon bouncing behind him. 

"Don't go too far, bean!" Ava warns as she whips the air with her pan, her warning falling into deaf ears as Diego stomps away angrily.

Mary is somehow threatening to test the knives’ efficiency by stabbing them into JC, Camila giggling from the cart, a strawberry scented candle in her hands. Beatrice takes a whisk from the rack, toying with it as she knows damn well she doesn’t need one.

“You have to stop calling him that.”

“What, ‘bean’?” Ava asks, tossing the pan in the air as if testing its weight.

“It sounds too close to ‘Bea’. He’s going to get confused at some point.”

Ava’s pan whips the air as it moves toward Beatrice, stopping just a few centimetres away from her face, and Ava grins when Beatrice doesn’t flinch, barely blinking.

“He has two moms, four non-biological aunts and two grandmas from the same mom but no other grandparents,” she says, putting her pan back on the display. “I think he can deal with having a nickname slightly similar to yours.”

Beatrice fumbles with her whisk, puts it back on the rack. JC is spinning the cart, Camila screaming for help as he does.

“Also, you both react when I call him that, and I think that’s funny,” Ava adds, a teasing smile on her lips.

Beatrice doesn’t have it in herself to even roll her eyes, she just follows after Ava as she walks towards their friends. 

“You guys do know we’re making a child’s bedroom, not a kitchen, right?” Beatrice asks, crossing her arms on her chest.

“Do you think they have beds that look like pirates’ boats?” Camila asks, trying to straighten up in the cart and falling back as JC takes it for another spin, until Mary stops him by barreling into him, sending him flying away.

Beatrice does not think that this store has beds that look like pirates’ boats, and she also wonders that if they did, would Camila want one for Diego or for herself?

“Diego’s gone,” Ava says, elbowing Beatrice to get her attention before pointing to something at the other end of the store.

Shannon has weird ideas, that is certain, but somehow her weird ideas work. Beatrice can see the little red balloon over the shelves, moving around the area dedicated to pictures and paintings. 

“Do you want to get him or do I do it?” Ava asks, raising an eyebrow.

They decide on it with a quick game of rock paper scissors — it’s not even a real game, as Ava always chooses scissors for reasons Beatrice pretends not to understand, it’s more of a way for Beatrice to back down from something she’s not ready for or not comfortable with without having to voice it.

Beatrice loses, Ava wins.

“Try to get them under control,” Beatrice says as she starts walking away, jutting her chin towards their friends. 

“I won’t!” Ava yells happily behind her, as Beatrice picks up the pace.

She starts jogging down the alleys, looking at the little red balloon ahead as she moves, following its path and trying not to bump into other customers or alert the employees. She needs to act quick before he sees her, or else Diego will start running away again, and she doesn’t have it in her to embarrass herself calling after him. 

Diego is looking at a picture of cartoon-ish stars, so small in front of the display. Beatrice doesn’t have the time to be gentle or to think about it as she moves towards him, trying her best to be swift and quiet — she’s good at that, Ava still says she should have been a Black Widow (Once again, thank you Camila for explaining certain things to her).

Diego sees her out of the corner of his eyes just as she gets to him, sweeping him off the ground and taking him into her arms to stop him from escaping. Diego immediately starts whining and crying angrily in protest. 

“What did we say, D.?” She asks, trying to get his attention as he wiggles furiously in her arms. “No running away without an adult. It’s dangerous.”

“No!”

“Yes, it is.”

Diego throws himself back against her arm, completely unaware that he could fall to the ground if Beatrice’s grip faltered, dramatically lulling his head back.

“Come on, let’s go find your mother,” Beatrice says, pretending she can’t even notice him doing that — or else he’ll probably start throwing a tantrum.

The group has migrated towards the children’s bed, in the endless labyrinth of tiny little beds. She doesn’t know what they’re saying to each other, but Mary seems to be measuring every little mattress with Camila as reference, which she seems to be protesting loudly — “I’m not a child!” / “You’re child-sized,” JC comments, and Camila throws a pillow at him. She doesn’t know where Shannon has disappeared.

Ava is sitting on one of those beds, bouncing slightly as if testing the elasticity of the mattress, looking up at them with a smile as Beatrice walks up to her. By now Diego is giggling at each of her steps, bounced slightly by her movements and his anger forgotten.

“Hi!” Ava greets them, taking Diego from Beatrice’s arms. “All good?”

“I think so,” Beatrice answers, watching the way Diego tries to squirm out of Ava’s hold. “You?”

“Peachy. Come on, bean, we gotta find the best bed for Bea’s house, she can’t find it on her own.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes as Ava puts Diego on the bed, asking him what he thinks. Well, she’s right, but still, she’s not about to admit it.

“No shoes on the mattress,” Ava says as she grabs Diego by the ankles, pulling him until his little legs are dangling on the side, Diego laughing loudly at the movement. “Come on, Bea, we gotta try it too.”

She lets herself fall back on the mattress next to Diego, pulls at Beatrice’s shirt until she does the same on Diego’s other side, making him giggle as he bounces slightly. The back of her head nearly bumps on the other side of the bed, the wooden frame too small for her — but perfect for Diego. 

For a couple of minutes, they’re all just laying there, all three of them, looking up at the industrial ceiling and the red balloon that is still tied to Diego’s waist, hovering over them. Ava has one hand tucked under her head, a content smile on her face, Beatrice crosses her hands over her stomach. Diego takes a strand from both of their hair — a couple of them escaped Beatrice’s bun as she was running after him —, makes a moustache over his lips with them, humming to himself. 

Beatrice doesn’t know what a child’s bedroom looks like. Well, she has seen pictures on the internet and in her parenting books, but she always thought they were strange, there was always something wrong with them. She wanted Diego to have his own little space, not something she would have designed for him. She wanted him to choose what he wanted, to have a say in the whole thing, because if she was being honest, he probably knew more about the subject than she did.

She doesn’t remember her own childhood’s bedroom. She can only see a glimpse of it, her teenage bedroom before they sent her away to Switzerland, and even then those memories feel stagnant, like they’ve always been this way, like she grew up in the same bedroom she left, even as a baby. There wasn’t anything in it, it was practical and functional, with perhaps here and there the poster from a book she liked — Little Women, or perhaps Pride and Prejudice (her favourite was actually The Fellowship of the Ring, but her mother had deemed that book ‘foolish’ and ‘a bunch of nonsense’).

When she came back, it had been stripped of what little things could indicate her personality. 

Diego won’t have that. She’ll make sure of it.

“What do you think, D.?” Ava whispers, her voice calm and peaceful, almost drowsy.

“I like this,” Diego says, puckering his lips to hold both strands of their hair in between his lips and his nose.

“You do? That’s cool,” Ava nods. “That’s good.”

They stay silent for a few more moments, peaceful in the chaos of the store — far away, she can almost hear their friends debating about whether or not she would kill them if they bought enough toys to fill Diego’s whole bedroom all the way up.

Beatrice turns her head slightly, careful not to let her hair slip out of Diego’s hold, looking at the two of them. Ava is looking up at the ceiling without a word, Diego still toying with their hair in silence. It’s funny how both of their side profiles look a bit alike, with the same eyebrows, and Diego’s button nose will probably grow to be straight and thin like Ava’s. They have the same little chin, the same small ears, the same long eyelashes. 

She wonders if he’ll grow up to look like her, even though everyone has been telling Beatrice how much they look practically the same — she can’t really understand it, she sees more of Ava’s in his eyes, but everyone seems to agree, so she doesn’t really know what to say of that.

“Can I help you with anything?” A voice asks, up and away from them.

Ava frowns.

“God?”

“No, Mark.”

An employee is standing at the foot of the bed, awkwardly looking at them as Beatrice sits up, Ava raising herself to her elbows, Diego whining as he has to let go of them both.

“Do you need help with… Anything?” Mark asks, looking at them like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“No, thank you, we’re just looking,” Beatrice says, trying to get them out of what seems to be a really awkward conversation.

“I knew you weren’t God, she’s definitely a woman,” Ava comments, still halfway sprawled out on the mattress.

Beatrice doesn’t even look back as she pushes her away, Ava falling back on the bed with a giggle, Diego immediately deciding to attack her and pretend to eat her with happy roars. 

“Sorry about her, we’ll just keep looking,” Beatrice says.

That’s the moment JC decides to lock Camila inside a closet, and both Mary and Shannon immediately start yelling at him, distracting Mark as he moves towards them — ‘She’s been out of the closet for years, why would you do that?’ / ‘God, why do straight men hate queer women?!’. If anyone asks, Beatrice will say she doesn’t know them. 

She stands up, grabs Diego and manages to free Ava by lifting him up in the air, twirling him around for a few seconds before putting him back on the ground, Diego giggles as he stumbles over his own feet.

“We should take this one,” Ava says, patting the little bed.

“I think so too.”

Ava sticks out a hand with a smile, asking for Beatrice to help her stand up. Beatrice takes it, unable to keep her own excitement quiet.

“I think we should paint stars on the ceiling of his room.”

Ava smiles brightly, twinkles in her eyes, as Diego grips Beatrice’s pants, laughing and almost drooling on her as he pretends to be so dizzy he can’t even stand up.

“You know what, Beatrice Kleine-Young? I think that’s a great freaking idea.”

“If you keep flicking paint on me, I will pour it over your head.”

“You wouldn’t.”

She wouldn’t. But that doesn’t matter.

Beatrice is up on the ladder, her brush in hand as she works, trying to follow the map they designed with Diego. They’ll put up some phosphorescent stars in there too, Shannon bought them specifically for this. Downstairs, she can hear Mary yelling at JC and Miguel after they failed to put together the bed while Lilith and Shannon tackled the dresser and various toy storages — shelves, little chests. Diego is happily shouting from the garden where he is playing with Camila, Beatrice can hear them through the open window.

They’ve already painted the walls and ceilings, all they needed was to add the little stars, and all of their friends were too impatient to wait for them to dry before assembling the furniture — Beatrice thinks it would have been more efficient to put them together inside the room rather than having to carry them all the way up the stairs, but apparently no one listens to her here.

Ava went with her to ‘supervise’, but really she’s just been trying to annoy her and flick paint at her ‘Dirty T-shirt’. 

Which she does once again, a speck of white paint landing on the back of her shirt with a cold splash against her skin.

“That’s it,” Beatrice says, dropping her brush into the bucket and getting down the ladder to walk towards Ava.

She takes her paintbrush away from her, making her sit down under the window while stuffing a forgotten plushie into her hands.

“Play with this and please be quiet.”

“Did you just… Did you just toddler-handle me?” Ava gasps, offended.

“Yes,” Beatrice answers, because she did.

Ava’s face breaks into a mischievous grin.

“Ooooh, I’m telling Mary! I’m telling Mary! Mary!”

Beatrice shamelessly puts her hand on Ava’s mouth while shushing her, panic roaring in her chest, Ava giggling against her palm.

“What are you guys doing up there?” Mary yells from downstairs.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine!” Beatrice shouts back, as Ava falls forward, burying her laughing face into Beatrice’s shoulder.

They’re both giggling like idiots as Mary starts yelling at Michael once again — ‘You run into burning buildings but you can’t use a screwdriver?! If anyone says ‘she said screw’ one more time, I’m killing you all!’ —, Ava clutching the dinosaur plushie to her chest. 

Beatrice’s house has never been more chaotic and messy and it’s honestly stressing her out a little, but she also knows it’ll all turn out okay. It has to. 

‘It’s a house,’ Shannon said, shrugging. ‘It’s meant to turn out messy and weird. It means people lived here. It means it was loved.’

Beatrice doesn’t love the house, but she loves the people in it, and that’s almost the same.

“Do you think this is too much?” She asks Ava, still almost kneeling across from her.

Ava looks up from where she was toying with the plushie. 

“I don’t know,” she says, with honesty on her face. “It’s for Diego. It’ll never be too much. I mean, I think so.”

Beatrice nods, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, fiddling with the end of her t-shirt, hesitation and nervousness on her mind.

“Are you okay with this?” She asks, more softly. “With Diego having a place here, living with me?”

Ava’s head lulls to the side as she leans on the wall, something sad but soft in her eyes. Melancholy, perhaps, or maybe that same grey feeling that settles into Beatrice’s chest when the days are a little too drizzly and cold.

“I mean, I miss him when he’s gone, even if it’s just for an hour. That’ll never change. But that doesn’t mean less for me. That means more for Diego. And that’s what’s more important.”

Beatrice nods, looking down at the ground, until Ava makes her look up by nudging her knee with her shoe. There is a smile on her face, something mischievous in the corner of her mouth.

“Hey, don’t start going all dark and gloomy on me.”

“I’m not dark and gloomy.”

“Yeah, and you’re not part of the British mafia,” Ava says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not part of the British mafia!” Beatrice insists, making Ava smirk.

“What I mean,” she continues, straightening up a little, “is that life will go on. We’ll adapt. Diego will be happy, that’s all that matters. And, who knows, maybe I’ll get some privacy for once.”

“Is it that bad?” Beatrice asks with a smile, taking the hand extended to her.

“Yeah, you can kiss your alone time goodbye,” Ava nods, one eyebrow raised. “The other day, I gave him my eyelash curler to see what he’d do, he used it perfectly. Even Mary doesn’t know what it is!”

She rolls her eyes.

“Also, he’ll probably sleep in your bed rather than his for the first few days.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know.”

A high pitched scream echoes outside, they both raise themselves on their knees to look through the window, staying low not to be seen. Camila is laughing as she sprays Diego with the hose, the little boy running around while screaming at the top of his lungs. He lunges at her and they both tumble to the ground, laughing as the hose flies in the air, water splashing everywhere.

Ava chuckles next to her, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“I think we’ll be okay.”

Beatrice thinks so, too.

Chapter Text

Shannon finds a new place a few weeks later, and miraculously manages to get it in such a short time.

Beatrice is happy for her, of course she is, but she’s also nervous and anxious at the thought of not having her around with Diego, of not having her presence behind her, like the safety net that she is. Doubts that Camila immediately shoots down (‘Bitch we break into your house five days a week, what are you talking about?!’).

Shannon rolls her eyes like Beatrice is being ridiculous, telling her that of course she’ll visit, that she’s not getting rid of her that easily. She even makes them visit her still empty place, and seriously asks Diego what he thinks of it — Diego likes it, because the floor is made of carefully polished parquet, and he gets to have a sliding contest with Mary.

They help her move in on a Saturday afternoon, all of them, even Lilith (even though she manages to force Michael to carry most of the stuff she was supposed to bring). Even Diego is invited, and he takes his job very seriously, helping Shannon show them where the stuff is supposed to go.

“Shannon, why is this box vibrating?” Ava asks loudly in the middle of the staircase, a shit eating grin on her face.

“Haha, very funny!” Shannon shouts back from where she has Diego climbing on her back. “When are you becoming a comedian, Silva?”

“When Bea lets me take Diego with me on stage.”

“That is not happening.”

“But he’s my comedic buddy!” Ava argues, somehow carrying her box up the flight of stairs like it weighs nothing.

“That’s called child exploitation, and that’s usually frowned upon in most societies,” Beatrice tells her, a box full of potted plants in her arms.

Ava sticks her tongue out at her when Diego has his back turned to her, Beatrice does it back, only to have the little boy yelling at her.

“Hey hey!”

“Ava did it first!”

“Did not!”

“Hey!” Mary says, leaning into the door frame with a severe look on her face. “Shut up, you two, you're worse than the boys.”

“Hey!” JC shouts from the bottom of the stairs, offended. “We’re a delight!”

“The neighbours must certainly think so too,” Shannon mutters as Beatrice walks past her, following Ava into the living room. 

Somehow she has managed to look like she’s part of a moving company, in her jeans overalls and short tank top showing surprisingly toned arms, a baseball cap on her head. Knowing her, she probably did it on purpose.

“I’m honestly surprised there aren’t more of Mary’s stuff in here,” Ava comments as she stuffs the box on a shelf, leaving it to Shannon to unpack.

“Why would there be Mary’s stuff in Shannon’s flat?” Beatrice asks, frowning confusedly.

“Oh, honey,” Ava says with dramatised pity in her voice, a shiver going up Beatrice’s spine for some reason. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? They’re not there yet,” Beatrice argues, blowing on a strand of hair that has somehow found a way to escape her bun.

“Yeah, but they’re lesbians. Aren’t they supposed to be U-hauling this shit even before their first date? Shouldn’t you know about this?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“That’s not how it works,” Beatrice says, rolling her eyes. “And the only person I’ve ever ‘U-hauled’, as you say, is Diego.”

Later, she’ll stare at her own reflection in the mirror, toothpaste in her mouth, when she’ll realise what she just openly admitted too. But, well, it’s Ava, and Ava is safe and good so it doesn’t matter — and already knows, if the little boy she has hanging to her trousers is any proof.

But here, now, she only shakes her head as she tries to get her hair out of her eyes, her box still in her arms.

Ava is suddenly in front of her, the box in between them, reaching out to tuck the rebellious strand of hair behind Beatrice’s ear with a gentle smile on her face. Usually, Beatrice doesn’t mind being in Ava’s space, it has become easy and natural, almost like a habit, but right now it feels strange, like there is something , something here that wasn’t there before, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself, only staring back at her while stammering over her own words.

She really thought she had worked through her touch-repulsion — a little voice in the back of her head tells her it’s not that, Beatrice doesn’t know why it would say that.

Instead, she clears her throat, turns back towards the entrance to break the moment.

“Hey, Diego, where does this go?” She asks, nodding towards the box.

“House,” he replies.

“That’s very specific, thank you,” Beatrice nods, while Ava giggles happily next to her.

(Shannon hugs her in the middle of her darkened living room a few hours later, and tells her that she’s never been prouder and that she loves her, and Beatrice sinks into her embrace and realises that she’ll be okay on her own — because even then she won’t be alone.)

Beatrice buys a hammock.

She buys a hammock after seeing the way Ava and Diego giggle as they swing themselves in it — and the way they start screaming at the top of their lungs when Mary starts shaking it from the sides. She puts it together all alone, setting it under the trees by the porch, in the backyard. It sits alone most of the time, except during the week when Diego is here, because then they have an actual excuse to use it. 

And this hammock becomes one of her favourite things in the world. They all love it too, of course, Diego and Shannon and Ava and Mary and everyone else, but Beatrice has a special reason for liking it, that she doesn’t tell anyone.

On the days Diego refuses to take a nap (even though he needs one, turning whiny and annoying), Beatrice takes him outside and sits with him in the hammock, under the pretence of looking at the clouds. Although they do look at the clouds for a while, pointing to the best ones and imagining their shapes, it’s actually a trick.

Indeed, most of the time, Diego will curl up against her chest, eyes slowly closing as she keeps rocking them with the heel of her foot, and fall asleep without realising it. And Beatrice will keep rocking the both of them, while silently looking at his sleeping face.

Once or twice, she managed to take him inside and into his bed without waking him, but mostly she doesn’t even feel the need to do that, instead staying outside with him for a few hours while he sleeps. There was some sort of progress on that one: at first, he stayed against her side, bent in an awkward angle with his mouth open, but slowly, he somehow started to get closer and closer, and now he has ended up on her chest, Beatrice’s arms keeping him steady as he sleeps against her torso. Sometimes, his little fingers reach out to hold on tight onto one of her strands of hair or the collar of her shirt, once or twice, she had had to change her shirt as he has drooled copiously on her.

She told Ava about that trick, but Ava was never able to do the same. One, because she doesn’t have a hammock, and two, because she’s unable to stay still long enough for Diego to really fall asleep.

It’s a really good trick, as it works on Beatrice too. At least half of the time, she’ll find herself dozing off too, if not falling completely asleep. Shannon says Diego is actually the one tricking her into a nap, that this is good for her. Beatrice isn’t so sure of that.

Today is a sunny day, and Diego refused to go to his room even as Shannon fell asleep on the couch after playing with him for an hour. They settled into the hammock, Diego sitting on her hips as she tried to teach him how to whistle with a piece of grass in between their hands. They laughed when Diego failed to produce a single sound, looked at the clouds and drew shapes in the sky with their index fingers — Diego called one of them a ‘Mago’, Beatrice doesn’t really know what that means.

And now here she is, her heel digging into the dirt under her as she sways them gently, Diego asleep on her chest. She’s mindlessly playing with a lock of his hair, smiling to herself as it curls around her finger. 

Ava was right. This was an opportunity for her. It’s more than she could ever dream for and sometimes she has to pinch herself to make sure that she’s really living this, that she isn’t hallucinating. God, she’ll kiss the Earth under Ava’s feet a thousand times if it could pay her back for the miracle of finding her. Ava was the one to kick the door to Beatrice’s empty house down and fill it with colours, laughter and life. She didn’t know the sun could feel so warm on her skin until now, didn’t know how a child’s name could feel so sweet on her tongue.

Ava was right, and Beatrice will forever be thankful to her for that. She should tell her, too, so that she can smile with that soft light in her eyes she gets sometimes, when Beatrice says something weird that she somehow seems to like. Yes. She should do that.

Diego stirs in her arms, letting out a little sound from the back of his throat as he starts to wake up. Beatrice slows down their swaying, knowing it could get him to feel sick. 

“Hello,” she whispers in her lowest voice.

There’s a chance that he might be grumpy after waking up, she’ll try to soften the blow as best she can.

Diego opens his eyes, looks around without a word, as if trying to remember where he is. He raises his head, nearly smacking it into Beatrice’s chin, looking at her without a word.

“Did you have a good nap?” Beatrice asks.

She doesn’t expect an answer, he’s still groggy as he looks around. She hugs him closer, pepper kisses on his cheek, across his nose and all the way to his other cheek, Diego’s mouth slowly stretching into a smile. 

“Hello hello,” he says, tapping Beatrice’s freckles with the tip of his fingers.

“Hello hello,” Beatrice repeats, grinning like an idiot.

He sits on her hips once again, rubbing sleep out of his eye and yawning. Something ticks at the back of Beatrice’s mind, something reminding her of herself at that age, of the feeling of her little fists against her eyelashes, of the strange sensation in her mouth and the warmth in her chest as she woke up from a nap. There was never anyone to kiss her and talk her through waking up, but she does it for Diego anyway, even if she doesn’t really know if she’s doing the right thing.

She must be, because Diego chirps cheerfully as he toys with the collar of her shirt, unbothered. She brushes away the part of his hair that is sticking to one side — like Ava’s does when she wakes up, Beatrice didn’t believe Mary until she saw it herself, and it’s incredible how much mother and son look alike in that moment.

She starts swaying them once more, grass tickling her toes as the wind brushes peacefully into their hair.

This is the true meaning of a miracle. This is a little piece of heaven, this is what the angels dreamed about. Beatrice would be ready to bet on it.

It comes back, then, that warm feeling in her chest, that giggle in her throat, that thing that roars inside of her, that makes her want to laugh and dance and scream out of happiness and kiss anyone — Shannon, Diego, even Lilith. Beatrice lets it set in, lets it wash over her as she smiles like a fool, arms wrapped around her son — Dear God, her son.

“I love you,” she blurts out, and when she realises what she said she finds that she doesn’t want to take it back.

There is no fear in that moment, no doubt or anxiety. Only Beatrice, and her heart full of love. It never was a weakness, always a strength.

“Okay,” Diego sing-songs happily, unaware of the severity of her words.

Because, unlike Beatrice, he’s been told those three little words before he could even understand their meanings. Because Ava and her family made sure of it, she still remembers her coos from the videos (“I love you,” she’d say with a newborn baby in her arms. “I love you more than anything in the world.”). Beatrice never thought that she would understand her that much. 

“No,” Beatrice insists, gathering his little hands in hers so that he’ll pay attention to her.

He looks up at her, and she finds herself staring back into eyes identical to hers, and she never believed that she would find them beautiful, but now she does.

“I love you,” she repeats. “I love you like a real person. I love you so so much.”

Diego does seem to understand, this time, but with some innocence that doesn’t seem to grasp what Beatrice is trying to say.

“Like this?” He asks, taking his little hands out of Beatrice’s and extending them slightly.

Beatrice shakes her head.

“More.”

He stretches them out a little more.

“Like this?”

“More,” she says, and he stretches his elbows out to his sides. “More.”

Diego has his arms completely outstretched now.

“Like this?”

“More,” Beatrice says, extending her arms to her sides too, as far as she can. “Even more than this. So much more than this. Our arms are too small to hold all of my love. I love you all around the world and all the way to the moon and back to here. I love you forever and ever and I’ll still love you even when you’re really really old and you don’t have teeth anymore.”

He laughs, because the idea of not having teeth is funny, but he understands, because he’s clever and Beatrice knows it.

“Do you understand?” Beatrice asks. “I love you so much more than I can tell you. Do you know that? Bea loves you.”

“Bea loves you.”

“No, it’s ‘Bea loves me’, my love,” she corrects him, because this time it’s important.

“Bea loves me,” Diego nods, like this is the wisest thing he has ever heard. 

“Can you say it again?” She asks, her heart swelling inside her chest as she holds him, mapping his freckles into her mind.

“Bea loves me.”

“I do. I do love you.”

She brings their forehead together, closing her eyes, and Diego closes his eyes too, as they breathe in and out peacefully.

He understands.

She puts kisses on his face, vows to always remember the music of his laugh, letting the sun and the joy into her heart.

She reached towards her world, now it’s time for it to settle into her house too.

“Snack now?” Diego asks.

“Try again,” Beatrice says, not even looking up at him.

“Snack now please and thank you?”

“Close enough,” Beatrice nods.

She puts him on the ground, and holds his hand as they go back inside the house.

Chapter Text

They settle into some sort of carefully crafted routine as weeks pass.

The ‘communism baby trade-off’, as Ava calls it, occurs on Friday night. They’ll drive with Diego to the other parent’s place and have dinner together, all three of them. Except it’s also a special dinner, chosen by both Ava and Diego: breakfast as dinner (Ava calls it ‘brinner’, Beatrice refuses to even go there). That helps Diego get settled and cover the things they did during the week and catch the other on the things they need to know. 

On Saturdays, Beatrice likes to take Diego on little ‘adventures’, sometimes with her sisters too. They go to the park, to the zoo, to the farm or the market, she’s also grown fond of hikes in the forest with just the two of them (she has something Camila calls the ‘Diego carrier’, some sort of strange of backpack in which she can carry him when he gets tired — sometimes she can feel his little fingers at the nape of her neck, and a tiny ‘Go, Bea, go’ to keep her going). Saturday nights are meant for surprises and unplanned events: they just figure it out as they go.

Sundays are lazy days, they mostly stay at the house and play or do activities together, once again with Beatrice’s sisters crashing in and participating in whatever they’re doing. This helps Diego settle back into his routine and get ready for the following week (and Beatrice too, God knows she needs it).

And then that’s when the chaos starts. During the week, most of the days look the same: quick, tiring and a bit stressful. Somehow Beatrice always feels like they’re running late for something, even if they aren’t. The mornings are especially hectic, having to get a grumpy toddler to cooperate and get ready for his day at daycare. Thankfully, Yasmine is a godsent, Beatrice just has to mention her name to get Diego to start getting dressed or eat his breakfast, because there is no way he’d want to miss a day with her. Work becomes a countdown until she can finally leave, she managed to cut her hours shorter by adding them to the week she doesn’t have Diego. On the day she can’t get out of a meeting or a conference, Camila or Shannon will go get him — Camila takes Diego into the little cart behind her bicycle and rides all the way to the little garden she rents, Diego loves it.

One of her favourite parts of her day is picking up Diego at the end of the afternoon: his face breaks into a smile as soon as he sees her, running towards her with a happy ‘Bea!’ and jumping into her arms to give her a hug. Yasmine usually doesn’t have anything to say about their day, swarming amongst a crowd of excited toddlers, her hair completely tangled.

They go home, Diego tells her about his day and the things he did over a snack (and that’s another favourite part of the day for Beatrice). Then, they play, they occupy themselves however they want. It’s quiet and peaceful, full of mindless chatter and little smiles shared in between the two of them. It’s a look into Diego’s world, into the things he loves and sees and shows Beatrice, and Beatrice drinks it up, takes everything Diego offers her and puts it on her imaginary little shelf among the endless amount of trinkets and wonders she is collecting (before, that shelf used to be filled with glass sculptures made of the eternal horrors her parents had bestowed upon her, but they’re starting to disappear mysteriously, she doesn’t know why).

Their night routine starts just as the sun starts setting. Bath time is either an endless fight or a moment of joy and laughter, no in between. No matter what, Diego still finds a way to wiggle out of her grasp and run away with his towel trailing behind him, ending up cornered against the gate at the top of the stairs. Then, they’ll go downstairs and Beatrice will get started on dinner while Diego either plays on his own or ‘helps’ her — more like comments everything she does and begs for her to give him little pieces of food. They eat dinner at the kitchen table, making silly faces at each other and laughing when they end up with food all over their chins (Diego more than Beatrice, but whatever).

Cleaning up the kitchen is obviously a one person job, and of course Beatrice is the one that has to go through it, as the responsible adult that she is. Diego usually uses that time to clean up his toys or occasionally hide somewhere as he thinks it’ll get him out of his bedtime. Beatrice carries him all the way to the bathroom, where she helps him brush his teeth — bite repeatedly into his toothbrush while Beatrice brushes her own teeth.

She’s been trying this new thing lately, courtesy of Doctor Muller, where they look at themselves in the mirror and say something good about themselves or something good that they did. It’s hard, but it’s easy to think about a thousand good things about Diego, and he seems to take the exercice very seriously, so when Beatrice cannot find anything to say, he’ll find it for her — ‘You cut my sandwich in triangles and they was really good,’ he says. ‘You did good job.’

Then, she puts him to bed, reading him a story and talking to him until he gets too tired to listen, and then she’ll press a kiss to his cheek, brush his hair and leave the room, with the door slightly open and his nightlight on.

When Diego is asleep, she finds herself falling back into her own slightly lonely routine. She’ll do the laundry, maybe a bit of silent cleaning, or sit down and try to distract herself, even though it doesn’t usually work. Finally, she’ll go to bed after checking on Diego one last time, and start it all over again the next morning.

Parts of Ava’s life bleed into her own, like the morning stretches Diego refuses to skip, or the little emojis she put next to the name of each of her contacts in her phone, so that he can call someone if he is ever in need of help (Ava gets a star, Lilith a dragon, Camila a flower, Shannon a book and Mary a gun. Michael gets a little fire truck, and JC doesn’t get anything because somehow she gets a different number for him every time. If Diego had a phone, he’d get the sun). There’s also the clothes Diego steals from Ava and sometimes sleeps with, as they smell like her (she’s not sure Ava is even aware of it), or the items he only knows how to name in Portuguese and Beatrice has to figure out what he wants.

But parts of Beatrice also start to transfer into Ava’s life, like when she realises that Diego mimics her accent even after he goes home to Ava and starts emphasising it just to annoy her — she gets texts from Ava screaming at her to ‘stop colonizing our son, you mummy eating wanker!’ and laughs about it with Lilith who for once thinks it’s brilliant. There are also Beatrice’s tea bags he sneaks into Ava’s flat as he likes the smell of it and the toys that end up everywhere, to the point they don’t even know which belongs to who.

If Beatrice was being honest, she’d say that she texts Ava everyday to update her on Diego’s state. If she was being truthful, she’d say that they, in fact, text and talk for most of the day, and that their conversations aren’t always about their son, getting lost in the endless stream of their thoughts and their lives. Ava keeps sending her memes that she doesn’t understand, but Ava doesn’t seem to mind. Ava will complain about work, she’ll talk badly about her sisters, they’ll make plans to build Diego a spaceship and send him all the way to the moon and back home. They make a thousand plans for the future that they’ll never accomplish but still manage to get a few ‘family days’ here and there, just the three of us, Bea and Ava and Diego.

Sometimes, when Diego isn’t around and she goes to bed, she looks at the pictures of them on his phone, smiling to herself in the darkness of her bedroom. Sometimes, she’ll even go as far as pressing a kiss to the screen, heart growing in her chest with fondness, murmuring an ‘I love you’ before turning off her phone and going to sleep.

Life is nothing like she expected and so much more than what she dreamed about. Life is good and beautiful and full of sunshine and discarded toys and stains of crayons on the wall and laughter and it’s everything Beatrice needs.

The phone rings just as Beatrice is cleaning up the kitchen table after snack time.

Diego is already playing in the living room, his little voice yelling loudly through the open space as he moves his plastic dinosaur around the coffee table.

A sponge in one hand, she tucks the phone in between her ear and shoulder, continuing her task. 

“Hello?”

“I’ve sent Lilith your way,” Shannon says without a single greeting. “Good luck.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Beatrice says quickly, stopping from hanging up on her. “What’s going on?”

“She’s on her period, it’s your turn to handle her.”

Crap.

Like Camila said it herself: ‘I used to think my period was painful. Then, God sent me a vibe check by making me meet Lilith’. Lilith used to think it was embarrassing, refusing to let anyone help her or even see her in that state, until she realised it gave her an excuse to act like an asshole, and immediately took it (well, to act more of an asshole then she usually is, and that’s saying something). 

Still, Beatrice loves her, and usually doesn’t mind having to take care of Lilith during that time, but right now she already has her hands full.

“I have Diego today,” she says. “Ava is picking him up after work.”

Because tomorrow is Ava’s biological mother’s birthday, and she’s going to take Diego to her grave and talk about her with him because it’s important.

“Good, you’re already trained to handle hurricane Lilith,” Shannon only answers, like she couldn’t care less.

“But I don’t want to.”

It’s not like her to complain or to even whine like she is doing right now, she’ll blame Diego for being a bad influence on her.

“Wait, can you hear that?” Shannon asks. “This is the sound of ‘I don’t give a fuck’.”

“Mary has corrupted you.”

“Yeah, well, Silva also perverted you, so...”

“Shannon!” Beatrice gasps, scandalised, cheeks turning red.

“I now realise how that sounds,” Shannon mutters. “Whatever, it’s your turn to handle her. Good luck.”

She hangs up before Beatrice can even retort. She sighs, shuffles on her feet in frustration, but has no choice but to resign herself to her sufferings. She rinses the sponge, makes her way to the living room where Diego is playing.

“Hey, D., I have something to say and it’s very important,” she starts, sitting down in front of him, the plastic dinosaur in between them.

Diego has the decency to look up at her, still showing signs of annoyance at being interrupted in his game.

“Lilith is going to spend the afternoon with us, okay?” She announces, and Diego nods, like he wants her to move on and continue playing. “And she’s a bit grumpy because her tummy hurts right now, alright? We’ll have to be very patient with her because she doesn’t mean to be grumpy, but it happens sometimes, just like when you wake up in the car and you don’t want to go into the house, remember?”

Diego ignores the questions, confusion on his face.

“Lily is sick?”

For a few seconds, part of Beatrice wants to grip him by the shoulder and shake him while yelling for him to run and hide, but the adult part of her brain knows it’s ridiculous and stupid, so she keeps it tame.

“Well, no, she’s alright. Her body is just being that way right now. She’ll be better later, I promise.”

Diego doesn’t seem convinced, but she hears a car pull up in front of her gate, and she knows she doesn’t have the time to explain it in further detail.

“Good luck,” she says, shaking his hand.

Her afternoon is spent taking care of a whiny toddler that hasn't had a nap, and Diego.

She wishes she was joking. Lilith has apparently decided that if her life is Hell, then Beatrice’s life should also be one. Later, they’ll — Lilith — laugh about it, Beatrice will pay her back by stealing all her little spoons, but right now, she’s really wondering if Lilith wasn’t specially sent just to test her patience. 

After thirty minutes spent bossing Beatrice around and getting frustrated when she doesn’t live up to her expectations, it’s Diego who puts an end to it by walking up to her with his toy doctor case (a present from his grandmother).

“I help you,” he says, and Lilith seems too tired to protest.

They both sit on the couch, Diego taking out his plastic stethoscope and putting it on Lilith’s chest (on the wrong side, but they don’t have the heart to tell him).

“ Respira ,” he instructs, and Lilith obeys, filling her lungs with air and exhaling. “You are dead,” Diego says, then. 

“That’s unfortunate,” Lilith comments with a nod.

Beatrice is watching the whole exchange from the door where she is almost hiding, curious to see what is going to happen and ready to save Diego when Lilith will inevitably grow tired of him.

He is very serious as he listens to her stomach too, pretends to give her a shot — Lilith looks at him like she wishes she was anywhere but here. Then, he takes his little plastic hammer and taps it against her knee.

“We cut your leg,” he decides then, looking gravely at her.

“Okay,” Lilith says, like she couldn’t care less. “What do we cut it with?”

“Scissor,” Diego nods.

“That’s going to cause a lot of blood. Are you prepared to handle that?” Lilith asks.

“Yes.”

“Will I be able to walk again?”

“You have a chair.”

“Okay. Will you push me around if I am in a wheelchair?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You are heavy.”

“Thanks.”

Beatrice uses the moment to make her escape, disappearing to check over her texts. Ava sends her a message to tell her that she’s leaving her house, Beatrice takes a few moments to compose herself, enjoying the silence before being thrown into the chaos that has become her life. 

When she comes back to the living room, it’s to discover an unbelievable scene: Lilith is lying on the couch, eyes closed as she sleeps, Diego dozing off, curled up against her chest. One of her arms is thrown around him to keep him from falling off the couch, doctor toys are tucked around them. They look calm, peaceful, even, taken away into a dreamless slumber that seems to have them content and tranquil.

Beatrice lingers in the doorway, a smile stretching her lips. She thinks about a few months ago, about when the house was empty and cold and how only Camila and Lilith could bring light to it. She wonders if they can feel it too, this light that has been brought into her life, she wonders if they’re happier too. She hopes she’s sharing it with them, she hopes they also have their spot under the sunlight with her.

She doesn’t know if she’d be under the sunlight herself if it wasn’t for them.

She is pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of Ava’s car pulling in front of the gate, and panic immediately sets in her chest.

She can’t wake them up, first: because they need rest after the emotions of today, and second: because she’s not about to give up her newly acquired peace and quiet.

She runs to the glass door on the tip of her toes, slips outside and closes it behind her, and jogs to the front of the house. Ava is already walking up the alleyway, she has a double of the keys that Beatrice made for her. Beatrice runs up to her, hidden behind a small tree, and reaches for her, trying to get her to stop before she opens the door or rings the doorbell.

Which is a mistake.

Because Ava has been raised by Mary, because they met in a bar as Ava was getting ready to start a fist-fight, which Beatrice realises as Ava grabs her by the collar of her shirt and blindly sweeps her off her feet and onto the ground. Beatrice does not fight back, because it would be an even bigger mistake, confusion slightly cloudling her mind as she falls on her back in the grass, Ava falling on top of her with a knee on each side of her hips.

“It’s me! It’s me!” She says as Ava raises her free fist, probably planning to punch her before realising who she is.

She blinks, surprised.

“Beatrice?”

Beatrice coughs, trying to breathe some air back into her lungs. Honestly, she is impressed, and that doesn’t happen often.

“What— what the fuck?!” Ava yells, angry and panicked letting go of the collar of her shirt. “I could have hurt you!”

“I just… You can’t go to the door,” Beatrice stutters pathetically, trying desperately to regain composure as Ava straddles her, irritated by her.

“What, why not? Am I going to get electrocuted?”

“No, it’s just… Lilith is asleep.”

“And?” Ava asks, raising an eyebrow.

“And she’s grumpy and I do not want to deal with her.”

“Fair,” Ava acquiesces, sitting up on Beatrice's hips while crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful look in her eyes. “I wouldn’t want to wake her up either.”

Beatrice’s eyes snap to where her hands have instinctively settled on Ava’s waist, Ava following her line of sight. She takes her hands away immediately, as if she had burned her, and Ava finally seems to realise how they’re lying in the grass and gets up while awkwardly clearing her throat. Face burning, Beatrice rises up, dusting her trousers and thinking that this is definitely not what she signed up for.

Refusing to look at her, she motions for Ava to follow her.

“Come on, and let’s just… Be quiet.”

They sneak into the house, Ava closing the glass door behind them as Beatrice makes her way back to the living room. Neither Lilith nor Diego have moved, both snuggled up against each other with their eyes closed, Diego’s hair promising to turn back into a mess like every time he falls asleep.

“Aww,” a voice whispers in her ear, and Beatrice nearly jumps out of her skin when she realises Ava is looking over her shoulder, on her toes with a smile on her face.

She grins at her, reaches for her bag and pulls out her phone, turning her back to the living room and opening her camera.

“What are you doing?!” Beatrice shouts-whispers.

“What?” Ava shrugs. “Everyone takes pictures of me asleep everywhere, I don’t see why I can’t return the favor.”

That’s probably because Ava has the incredible capacity of falling asleep no matter where she is, an impressive skill that Beatrice might be slightly jealous of. Once, she saw her dozing off while Mary was picking on her for trying to cook pasta without water.

“Come on, come here.”

She throws an arm around Beatrice’s shoulders, and Beatrice is yanked towards her, her face pressed against hers, cheek to cheek.

“Smile!” Ava says before taking a picture, making sure that both Diego and Lilith are visible in the background.

“Why are you doing this?” Beatrice manages to say, her cheek squished out against Ava’s as she rolls her eyes.

“‘Cause it’s fun, and I want to have new leverage on Lilith, and I’ll get it however I can,” Ava grins, brown eyes full of mischief and playfulness. 

She takes a few more pictures, not letting go of Beatrice no matter how much she squirms against her, laughing quietly in her ear. 

Suddenly, she turns her head to the side, and presses a kiss to Beatrice’s cheek. Beatrice freezes, astonished, incapable of moving a single muscle as she stares at her own reflection in Ava’s phone.

Of course, that’s the moment Lilith chooses to start stirring awake, and by the time Beatrice turns around Ava has disappeared, leaving her to deal with the consequences of her actions, the echo of her laugh trailing behind her. 

This is definitely not what she signed up for.

Chapter Text

“Do I even want to know why Diego’s daycare wants to meet with us?” Ava asks into the phone.

Beatrice rubs sleep out of her eyes, lying lifelessly onto her bed after spending last night in her office.

“Good morning to you too,” she groans.

“Good morning,” Ava says. “Do I even want to know why Diego’s daycare wants to meet with us?” She repeats.

Beatrice is too tired to even react. It’s early in the morning, she doesn’t even know what time it is, she went home at an unreasonable hour last night which she is going to lie about to Shannon when she’ll ask, and she’s pretty sure she forgot to put on her pyjamas before falling into bed. So yes, she doesn’t really react accordingly, lying like a starfish in her empty bed, hearing faintly the opening theme of a Bluey episode — Diego doesn’t have screen time, they prioritise books or sensory play, but they’ll allow the occasional Bluey episode if he has been really good.

“Well, it’s not from me, I haven’t heard anything from Diego last week, or from Yasmine for that matter.”

“Yeah, me neither, but they just said they want to see us both tonight, so I was wondering if you or your sisters knew anything,” Ava continues, and Beatrice can hear the fatigue in her voice — according to Ava’s schedule she had a late shift last night, so it’s not unusual.

“Alright,” Beatrice says. “Do they want Diego to be here?”

“No, I was thinking of sending Michael to pick him up, it’s been a while since they’ve hung out together, is that okay with you?”

It’s true that Diego has been asking for his uncle, his whereabouts and when he was coming back from the war — Beatrice keeps trying to explain that firefighting training is not war, but Diego doesn’t understand and keeps telling everyone his uncle is fighting monsters and evil men.

“Sure,” Beatrice yawns.

“Great. I gotta go, Mary’s gonna take him to school any minute now.”

“Okay,” Beatrice nods. “Go back to bed, Ava.”

“Will do. See you tonight!” She says, a little bit more cheerful, before hanging up.

“Bye,” Beatrice mutters weakly into the silent phone, before rolling over and groaning into her pillow.

Beatrice makes it first to Diego’s classroom, unsurprisingly. Ava almost got her late, but she still managed to outrun her and get to Yasmine in time, leaving Ava in the parking lot — ‘I’ll be right behind you,’ Ava promised, but Beatrice is not sure if she should believe her.

Yasmine who is standing by her classroom door, her blouse stained with purple and yellow paint — there is a stain on her cheek too, Beatrice doesn’t know if she should point that out. Her usual smile is lighting up her face, but there is an uncertain light in her eyes, something like hesitation or confusion.

“Hello,” Beatrice says, shaking her hand. “Ava is right behind me, she’s parking her car.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Yasmine assures, like pulled out of her reverie. “We’ll wait for her.”

Her classroom is open behind her, a blonde woman kneeling in front of a child, looking very bored. Beatrice has heard of her from Diego, apparently every child is scared of her, except for Diego who has been Lilith-trained and doesn’t fear anyone anymore.

“Did everything go okay?” Beatrice asks, trying to start a conversation with Yasmine who still has that thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Oh, yes, it was alright. Diego is a really bright boy. I heard a lot about his uncle who was picking him up but uh…”

She bites into her lower lip, hesitation on her face.

“Is it normal if his uncle started flirting with me to sneak Diego out of my classroom behind my back?”

Oh God. Poor woman, she doesn’t know what she’s getting into. Beatrice stares at her for a few seconds, wondering how she ended up here and remembering that she was supposed to be a diplomat.

“Ava is late because she’s having a dance battle with a five year old in the parking lot. Believe it or not, that is actually pretty normal for them,” she says, wishing she wasn’t actually serious.

Yasmine somehow lightens up and blushes even harder, playing with the fabric of her long skirt.

“Oh.”

“I can tell Michael to stop, if you want. I can even send our friend Mary to threaten him to never do that again,” Beatrice proposes.

Yasmine seems to think about it for a few seconds.

“I think I’m alright, thank you.”

Oh, Beatrice is definitely telling Ava as soon as they leave, God knows that woman loves drama.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Ava yells through the hallway, running up to them with an energetic grin. 

Beatrice doesn’t even feel surprised anymore.

“Did you win?”

“Hell yeah I did! Obliterated that kid to the ground, I’m telling ya!” 

Carried by her excitement, Ava raises herself on her toes, an arm around Beatrice’s shoulders, presses a kiss to her cheek, and Beatrice stands there like an idiot, Yasmine raising an eyebrow at them. This is weird. This should not feel as good and should not make Beatrice as happy as it does, but it does, and she doesn’t know what to think of it. She feels her whole face heating up, turning even more red than Yasmine herself whose hand Ava is shaking.

“Please, let’s go inside,” Yasmine says, gesturing for them to follow after her inside the classroom.

Ava has to grab Beatrice by the arm and yank her forward to get her to move, Beatrice stumbling on her feet before falling into the chair in front of Ava’s across from Yasmine on the other side of the desk. Yasmine’s teaching assistant busies herself with one of the activity shelves, shaking a box of sand after sending the child into the playground where a few kids are running around.

“So, we wanted to meet with to talk to you about an incident that has happened with Diego—”

“Oh God, not again,” Ava groans, pinching the bridge of her nose as Beatrice’s breath catches in her throat. 

There’s a knot in there, her trachea tied on itself and stopping her from swallowing or breathing correctly. Disappointment washes over her, some part of her that feels like her five year old self makes her feel like she is about to cry.

“I’m sorry?” Yasmine asks, confused.

“Look, we get it, this is unusual, bla-bla-bla,” Ava continues, rolling her eyes. “But fuck, we’re gay — I mean, she is, I’m bi, actually — so deal with it! Diego’s happy, we’re happy, what’s wrong with that?”

“Miss Silva—”

“Do you know how long it took for us to find the right daycare? Shit, they kicked our kid out because of this, I really thought this place was better than the last one!” Ava exclaims, before burying her face in her hands, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

Beatrice awkwardly places a hand over her shoulder, trying vainly to comfort her. She’s not sure she’ll be able to stop Mary from punching them, this time — she’s not sure she’ll want to stop her.

“That’s why Diego changed daycares?” Yasmine asks, a scandalised tone to her voice.

Right, they never disclosed why he never went back, because he wasn’t technically kicked out since Beatrice stated they were taking him out first. So the transition was never explained, not that there was any need to.

“See,” Zori, who is now standing behind Yasmine with a bunch of silver spoons in her hands, says, “I told you that Martin-cunt was homophobic.”

“Language, Zori,” Yasmine sighs, rubbing her brow.

Ava raises her head, stupefied, the knot in Beatrice’s throat starts to untie itself.

“Look, this is not what this is about. Actually, it’s the opposite,” Yasmine explained. “Acceptance and tolerance is at the heart of our education, we teach our students to be open-minded, to their peers and to themselves. Believe it or not, Diego is not the only child with same-sex parents here. He’s not the only one with separated ones either, or a non-nuclear family, if you allow me to use that term.”

Ava turns back towards Beatrice, a confused frown on her face, and Bearice can only shrug back, just as perplexed.

“Okay, then, why are we here?”

Yasmine squirms in her chair, embarrassed.

“Well, one of our older children, Joseph, he— well, he had a few words to say about it.”

“That’s the parents’ fault,” Zori intervenes. “They made him their emissary, because they couldn’t get to the kid themselves, so they used their bitch son to get to Diego.”

“Zori,” Yasmine sighs.

“What? It’s true! Dad’s a bitch, mom’s a bitch, kid was meant to become a little bitch! It’s biological at this point!”

“I’m going to get fired because of you!” Yasmine says, desperate.

“Big deal,” Zori shrugs. “You’ll just blame me once again.”

Yasmine sighs, looking exhausted, Ava looks delighted with the whole exchange, Beatrice wonders if she’s not going to egg them on like she sometimes does with Mary and Michael. Beatrice, on the other hand, is more worried about what she has heard.

“I’m sorry, what happened?”

“Joseph started talking about the Bible and how Diego’s moms — you two — were committing a sin and such. We believe his mother was the one to teach him that. Safe to say none of the children understand what he was talking about. The few of them that are taught about religion at home are still too young to know what he was saying, so they didn’t really care. Although we are open to discussing religious topics if the children ask such questions, we make sure that everyone respects each other and that they know it’s their decisions and no one has the right to judge what is wrong or right from that.”

“So that was a big fat fucking break of our rules,” Zori comments.

“Zori, I swear, watch your language. And yes, it was.”

“And we’re looking into it with the headmistress and we might kick the kid out,” Zori continues, ignoring her.

“We can’t tolerate that kind of behavior, that is all,” Yasmine clarifies, still looking horrified with her assistant’s language. “We’re going to make sure the parents understand that they can’t do that and if they don’t understand, then we’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen again,” Yasmine says, determined.

Nothing can ever be easy, can it? This isn’t fair, and it’s not right and Beatrice still wants to cry a little bit, a guilty feeling in her chest as she wonders what else Diego will have to go through because of them — because of the world. 

At least his teachers seem to be on their side this time.

“Okay,” Ava nods. “How come Diego didn’t tell us about this?”

“Diego handled it pretty well, all things considered. I’m not really sure he understands what happened himself, but when we talked about it with him, he seemed pretty okay. But… He told us some confusing things too.”

Ava frowns, scratching the back of her head.

“Like what?”

“Well, something about his aunt, I believe. Lilith, right?” Yasmine asks, turning towards Beatrice.

Beatrice who nods, suddenly realising how weird their whole family must seem.

“Yes, that’s her.”

“We make jokes about her being a demon,” Ava explained. “Because she is one.”

“Yeah, kinda,” Zori nods, and Beatrice wonders if Camila didn’t manage to drag Lilith with her to pick up Diego once or twice.

“Well, he seemed pretty convinced that she is going to protect him against Joseph.”

Ava snorts out a laugh, hiding her smile in the palm of her hand, Beatrice does everything in her power not to roll her eyes. Lilith would probably pretend to throw up if she ever heard that — but she would also propose to throw hands with a five year old just because, so Diego isn’t wrong.

“He also told us about what he thinks God is,” Yasmine continues, turning towards Beatrice with a confused frown on her face. “Something about your ex-husband?”

Beatrice stares at her without a word, frozen on her chair.

“My what now?”

“My ex-husband!” Beatrice yells in the parking lot, throwing her hands into the air. “My ex-husband!”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Bea,” Ava tries to reason with her, a laugh in her voice.

“He thinks that I was married to God! That is all on you and Mary!” She accuses, pointing her index finger at her. “Our child is going around telling people that I divorced God!”

“Well, you kinda did. Guess lesbianism is stronger than any marriage,” Ava shrugs, a teasing smile on her face.

“My ex-husband!” Beatrice yells once again, dumbfounded, before grabbing Ava by the shoulders and shaking her like a tree. “What’s next, huh? He’s going to tell everyone you were hooking up with Jesus Christ!”

Ava giggles as her head lulls back and forth, clearly amused with Beatrice’s disbelief.

“Well, at least I’m staying in the theme?” She proposes.

“You’re insufferable,” Beatrice comments, not knowing if she believes it.

“Yeah, but that makes me charming.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“We hooked up on the first night, I’m pretty sure that means you find me charming.”

“That was before you started telling Diego I had divorced God.”

Ava laughs, stepping into Beatrice’s space and putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, it’s fine, we’ll just clear things up with him. And we’ll talk about that stupid kid too.”

“People are going to think we’re in a cult.”

“Yep, welcome to the village,” Ava laughs, her breath brushing against Beatrice’s cheek.

Diego is playing in the living room while Beatrice cleans up after dinner, she can hear his little voice echoing through the space as he tucks Moose into bed on the couch.

They talked about the whole incident with him, which he seemed to have already forgotten about, because he is two and things that don’t matter evaporate as soon as they happen — Beatrice wishes he didn’t care about her ‘ex-husband’. They also tried to explain that Beatrice had not technically married God and that it was only a joke from Ava, but he didn’t seem that convinced, and so they just decided to drop it and hope that he’d forget about it too.

Tonight, they had dinner — ‘Brinner, Bea, you can say it.’ — just like they always do on Friday night, Ava racking her brain to try and find something that she had apparently forgotten to mention and ending up deciding that that meant it didn’t matter.

Now she’s cutting apples as an ‘after-dessert’ snack, because Diego was picky with his food and she doesn’t want him to go to bed hungry, humming to herself, tired but happy as she listens to his little chatter in the other room.

Diego runs into the kitchen, a grin on his face.

“Apple?”

“Try again,” Beatrice tells him, putting the pieces into a little plastic bowl.

“Apple pleeeease?”

“Here you go,” she says, handing it to him, stopping when he moves to grab it without another word. “What’s the magic word?”

“Thank you mummy!” Diego says happily, before scampering away with his bowl like she’s going to steal it from him.

Beatrice stands frozen in her kitchen, still a bit tilted down with her hand in the air as she was handing him his bowl.

She is going to explode.

This is the only way she can put it. She isn’t breathing anymore, warm from head to toes but cold at the same time, stomach jumping out of her body, breath frozen in her lungs, vision blurred and mind running a thousand words a second. She wants to cry, she wants to laugh, she wants to jump around and dance in the rain and kiss the sun and yell at everyone that’ll listen that her name is Beatrice Kleine-Young, that she is alive, and that she loves and is loved.

Her heart isn’t beating anymore, oh no, it has joined the stars and whatever God is watching up there, dancing and yelling freely into the void. 

This is what she was made for. This is what she was created for. To love and to be loved. 

One reason to live, nothing more to die for.

A world built around this little moment right here and now, and nothing else.

There is no God in this universe, because nothing is more holy than this little instant of eternity.

If she doesn’t move, she is probably going to drop unconscious on her kitchen floor.

And so she gulps down air, as much as her lungs can contain, her vision slowly returning to normal as Beatrice tries to follow the breathing exercise Dr. Muller gave her. Diego is back to playing in the living room, pretending to feed Moose with his apple before eating it himself.

She needs to call Ava.

She stumbles forward, catches herself on the kitchen counter where she grabs her phone, staggers past the living room.

“I need to make a quick phone call, I’ll be right back,” she mutters in a broken voice, and Diego only responds with a little ‘’Kay’.

She moves through the corridor, locks herself inside of the guest room, missing the bed and instead falling sitting on the floor, her phone in her trembling hands. It’s by a miracle that she manages to dial Ava, a shuddering breath passing through her lungs.

“ Hello? ” Ava asks, her distant voice snapping through the loudness of Beatrice’s mind.

“He called me mum,” Beatrice chokes out, almost too fast.

“ What? ”

“He… Diego, he called me mum,” Beatrice repeats, a knot in her throat — a beautiful one, this time.

“ Oh! ” Ava shouts. “ Oh, that’s what I forgot to talk to you about! ”

“You knew?!” Beatrice practically howlers, gripping her phone in her hand.

“ I mean, yeah, kinda, he asked me about it. I think he picked that up from Michael calling mom like that. He probably put british plus british together and came up with that. I told him to talk to you about it, but I guess he just went with it, I guess. ”

“You… You don’t mind?” Beatrice stutters, tears beading at her eyelashes.

“ Uh… No? ” Ava says, confusion in her voice. “ Why would I… Why would I mind? ”

Beatrice doesn’t know.

She sniffs, wipes her nose with her sleeve, knowing damn well she told Diego not to do that. Tears are threatening to fall, the knot in her throat becoming painful, and Beatrice bites into her lower lip to keep in a sob.

“ Are you crying? ” Ava asks.

“No,” Beatrice squeals.

“ It’d be okay, though, ” Ava says in a soft voice. “ If you were crying. ”

That’s all it takes. The tears fall, the avalanche starts, the waterfall is born. Beatrice cries, sobbing into her own hand, as Ava listens through the phone.

She cries because she’s happy, she cries because she’s overwhelmed, she cries because she never dreamed of such a life and sometimes she can’t accept that it happened to her, and that she deserves it. She cries because she used to wish for no children and hope that she’d never have to go through that and convince herself that it was better this way, and now she’s here, crying over a little boy calling her his mother. She cries because she was a little girl once too, and now she’s all grown up and it hurts and it’s beautiful and she picked herself up and dusted her knees and stepped out of her parents’ house and it’s wonderful.

She cries because she loves. She cries because she is loved.

She cries because she’s a mother, and somehow it’s the holiest name she has ever received.

“ It’s okay, ” Ava whispers into the phone, tender and gentle — and sniffing herself. “ It’s okay, Bea, you’re okay. ”

“I’m just happy,” Beatrice says in a whisper. “I’m just so happy. Oh, Ava…”

“ I know, ” Ava says, a smile in her voice. “ I cried too, when he called me mama for the first time. But I was on my period and JC had just made me watch How To Train Your Dragon, so I guess I had an excuse. ”

They both laugh a little, each on their own ends of the phone, both with the same warmth in their chest and the same reason for it.

“ Do you understand, now? ” Ava whispers, and Beatrice can hear the tears in her voice too. “ Do you understand? ”

“You were right,” Beatrice says, sniffing. “You were right. Thank you, Ava. Thank you.”

“ I guess we wouldn’t be here without you either, so thank you too. ”

Beatrice laughs, too, wiping her tears and wondering if she doesn’t understand the universe now — she still has so much to learn, but she isn’t afraid of it anymore. She stays with her phone pressed against her ear, listening to Ava’s breathing and wondering how she got so lucky.

“ I think we didn’t fuck up too much, all things considered. ”

Beatrice laughs once again, happy and loved and free, just as the door handle starts jiggling up and down, and Diego’s little voice starts echoing behind it: ‘Hey hey!’.

“I have to go,” Beatrice sniffs, wiping her face and hoping she’s not too red. “Thank you, Ava, for everything.”

“ I’m still gonna call you Bea. ”

“Please do.”

She hangs up and goes to open the door, to take Diego into her arms and kiss his giggling face, and she’s never stood taller in that moment.

Chapter Text

“Mummy!”

Unsurprisingly, it takes a few seconds for Beatrice’s brain to catch up to what she hears. It’s not her fault, really, she just hasn’t grown used to being called that yet. Every time, it takes her mind a few microseconds to send her a message that says: ‘Oh, that’s me! I’m mummy!’ and for her to move.

So yes, when she hears the little voice that is definitely supposed to be asleep, she doesn’t catch up immediately.

“Muuuummyyyyy!” The voice wails. “Mummy!”

Beatrice drops the sheet that she was putting back on the mattress — it was laundry day —, takes the three steps that separate her to the door and crosses the hallway to Diego’s room.

The little boy is sitting in his bed, his blanket pooling around him. Moose is lying limply on the side, almost falling between the wall and the mattress, his pacifier is long forgotten on the floor. He’s looking up at her with teary eyes, stopping his cries when he sees her.

“Hey,” Beatrice says, as softly as she can, sitting down on his bed and taking him into her arms, squeezing him against her chest. “It’s okay, it’s alright now.”

Diego lets out a shuddering sob, his whole body spasming with it as he grips her shirt in between his fingers and nestles himself against her. In the flurry of half-eaten words that comes out of his mouth, Beatrice manages to discern a butchered ‘nightmare’ and presses a kiss to the top of his hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Nightmares are scary, I know. I don’t like them.”

According to Yasmine, Diego only had a short nap that day, which made him groggy, tired and slightly annoying, so it was no surprise when he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Diego straightens up slightly as he tries to explain his nightmare to her, but he is still almost half asleep, so most of his words aren’t spoken clearly and sometimes in another language. Still, Beatrice manages to make sense of a few things here and there, which tell her that he got woken up by a dream of a monster — a dragon or a dinosaur, she’s not sure yet, his version changes every time she asks what monsters are.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “That must have been a really bad monster, if it woke you up like that.”

“Yes,” Diego agrees. “He is mean.”

“Wow, I guess he is. Monsters are meanies,” Beatrice comments, soothing him by rubbing his back. “But they’re not real, Diego. Remember what we talked about? Nightmares aren’t real. They’re just stories in your head.”

“Stories,” Diego repeats, but she’s not sure he’s even hearing himself.

“Yes, stories. Just little thoughts in your little head. We all have them. I have them too, sometimes they wake me up in the night, just like you.”

Except her monsters bear other names too, mostly ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’.

“And they’re scary, but they’re just in my head. I’m safe here, and you’re safe too,” she explains, Diego’s eyes closing as he cuddles up against her chest. “Monsters are meanies, but we’re stronger than them. We’re very brave. You’re very brave, you know. The monsters can’t get to you, they’re too scared of you.”

Diego doesn’t seem to really think that he’s scary, but to be fair he doesn’t seem to be thinking anything, quiet and limp in Beatrice’s arms, truly asleep once more. Beatrice smiles to herself, runs her fingers through his hair as she lays him back into his bed, adjusting Moose next to him and putting his pacifier next to him on the mattress in case he wakes up needing it.

She tucks him in, presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers, like a prayer.

She hopes it’s enough to keep the monsters away.

“It was worse,” Ava announces as soon as Beatrice picks up the phone, before she can even greet her.

“That’s impossible,” Beatrice comments, tucking the phone in between her ear and her shoulder as she types away on her laptop. “How can it possibly be worse than the guy that fully admitted to wanting to suck people’s toes on the first date?”

“It is possible!” Ava yells into the phone, slightly hysterical. “I don’t know how, but it is!”

Beatrice should not smile that much, but she can’t help it: Ava just has that inflation in her voice, that little flicker of enthusiasm that turns the most disastrous events in her life into a one-woman show. Her life is a never ending entertainment source, if Ava wasn’t a terrible liar, Beatrice would think that she had made half of that stuff up.

But no, Ava’s life is just that chaotic.

She throws a look over her shoulder, up the stairs, the light is still turned off. If Diego had woken up and walked out of his room, she would have seen the blue light of his nightlight in the corridor. But it’s still dark, so that means her son is still sleeping soundly. Good. He’s gotten into a habit of getting up in the middle of the night with the most ridiculous excuses: going potty, needing a glass of water, a nightmare, the monster under his bed.

Meanwhile, Ava has started dating again. Which is fine, by the way, Beatrice doesn’t really care, as long as she’s safe and happy, that’s all that matters. But somehow all of her dates have turned out to be disasters and catastrophes, to the point that Mary is starting to suggest that Ava might be the problem — ‘Common denominator,’ Mary had explained. ‘Or maybe she’s cursed’.

And so now it’s started to become the norm for Beatrice to receive a phone call on the night Ava has her date, because ‘I need to tell someone about the drama and Mary will just hang up on me’. Some tiny part of her, the part she hates and loathes, feels a bit better knowing Ava is having such back luck at dating, she thinks that it’s because at least she isn’t the only one who’s dating life is a catastrophe — well, hers is non-existent, but that’s not the point. 

Also, she misses her, Diego misses her, so she likes when Ava talks to her.

“And then,” Ava continues, bringing the smile back on Beatrice’s lips. “Then he said I was the one, that he just knew he wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“On the second date?” Beatrice frowns.

“I know!” Ava shouts. “That’s what I thought! So I told him I had a kid, which he knew about because I had already warned him since the beginning, and motherfucker took my hand, looked me straight in the eyes and said: ‘We can go through this.’!”

Beatrice chuckles, leaning her forehead against her head with a smile while Ava shouts a few insults in Portuguese in the air. 

“What did you do?” She asks.

“Oh, I took my things, paid the poor waitress and ran for the door. I didn’t even get my fucking pasta, which is a waste, really, I’m heartbroken.”

“About the guy or the pasta?”

“The pasta, obviously!” Ava yells, and Beatrice slaps a hand over her mouth as she laughs, so that she doesn’t wake up Diego.

“Where are you now?”

“On my way, I stopped by the chinese place to get some dinner, no way I’m processing this whole thing on an empty stomach, I’m stuffing my face and no one can stop me,” she adds, a bit of a threat in her voice.

Beatrice straightens up slightly, curious.

“Did you get—”

“Yeah, I got you your mochis, who do you think I am?”

Beatrice grins freely, like a child, but Dr. Müller said that she should start celebrating the little things, so she doesn’t tame down her excitement.

“Thank you Ava.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’m the best, I know,” Ava says, and Beatrice can almost hear her rolling her eyes. “By the way, that laptop better be cold when I get here or there’ll be consequences.”

Beatrice snaps her laptop shut, jumps out of her chair where she was sitting at the dining table, desperately looking for an out and wondering if she shouldn’t pour ice on it — she’s really tired, there’s no way that idea just came out of her brain. 

“Are you trying to hide it from me?” Ava asks as Beatrice frets around, gathering her papers and stuffing them into her bag.

“No,” Beatrice groans, dropping her pen and knocking the back of her head against the table as she bends down to pick it up.

“Yeah, I can hear that,” Ava says, irony in her voice. “You’re not supposed to work that late in the night when Diego’s here, at least.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just this project that is taking a lot longer than expected.”

“Get Lilith to help you with it, you’re supposed to be a genius, how come you haven’t heard of delegating?”

Beatrice can only sigh, unable to answer. She wouldn’t know what to say, what to tell her, because Ava, once again, is right — why would she be anything else? 

“I’m at your gate, I forgot my key,” Ava states then, Beatrice can hear the slam of her car’s door in the background. “If you want your mochis, you better open it for me.”

The camera’s notification appears on Beatrice’s phone just after Ava’s hung up, she pulls up the footage to find Ava’s face so close to the objective all she sees is a deformed shot of her nose and eyes, like a fish. Beatrice giggles like a child at the sight.

“Ricky dicky doo dah grimes, boom shakalaka boom shaka,” Ava says, and Beatrice has no choice but to unlock the gate before she starts inevitably dancing for the whole neighbourhood — she has a whole footage of Ava singing and dancing to Judas by Lady Gaga that one day she got caught up with Diego and left her unattended outside, she’ll give it to Diego when he reaches eighteen.

Ava holds up her plastic bag when she enters the house, expecting Beatrice to take it from her as she unlaces her shoes, which she does, frowning when the delicious smell of the warm food reaches her nose.

“How fast did you drive? This is all still hot.”

“I’m hot,” Ava giggles, stretching her arms over her head. “And I’m also fast ‘s fuck boi, ain’t no cops gonna catch me with this tasty tasty food.”

She takes the bag from Beatrice, walking into the living room like it’s her own, giggling like a gremlin as she falls back against Beatrice’s couch, bouncing slightly against the cushions.

“Jeez, your couch is fucking comfy, guess being part of the mafia must pay.”

“Keep your voice down, Diego is asleep,” Beatrice warns, falling next to her. “And I’m not part of the mafia, I already told you.”

“And I still don’t believe you, Tommy Shelby,” Ava replies as she starts unpacking her food, opening the containers and letting the smell spread through the room.

She takes out the little paper box, slides it across the coffee table to Beatrice.

“I still don’t understand how you can like this.”

“It’s good,” Beatrice simply responds, opening the box and smiling at the four mochis she finds.

She used to pretend she didn’t like this, when she was a child, so that it wouldn’t be used against her. Or perhaps she was punishing herself by refusing them, she’s not sure. 

“Yeah, no, I ate one once, taro flavoured, I think. It felt like eating a cold cigarette,” Ava says, digging into her orange chicken like it’s going to disappear if she lets it go one second. “It vaccinated me or something.”

Beatrice chuckles to herself, unable to find anything to answer. Lilith is on Ava’s side with this one, she thinks mochis are disgusting and tasteless and always picks on Beatrice when she sees them — and Shannon usually starts a fight with her for this, even though they all know they’re just being silly.

Ava moans around a mouthful of fried noodles, Beatrice chokes on her piece of cake, blushing bright red to the roots of her hair. Sometimes she wonders if flustering her is Ava’s life mission, or just a hobby, something she does when she’s bored — not that she’ll ever give her the satisfaction of knowing it worked, she’s good at hiding it.

“Okay, this is so much better than my abandoned pasta,” Ava decides, chewing on her noodles.

“How would you know?” Beatrice asks, clearing her throat. “You ran before you could even try it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Ava replies, suddenly turning slightly sad, a curious look on her face. “All I seem to pick up are assholes or weirdos. I’m starting to think I’ve got a lifetime membership to weirdos dot com or something.”

“Well,” Beatrice says carefully, trying to find her words, “there was that girl from the coffee shop. That went well, right?”

“Yeah, it went so well she went back to her ex that same night,” Ava shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s funny and all, I get that this is something I can laugh about, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m not actually cursed. Maybe Mary was right.”

She looks down at her orange chicken like it has personally insulted her, a sad frown in her brow.

Beatrice doesn’t have it in herself to remind her that they went pretty well, because it wasn’t really a date, they didn’t know each other’s name plus they’re only friends now, so that doesn’t really count — right? 

But she doesn’t like the sad veil in Ava’s eyes, masking the little light that is usually always there. It’s a bit scary, if she thinks about it, because Ava is bright, and if she loses the sun then how is Beatrice supposed to see through the darkness? Beatrice was never good at comforting people, at finding the words to lessen their burden or help them carry it, and right now she has perhaps never left more useless and stupid, as she doesn’t even have a single experience to find some wisdom to give Ava.

She sighs, decides to just throw her whole sanity out the window and turns back towards Ava, who looks at her with curiosity.

“Alright, listen, I have something important to tell you,” Beatrice says.

Ava nods, lowering her orange chicken to listen to her — but not letting go of it, she’s still Ava .

“But it’s confidential information, it might even be dangerous for you if you disclose it.”

Ava’s eyes widen comically as she nods once more, Beatrice takes a deep breath, trying desperately to remember a time when she was serious and responsible.

“I am actually part of the british mafia.”

“Knew it,” Ava murmurs, doing a little fist pump that almost makes her lose her grip on her container. 

“The company is a front, Lilith and Shannon are actually my associates,” Beatrice continues, making it all up as she talks. “Camila is from an enemy clan, she changed boards recently.”

“Oh my God,” Ava whispers, eyes still wide.

“The employees are actually agents for our cause.”

“What’s Dora’s agent number?”

“420. No, crap!” Beatrice shouts despite herself, breaking character as she realises that her mouth spoke before her brain could control it.

Ava bursts out laughing as Beatrice buries her face in her hands, mortified. Dear God, she was supposed to be working in politics or taking the vows but here she is, spewing profanities without a single restraint just to make another woman laugh. Someone up there has a very strange sense of humour.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Beatrice begs, trying to stop Ava from laughing. “This is wrong, this is uh… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Clearly!” Ava giggles, her fork shaking in her container as she keeps laughing.

“It’s your fault, you contaminated me!” Beatrice pleads.

“Oh honey, I did much worse, I perverted you !”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, throws a cushion at her, ears burning hot. She brought this on herself, she should have known Ava wouldn’t let it go.

“For what it’s worth,” Beatrice continues, trying to regain some composure, “I don’t think you’re cursed. You have a lot of good people around you, it’s clear you can build your own family how you want. You just haven’t found the right person to love you,” she says, as Ava slowly stops giggling, wiping her smiling mouth.

“How long do I have to search?” Ava groans, her grin still on her lips.

“I don’t know, I think you’re very lovable. Probably not very long. People don’t know what they’re missing,” Beatrice comments, bending down to pick up the fallen cushion.

When she sits back up, Ava is looking straight at her with a curious expression on her face, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth. She looks like she’s about to ask her something, something very important that she seems to be thinking about for a while, when they hear a distant shout from across the house. 

“Diego,” Beatrice sighs. “Do you want to—”

“No my circus, not my monkey,” Ava shakes her head, pushing Beatrice with her socked foot.

Beatrice rolls her eyes as she crosses the corridor, climbing up the stairs two steps at a time, stepping over the gate before entering Diego’s room.

This time, he’s not crying, sitting in his bed with his eyes wide open, looking up at her like he knows exactly he’s not supposed to be awake but still is. He gives her a sheepish smile, extending his arms to be picked up, and Beatrice obliges, setting him against her hip and brushing his hair back.

“Hello. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” She asks, pretending — and failing — to sound a little bit mad, but Diego sees right through her, playing with her collar.

“Mama,” he says, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“Huh. You heard her, didn’t you? But it’s not the time to be silly, it’s time for little boys to be sleeping, so how about you go back to bed and we’ll call mama in the morning?” She proposes, starting to lower Diego down back to his bed.

Debutant’s mistake, Diego immediately grips her shoulder, wiggling to stay inside her arms. 

“No! Mummy, no!”

She pretends she doesn’t want to cover his little face with kisses as soon as she hears that, failing to hide her smile as she straightens back up.

“It’s sleepy time, Diego.”

“I want mama!”

Beatrice lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. Tomorrow is Sunday, they don’t have anything planned, she’ll just let him sleep longer if he’s still tired. She can allow him to stay up for a little while, just this once. 

“Fine. Fine!” She says. “But only ten minutes, and then you go back to sleep and you don’t wake up until morning, okay?”

Diego doesn’t respond, pretending to ignore her conditions until Beatrice carries him out of the room, down the stairs and into the living room. Ava’s eyes widen as soon as she sees him, shoving her food into her mouth because she knows damn well he’s going to ask for some and she’s not about to share.

“Mama!” Diego shouts happily, wiggling out of Beatrice’s hold to climb on Ava’s lap.

“It’s my food, I earned it,” Ava sticks her tongue out at him, kissing his nose and making him laugh.

“Silly silly.”

“ You’re silly!”

“You’re silly!”

And now they’re both loudly sticking their tongue out at each other, Beatrice scratching the back of her head in confusion. Sometimes she wonders which one of them is two years old.

“Please don’t excite him, he’s supposed to go back to bed,” she says, sitting back next to them.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Yes sir.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, as Ava giggles at her, delighted to have found in her another person to tease. Diego reaches for her container of orange chicken, Ava immediately holds it up in the air.

“It’s spicy!” She claims, like that’s going to stop him.

Diego only tries to climb up her arm, drooling over her shirt, until Ava drops the container on the coffee table, grabs him and turns him around, handing him back towards Beatrice.

“Here. Go to your mom.”

“Mummy,” Diego chirps as Beatrice sets him on her lap, and Ava snickers at her stupidly happy grin.

She takes back her container, starts chewing on her food once again, suspiciously narrowing her eyes at them like they’re going to rob her of it. Beatrice reaches for her own box, tears a piece of mochi and hands it to Diego.

“Traitor,” Ava gasps, betrayed.

“Here,” Beatrice says. “Try it, tell me if it’s good.”

Diego bites it right off her fingers, grimacing at the sudden taste on his tongue like he always does when trying something new, before starting to chew thoughtfully on it. Even Ava seems to be waiting for his reaction, eagerly looking at him just like Beatrice is.

“Hmm, yummy,” Diego sing-songs after a few seconds, loudly chewing.

Beatrice can only laugh as Ava throws a wooden chopstick at her.

“Stop colonizing our son!”

She traps Diego into her arms, laughing as Ava can’t stop herself from smiling at the two of them, blows a raspberry on his cheek.

She forgets about his bedtime. Neither Diego nor Ava remind her of it, until Diego falls asleep in between the two of them, gripping the bottom of Beatrice’s shirt, Ava’s hand running through his hair.

Chapter Text

“Have you told your parents?”

Beatrice looks away from the little shark trinket, which has been joined by a strange potted plant which she suspects to be fake. Dr. Müller has her glasses on her nose, her notebook on her lap, a warm smile on her lips, but the question slices straight through Beatrice’s chest and into her heart, and for a couple of seconds she sees fangs instead of teeth, but it’s just a trick of the light.

“No,” Beatrice says, refusing to elaborate.

But that’s not enough.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I’d like to hear you say it.”

Beatrice sighs, rubbing the spot in between her eyebrows where she feels the beginning of a headache start to appear. 

“They’ll do terrible things. They’ll ruin whatever I have built here. I’ll lose my job, Hell, Ava will lose hers. They could even find a way to get Diego kicked out of daycare. Everything will fall apart,” she explains, like a robot.

“I’m not sure they have that kind of power.”

“They do when it comes to me.”

“Is that something you know, or something you think you know?” Dr. Müller asks, pushing her glasses back on her nose.

“I know them,” Beatrice replies, cold as ice. “I’ve known them since I was born, they’re the only thing I’ve learned by heart. If they find out about Diego, about Ava and I… They’ll destroy us all. They’ll do everything they can to make sure that happens.”

“I see. Are you sure this is something that can truly happen or just something that you’re afraid of?”

“I am not anxious,” Beatrice snaps, frowning.

Dr. Müller looks down at her lap, at her notebook riddled with writing and covers it slightly with her arm.

“And you can read my notes upside down.”

“These are not delusions. They’ve done this before,” Beatrice continues, desperate for her to understand, to believe her — why won’t anyone believe her? “They have everything, and I have nothing. Next to them, I am nothing. I can’t fight it, can’t control it. If they learn of this, all of us are ruined.”

Dr. Müller closes the page of her notebook, leaning her elbows on her lap with a curious look on her face, and Beatrice knows she won’t like what she’ll say. 

“But you can’t hide it forever, right?”

“I can try,” Beatrice grits her teeth.

“Sooner or later, they’ll realise that their daughter has a son herself, especially since they’re so controlling. It’s not a matter of if but of when .”

“Why are you telling me this?” Beatrice asks, anger and fear pounding in her heart.

“Because you have to face it, Beatrice,” Dr. Müller continues, not mean nor aggressive, but direct and honest. “That’s the only way you can get to the other side. Not under, not over, but through it. And building all of those strategies to stop your parents from discovering Diego’s existence are not helping you do that. If you want to go through this, you have to get to the heart of the problem itself.”

Beatrice sighs in defeat, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s just exhausted. Nothing can ever be simple.

“What heart?”

Dr. Müller taps her pen against her notebook.

“How were your parents growing up?”

“I’m not doing this,” Beatrice decides, searching for her coat which is hanging on the back of her chair.

“You’ve been avoiding my questions, moving our conversations to a safer ground, you think I haven’t noticed?” Dr. Müller asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” Beatrice bites back, sarcasm dripping from her tongue like poison.

“What were they like?” Dr. Müller continues as Beatrice gathers herself, preparing to leave. “Did they belittle you? Rob you of support? Made you feel like a burden, like something that was forced on them? Perhaps they were simply absent? Did they put unachievable expectations on you and pressured you? Or maybe never showed you love?”

“You’re the worst scam ever,” Beatrice decides, getting up and moving for the door.

“Did they hit you?” Dr. Müller asks again, not looking up from her notebook.

Beatrice’s feet refuse to move as she turns back towards her, lips pressed into a thin line.

“All of those things are abuse. You’re a very smart woman, Beatrice, you must know that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re here for your son,” Dr. Müller shrugs. “I can’t force you to do anything, but let me ask you this, Beatrice. Do you think your parents ever did that same work we’re doing here?”

Beatrice doesn’t look back as she exits the room, and if she slams the door a little too loud, she pretends it wasn’t her. 

Nothing is going right. 

It’s like someone put a curse on Beatrice, or perhaps she has angered some omnipotent god somehow. She doesn’t know what she could have done, but she is sure of it: everything is going completely wrong.

She didn’t sleep much, plagued by nightmares and bouts of insomnia, tossing and turning until morning. Diego must have had that very same problem, because he woke up in a mood, and refused to cooperate for anything. He didn’t want to get dressed, didn’t want to get ready, didn’t even want to eat, deeming breakfast as ‘stinky’, only interested in playing in the living room with his toys. The more Beatrice tried to get him to obey, the more frustrated he’d get. 

By lunch she had fully developed a headache, and threw in the towel when Diego started whining and crying when she tried to get him to finish his vegetables. The worst was that he thought back against sleep, refusing to go to his room too, or even to go in the hammock to look at the clouds. He called Beatrice ‘mean’ and made her run around for a bit until she gave up.

And now here she is, standing in the middle of the living room as Diego cries for something she doesn’t understand. She’s not really sure he’s really crying and not just screaming out of frustration, as there aren’t tears, only shouts and wails.

“What do you want, Diego?” She sighs. “We both need a nap, let’s go to bed.”

She tries to pick him up, but Diego wiggles out of her hold with an angry cry, squirming around with a sharp ‘No!’.

“Come on,” Beatrice insists, rubbing her tired eyes. “Please, Diego, stop it now.”

“No!” Diego continues. “No! No! No!”

“What do you want, then?” Beatrice asks, a little louder, crouching down to get to his level. “You don’t want to sleep, you don’t want to read, you don’t want to go in the hammock. What do you want, huh?”

She searches for his gaze, craning her neck with an interrogative look on her face, but Diego dismisses it as he starts flailing around, yelling loudly.

“Don’t want that! Don’t want that!”

“You don’t want to sleep?”

“No sleep!”

“No nap?”

“No nap!”

“Okay,” Beatrice sighs, more and more frustrated with each passing second, her headache pulsing behind her eyes. “What do you want to do, then? Do you want to play?”

She hands him the colourful wooden shapes and their box, but Diego shakes his head furiously, so red it’s starting to become concerning.

“No!”

“Don’t shout,” Beatrice says, reaching for Moose.

But Diego only grabs the doll and throws it away with an angry noise, sending it flying until it hits the ground.

“Hey!” Beatrice cries out. “We don’t do that!”

That’s what breaks it.

Diego starts screaming at the top of his lungs, a long angry wail that stretches across the room and echoes around as he throws himself on the ground, thrashing and turning and yelling with his mouth wide open. It startles Beatrice a little, making her jump, heart drumming in her chest as she just stands there, anger and pain pulsing into her whole being. 

“Jesus, Diego,” she groans, reaching for him, trying to find a way to stop him.

Diego’s scream turns high-pitched, almost like some screeching, gaining in intensity and desperation as he keeps wiggling on the ground, angry tears on his reddened face.

Beatrice feels it then, rising and rising in her body, this ugly feeling in her chest, this poison in her mind. It takes and it takes, devouring everything she has, sinking its teeth into her heart and not letting go. She feels cold, all of a sudden, and at the same time she’s furiously burning up, the fire scorching her cheeks and making her eyes water.

There’s something echoing in the prison of her mind, something terrifying that she tried to hide but that has surged up suddenly, slipping through the cracks and clouding her mind as she shakes. It’s the sound of her mother’s voice, of her screams and her insults, of her father’s booming shouts as he told her how much of an ungrateful child she was. It’s the crack of a palm against her cheek, of her body against the wall, the chair, the angle of her table, of her glasses flying across the room and hitting the wall. It’s her own voice, her own wails and cries of pain and anger and fear, repressed and tucked back inside of her throat, threaded into a ball that would choke her sometimes if she started thinking about it.

Pain rings against her head, Diego’s voice pulses against the walls of her skull and she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t live. She wants it all to stop, she wants to scream too, with him, to shout out all of her pain and anger and frustration and fear, but she can’t. Because Diego is shouting too loud, too sharp, too painful, and it hurts and hurts and hurts and she feels the screaming clawing against her throat, tearing her vocal chords and begging to be released.

For a short second, she sees it. She sees her own hand raising, the shock of her palm against Diego’s cheek, the relief of some quiet and peace, the end of it all. She doesn’t know if that hand is hers or her mother’s, if that scream is hers of her father’s, she doesn’t think it matters. She doesn’t think she cares. She doesn’t think anything. She just wants it to stop.

And then it hits her.

She hears the little pained cry Diego would let out, the shock on his face, the real cry, with tears and sobs and sadness, he would then breathe out. It would sound a lot like her own, as a child. The two tangle themselves together, dance into her mind, and Beatrice finds herself choking on the thickness of the air in the room, lungs spasming painfully as she tries to breathe.

She throws herself back, hits the ground, crawling away from Diego who, in his anger, hasn’t even realised her turmoil, still wailing and squirming around in anger.

She needs to move, she needs to go.

She manages to rise on shaking legs, stumbles to the glass door which she opens with difficulty, falls outside after closing it blindly behind her. She staggers forward, gripping her own collar and trying desperately to suck air back into her lungs. Beatrice falls to her knees in the middle of the garden, digging her hands into the ground and coughing out this ugly feeling that seems to have poisoned her. 

She was never out of the house. Beatrice took it with her, built into the cavity of her chest, let it sit here, quiet and untouched, travelling with her all the way here. She never left the house, she is still trapped here, trapped in the anger and the violence and the cold and the pain. 

She knows what it is. She knows where it comes from. Her parents weren’t always like this, they weren’t born this way. They learned from their parents, who learned it from theirs, who learned it from theirs, and so on. It’s not an excuse, it’s a fact. A familial curse. Something that has been waiting for her all these years, hiding in the darkness, watching and learning, and now here she is, finally realising it was there all along.

She is the convicted and the executioner, the victim and the killer.

She finally manages to draw in a shaky breath, digging her palms into the grass and letting it tickle her skin, begging for something — anything — to take her back to who she is, what she stands for, what she loves. Beatrice breathes, because it’s the only thing she can do, heart beating against her rib cage. 

She won’t let Diego become another victim. The cycle ends now.

She fishes her phone out her pocket, shakily dials the number, dirt under her fingernails.

“Beatrice?”

“Lilith,” she breathes out.

She doesn’t need to say more, Lilith knows. Maybe it’s the tone of her voice, maybe it’s a sixth sense, something mythical that Beatrice doesn’t know about.

“Where are you?” Lilith asks, and Beatrice can already hear her moving, like she’s going her way, wherever she is.

“At my house. Diego… Diego’s upset,” she tries to explain.

“Where are you in the house?”

“I’m outside, in the garden.”

A bird chirps over her head, Beatrice wishes it was dead.

“Go back inside,” Lilith commands.

“I can’t—”

“He can’t stay alone inside. He could get hurt.”

“I could hurt him!” Beatrice shouts, because she needs her to understand, needs her to save her.

“You won’t,” Lilith continues. “You won’t, Beatrice. You can stay on the phone with me, but go back inside and watch him until I’m here. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Beatrice gulps down as much air as she can, rises on her feet and stumbles back to the house, tripping over her own feet. Diego has gone quiet inside, lying limply on the living room floor, eyelids slowly dropping as he fights back against sleep. 

Beatrice sits down against the glass door, and refuses to move any closer. She only stares at him quietly, knees tucked to her chest, not taking her eyes off of him for a second. She doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, barely breathes, changing her limbs into stone, her thoughts into wind.

She only wakes up when she hears Lilith opening the front door, Diego raising his head curiously at her. She takes a look around the room, glances at both Diego and Beatrice, as if assessing the damage.

“I’ve got it,” she simply says, moving towards a disoriented Diego.

Beatrice finally gets up, crosses the room and climbs up the stairs, and locks herself in her room, ignoring Diego’s confused call.

“Beatrice.”

She raises her head from where it was leaning on her joined hands, groggily looks up at Lilith who is standing in front of her, the light from the hallway drawing a halo around her. It’s night now, she doesn’t even know what time it is.

Alone and locked inside of her bedroom, for the first time in a decade, Beatrice prayed. She tucked her knees to her chest, clasped her hands together, and prayed, so hard and so loud that became the only thing she could hear, the only thing she could sense, drowning out the sound of Lilith and Diego downstairs, having dinner and getting ready for bed just as usual.

She prayed, she begged, she pleaded. She prayed to be better, to be more, to be everything she could never be. She pleaded to be relieved from the burden of her own poisoned mind, of the memories that plagued her and had made her into something she wasn’t. She cried over her younger self, over the pained little girl that wouldn’t leave her mind.

But most importantly, she begged for forgiveness. Begged anyone and everyone who would hear how sorry she was, how much she was crushed by regrets and remorse, how she wished it had never happened and vowed to never let it happen again. The shame was washing over her in waves, grasping at her throat, her heart, her mind, anything it could find to hold onto her, setting into her bones until she knew she would never be able to wash it off.

Diego was right to be afraid of monsters, but he didn’t know what they truly were. Not beasts, not shadows nor noises in the silence, but people, real people, people around him, people who could hurt and harm and damage anything they’d find. Beatrice was of those people. Everything she touched would shatter under her hands, leaving her with nothing but rumbles and dust and broken dreams.

A cemetery of buried hopes.

This ended now. She wasn’t letting herself become Diego’s pain, his burden nor his abuser. She wouldn’t.

“I have to call Ava,” she says, throat so tight the words barely make it out.

“Beatrice,” Lilith tries to talk to her, but she ignores it.

“I have to call Ava,” Beatrice insists, reaching for her phone on the chest of drawers, batting away Lilith’s hands. “I’m calling her.”

Lilith can only back down, understanding it is not her fight, and she exits the room, closing the door and leaving Beatrice once more in the darkness. 

She dial Ava on instinct, not even aware of what she is doing herself.

“‘Sup Bea?”

The voice shocks her to her senses. This is happening. That happened. It was real and Ava has no idea .

“Bea, are you there?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” Beatrice croaks out, clearing her throat. “Diego’s fine too, he’s asleep in his bed right now. Lilith is here too.”

“Okay… What happened?” Ava asks, confusion and hesitation in her voice.

Beatrice breathes some courage back in, tears gathering in her eyes.

“I think you should take Diego back.”

Silence. For a few seconds she can’t hear a thing, eyelids pressed together to keep the tears in.

“What?”

She sounds louder, almost offended, or panicked.

“I— There was an incident,” Beatrice says. “I think it’s safer if you take him back with you. I think it’s safer if I’m not… Here.”

The words burn her lips, her tongue, her mouth, and they hurt and hurt and hurt but she deserves it, that’s all she deserves.

“Tell me what happened,” Ava commands.

And Beatrice does. Because she can’t disobey Ava, really. The words come out together so fast she’s barely registering them, in a flurry of panicked sounds and fearful tears.

“I’m… He just— He threw a tantrum. Everything was going wrong, and he got angry and frustrated and he just started screaming and screaming and I’m… I got angry too, and it just— it built and it built and it blinded me and I was so angry I could have… I could have hit him.”

Ava doesn’t say anything, Beatrice wipes her runny nose on her sleeve, drowning herself into her shame and useless explanation.

“And, you know, I thought I knew better, I really did, because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of that situation. Do you know how far glasses can fly when they’re knocked out of somebody’s face?” She rambles, lost in her own fever. “Really far. It’s quite impressive, really. You know, I used to tell myself that I would never be like them, never be like that, but I don’t think they wanted to be like that either, it just happened. And I don’t want it to happen to Diego, so I think you should take him back and just… Go. And never come back.”

If Ava was to agree, if she were to take Diego back with her, to take him away from Beatrice, she thinks she’d die of sadness. She thinks she won’t know how to function, won’t know how to keep on living, won’t know how to bear the sadness and the shame of her mistakes. But if Diego is safe, then that’s all that matters. Right?

Ava is still silent on her other end of the line, Beatrice can only hear her breathing, the steady noise of her inhales and exhales. She wonders what she’s thinking, if she’s not looking for her keys to come and get Diego right here and now. She wouldn’t blame her. She would have done the same.

“Have you ever heard of the shaken baby syndrome?”

Beatrice opens wide eyes, surprised.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, shaken baby syndrome. One time they put a documentary about it on TV, and there wasn’t shit else to do at the orphanage, so I watched it,” Ava continues, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Basically, under the age of five, and especially under two, their bones are pretty fragile and their brain isn’t protected as it should, so when you shake the kid their head just goes back and forth and they don’t have what it takes to keep it upright. So their brain is basically jiggling there, and it can get injured really easily. I’m talking brain damage, long-term disability and death. It’s the leading cause of death of kids under two, apparently. And it’s usually done by a caretaker or parent who gets overwhelmed by the crying or something, so it’s really fucking common. Only a third of those kids make it out uninjured. Nasty stuff,” she says, and Beatrice can hear her shaking her head.

She grips her phone in her hands, begging herself to understand why Ava would be talking about this, why this seems to be important when she has just admitted to almost hitting their son.

“You know, the village wasn’t always there,” Ava says, still as calm and peaceful as ever. “I mean, you think I came up with this thing on my own? I wish I was that smart,” she laughs in irony. “Nah, I came out of that hospital thinking I was different, you know, thinking I was gonna be better. That I was gonna break the trauma, that’d be some sort of messiah or some shit. I thought I could do this on my own. I wanted to do this on my own. I wanted to prove it, to myself, to my family, to my friends, to the people that had said I could never do it. To the bastard that took my mom’s life. I wanted to show everyone and myself that I wasn’t fucked up after all, that I had made it out.”

Beatrice doesn’t answer, wondering how Ava could ever be anything but beautiful, anything but wonderful, because no matter she’ll always be.

“When Diego was three months old, he just wouldn’t stop crying. I honestly don’t know what it was, maybe he was lonely, maybe he didn’t want me to let go of him, maybe he was just realizing that being alive was forever or something. I don’t know. He wouldn’t stop crying, everywhere we went. People would look at us, Bea… Like we were some fucking scum. You know, the burnt-out single mom and her snotty kid. I don’t think I washed my hair for, like, three weeks. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything. I tried everything, and I mean everything, but it never stopped. The neighbors were banging on the walls and ringing the doorbell all the time, no one could stand it.”

She takes in a shaky breath, Beatrice tucks her knees back against her chest.

“And then one night, just another night. The constant crying, the exhaustion, the hunger. I smelled so bad, Bea, you have no idea,” she laughs, like it’s funny, like Beatrice isn’t feeling her own heart breaking once again in her chest. “I was reaching the breaking point. Diego was in his crib, just screaming all the time, and the neighbor started yelling at me when I opened the door. I slammed it in his face, I went back inside, and Diego was still crying. And I just stood there, staring at him.”

Beatrice can only hear the sound of Ava’s breath, hanging onto it, gripping it in between her fingers so that it stays there, so that she can at least still have that.

“I can’t explain what happened. I just… Wasn’t there. I was staring at him, and he was crying and screaming, but it’s like I couldn’t hear it. Or maybe I was hearing it fifty times louder. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted everything to stop, I just wanted some peace and quiet, some sleep.”

She sniffs, like her nose is running, but yet Beatrice has the feeling that she isn’t crying, for some reason.

“If the neighbor hadn’t started ringing the doorbell, I think I would have done it. I think I would have grabbed him and screamed for him to stop crying and shaken him to get him to quiet down. But I didn’t. Because suddenly I was there, and I was crying, and I wanted my mom. So I called her,” she explains. “She was in a meeting on the other side of town, she dropped everything to get to my place. I was so scared I would have hurt him I didn’t allow myself to touch him for a really really long time, which… Well, I couldn’t really do that, because I had to feed him,” she chuckles. “From that moment, we started working through it in shifts. Mary, mom, Michael, JC and I. I’m not saying I wasn’t alone sometimes, but we were a system, we would work together, I wouldn’t just know I could call them if I needed. They were already there. The village,” she nods, Beatrice can hear it.

Somehow her tears have dried now, she can only sniff ungracefully a few times. She feels tired and groggy, like she’s struggling through some fog.

“We’re not the perfect parents, Bea. Hell, we’re not perfect people. We’ve got a lot of baggage, you and I. Lots of things we’ve carried our whole life. Did I really want to shake him, or was it my parents’ own thoughts echoing in my brain? Did you really want to hit him, or was it just instinct passed down onto you? Who knows. We’ve got a lot of shit to deal with. But we’re not letting it get to him.”

“But I’ve—”

“You called Lilith,” Ava interrupts, gravity in her voice. “You identified danger, saw that the danger was you and called in reinforcements. That’s exactly what the village is for. We can’t do this on our own, you and I. If anything, that was very brave.”

“I’m not a good person,” Beatrice whispers.

“You got overwhelmed because your kid was overwhelmed. Big deal. Welcome to parenthood, Bea,” she says. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about throwing a tantrum with him in the middle of the grocery store, just because?” She laughs. “I mean, we’re all at least a little bit petty in our heads. The thing is that we don’t do it. Because we’re adults, and he’s a kid, and we’re teaching him how to handle his emotions. And sometimes you gotta teach him to take a break.”

Beatrice chews into her bottom lip, and it hurts. Because the rest of her body doesn’t hurt as much anymore, and that’s good. That’s relief. 

“I don’t think my parents wanted to do that to me either,” she whispers in a little voice, one that is ashamed to even admit such a thing.

“Your parents didn’t have a village.”

Beatrice feels the tears coming back, beading at her eyelashes and rolling down her cheeks, she wipes them with her sleeve, sniffing slightly.

She loves Diego. God knows how much she loves him. She’ll do anything to make sure he’s safe, to make sure he’s happy, to make sure he’s good. The shame still lingers, but the fear is gone, swept away by Ava’s words and her truth. She won’t let herself become her parents, and she’ll get her people to help. Because if they work together, they’ll do it. They have to.

An ocean of outstretched hands.

A loud wail pulls her out of her thoughts, she nearly snaps her neck in half with how fast she looks up.

“Mummy!”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ava asks.

“Yes,” Beatrice answers on instinct.

“Go to him,” she whispers quietly, peacefully.

When Lilith gets to his bedroom, she finds Beatrice holding him into her arms, his own little arms around her neck, pressing kisses on his cheek and repeating ‘I love you, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you, I’m sorry, I love you…’ like a litany.

Like a prayer.

Like vows.

She gets the earliest appointment she can find with Dr. Müller and makes a list of the things she wants to work through.

And she sends Ava flowers.

Chapter Text

Beatrice wakes up to the sound of her bedroom door opening.

Still a bit groggy, she listens to the silence around her and sure enough, here it is: the pitter-patter of little feet against the floor as Diego makes his way through her bedroom towards her bed. She doesn’t move, hiding the beginning of a smile into her pillow, while Diego walks around the bed, raising himself on his toes to look at her. 

Then, he decides to take it a step further and starts climbing onto Beatrice’s bed, grabbing her shirt to help pull himself up while Beatrice still pretends to be asleep, clenching her muscles to make sure he doesn’t fall.

Diego climbs over her like a little monkey, careless in the way he is crawling over her. How he can even believe that she is still awake, she doesn’t know. She can only hope that she is convincing enough and that he goes back to sleep.

He stops on her chest, almost lying completely over her, a hand on her shoulder to keep himself upright.

“Hello hello,” he hums, and Beatrice has to channel all of her acting skills not to let out a smile spill over.

Diego wiggles around, as if trying to figure out a way to ‘wake’ her up. He pokes at her cheek, clumsily pushes the hair that is over her face back, like he has probably seen his mothers do for him. It takes everything in Beatrice to lay still, her resolve to try and get a few more minutes of sleep crumbling as he leans over her, trying to check if she really is sleeping.

“Mummy,” he calls then, and Beatrice doesn’t have enough defences to fight against that.

She smiles despite herself, and Diego immediately catches on, making a little happy coo as he realises that she is awake.

“You got me,” Beatrice says as she opens her eyes, wrapping her arms around him and all but crushing him into a hug, kissing him ferociously as Diego squeals, squirming in her hold.

“You tricked me!” Diego shouts.

“I guess I did. But you still got me. You’re so clever.”

“Clever,” Diego repeats mindlessly.

She peppers kisses all over his cheeks, across his nose and forehead, blows raspberries into his neck until Diego pushes her away, shrieking with a little smile.

He stands up on the mattress, his hair still a bit of a mess and a mark from his pillow on his cheek, grinning at her as he starts bouncing up and down, nearly stepping on her hip.

“Up, up, up!”

“Don’t jump on the bed,” Beatrice simply says.

“Why?” Diego asks — while still jumping.

Beatrice opens her mouth, closes it.

“I actually don’t know.”

Diego is still bouncing up and down, tripping over his own feet and giggling when he tangles himself into the blanket. Beatrice simply watches him, something warm and sweet blooming in her chest, but with a slight spike of something akin to regret and nervousness.

‘If you want to get to the other side, you have to go through it,’ Dr. Müller had said, and sure, she had been talking about pain and digging into the bad stuff that she had previously hid under her skin, but also about the ‘good stuff’, the things that she had been taught to fear or to reject.

Like having fun. Like doing silly and bad things.

Like jumping on beds in their pyjamas.

She pushes away her blanket, stands up on the mattress, this feeling of nervosity and anxiety washing over her, rushing to her chest and for a second Beatrice wants to get off the bed entirely and pretend it never happened. Diego is still jumping on the bed, undisturbed, because Ava jumps on the beds with him all the time.

She feels stupid, just standing there like a teenager on the edge of the dance floor at their school’s graduation party, and so she takes a step forward, getting closer to Diego.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits.

Diego is still bouncing around her, his breath getting faster at the effort, as he grabs her hands to go higher — as if that’s going to happen, but Diego always seems to believe that taller people are going to make him taller too.

“Jump jump jump,” he chants, or rather screams in her ears, and Beatrice finally manages to push down her anxiety at the feeling of his little hands in hers.

She starts bouncing on the mattress too, mimicking his movements until she finds a rhythm, the both of them jumping up and down the bed like two idiots.

It’s stupid and foolish and childish but Diego is squealing and shrieking, especially when they accidentally bump into each other, and Beatrice feels the warmth taking all the space in her chest and melting away the anxiety.

She hears a burst of laughter, which she realises is coming from her, and it startles her so bad she nearly falls off the bed. It sounds strange, like something she has always known and yet only just discovered, like a secret that she forgot she was keeping.

There’s nothing funny, nothing worth giggling that way for, and yet Beatrice laughs, loud and free and unburdened, as she bounces around like the biggest idiot on Earth, a stupid smile on her lips. Diego, too, is laughing now, giggling like a madman as he still holds one of her hands, trying to jump higher than her.

And she laughs and laughs and laughs, laughs so hard she can barely breathe, laughs so much her ribs and stomach are starting to hurt, a laugh that she doesn’t understand and cannot comprehend but that feels so good she wishes it never stopped.

She trips over a fold in the blanket, yelps as she falls down the bed, taking Diego down with her. She ends up on the ground with Diego in her arms, her back probably bruised, but the ghost of a laugh still on her lips.

“You falled!” Diego says, straightening up with a grin.

“It’s ‘you fell’, love,” Beatrice corrects, pressing a kiss to his nose. “And yes, I did. It was funny, wasn’t it?”

“Okay,” Diego answers instead, reaching out to play with her hair.

Beatrice giggles stupidly, presses a kiss to his cheek, purposefully ignoring the little bit of shame and fear — They're going to yell at her, they're going to yell at her, they're going to yell at her — that clings to her skin, telling herself it doesn’t matter, as long as he’s happy. She's safe, here, nothing can get to her right now.

She can breathe.

“How about we eat bacon for breakfast?”

“Bacon?”

“Yes, you like bacon, remember?”

“Okay!”

“Okay, let’s go,” Beatrice decides, moving him to the side to straighten up, massaging her back with a wince of pain — she’s definitely going to feel that one later. 

“Stretches first,” Diego decides, like it’s not even up for discussion.

“Right,” Beatrice nods. “God forbid we forget your mother’s stretches.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, just because she wants to, and Diego immediately does the same with a smile.

Sometimes she thinks that others will never understand what it’s like to have a Diego in their life. Except perhaps Ava.

“This is ridiculous.”

“This is the rule. Come on, Bea, you have to do this!”

She sighs.

Sure, she brought this on herself when siding with JC about the lyrics of a cartoon’s opening song — which she has never watched herself, although Diego has told her about it — but in her defence Ava never knows the lyrics to any songs, only ‘gibberishes-it’ and invents her own lyrics. So she naturally thought that she was wrong and lost the bet, and now she has to do this stupid thing in front of them. 

She breathes in, out, decides that her honour will be safe and goes for it, singing in chorus with JC, only changing her own name in the song.

“I'm Beatrice and I was wrong. I'm singing the Beatrice wrong song. 

I shouldn't have taken that chance. 

Now here's my remorseful dance.”

JC starts aggressively break-dancing at the end of his verse, while Beatrice just stands there, staring at him in surprise. On the couch across from them, both Diego and Ava are howling with laughter, squirming like this is the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.

“What was that?” Beatrice asks, bewildered, as he straightens up with a proud grin.

“We learn that in the hood. You wouldn’t know about that from Buckingham Palace.”

“I am not royalty!”

“Nah, she’s in the mafia, keep up, JC,” Ava intervenes from the couch. “Also, you gotta do the dance, Bea, a bet is a bet.”

Rolling her eyes, she brings her arms in an arch over the top of her head and does a little twirl, turning back towards them.

“How’s that?”

Ava looks towards Diego, waiting for his verdict, and the little boy grins, enthusiatically clapping his hands.

“Okay!”

“Okay, great, you are now officially washed of your sins against our knowledge of cartoons’ opening song lyrics,” Ava nods dramatically. “Go, my children, and know that you are forgiven.”

“Thank you Father Ava,” JC nods, because of course he just runs head first into whatever stupid thing Ava suggests.

“That is very blasphemous,” Beatrice comments, despite knowing that they’re definitely going to ignore her.

Diego jumps from the couch and runs into JC’s legs, stepping over his feet while babbling to himself as Ava uses that moment to shove one of his gummy bears into her mouth, gesturing for Beatrice not to tell him — she won’t, despite what Lilith says, she’s not a snitch.

“Anyways, I gotta run, here’s your gremlin,” JC says, picking Diego up by the armpits and handing him to Beatrice, Diego squealing happily at being flown around with a cheerful ‘Mummy!’ as she takes him into her arms.

“Ooooh, what’s their name?” Ava asks, resting on her elbows while wagging her eyebrows with a mischievous grin.

JC rolls his eyes as he hops on one foot, trying to put his shoes back on. Diego chirps playfully in Beatrice’s arms, trying to undo her bun.

“First of all, stop it with the drama and mind your business,” he says, throwing a cushion at Ava. “And second, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not bi!”

“I know a fruity bitch when I see one!” Ava yells back, the cushion bouncing off of her. “And you said you would marry Chris Hemsworth if he asked!”

“Uh, yeah who wouldn’t?” JC answers, looking incredibly offended. “Everyone has a crush on Chris Hemsworth.”

“Bea?” Ava asks, raising one eyebrow in defiance.

“I don’t,” Beatrice supplies, trying to get Diego to stop trying to untie her hair.

JC frowns at her, confused.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She shrugs, grimacing to show that she doesn’t see the appeal. JC looks somewhat offended and confused, staring at his own hands.

“Am I going to start spouting rainbows now?”

“No, but your ears will start ringing anytime a gay person enters your immediate vicinity,” Beatrice deadpans. “That’s how it works.”

“Damn. Are your ears doing that right now?” He asks, rolling with it — because of course he does.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the ringing.”

She should feel nervous and panicked about her own admission, but somehow she doesn't, because Ava is laughing from the couch, nearly falling off of it, like this is the funniest thing in the world — with Ava, everything seems to be the funniest thing in the world. Beatrice smiles despite herself, hiding into Diego’s hair (he uses her lack of attention to grab her hair tie and pull at it, thankfully she has learned to tie her hair tighter).

“Whatever, I’m leaving,” JC decides, finally putting his shoes back on. “Don’t miss your bestie best friend too much!” He tells Ava.

“Beatrice is my bestie best friend, you’re just a replacement,” Ava replies, sticking her tongue out at him.

And Beatrice should not feel that proud or that happy about what is surely just a petty lie to mock JC, but she does, grinning like an idiot as she puts Diego down, shoving his dinosaur toy into his hands to stop him from whining at being ‘abandoned’.

“Well, Diego is my bestie best friend, then. I’m just hanging out with you because you have custody of him,” JC simply replies, slamming a hand over Diego’s eyes to give her the middle finger — ‘Hey hey!’ Diego immediately yells, offended. “See ya losers!”

Ava rolls her eyes as he closes the door behind him, getting up from the couch and stretching her arms over her head with a yawn, her shirt riding up as she moves.

“You’re staying for dinner, right?” She asks — or rather commands — Beatrice. “We’re making s’mores.”

“S’mores?”

Ava lets her hands fall to her side.

“Please tell me you know what smores are?”

She seems angry or mad, but somehow Beatrice has a feeling she’s not angry towards her. Still, it doesn’t stop her from feeling a bit uneasy and awkward.

“I mean, I know what they are, I’ve just never had them.”

Ava lets out a sigh, running a hand over her face.

“Foda-se seus pais,” she mutters, and then looks suspiciously at Diego, which tells Beatrice that she probably said a curse word. “Yeah, you’re definitely staying for dinner.”

“Please tell me you’re not just eating s’mores for dinner,” Beatrice says, frowning. 

“No, I’ve got soup, I’m not an animal,” Ava answers dramatically, like this is the greatest offence she’s ever heard.

“Nooooo,” Diego immediately whines, stomping down angrily.

“Yes, you eat your soup or no s’mores,” Ava replies behind her shoulder as she makes her way into the kitchen.

Diego huffs out furiously, turning towards Beatrice and extending a hand towards her, and Beatrice can only grimace.

“Sorry, love, I’m with your mother on this one. Eat your soup and you’ll get your dessert.”

Diego dramatically drops down on the ground like they’ve just shot him, letting go of his plastic dinosaur. For a second Beatrice panics, as she thinks he’s going to start screaming and it’ll all happen again, but he doesn’t, simply lying limply on the carpet. Ava is looking at the scene from the kitchen, her head poking out from the open door, shrugging when Beatrice sends her an interrogative look.

“It’s okay,” Beatrice tells him, kneeling down to run a hand through his hair. “Take your time.”

Diego simply rolls away from her, face down on the ground, and Beatrice joins Ava in the kitchen so that he doesn’t hear them laugh.

Diego does end up drinking his soup, because Ava challenges him to a race of ‘who can drink the fastest’ which ends up with Beatrice panicking because she thinks Diego is going to choke on his food and a good part of Ava’s bowl down the front of her shirt. She should have seen that one coming. 

After changing out of her dirty shirt and putting another piece of her collection of weirdly patterned button up (little black cats that she calls ‘void cats’, Beatrice is starting to wonder if she would realise if Beatrice started sneaking more strange shirt into her collection), Ava all but forbid them to help her with dessert. 

“I don’t know how to do many things, but this sh— uh thing is my jam and no one is taking it from me.”

Both Beatrice and Diego simply hover curiously around her, watching every single one of her moves — Diego keeps stealing little marshmallows and thinking he is very sneaky as he gets away with it, but the truth is that they both pretend they don’t see him. She looks peaceful as she places her ingredients into a pan, careful and cautious as she moves around her own kitchen, Beatrice barely recognises her. That is, of course, until she shoves a whole handful of marshmallows into her mouth and grins at Beatrice with all the candy in between her teeth, which is slightly terrifying, she can’t hide it.

Diego and Beatrice are both sitting at the kitchen table with one of Diego’s books when Ava decides dessert is ready.

“Here,” Ava says, dropping things in front of the both of them.

It looks like some sort of weird sandwich made of crackers, with some gooey and pink dough in the middle, Beatrice inspects it critically as Diego all but bites into his, chocolate and melted marshmallows dripping on his chin.

“Hmm, yummy!” He hums happily.

And Beatrice is really starting to regret agreeing to this, she doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but both Diego and Ava are looking at her expectantly, and so she bites into hers, promising herself not to wince too much.

Except it’s not actually that bad. The mixture is strange, the melted marshmallow feels too soft and chewy on her tongue and for a second she thinks she’s going to be sick, but it’s not too sweet, the dark chocolate giving it the hint of a sour aftertaste.

“This is good,” Beatrice decides, and Ava throws her hands in the air.

“I did it! I won! The Brits are approving!”

“I like this,” Beatrice tells Diego, because she can’t believe it herself.

Diego, who has chocolate all the way to his nose, who looks at her weirdly.

“Okay.”

“I like this,” she tells Ava then, holding up her sandwich.

“I know,” Ava giggles, shoving her own piece in her mouth. “You get that look on your face... Well, actually, you look like him.”

They both glance at Diego who is fighting with stripes of melted marshmallows, putting some of it in his hair. This is going to be one Hell of a mess.

“I don’t know how I should take it,” Beatrice says, and Ava laughs.

Of course then, she has to stay for the movie. Because Ava looks weirdly offended when she realises Beatrice hasn’t seen Moana, and says that her ‘repressed ass will love it’ — She also grumbles something under her breath that sounds a lot like ‘leave me alone in a room with your parents and I’ll solve that problem for you’, but Beatrice pretends not to hear her.

She’s pretending to eat Diego who is trying to steal her end of the blanket when Ava’s phone rings, and she picks it up after realising that it is Jillian calling her.

“Hey mom, I’m sorry, can I call you back later? We’re doing movie night with Diego and Bea.”

She frowns then.

“Yeah, she’s here, we’re about to watch Moana—- Okay, sure.”

She puts the call on speaker, sending a confused look at Beatrice, like she doesn’t know either what is going on.

“Beatrice, are you there?”

“Yes, I am,” Beatrice answers, placing Diego on the couch and moving closer to the phone, slightly alarmed with the whole thing. 

“Can you please make sure that Ava is sitting?” Jillian asks, tiredness in her voice. “I have to tell her something and I need you to watch over her.”

“Of course,” Beatrice immediately says, taking Ava’s hand in hers as Ava looks down at her phone, panic on her face.

“Michael—”

“He’s fine, dear,” Jillian promises. “And so am I. And so are you, I promise.”

Alright, so this isn’t a medical issue. Beatrice waits, squeezing Ava’s hand as Diego picks up Moose to start playing with it, unaware of what is happening.

“Then what’s going on?” Ava asks.

“Dear,” Jillian sighs. “Sister Frances is dead.”

Chapter Text

Of course, Beatrice knows about Sister Frances.

Ava told her about her, in half words, about that wretched woman who brought her nothing but pain — both physical and mental — and made her miserable until she found her escape in Jillian. Ava doesn’t talk much about her time in the orphanage, keeping it short and light, like refusing to dig into the details, which Beatrice understands. She doesn’t blame her. She has her secrets like Ava has hers, that’s perfectly fine.

But from what she understands, Ava hates her. She actually hates her so much that Beatrice kind of expected her to jump to the ceiling in joy when hearing the news of her death. But Ava didn’t, moving on like nothing had ever happened, like she had bigger fish to fry. 

She only had one thing to ask for, one thing to command. She wanted to go to the funeral.

To say that everyone had been surprised was an euphemism. Beatrice herself had wondered if she hadn’t hit her head somewhere, but figured that she just wanted some closure. Mary hypothesised that maybe she wanted to sabotage the service or burn the casket to ashes. Lilith just said she was weird, which was starting to become some kind of motto from her. 

Mary had proposed to accompany her as moral and emotional support, which Ava had welcomed with a tired smile. JC was also coming, because he had never been to a funeral before and wanted to see what it was like. And that’s what made Shannon intervene, saying that they were doing just that, under one condition: that Beatrice would come with them — “To talk the cops out of arresting them when they’ll do something stupid, because they will.”.

And so that’s how Beatrice ends up driving all the way out of town, dressed in nothing but black (unsurprisingly, it hadn’t been hard to find dark clothes, they were basically two thirds of her wardrobe), leaving Diego with Camila — and Lilith, who had been dragged into it against her will.

For some reason, Ava, Mary and JC all insisted on going to the funeral on their own, refusing for Beatrice to pick them up and deciding to take public transport. Michael said not to think too hard about it, and so Beatrice tried, as best as she could — which means, in her language, that she now firmly believe that they have ended up in a lake and that she’ll have to explain to Diego why she suddenly has full custody of him.

She parks a few houses away from the church, walking up to the alley. Her people are easy to spot, Ava, Mary and JC standing away from the cluster of people dressed in black, at least having had the decency to respect the dress code. Both JC and Mary are whispering to each other, sunglasses on their noses as they look at the people gathered in front of the church — mostly nuns with sombre looks on their faces — but Ava is standing a step away, stand-offish and lost in thoughts.

“Hello,” Beatrice greets them, and all three of them nearly jump out of their skin, like they hadn’t realised she was here. 

“Jesus, fuck, stop doing your Black Widow thing!” JC shout-whispers, attracting a few offended looks. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Beatrice weakly answers.

Ava still isn’t saying anything, looking at her up and down while playing with the hem of her dress.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Mary asks.

Beatrice looks down at her outfit, confused. She’s not wearing anything unusual.

“I’m sorry?”

“We said we were going to a nun’s funeral, not that you had to look like one.”

Beatrice wants to answer anything, some snarky comment perhaps, but Ava is suddenly in front of her, all up in her personal space. She’s still not saying anything as she adjusts Beatrice’s collar, undo one of her buttons and dust her shoulders, an absentminded look in her eyes, like she’s nothing more but one of Diego’s toys, a doll to play with.

“There,” she says, when she decides that Beatrice looks presentable — less nun-ly than she is. “All good.”

JC takes off his glasses to rub his eyes as he yawns, apparently having a shirt unbuttoned almost all the way to his navel is decent for a funeral — she’s exaggerating a little. Still, Beatrice frowns at the sight of his eyes, grabbing him by the collar and forcing him to tilt his head back to look at his pupils (dilated, so much that his eyes are basically two black circles).

“What?” JC asks, unperturbed.

“Are you high?” Beatrice asks.

“Am I what?”

“High.”

“‘Sup,” JC nods, and Beatrice gives him a slap on the back of the head as she releases him.

This is bad. Who in God’s name gets high to go to a funeral? And where would he even— oh no.

She rips off Mary’s sunglasses and sure enough; her pupils are just as dilated and the corners slightly red, Beatrice can see it even as Mary weakly punches her in the stomach, snatching back her sunglasses. 

“Oh my God,” Beatrice whispers, horrified. “Are you high too?” She asks Ava.

“Nope. Drunk,” Ava answers, raising Mary’s flask to her lips and grimacing. “At least I’m getting there.”

Beatrice gapes uselessly at the three of them, bewildered. Whose idea was it? She doesn’t even want to know. Shannon was right, they’d have needed her to lie to the police, hell, they need her right now! Now she understands why they didn't want her to pick them up or drive here themselves. Why does she always have to be the responsible one around here?

“Why would you—”

“Because I’m going to that bitch’s funeral and I’m not doing it sober,” Ava answers, something sour in her voice.

“Why would you go if it hurts that much?” Beatrice sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Because I need to make sure that the cunt is dead.”

A few nuns turn towards them, something in between surprise and offense on their faces. Mary and JC take that moment to disappear, hiding in the crowd of people who are moving towards the front door, while Beatrice just stares at Ava, wondering what she got herself into again.

They are not seeing the pearly gates.

“You don’t have to,” she says, more softly.

Ava only shrugs, handing her flask over to Beatrice only for her to shake her head.

“Yes, I do.”

There’s something sad in her eyes, something Beatrice doesn’t understand. If Ava hated her so much, as she claims to do, why would there be something so dark and empty at the same time in the warm brown of her eyes? She wants to ask, she wants to pull at those little strings Ava keeps handing her, but she doesn’t, because suddenly Ava is grabbing her arm, guiding her to the line of people filtering into the church, walking in front of a nun who would greet each of them. 

Ava doesn’t let go of her arm as they slowly walk up the paveway, her cheek bumping into Beatrice’s shoulder as she slumps to the side, as if trying to receive some comfort that Beatrice doesn’t know how to give her. It scares her, this part of Ava, because she doesn’t know what it is or where it comes from and she doesn’t know how to react to it. 

The couple in front of them move into the church after greeting the nun, and it’s their turn, the nun’s gaze widening slightly as she looks at Ava. She stares at her for a second, looking her up and down, then she follows Ava’s arms around her own and stares at Beatrice too, like trying to understand who they are or what they are to each other.

“Sister Emeline,” Ava says as a greeting, calm and peaceful but almost resentful too.

“Ava Silva,” Sister Emeline simply answers.

She, too, doesn’t sound mean or evil as Ava said they were, but she’s not welcoming either.

“I must say I am surprised to see you there,” Sister Emeline continues.

“Yeah, well, ya know me, I live to entertain,” Ava mutters. 

She doesn’t say anything more, and so the nun’s gaze turns back towards Beatrice, just as flegmatic.

“And you are?”

“Oh, that’s my kid’s mom, Beatrice,” Ava says, and there it is, something that sounds a little bit more cheerful or playful or maybe even proud, but Beatrice thinks she might be projecting.

She gives a polite nod.

“Sister Emeline.”

The nun only stares at her, then back at Ava, then back at her, without a single word. For a second, Beatrice thinks that she’s going to send them away, but she doesn’t, instead ignoring them to move on to the next person. 

Beatrice looks at Ava, raising an eyebrow in question, but Ava only shrugs.

“She was the least worst of the nuns. I mean, still a cunt, but, like, a diluted version.”

Beatrice really wants to tell her to stop insulting God’s devoted nuns like that, but she doesn’t have the time, Ava leading her inside of the church, her arm still locked into Beatrice’s.

It’s been so long since she’s been inside of a church that Beatrice expects everything to be different. But it isn’t, the stone is still cold and sharp around her, the stained glass letting in colourful lights that fall on the ground. Candles flicker in a corner, Jesus is still hanging from his cross, in his eternal martyrdom. It smells of dust and incense, something so familiar it chokes her out, her bronchus burning as she moves forward.

There’s also a little part of Beatrice’s brain that expects her to suddenly burst in fire as soon as she sets foot inside of the church, to be set aflame and punished for her sins, whatever they might be. She holds her breath as they cross the threshold, waiting for the scorching flames of hell and the hand of damnation, but it doesn’t come, and she starts making her way down the alley with Ava at her arm. 

Both Mary and JC are already sitting on a bench at the back of the church, whispering to each other as they look strangely at the stained glass, like it’s talking to them. They wave happily at them when they see them walking down the aisle, and although Beatrice appreciates it, now is really not the time to draw attention to themselves.

“Diego isn’t baptized,” Ava whispers next to her as they slowly walk down the line of people.

“I’m sorry?”

“He isn’t baptized. I wanted him to choose for himself when he’d be older. So, yeah, he’s not baptized.”

Beatrice doesn’t know why she’s telling her that, or why she’s telling her now, but maybe Ava is trying to distract herself from her task, as she takes a sip out of her flask, hiding it in her cleavage.

“That sounds fair,” Beatrice nods.

She doesn’t find anything else to say, as they are suddenly standing in front of the casket.

Beatrice’s grandfather died when she was seven. She still remembers the itch in her neck because of the tag of her dress, of the deep voice of the priest officiating the service, of her mother’s grip on her hand and the cold that set into her bones because no one bothered dressing her for the weather. She doesn’t really remember the burial or even the service itself, too busy shivering and trying to stop her teeth from clattering together as her father threw disgruntled looks at her. She does remember, however, the glimpses she had of her grandfather’s dead body, of his silent face resting on the white pillow with his dark suit on, of the frown etched into his face, even in death.

Even at seven years old, she already knew it was going to haunt her.

Sister Frances’ face is a bit similar, in a sense. Her white skin was riddled by the years, lips almost blue from the lack of blood. Her eyes are closed, her hands resting on her chest in a pose that was probably supposed to make her look peaceful, but is ruined by the stern and sour look on her face, left on her features even after her death. 

Ava looks at her in silence, eyes hollow and empty as she bends down slightly, as if to look closer. Beatrice can only watch in stunned silence as Ava discreetly raises her hand and give the dead nun the middle finger.

When Sister Frances doesn’t react, Ava straightens up, nodding.

“Yep. Dead.”

They are definitely not seeing the pearly gates.

“But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you,” the priest says, standing over the assembly in front of his stand. “If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you—”

Ava keeps taking sips after sips of her flask, her knee bouncing nervously. Beatrice tried to bring her comfort by putting her hand on her knee, but Ava only took her hand in hers, leaving them on her lap, before starting to bounce her other knee. On Beatrice’s other side, JC and Mary are still whispering to each other, whenever Ava catches a few words she smiles or giggles into her fist, like this is bringing her some kind of comfort. 

They’re sitting at the back of the church, on the last bench, not really knowing what they are doing here or why Ava insisted on staying. Beatrice has the strange feeling that Ava is on some sort of mission, that she has duty to force her to come here, a promise she made and cannot take back. She doesn’t know where she falls into that and so, in confusion, she only stays there, silent and on guard, vigilant of her surroundings.

“But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back,” the priest continues with his quavering voice.

“Oh, fuck,” Ava whispers, almost in pain, making a few head turns back towards them.

“Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is m—”

“Excuse me,” Ava says as she stands up, taking a step to the side to exit the alley and walking out of the church.

Beatrice hopelessly watches her go, wondering what she should do and if her help would even be accepted— not that she even knows what to offer. 

A kick in her shin startles her, she represses a yelp as she turns back towards Mary and JC who are both staring at her. 

“Go after her!” Mary shout-whipsers, pushing her up.

Beatrice nearly stumbles forward as she stands up, following after Ava as a few nuns turn towards her, angry looks on their faces at being disturbed.

Outside the sun nearly blinds her, as she stands under the rays and the flutter of wind. Ava is fast, faster than Beatrice herself, she’s already disappearing at the other side of the cemetery, her silhouette stumbling forward as she moves.

“Ava!” Beatrice all but shouts after her, damning the sleep of the dead and people’s opinion of her.

She runs after her, zigzagging in the maze of graves and tombstones, her jacket flapping in the wind. She’s grown worried, scared and frantic as she looks for her, desperately trying to stop her, trying to understand, trying to get to her before something else does. She doesn't know where she’s going, who she’s stepping over and who she’s waking up from their eternal slumber. 

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters when she has to get to Ava.

“Ava!” She shouts, again, desperate and lonely and distressed — where is she where is she where is she.

“I’m here.”

Ava is sitting on the ground a few alleys from her, arms crossed over her chest and pressing into her skin, as if she is cold. Beatrice sighs in relief, walking slowly over to her not to startle her.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

Ava sniffs, her face hidden by her hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just didn’t want to listen to that asshole pretending that that bitch was an angel,” she explains, wiping her nose on the long sleeve of her dress, looking into the void.

Except that Ava is not looking into the void. As Beatrice follows her gaze, she finds her looking at a tombstone, poorly maintained with bits of moss growing on the stone.

There are two dates engraved into it, only about ten years apart.

And a name.

Diego.

Chapter Text

The first time Beatrice saw a dead body, it was two weeks after her seventh birthday.

There is a little river hidden into the depths of her grandparents’ estate, in Dorset, a border that marks the end of their property and the beginning of their neighbours’. It was tradition for the children to escape the boring conversations and family reunion to go explore that river and play around it, on the condition that they wouldn’t get dirty and wouldn’t fall into the water, which was only about knee-high anyways.

On that day after her seventh birthday, there was fight in between Beatrice’s mother and her sister, which had escalated into a shouting match. Her cousin Colette had grabbed her hands and they had both run all the way to the river, following its path like they did every time.

It was the noise that drew her to it. The constant buzzing in her ears, too loud for her to ignore. She had turned her head, trying to find its source, only to discover a mass of flies over what she assumed to be a rock, but that turned out to be a dead roe, lying on its side in the river, its grey coat emerging from the water. There was no blood nor sign of struggle, it had probably just fallen trying to jump over the river and broken a few bones. 

Still, as soon as Beatrice saw it, she froze. Something inside of her broke, or perhaps it rebuilt itself, she wasn’t sure. She could only stare at the roe’s immobile form, its empty eyes and its open mouth in a silent scream. Panic swirled inside her chest, squeezing at her throat and choking air out of her lungs. She couldn’t remember talking, but somehow she was hearing her own voice rambling mindlessly.

She didn’t know what was going on — why, why, why? She didn’t know what to do. She could only stand there, helpless, not knowing if they should have kept going or turned back to go home. They weren’t going to just walk away without doing anything, were they? How could they keep going on? How could they keep walking forward?

Colette had grabbed her hand, a few strands of her long curly hair tangling themselves into Beatrice’s fingers, and had pulled her forwards.

‘Standing there won’t bring it back,’ she had said, so serious despite only being one month older than Beatrice herself.

Later, they had sat down on the edge of the river, far away from the roe’s carcass, and Colette had offered to let Beatrice say a prayer, which she did, grabbing the little cross around her neck and whispering a prayer she had learned in catechism.

Beatrice doesn’t know where Colette is today, she lost contact with her in their twenties and her mother refuses to even pronounce her name anymore.

But here, now, standing in the middle of that old cemetery with Ava crouched down on the ground in front of that tombstone, she is suddenly seven years old again, panic gripping her chest and refusing to let go no matter how much she tries to push it away. Because it’s impossible. Right? There’s no way this can be happening. How could this be happening? She must be dreaming, she must be having a nightmare, any second now, she is going to wake up to Diego jumping on her bed and accidentally kicking her in the boob.

She fishes her phone out her pocket, taps on it with shaking hands, desperately trying to find the strength to type a text that she sends to Camila, a request for a picture of Diego.

“He’s fine, Beatrice,” Ava says at that exact moment, like she just knows what Beatrice is doing and thinking. “ Our Diego, he’s fine.”

Indeed, she receives Camila’s picture just at this instant, the little boy’s face grinning at the camera like she asked him to pose, melted chocolate all around his mouth, sitting on Lilith’s lap who looks completely disgusted with the state of him.

“I don’t understand,” Beatrice whispers as she drops her phone back into her pocket. 

“I know,” Ava says, despair in her voice. “How could you? No one does.”

Beatrice takes a step forward, kneeling in front of her. Ava’s eyes are full of contained tears, her eyebrows forming a sad arch over her eyelashes.

“Explain it to me, then,” she asks, as softly as she can.

She looks back at the grave, at the tombstone that bears their son’s name, trying desperately not to form conclusions in her head, not to invent horrible scenarios in the span of a few minutes.

Ava looks at her with uncertainty, and for a second Beatrice thinks that she’s going to refuse, to tell her to let it go, but she doesn’t, instead opening her mouth to start talking.

“The orphanage,” she says, clearing her throat. “They had this, uh, this room where they’d keep the sick kids. I mean, it wasn’t by fear of contagion, ‘cause I know for a fact quadriplegia isn’t contagious,” she laughs, sad irony in her tone, “but they all kept us in the same hallways, away from the rest of the kids. I guess it was easier to take care of us that way, with all the medicine in one place and all, you know.”

She gulps down, as Beatrice watches helplessly, trying to find the signs on her face that would ask her to do something, anything. She’d do anything.

“D… Uhm, Diego, he was a sick little kid. I don’t know exactly what it was, ‘cause I was so young, I didn’t understand everything. He was basically my roommate,” she smiles, and this time she looks genuinely happy, like the memories are somehow comforting. “But he was so much more than that. He was my friend. My best friend, my only friend, in fact. He was my little light in the darkness. My brother. Making him laugh was literally all I wanted to do, every day, every moment. And I know he tried to cheer me up too. He was such a sweet boy.”

She wipes her nose on her sleeve again, and Beatrice pulls out a handkerchief out her pocket, handing it to her. Ava wipes her nose, her eyes, her whole face turning red in grief.

“He… Uh, he died two months before Jillian found me.”

Beatrice feels her heart drop into her chest, falling out through her stomach and bouncing stupidly on the ground. She knew it was coming — of course she did, why would there be a grave in that case? — but it still takes her by surprise, like that roe in the river and the flies all around it. 

She wishes she could carry all of Ava’s grief — And God knows it is heavy — herself, wishes she do something, anything. She wishes she could build a time machine and save all the people Ava has loved and lost, but Beatrice is no God. She’s just a woman, with a breaking heart in her chest.

“Oh, Ava…”

“I used to hate Michael because of that, you know, at the beginning,” Ava continues, wiping her nose on Beatrice’s handkerchief. “He reminded me so much of Diego, I mean, my Diego. A sick little kid trying to be friends with me. I rejected him so many times, but at the end of the day, I knew Diego wouldn’t have wanted me to hate Michael for something he couldn’t control so I just… Accepted it.”

Beatrice looks back at the church, at the open doors where the voice of the priest has become distant and intelligible. She really hopes Mary and JC aren’t doing something stupid.

“Is that why you hate that nun?” She asks.

Ava shrugs, sniffing.

“I mean, she was already a bitch before Diego. She hated me. I don’t really know why, or what I had done to her, but she hated my fucking guts. To her, I was a burden. She’d tell me she couldn’t wait for me to age out of the orphanage, to be left alone in the streets, crippled and broke and helpless. I would have died if Jillian hadn’t found me, I think,” she says, playing with a bit of grass in between her fingers.

There it is, that beast that lives inside of Beatrice’s chest. Except that this time, it’s not accompanied by terror and anguish and fear of herself, no, it stands alone, red and burning and ravenous. It wants to roar, it wants to bite, it wants to set that casket on fire and burn that church to the ground and damn anyone that is left in it. And Beatrice is tempted to let it roam free, watching as Ava’s hair covers her face, blown by the wind, to let it destroy everything and everyone that will stand in its way, and she doesn’t feel a tad guilty about that.

Like William Shakespeare wrote: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

She breathes in, out, eyes closed to regain composure, to get some fresh air into her lungs, to cool down her burning emotions. Now is really not the time to throw some kind of tantrum.

“Do you think that she…”

She can’t even finish her sentence, the idea is too horrifying to even voice. 

Ava only shrugs.

“I honestly don’t know. I thought so, for a while, I thought she had killed him, I thought she had poisoned him. It’s strange, you know, how all the kids in her care would die. I almost got excommunicated at one point because I was accusing her publicly,” she smiles, like she takes pride in that. “But I think… I think I was searching for someone to blame. I was trying to find someone responsible, someone to hate. But the truth is that he was a sick kid, and so was I, and… It happens. And it’s fucked up,” she says, regret and anger and sourness on her tongue.

She sniffs again, wiping her nose with the handkerchief, and Beatrice can only follow her movement with her eyes.

“And I think, I think that if he hadn’t been in that room, he would have lived. If he hadn’t been in that fucking orphanage, he would have lived! It’s not fair, Bea!”

“I know,” Beatrice whispers, but she has no comfort to offer.

“And, and, and I would have died if Jillian hadn’t found me,” she continues, borderline panicking as her voice takes a more urgent pressure. “And Diego, our Diego — God, fuck, Diego! — I don’t think I would survive if anything happened to him. I’m serious, I don’t think I’d be able to live if he got hurt or… Or something else. I think I’d die with him, Bea, because I can’t— I can’t—”

She’s breathing heavily now, and fast, having grown erratic in her panic. She’s shivering, or perhaps shaking, her whole body trembling under the wind as Ava seems lost in her own mind, in her own world.

Beatrice doesn’t think before she acts, she grabs Ava by the hand, grasping her palm against her own chest and pressing hers against Ava’s torso.

“Ava, Ava, Ava,” she says, like a prayer. “Ava, look at me. Look at me,” she insists, until Ava’s terrified eyes lock onto hers. “Breathe. Just breathe, Ava, like me. Follow my lead. That’s all you have to do, just breathe,” she pleads, speaking without hearing herself.

She takes a deep breath through her mouth, again and again, until Ava manages to imitate her and inhales sharply, eyes following each of Beatrice’s movements. They breathe out together, Ava choking on the air in her throat but managing to follow Beatrice’s lead.

“Good job, good job. Again.”

She repeats the same move, pressing Ava’s palm against her chest, feeling the tips of her fingers moving against the fabric of her shirt. 

“Good job, you’re doing great. One more time, please.”

Ava’s eyes are still erratic as she breathes, but her shaking has lessened, only shivering slightly from time to time.

“Good job, Ava. That’s good,” Beatrice says once she has returned to a normal rhythm, nodding to show that she is proud of her.

And she is, proud, inexplicably and strangely, as she takes off her jacket and draps it around Ava’s shoulders — there is a sense of deja-vu that comes with that simple act, but she doesn’t know where it comes from.

“Nothing is ever going to happen to Diego,” Beatrice promises, pressing her hands on Ava’s shoulders.

“But what—”

“Ava,” she insists, cupping her cheek and brushing away the rebellious strands of hair that fall into her eyes. “I promise. Nothing is ever going to happen to Diego. We won’t let anything happen to him. You’re not alone anymore, alright? You were right,” she insists. “It does take a village. And ours is doing everything it can to keep him safe and happy, and we’ve been doing a pretty good job so far. He’s okay, Ava. He’s going to be okay.”

Ava doesn’t really seem that convinced, but she nods anyway, letting herself slump forward to fall into Beatrice’s arms. For a moment, she freezes, kneeling stupidly on the stone of the graveyard, as Ava tucks her face into the crook of her neck like Diego does, nuzzling gently at her skin without a word. Then, she remembers to move, and wraps her arms around Ava, brushing her thumb against the hair on the back of her neck, accidentally taking a wisp of her perfume that makes her head swim a little, but in a good way.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, or Diego,” Beatrice whispers, like vows. “I promise.”

Ava doesn’t answer, resting in Beatrice’s arms without a word, and Beatrice can only hope that she is bringing her the comfort that she needs — she thinks that she is, Ava’s shivering has stopped, and she seems warmer and calmer, and also she knows how much Ava loves hugs.

"You're not a burden," she continues, interrupting Ava when she tries to object. "I don't care what that woman told you, but you're not a burden. You're incredibly strong, and brave, and smart, and kind, and good. You are so good, Ava," she insists. "You are a good person. And you deserved more than what she put you through."

She thinks she can hear a contained sob as Ava nods mechanically against her shoulder, but she's not completely sure of it.

When she lets go of her, Beatrice straightens up after giving her one last smile, and takes the step that separates her from the grave. She starts with the fallen leaves and the gravel, brushing them away, takes off the little bits of moss that are growing, scrapes at the decayed stone. She pulls at her sleeve and wipes away the dirt, as best as she can, with dirt under her fingernails and on the calluses of her hands.

Finally, when there’s nothing more for her to do, she sits back next to Ava.

“I wish I could do more.”

“Hmm, me too.”

She takes out her second handkerchief, which she hands to Ava, who raises an eyebrow.

“You came prepared.”

“I have a two year old,” Beatrice simply replies, and Ava laughs as she wipes her face on the clean handkerchief.

She rests her head on Beatrice’s shoulder, who also leans to the side, pressing her cheek against Ava’s hair, an arm around her shoulders.

“I think it’s a good person to name your son after. Our son, sorry,” she corrects herself as Ava pinches her thigh.

“Mmh. I think so too. But honestly, I also really liked the name. No offense, Diego,” she nods to the grave, and Beatrice chuckles.

“Does he know? Diego, I mean,” she asks.

“Yeah. He calls him ‘mama’s other Diego’,” she smiles, and Beatrice can only smile too.

She doesn’t think, pressing a kiss to the crown of Ava’s hair and her wild hair, soothingly rubbing up and down her arm. Brave Ava . 

If she had to choose anyone to raise a child with, she’d choose Ava. Again and again.

“Ava?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m proud of you.”

Ava plays with Beatrice’s free hand, her head still leaning against her shoulder.

“Me too, Bea. I’m proud of you too.”

Beatrice wants to say something, anything, something that seems to be trapped in her chest and that she doesn’t know or understand, but she doesn’t have the time.

A scream echoes into the graveyard, making them turn around in panic. JC and Mary run out of the church, howling at the top of their lungs and scampering towards them.

“Mary punched the priest!” JC yells, as a flurry of angry nuns exits the church after them.

“Run motherfuckers!” Mary screams, waving her arms in the air.

“Oh, shit,” Ava swears as she jumps on her feet, pulling Beatrice after her as they start to run.

Ava is laughing as they all but run for their life, out of the cemetery, out of the church, away from the nuns and the poor priest with a bloody nose. Beatrice pulls her keys out of her pocket while swearing to herself, unlocks her car and they all jump inside of it, JC landing across the backseat and on Mary’s lap with a yelp. Ava is still laughing by the time Beatrice pulls out of her parking space, in a flurry of shouts and yells, waving her middle finger at the nuns.

“So long, fuckers!” Mary yells happily.

They are definitely not even seeing the first steps leading to the pearly gates.

‘I want to see Diego,’ Ava had said after Beatrice had dropped Mary and JC off — JC tripping on his own feet and Mary just standing there and laughing at him in the middle of the street.

‘Of course,’ Beatrice had replied, because there wasn’t anything else for her to answer.

When they get to Beatrice’s house, it’s night, and Diego is probably already in bed — at least she hopes so, or she’s going to have an unpleasant conversation with her sisters.

Ava still has that mischievous smile on her lips, Beatrice’s jacket around her shoulders, her arm brushing against Beatrice’s as they walk to the front door.

Inside, the television is on, some old spanish show playing with the sound lowered to the lowest setting, and Lilith, face beet red, gestures quite passionately for them not to make a sound. Camila is wrapped into a blanket, basically lying on Lilith with her eyes closed, trapping her on the couch.

Beatrice cannot help but smirk at the scene, as Ava gives Lilith a thumbs up, a devilish grin on her face, and Beatrice can only clumsily mimic her, because she knows it’ll annoy Lilith. And it’s a success, Lilith gesturing around her throat that she’s going to kill them once she can move, a murderous look in her eyes.

Beatrice mouths that they’re going to say goodnight to Diego, following Ava into the hallway and into the stairs.

Ava trips over a step and nearly falls down, bursting into giggles at her own clumsiness.

“How much did you drink?” Beatrice asks, standing over her with her hands on her hips.

“Not that much. Believe it or not, this is sober me.”

“Oh, I do believe that,” Beatrice replies, rolling her eyes.

She helps her up, landing a hand on her hip to steady her.

And then she remembers. That first night, the night they… The night Diego happened. She gave Ava her jacket, and was touching her just as she was right now. It’s a strange sensation, that feeling of deja-vu and of a loop repeating itself, but also it feels so incredibly beautiful. Because Ava is hanging onto her shoulders to walk forward, laughing in the crook of Beatrice’s neck, and they’re moving towards their son’s bedroom. Their little boy that they love more than anything else in the world.

She wonders what Ava’s Other Diego would think of that. She thinks he’d be proud of her, just like Beatrice is.

“If you wake him up, you’re dealing with him,” she warns.

“Okay, alright, I’ll shut up,” Ava promises, straightening up and mimicking a zipping motion over her lips.

Diego is sound asleep in his bedroom, his nightlight slightly illuminating his face. He looks peaceful, limbs akimbo with his bottom lip tucked into his mouth, wild hair drawing a halo around him. 

Ava walks up to his bed, Beatrice behind her, hands uselessly outstretched in case she trips on one of his toys. She kneels on the side of his bed, extending a careful hand to run into his curly hair, thumb brushing against his cheek.

Beatrice sees it in her eyes, that same feeling of awe and astonishment and wonder she gets all the time now, that feeling that she has come to love and to cherish. She can see it clearly etched into the rosy blush of her cheeks, the light in her eyes, the curve of her smile, the gentleness of her hand. 

She was right. Ava does understand. Perhaps more than Beatrice does herself.

“You’re my light,” Ava whispers to the little boy, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you so much.”

Beatrice kneels next to her, adjusting his blanket and Moose who has fallen to the floor.

“He really is beautiful,” Ava comments, leaning her cheeks against her own arm with a cheerful smile directed at Beatrice. 

“He is. He really is.”

She doesn’t know which one of them she’s talking to.

Perhaps both.

Chapter Text

It happens late at night, as Beatrice is sitting at her desk, the beginning of a headache pulsing behind her eyes. The letters in front of her are becoming blurred as she stares at them, huffing out in frustration. It’s stupid to be here, stupid to have stayed, everyone has left, even Lilith who disappeared two hours ago. But it’s not her week with Diego and she has no reason to go home anyway. She checks her phone for the time, smiles despite herself at the last text Mary sent into their ‘family group chat’, where she complained about Diego taking all of her dry pastas out of her kitchen drawer while she wasn’t looking — Mary-and-Diego sleepovers are not something to mess with.

She sighs, turns back towards the contract she has in front of her, staring at it and trying to understand what exactly she’s reading. 

Her phone saves her from the excruciating task of making sense of the letters before her, ringing beside her. Ava’s caller ID appears on the screen, Beatrice can’t stop her own smile as she picks up the call.

“Good evening, Ava.”

“Listen, I’ve got about five percent of battery left so you better not interrupt me,” Ava says, her words rushed and pushed together.

Beatrice straightens up, frowning in worry.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m at the uh… The fucking bar, right now, the Divinium or something? What’s up with that fucking name anyway?”

Beatrice does know about that bar, not that she has ever been there. She passes it every time she goes to work, it’s literally just down a couple of streets from her building.

“Yes, I see.”

“Yeah, you do, okay, great.”

“Ava, are you drunk?”

Ava pauses for a second, and when she speaks once again, there’s some kind of playfulness in her tone.

“I mean, I was trying to get there before that asshole showed up, now I’m just pissed.”

Uh-oh. Ava, alcohol and anger are never a good cocktail. Beatrice is already scrambling for her things, her phone pressed to her ear as she moves.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that either you get your ass over here and find a way to get me out of here, either I beat his ass up and I have to find a real good lawyer so that I don’t lose custody of our kid.”

“Where are you?” Beatrice asks, exiting her office and locking it behind her.

“Bathroom break.”

“Do not go back outside.”

“Oh Hell yeah I’m going back outside!” Ava answers. “Ain’t no way I’m staying in this stinky bathroom, I’d choke on the smell if I do!”

“Ava don’t—”

“So you’re gonna have to prepare a speech to explain to Diego why he can only see mama once a month in a prison parlor!”

“Ava, I swear—”

“You better run fast as fuck, stud,” Ava says before hanging up — unless her phone ran out of battery.

Beatrice lets out a curse as she runs down the stairs, dismissing the elevator to go faster (at least she hopes so), shoving her phone into her pocket. She runs past the empty receptionist's office, shouts a quick hello and goodbye to Jerry the security guard who doesn’t even look up from his magazine, just sends her a peaceful ‘You too miss Kleine-Young’.

Outside, the night is fresh but somehow still warm, especially for Beatrice who grew up in the londonian drizzle. The air brushes against her face as she runs, past surprised passers-by and confused strollers. Beatrice ignores their looks that linger after her as she dashes past them, sprinting as fast as she can down the street.

God forbid she has to bail Ava out of a police station for starting a bar fight. Mary would never let her live it down.

The Divinum’s blue sign flashes past her as she runs, she mutters a curse as she stops as quickly as she can, turning back to run to the bar.

She opens the door and barges inside, perhaps with a little too much force, as the door swings all the way and hits the wall with a loud thud. People stop to look at her, standing in the middle of the doorframe in her work attire, out of breath and hair a mess. 

Her gaze finds Ava as soon as she enters, and sure enough, she is sitting on a stool with a guy next to her, both looking at her with annoyance — the guy — and relief — Ava. 

No time to think, no time to devise a scenario to follow. Plus, Beatrice might be slightly drunk on the adrenaline and a little bit mad at Ava for doing stupid things after stupid things — although she forgives her — and so all of her brain cells are not exactly working correctly (she’ll blame it on the lack of oxygen). Beatrice finds herself pointing a finger at Ava, eyes widened dramatically — Camila would be proud.

“You!” She says. 

Ava’s jaw almost falls to the floor, staring at her with slightly flushed cheeks.

“You bloody lying prick! How could you do this?! You said you were at your mother’s!”

Where are the words coming from, she has no idea. Ava, God bless her, is sober enough to jump right into the game, a mischievous and cheerful light dancing in her eyes.

“And I thought you were on a business trip! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

The guy looks in between the two of them, mouth stupidly open in stupefaction. 

“Mary told me she saw you going here, at least she’s the loyal one!”

“Oh, fuck yeah, like she’s not ogling your tits every chance she gets!”

Poor Mary, that’s all on Beatrice for not finding an imaginary friend’s name quicker. Gasps echo around the room, the bartender cowering behind his bar in fear. Okay, so she’s definitely going insane, that must be the Ava effect. Dear God, she was supposed to be in British politics right now.

“Oh, come on!” Beatrice huffs out, pinching the bridge of her nose to hide her smile. “You hypocrite! Him, really?!”

She gives the guy a look up and down, raising an eyebrow to get her point across — the guy looks like he wants to disappear, Beatrice doesn’t have it in her to be sorry for him. 

“Fuck you, Beatrice,” Ava throws at her, sharp and mean, but Beatrice can see the twinkle in her eyes that tells her that it’s all for show.

“If I may—” The guy tries, but Ava shoots him a glare.

“Shut up Frank!”

“This isn’t about you!” Beatrice adds before turning back to Ava.

She doesn’t know what’s going on, why they keep going when they could just leave right now — she does know: she’s having the time of her life, and yes, she does feel slightly guilty and shameful about it, but also the adrenaline and excitement of it all is still running through her veins and it’s taking everything in her not to start laughing hysterically. 

“No, come on, let’s talk about it, you came here and left our son at home!”

“Ya know what?!” Ava says, slapping the bar as she pushes herself onto her feet. “He’s not even yours!”

Gasps echo around them, Beatrice puts a hand to her chest, dramatically opening her mouth in a quiet inhale.

“The mailman?”

“The mailman!”

“Well I slept with your sister!”

“Oh yeah?!”

“Yeah!”

“I don’t have a sister!”

“Huh. Must have been your mum then!”

Another round of gasps flow around as the manager exits the back, a tired look on her face. Beatrice truly is the worst person on this planet. And she doesn’t even feel sorry about it — it’ll come later, she won’t sleep because of it for weeks.

“Look,” he says. “Whatever is happening here, please take it outside, we have a job to do.”

“Ya know what Brian?” Ava turns to him, grabbing her jacket and fishing out a bill — Beatrice knows she’s overpaying as an apology for the whole scene. “You’re absolutely right. Keep the change!”

She grabs Beatrice by the arm as she leads her to the door.

“I’m signing the divorce papers as soon as we get home!”

“No, I’m signing the divorce paper as soon as we get home!” Beatrice replies, nearly tripping on her own feet as she is being pulley forward;

As soon as the night air hits them, they’re running as fast as they can, giggling like two dumb teenagers and taking off before everyone can realise it was all fake. 

Ava is the one to stop first, leaning against the wall with a laugh on her lips, out of breath. Her hair is falling into her eyes, she has to push it back, still giggling happily. Beatrice leans her hands on her knees, breathing in and out with a smile on her lips. She has already accepted her fate, she is not going to the pearly gates anyway. 

“The things you make me do,” she groans, rubbing her thumb in between her brows.

“Oh, honey, I’m just getting started,” Ava grins.

Beatrice sends her a disapproving look, but her heart isn’t in it. She just staged a scene in the middle of a bar. Her younger self is probably having a heart attack right now, her teenage self is cringing on herself and looking away. 

“If you start singing,” she warns, straightening up, “I’ll throw up.”

“Jesus Christ, Ava, how much did you drink?” Beatrice asks, one arm supporting Ava around her waist, almost lifting her up the steps leading to her flat. 

“Juuuust enough,” Ava giggles, her breath hot against Beatrice’s ear as she sways from side to side, tripping on the stairs.

The bad thing about Ava being so cheerful and a little bit… wild, to say it politely, it’s that Beatrice has no idea where Ava stops and where the alcohol begins. She could be completely sober or drunk 24/7 and Beatrice wouldn’t know the difference.

She stops in front of Ava’s front door (on the mat that still reads ‘New home who dis’?’), loosens her hold on her a little to hold up her hand in her direction. Ava who takes her hand with a happy smile, pressing her palm against hers.

“The keys, Ava.”

“Oh right, my bad,” Ava giggles as she stuffs her hand into her pocket, taking out her keys and handing them to Beatrice.

She unlocks the door and leads Ava inside, pushing it closed with her foot. Ava starts to make her way towards the hallway, but Beatrice stops her immediately.

“Nope, no, not yet, you’re drinking water first.”

Ava groans as Beatrice basically twirls her around, leading her to the kitchen where she makes her lean against the countertop to take out a glass and fill it with water (all of Ava’s glasses are re-used mustard and Nocilla jars). She stuffs the glass into Ava’s hands, watching as she starts gulping down the water, her throat bobbing up and down.

She takes the glass away from her lips, looks at Beatrice with her mouth parted, like she wants to say something. 

“Drink it all,” Beatrice reminds her, putting on her stern face, the one that usually works to get Diego to clean up his toys.

But Ava doesn’t talk, she only burps loudly, grinning as Beatrice raises an eyebrow.

“Charming.”

She hands the glass back to Beatrice, who places it in the sink, and by the time she turns around, Ava has already disappeared, leaving her jacket on the ground.

She sighs, follows after her, picking up pieces of Ava’s clothing as she goes — her jackets, her earrings, one after the other, yet another weirdly patterned shirt, her belt. When she finds Ava, she’s sprawled out on her bed, face down, her calves dangling off the side of the mattress.

Beatrice puts the clothes on the chair at the corner of the room, moves to untie Ava’s shoes, taking them off and putting them on the ground while Ava mutters something she doesn’t understand.

“What was that?”

“I think I should give up dating completely,” Ava answers, rolling on her back, staring at the ceiling while Beatrice moves her legs to be under the blanket.

“Why?”

“‘Cause all of my dates turn out to be terrible.”

“Is that why you ended up in a bar?”

“I found the one and only republican lesbian in the world,” Ava whines, throwing her hands to the sky in defeat.

“Unfortunately, I do believe there are a few of those in the world,” Beatrice grimaces, adjusting Ava’s blanket around her.

Ava who grabs her by the collar, forcing her to bend forward, her face a few centimetres from Beatrice, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“A lesbian?”

“Nah, this one I know, the other… Thingy, shit I can’t remember,” she says, letting go of Beatrice and falling back on her pillow, allowing Beatrice to plug Ava’s phone into the charger next to the bed.

“Diego is gonna be so beautiful. He’s got good genes,” Ava comments, nodding to herself.

“Oh really? I thought he was the mailman’s?”

Ava giggles at her word, hiding her mouth in the palm of her hand.

“Alright, when do you have to pick up Diego?” Beatrice asks, navigating her phone to go into the clock app.

“Ten,” Ava says, showing her ten fingers.

“Alright,” Beatrice nods, setting up a few alarms between 8: 30 and 9 am. 

She stands up, adjusts the blanket around Ava’s torso, pulling it up. But Ava only grabs her collar once more, pulling Beatrice towards her.

“You have to stop doing that,” Beatrice comments as she entangles her shirt from her fingers. 

“Stay,” Ava says, burying herself under her blanket. “Stay, pretty please?”

Beatrice frowns, confused.

“What?”

“Stay. Here,” she says, patting the empty space on the other end of the bed. “Please?”

Beatrice stares at her for a few seconds, bewildered.

“How much did you drink?”

“Not that much. I’m not drunk. Just, ya know, tipsy.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes I do!” Ava gasps, offended. “Stay, please. We’ll go pick up Diego tomorrow morning. Promise I won’t kick you in the butt. Scout’s honor,” she says, holding up three fingers.

“You’ve never been to girls’ scout, Ava,” Beatrice reminds her, raising an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t matter. Come ooooon. Pretty please?” She asks again, opening wide pleading eyes.

Beatrice is not one to fall for the Silva’s tricks. She’s seen Diego try that strategy on her a few times, she has grown used to it by now. But Ava has mastered the art of the ‘puppy dog eyes’, as she calls it. She was the one to teach it to their son, after all. He must have learned it from somewhere. 

And so Beatrice stupidly stands right there, frozen on the spot, trapped into Ava’s dark eyes, wondering what exactly she got herself into. Mary wasn’t kidding when she said that Ava would always get what she wanted, one way or another.

“Alright.”

She realises too late that that voice was hers, but she doesn’t feel the need to take back her words.

“Yeah!” Ava cheers.

Beatrice stands up, starts unbuttoning her shirt.

“Oooh, is it that kind of night?” Ava asks, wagging her eyebrows.

“You’re drunk,” Beatrice rolls her eyes. “I just don’t want to get it wrinkled. Can I do that?” She asks in challenge, draping her shirt over the back of the chair, straightening her undershirt.

“Take of the pants too,” Ava suggests, grinning.

Beatrice pushes her face into the pillow, Ava giggling at her.

“Shut up.”

She takes off her shoes, finally climbs into bed, lying as far as possible from Ava — she still has manners after all. Ava who yawns, moving around and sighing contentedly into her blanket. 

“I like this. This is nice.”

She yawns once more, shuffling around. Her foot kicks into Beatrice’s who sighs, turning on her side to look at her. She holds her breathe, trying her best not to get a whiff of her perfume, which she's really starting to wonder if she isn't having an alergic reaction to — who is she kidding, she's basically rolling in it.

“Go to sleep right now or I’ll be the one kicking you in the ribs.”

“Can’t. Too happy,” Ava pouts.

Beatrice rolls her eyes, reaches out, running the tip of her finger along Ava’s nose, from her forehead all the way to her mouth. If it works for Diego, it can work for her too.

“Go to sleep,” she commands.

And Ava does.

Beatrice sighs, and does the same. 

Unsurprisingly, Beatrice wakes up awfully early, because of the sun shining through the blinds. Ava has rolled all the way to her, tucked against her side, an arm thrown around Beatrice’s waist. She can feel her breath on her bare shoulder, Ava’s hair splayed around on her pillow.

She ignores the tumping of her heart and the weird sensation in her stomach untangles herself from Ava’s hold, sits up and gets off the bed, Ava rolling to the other side with a little hum. She groans painfully, massaging her stiff neck, gathering her shoes and her shirt to exit the room. 

If there is one thing she doesn’t want to deal with, it’s a hungry and hungover Ava.

When Ava emerges from her bed, Beatrice is finishing up a pan of scrambled eggs, the slices of bread in the toasted jumping as Ava enters the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Beatrice greets her, taking out two plates to separate their food.

Ava only groans as she falls on a stool at the table, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m never drinking again.”

“Haven’t I heard that one before,” Beatrice mutters, setting up a plate and a glass of water in front of her — Ava doesn’t like water this early in the morning, but orange juice makes her nauseous when hangover.

“What, no good morning kiss?” Ava teases.

Beatrice only rolls her eyes, flicking her forehead before Ava starts digging into her eggs.

“Eat up. We have a child to pick up.”

“Mama!” Diego shouts as soon as Mary’s door opens, running straight into Ava’s arms. 

Thankfully, by that time Ava has freshened up, brushed her teeth and taken aspirin for her headache. And so she grins at the little boy, picking him up and hugging him to her chest with a happy cry. Ava twirls him around, nearly bumping into Beatrice who is standing next to them, smiling at the scene.

“Yeah, no okay, not doing that,” Ava comments as she stops, grimacing with another wave of nausea.

“What, did you get hammered again?” Mary asks, arms crossed over her chest.

Her gaze falls on Beatrice who gives her a greeting nod.

“Morning.”

“What the fuck…”

“Mummy!” Diego shouts happily, extending his arms towards her.

Beatrice immediately takes him from Ava’s arms, squeezing her against her chest and dropping kisses into her hair.

“Hello, love.”

“Hello hello!”

“What the He— what are you doing here?” Mary asks, frowning in confusion. “Oh, please tell me you guys weren’t making him some little siblings,” she asks, pointing to Diego.

Beatrice blushes to the roots of her hair, glancing down at Diego to make sure he didn’t hear that — but he’s too busy playing with a loose button of her shirt, happily humming to himself.

“Mary, what the fuck?” Ava asks, covering Diego’s ears.

“I’m just making sure, Jesus! You guys just hit the sheets once and now you both have a MILF membership card for life,” she says, shrugging.

“No, we weren’t doing the deed,” Ava shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

“Ava!” Beatrice gasps, scandalised.

“Then why is she here?” Mary asks, pointing her thumb at Beatrice like she’s not standing right there — Mary really really loves to get on her nerves. 

“You had a sleepover!” Diego squeals with way too much enthusiasm, throwing his arms in the air.

Beatrice can only smile back at him.

“You know what buddy?” Ava says. “That is exactly what we did.”

“Huh, is that what the kids are calling it now?” Mary smirks.

“I don’t know, how was your sleepover?” Beatrice finally finds the strength to answer. “Hi, Shannon.”

Shannon’s head appears at the angle of the hallway, smiling sheepishly at them with a little wave.

“Hey Bea.”

“How did you—”

Beatrice points at Shannon’s shoes, forgotten next to the doors, as Mary covers the vision of Shannon by slightly closing the door, rolling her eyes.

“Alright, alright, thanks Sherlock.”

Beatrice nudges a grinning Ava with her elbow, jutting her chin towards Mary, as Diego presses his little palms on her cheek with a squeal.

“Oh, right, speaking of cards,” Ava says, searching into her purse. “This is for you.”

She smiles as she hands her the ‘Sorry’ card with pink glitter everywhere, Mary looking at them suspiciously as she opens it.

“‘Dear Mary, sorry we told everyone at the bar you were looking at Beatrice’s boobs. Sorry we didn’t find a random name for a fake friend faster. Sorry you can’t go back to the Divinium and sorry for saying you were a homewrecker. P.S.: don’t punch Beatrice, she did it to save my ass.’,” she reads, looking up with a frown, a scandalised light in her eyes. “What did you guys do?”

Ava grins at Beatrice.

“We had a sleepover,” she says with a wink.

And Beatrice can only look down, hiding her smile into Diego’s little palms.

Chapter Text

Both Ava and Diego are screaming in the garden. Beatrice isn’t really sure what the game is, if they’re chasing each other or if Ava is trying to teach him how to do a cartwheel. She’s not sure it really matters, they always have the same level of enthusiasm and energy, no matter the activity.

She’s trying to fix the sink. That’s what she said anyway, despite having very limited knowledge in plumbing and such, even Ava teased her that she could probably do it for her (which she was probably right, according to Mary whenever they played hide and seek Ava would crawl under the sink and mess with the pipes).

Alas, Beatrice basically shooed her away by giving her the task of distracting Diego, which Ava had taken very seriously. And now here Beatrice is, looking out through the window and watching them run like crazy in her garden. She doesn’t know if she should be concerned or impressed at how much they can run without exhausting themselves.

She sighs, crouches down to look at the pipes under the sink once again, feeling around with the pad of her fingers. She works instinctively, just following what little she knows.

“‘Sup Bea?”

She startles so hard that she knocks her own head on the top of the cupboard, emerging while rubbing her sore scalp. Ava is grinning at her, hands behind her back, looking perfectly happy with herself.

“Ava?”

“You good?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Beatrice groans, leaning against the counter while massaging the back of her head.

“Sorry, my bad,” Ava says, while looking anything but sorry. “Just wanted to see how you were doing. If you weren’t missing us too much.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, swatting her with her tea towel.

“I was, until someone startled me.”

“Like I said, my bad,” Ava giggles.

Beatrice throws a look at the garden, where Diego is still spinning, holding Moose’s hands in his.

“Shouldn’t we be worried?” Beatrice asks, raising an eyebrow when he doesn’t stop at all.

“Nah. One time I went on four rides in a row on an octopus rollercoaster. Ya know?” She asks, twisting her wrist to draw a circle in the air with her finger. “The spinning thing. Went to class fifteen minutes later.”

“You did that in high school?” Beatrice asks, frowning in confusion.

She’s not sure Jillian would have let her go outside once she had learned of that.

“Nah, in college.”

Right. That’s where she met JC. For some reason, Beatrice already knew about that, and knew that Ava had dropped out after a couple of years, because she couldn’t find the time to study and was getting bored anyways, but she had never asked, and she doesn’t really know why.

“What were you studying?”

“Biology. And neural-engineering,” Ava says nonchalantly, stealing a candy from Diego’s jar.

Beatrice stares at her for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the words she just heard, as Ava chews on her candy, making a little happy hum from the back of her throat.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Ava looks up at her then, and frowns, her face turning sour as she stares back at her.

“Oh please don’t do that.”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, I know, I’m not smart enough to go into that field, I’m too stupid to do anything, I’m just empty headed, blah blah blah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Bea, I thought you were different.”

“It’s not that,” Beatrice says, stupefied.

“What is it, then?”

Beatrice's words come out to the surface before she can stop them, her brain working overdrive and going blank at the same time.

“You’re… You’re a nerd.”

Ava’s mouth hangs open, staring at Beatrice like she just can’t believe her ears. Beatrice herself feels like she’s not hearing herself, but she knows she’s right.

“I’m… I’m not.”

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not!”

“You’re the original nerd at this point!”

“No I’m not!” Ava says louder, almost buzzing with annoyance.

Oh how the tables have turned. For some reason, Beatrice feels happy, she wants to laugh at Ava’s antics, because really, what else is she supposed to do? Ava just handed her leverage to use against her teasing on a silver platter.

“You are a nerd. And you know how to fix the sink,” Beatrice replies, raising an eyebrow and challenging her to prove her wrong.

Ava seems to be searching for her words and, finding none, huffs out an angry breath and takes the three steps that separate her from the sink, kneeling in front of the open cupboard and tinkering inside. Beatrice stares at the way her button down (this one with little cartoon chicks holding knives) stretches in between her shoulder blades as she moves, her delicate hands working in the dark, like she doesn’t even need to see to know what she’s doing.

“Have you ever thought about going back?” Beatrice asks. “To studying, I mean.”

“I mean, yeah, kinda,” Ava answers, her voice echoing inside the cupboard. “Now that I have the emotional maturity to actually commit to it, I think I’d like it.”

“Maybe you should,” Beatrice suggests. “You don’t have Diego at all times, that gives you more room to study and work, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She straightens up, opens the tap, grins when the water starts flowing freely. Beatrice, on the other hand, is hesitating between frustration and pride, because this could have been resolved hours ago if she had known (if she had had the guts to ask Ava for help). 

Ava laughs at her disappointed face as she washes her hands, flicks water at her. Beatrice raises an arm to protect herself, and by the time she lowers it down, Ava is right next to her, raising herself on her toes to press a kiss to her cheek.

And, just like every time she does that, Beatrice just stands there, frozen on the spot as her mind goes blank, only plaguing her with the feeling of Ava’s soft lips on the skin of her cheek. She doesn’t even know how she can know that Ava’s lips are soft, but somehow she does, like she has studied them herself.

In a second Ava is gone once again, snatching another candy from the jar and running away while giggling playfully as she disappears.

Her cheek still tingles as Beatrice sighs, unless it’s just burning like the other is. Yes. It must be that. But then why— No, it’s just her. She’s just a stupid awkward little dumb-dumb (thanks Diego) that can’t deal with real people. That’s all. She used to freak out when Camila would hug her at the beginning too. She’s just not used to it. Nothing more.

She starts washing her hands too, rubbing away the little bit of black grease left on her fingertips, lost in thoughts. She’s drying them on the tea towel when Diego runs back inside, and Beatrice suddenly realises they’ve been quiet for a while now.

“Hello hello,” Diego says, grabbing her hand and tugging at it. “Mama hurt her body,” he says then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Beatrice frowns, almost startled.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? Diego, what did you say?” She insists, crouching down when he fumbles with his own words while simultaneously trying to pull her after him.

“Mama hurt her body,” Diego repeats, like he doesn’t understand the words himself, looking everywhere but at her.

Beatrice’s blood runs cold.

“Where?”

“Outside.”

She stands up, moving past him with a tender hand in his hair to gesture for him to stay behind her, practically runs to the glass doors which are still slightly open — that’s probably where he came from. Ava is sitting on the floor of the patio, one hand slammed over her eyes, the other gripping her own wrist so painfully her nails are digging into her skin.

“Ava?” Beatrice calls as jogs up to her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just uh… I just fell, ya know, nothing serious.”

Her voice is shaky, her breathing heavy and quick, she’s trembling, shaking from head to toes. On her knees, two bruises, scratches extending almost all the way to her thighs, blood starting to bead at the torn skin. It’s not too bad, just some scratches, she probably won’t feel them in an hour or so. 

Yet, Ava is shaking so much, sitting on the floor with her hand pressed against her eyes, not even registering Diego’s presence as he crouches down next to her to awkwardly pet her hair.

“I’ve got uh… I’ve got this— this thing, this uhm… Blood. It just makes my brain go ‘nope’ so this isn’t… This isn’t really cool, if you know what I mean.”

Even with her hand on half of her face, Beatrice can see how pale she is, how the light golden tan of her skin has turned ghost white, almost grey or green.

“You hurt your body,” Diego says, still petting her hair, like he’s trying to make her feel better the same way Ava does when he hurts himself.

She can’t get her first aid kit or something to help Ava regain some colours, because that would mean leaving Diego to take care of her if something happened to her, and she can’t take that chance. She doesn’t want to force Ava to move, but right now it’s her only solution.

“Can you walk?” Beatrice asks.

“If you help me, yeah.”

“Good,” she nods. “We have to get you cleaned up, there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen and you also need to eat or drink something right now,” she explains, and Ava nods, taking her hand off her eyes to pointedly stare at the sky instead, lips pursed (in pain or panic, Beatrice isn’t sure). “Diego, can you go take out a chair from under the table in the kitchen and put it in the middle of the room? No running through the door!” She adds as the little boy darts inside the house, disappearing inside.

Once he’s gone, she can focus entirely on Ava’s trembling form.

“Okay,” she says, as calm as she can, gently taking one of Ava’s hands in hers and forcing her to stop digging her nails into her own skin.

She positions herself against Ava’s side, one of her arms around her waist, guiding Ava’s own arm around her shoulders.

“You can hold my hand if you want,” she proposes softly, and Ava does, grabbing the hand on her waist and weaving their fingers together. “Alright. Let’s get you up on your feet.”

She waits for Ava’s weak little nod before standing up, pulling Ava up with her and picking her weight up as best as she can. Ava breathes out shakily, face hidden by her hair, Beatrice gives her a second before slowly walking towards the glass door. Ava’s feet trip on the ground, she can see her tucking her bottom lip in between her teeth through her hair.

They walk through the glass door, Ava blowing air through her nose as she needs to step over the edge, gripping at Beatrice’s hand so hard it’s starting to hurt — but she doesn’t complain, she’d never complain.

Inside, Ava’s feet start dragging on the ground, her head lulling back and forth as Beatrice keeps them moving forward, to the point Beatrice isn’t sure she’s still there.

“Ava?”

She hums as an answer, straightening up and following Beatrice’s movements once again.

Diego is noisily dragging the chair across the floor in the kitchen, grunting under the effort and taking it way farther than Beatrice had originally asked him for.

“It’s alright here, thank you, love,” she says, and Diego immediately lets it go, stepping away as Beatrice leads Ava to sit down.

She immediately opens the fridge, takes out one of Diego’s little juice boxes (grape juice, his favourite, which Beatrice only gets from time to time as there is too much sugar in it, but right now she’s really glad they have it), plucking the straw through the hole and handing it to Ava.

“Drink it all,” she commands, as Ava wraps her lips around the straw, frowning like she can’t remember how to do it.

She goes for the medicine cabinet — there’s another one in the bathroom, she’s got a two years old, her house is basically packed with first aid kits (and yes, she knows she’s doing too much, Mary has already told her).

“How about you go choose a toy for mama to feel better?” She proposes as she digs into the cabinet for the bag, and Diego darts into the living room, taking his mission very seriously.

Beatrice takes the bag out, sliding the zipper open, drops to her knees in front of Ava while searching for the tools she needs. Ava is ostensibly looking at the ceiling, toying with her straw with her tongue.

“How is that juice box going?” She asks, taking out the gauze and a bottle of antiseptic.

“Down,” Ava says. “I don’t like grape juice.”

“Yes, me neither,” Beatrice nods.

But at least Ava’s cheeks look a little more coloured, and she has stopped trembling.

“It doesn’t sting,” Beatrice warns as she puts some antiseptic on a piece of gauze.

Of course it doesn’t, Diego would absolutely scream bloody murder — more than he already does — if it did. Still, Ava grips the hem of her shorts, knuckles turning white and jaw clenching as she nods.

Beatrice dabs the gauze onto the bruise, taking out the blood and cleaning the wound, before wiping away the bit of blood that started running down her legs. It’s not too bad, there isn't any gravel in the wounds and the scratches aren’t very deep. That’s good. That means Ava will just get away with just a bandaid and a few little scratches that’ll heal in a few days. She works carefully, precautiously, even going as far as holding Ava’s calf in her hand to steady her own movements.

Diego runs back into the kitchen, holding out a stuffed bunny that he hands to Ava, waiting for her to take it without a word. He doesn’t seem worried or even scared, just doing what needs to be done because he’s two years old and he knows Beatrice’s got it.

“Thank you, Bean,” Ava smiles weakly, and Diego runs back to the living room.

“I find another one!”

Beatrice can’t stop herself from smiling as she keeps working, wiping some last of traces of blood that got blended into antiseptic.

A siffle makes her raise her head, surprise and a bit of panic grasping at her heart. Ava has the bunny pressed against her chest, tears beading at her eyelashes, nose running.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” Beatrice immediately asks, worry rumbling deep in her chest.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Ava promises, wiping at her teary eyes. “It’s just… It’s just…”

Beatrice balls up the gauze and puts it down — she was done with it anyways —, giving Ava her full attention as she looks to be hesitating, doubting whether or not she really wants to talk.

“It’s just… This is shit, you know? All of this because of the accident, and I’m— I’m gone, see? I’m here, and I’m out of the car and the orphanage but it’s still chasing after me.”

“You’re just human, Ava,” Beatrice whispers, as softly as she can.

“No, no, I know, it’s not that. It’s…” She throws a look towards the living room, where Diego is digging into his toy box, making a mess of the carpet and basically falling head first into the box, kicking his little legs. “He shouldn’t have to deal with it, you know? He shouldn’t have to know that he needs to call the number with the little fire truck next to it, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me and shit… He’s two years old, Beatrice!” She sobs, furiously wiping at her eyes.

Beatrice takes a few seconds to compose herself, to gather her words, before standing up, taking out her clean handkerchief out of her pocket.

“Diego,” she starts, handing Ava the handkerchief, “made me lie down on the ground with him when I was starting to get frustrated at my laptop not working. He helped Shannon find her shoe even though he was the one that hid it in his toy box. He taught Lilith to do breathing exercises after her run and hid Camila in his arms when she was watching a scary movie. He tried to help me cut my food after I cut his, and always makes sure to tell me he likes my shirt every morning, even if they all look the same.”

Ava looks at her with those teary eyes, something soft and tender and hopeful in them.

“Diego doesn’t do that because he has to. He does that because he thinks that’s how the world works. He thinks that people help each other all the time, he doesn’t realise we’re helping him because he’s two years old and he can’t do everything on his own. And you know, I think he might be right.”

She smiles at her, wipes one last tear with the pad of her thumb. Diego is humming to himself from his toy box, she can hear a few things hitting the ground as he throws his toys around.

“He does that because he was raised by a kickass mum who taught him that the world is kind and that it takes nothing to be good. And yes,” she adds as Ava laughs, “I just said ‘ass’.”

Ava giggles a bit more, pressing the stuffed bunny against her chest with happiness on her lips.

“Thank you,” she says, softly.

“Thank you ,” Beatrice says instead.

She doesn’t know what happens, she doesn’t know what possesses her to do that, but after a second of hesitation, Beatrice leans down, and softly presses her lips on Ava’s cheek, pouring as much tenderness as her heart holds as she can. It’s just a peck, quick and unprepared, but when Beatrice straightens up she can swear she can feel something, something strange fluttering in her stomach.

She swallows it down, clears her throat.

“Now,” she says, kneeling back down. “What band-aid do you want? Stars or Hello Kitty?”

“Well,” Ava smiles, “I have two knees.”

Beatrice smiles back at her, helpless in front of her.

“Right, of course.”

She is extra careful as she sticks the band-aid on the bruise, making sure it is completely covered and not putting the sticky strip on the scratches.

Now, apparently, Beatrice brain cells have been completely fried when she decided to press a kiss to Ava’s cheek, because she doesn’t even think as she gently and delicately holds onto Ava’s calves and presses a kiss to each band-aid, one on each wound, as softly as she can not to hurt her. An art that she has mastered over the months.

She only registers what she has done once she looks up to find Ava staring at her, mouth open and cheeks coloured with a bright and deep shade of red. Beatrice stammers, desperately searching for her words as her own face burns up, still stupidly kneeling in front of her.

For a second, she thinks Ava is going to say something, anything, as she keeps staring at her with her eyes wide open, so red Beatrice is starting to get worried, but then Diego runs back into the kitchen, hurling himself at Ava’s lap.

“Mama!” He shouts, way too loud, and Beatrice almost gets knocked by his foot kicking towards her chin. “Mama, I found Titty!”

The actual name of the bear plushie he is holding is ‘Teddy’, but apparently that flew right over his head.

Ava bursts out laughing, forgetting all about that strange moment, and Beatrice stands up, pressing the back of her hands against her warm cheeks to cool them down, a smile on her lips.

Someone up there is definitely testing her.

Chapter Text

Beatrice has a problem.

It’s not a big problem at all, in the grand scheme of things, and even in the Grand Scheme Of Beatrice’s Problems. It’s a tiny, minuscule, totally manageable problem. In fact, it’s not a problem at all, it’s not like it keeps her awake at night or staring at her phone hoping and dreading it would ring. No, there’s nothing to say, nothing to even think about.

Yes, there’s no reason for her to even think about it. In fact, she’s not thinking about it at all.

No really, she’s totally not thinking about Ava’s laugh and her smile and the way she looks when she picks up Diego to take a sticker out of his hair. She’s not thinking about her lonely silhouette wiggling happily in her kitchen after Diego’s bedtime or the sour smell of the beer she sips from time to time and certainly not about her rolling around in her bed, stretching like a cat after a nap, Diego jumping up and down next to her to wake her up.

She’s not thinking about the way she misses her when she’s not around, about the way she checks her phone five times in a couple of minutes to wait for one of her texts, about the way she finds herself thinking about something she said or about something to tell her when she finds the time.

And she’s definitely not thinking about the way she has started avoiding her as she was having those little nothing-at-all realisations. She said she was busy, that she had work, that she had her hands full with Diego, and, of course that isn’t a lie, but she has always found a way to make time for Ava in the past.

But no, no, Beatrice is not thinking about that. And she’s definitely not thinking about the fact that she might have a tiny little imperceptible ridiculous and unrequited crush on her son’s mother.

Because that would be ridiculous, right? That would be completely insane. Deranged, demented, bananas, cuckoo’s-head, mental, wouldn’t it be? There’s no way Beatrice would even be ready to think about the consequences and complications of that possibility.

That would only lead to disaster, heartbreak, lots and lots of tension in between the two of them, which would then lead to a lot of issues for Diego, which would then end with his academic failure and an addiction to drugs (she’s exaggerating, but not really). Not only is Beatrice not even sure of what she’s actually feeling and how deep that stupid little crush runs, but she is painfully aware that there is no way that Ava would ever share her feelings. Because Ava is smart, Ava is good, Ava knows that this is not something they can afford or indulge into or even imagine. And she’s not interested. They’ve put Switzerland behind them, they left that little bubble of dream, they are responsible adults now, and they’ve got better things to do than to chase after an impossible chance of romance. Who was even talking about romance? Not Beatrice, Beatrice is absolutely perfectly fine, she has no problem whatsoever.

So really, there’s no way Beatrice could be in that position. No, of course not. She’s simply not used to that kind of attention or friendship or 24/7 communication for the sake of their child. It’s just her brain playing some kind of cruel prank on her, nothing more. Nothing to see here, you can walk away, Beatrice has got it under control.

“What do you mean ‘you won’t be there’?!”

Shannon sighs, rubbing the spot in between her eyebrows.

“I mean that that stupid meeting in London is on that same day, so there’s no way I can make the trip back here in time.”

“Are you sure you have to attend it?”

It’s not like Beatrice to act that desperate or careless about her own company, but she’s slightly panicking at the idea of not having Shannon with her to help her.

Sometimes she thinks she’d be nothing without her sisters.

She sits in her office’s chair, her elbows rudely on her desk as she rubs her hands over her face in annoyance and fatigue. Shannon is sitting across from her, her shirt tucked out of her pants, fingers working into the hair tie in the back of her neck. Camila, who is wearing yellow hair clips despite needing to look professional because they got matching ones with Diego (’We’re like twins, Bea!’), is trying to bargain the third chair with Lilith, who is going through fifty shades of red at her indecent propositions — and Camila is gallantly pretending not to see it.

“I mean, yeah, unless you wanna do it?” Shannon asks, raising an eyebrow, like she doesn’t understand Beatrice’s nervosity or challenging her to accept her proposition.

Beatrice shakes her head. There’s no way she’s going back to London. She’d have to visit her parents and she won’t be able to even look them in the eyes knowing she tucked Diego into bed the day before. Not to mention how much she has come to hate England and its rain. She thinks that if she were to go back there, she'd throw herself into the Thames.

“What? You don’t wanna tell your parents about their surprise grandson? Or his mom?” Shannon teases, crossing her arms over her chest with a mischievous smile.

It takes everything in Beatrice not to start blushing like a schoolgirl, which is definitely not helping with her current dilemma — wait what dilemma, there is no dilemma at all, Beatrice is completely content and relaxed. Taking it easy breezy lemon squeezy — damn you Ava!

“No,” she groans. “Obviously not.”

“Obviously,” Shannon echoes, nodding.

Beatrice sighs, looking for a solution. She turns towards Camila, wondering if pleading is above her or not. But Camila is already yelling in return.

“D&D finals on that day, can’t miss it!”

“Really?” Beatrice groans. “This is more important than a board game!”

Camila gasps, offended, and Beatrice feels the shame creeping in, the guilt at dismissing her sister’s interest for her own gain. But Camila doesn’t hold it against her, of course she doesn’t.

“It’s not a board game!”

“I know, I’m sorr—”

“It’s a discipline blending together careful worldbuilding, strategy, creativity and, of course, some arts and craft! How dare you insult our campaign!” Camila yells, Shannon hiding her laugh in her hand. “You know what? I’m gonna teach Diego as soon as he can read, I’m sure he’ll be less of a butthead than you!”

Beatrice can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“We haven’t called each other buttheads since boarding school.”

“Not to your face,” Camila replies, shrugging.

Beatrice rolls her eyes but gives in, turning towards Lilith instead.

“I also have that campaign on that day,” Lilith immediately says, pointing her thumb at Camila, quite pleased with her excuse.

“Yeah, she has to resuscitate me,” Camila adds, a pleased smile on her lips.

“You’re dead?” Shannon frowns.

“Yes, she sacrificed herself quite stupidly,” Lilith shrugs, frowning sternly at Camila like she wants to remind her she disapproves.

“I saved you from a demon too tall for me, big deal,” Camila shrugs. “You’ll just resuscitate me with your powers.”

“What power?” Shannon asks.

“That demon is actually my colleague,” Lilith explains in the most bored tone she can make, shrugging like it doesn’t matter, but there is a little light in her eyes — Lilith always secretly liked fantastic stories of dragons and angels, which her mother disapproved of. “We used to have our coffee breaks together, but now I have a vendetta against him and he took Camila as revenge.”

Camila nods with enthusiasm, so hard Beatrice is worried her head is going to detach itself from her neck. She doesn’t comment, ignores Shannon’s knowing look to sigh deeply, burying her face in her palms.

“What do I do, then? I can’t show up to this reception alone, what kind of image will it give about our company? Mother and Father will show up themselves to give me a correction,” she says, gulping despite herself — she is a grown woman and she still shudders at the idea of her parents’ scolding (because to her, it is not just scolding).

“Well,” Shannon says, straightening up and leaning over Beatrice’s desk, elbows on the surface, “you need to find someone to take to that reception. Someone who has enough guts to handle those posh little business people who will definitely look for all of your flaws. Someone who won’t make you more stressed out than you already are. Someone cool. Someone on our side.”

She raises an eyebrow, expecting Beatrice to understand her idea or perhaps to ‘message the brain cells to her’, like Mary says it so elegantly. And for a moment, she does, and she wonders if Shannon hasn’t lost her mind, or if Beatrice is dreaming. There’s no way she just suggested that, right? No way she just said that Beatrice should take Av—

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Beatrice says, shaking her head. “I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?” Shannon asks, confusion on her face, and both Lilith and Camila look equally confused and surprised at her reaction.

Right. Because everything is going great. Everything is good and she gets along very well with Ava, to the point that they are basically ‘best friends and joined at the hip’, so they don’t understand her sudden reaction.

“I’m not bringing Ava into this ,” she can only say, putting as much disgust behind the word as possible. 

“She can handle herself,” Shannon says, still as puzzled as before. “You know that, right?”

Of course she knows that, she’s watched Ava put grown men and Lilith in their place without breaking a sweat. This isn’t the issue here.

She groans, buries her face back in her hands, forehead thumping against the surface of her desk as she falls forward in despair. 

Beatrice has a problem.

As soon as she rings the doorbell, she hears a shout behind the door. The door which swings open, letting her see a little boy in pyjamas grinning at her.

“Mummy!”

“Diego!” She smiles, picking him and setting him on her hip, kissing his cheeks as she closes the door behind her. 

Diego chirps playfully in her arms, cooing as he traces the hem of her jacket — the most expensive one. She put on her best attire for this which, funnily enough (according to Mary), didn’t change much from her usual clothes. Shannon undid her two first buttons despite Beatrice’s protests, because she couldn’t look like some stuck up daddy’s girl, which made Beatrice want to throw up a little.

Diego seems to like it, brushing a finger over her hair, following its pattern into the bun at the nape of her neck.

“What do you think?” She asks cheerfully, always ready for his input.

“Gay,” Diego nods.

Beatrice grins so wide her cheeks hurt, leaning her forehead on his.

“I’m killing one of your uncles,” she says, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“Which one?”

Michael is in the living room, standing over a weird construction that looks to be a blanket fort, a pirate eye patch over his left eye.

“I don’t know, do you have reasons to fear that you’ll be my choice?” Beatrice asks, raising an eyebrow and putting Diego back on the ground as he wiggles out of her hold.

Michael wisely chooses to ignore her question after a pause, shrugging like he has nothing to do with Diego’s vocabulary at all.

The hallway is littered with forgotten pieces of clothing, the light from the bathroom filtering from the angle of the wall. She can hear someone running around and Ava cursing in Portuguese, bumping into things as she moves around.

She throws a look toward Michael, who just shrugs.

“Trust me, it was always like that when we’d have to attend mom’s galas and all. We were always late because of her.”

“Well, we don’t want that,” Beatrice replies nervously.

“I know,” Michael nods. “Trust me, she’s working on it.”

One of the blankets falls on his head as he is kneeling by one of the walls, and Diego starts hysterically laughing at the scene until Beatrice has to pull Michael away herself.

“Hey, Michael, earrings or no— oh, hey Bea.”

Ava is standing by the living room’s door, still barefoot but fully dressed in a long sleeved dress, which accentuates the shape of her hips and the dip of her cleavage and definitely not helping with Beatrice’s current problem. She’s grinning, short hair brushing her shoulders as she adjusts the fall of her skirt, and Beatrice feels weird , standing there in the middle of the room, unable to move. 

But Ava isn’t even looking at her, turning towards Michael and holding up some little golden hoop earrings.

“Earrings or no earrings?” She asks.

“What, no gay cross?” Michael asks, and Beatrice nearly chokes on her own saliva.

“Camila said it’s a posh people’s thing and that they don’t like blasphemy,” Ava says, rolling her eyes, like it’s inconceivable. “Sorry, Bea.”

Beatrice can only nod back, wondering if now is too late to make a run for it and forget all about this whole thing.

“Earrings,” Michael says, and Ava disappears down the hallway with a quick ‘Thank you!’.

Beatrice clears her throat, straightens the collar of her shirt, carefully avoiding Michael's inquisitive gaze.

“Are you okay?” He asks, eyes narrowed at her.

And no, she’s not okay, she wants to grab him by the collar and shake him while yelling ‘Your sister is going to kill me!’ for a bit, but she doesn’t, instead nodding like it’s perfectly fine, like she’s not feeling her stomach tightening and tying itself into knots.

Diego is running around the living room, apparently overjoyed at the idea of having a sleepover with his uncle. He runs into Beatrice’s legs, roaring and giggling, pretending to eat her.

Ava runs back into the entrance, shoes in her hands, sitting down on the little bench to put them on.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, we’re not late!” She says, fastening the straps around her ankles.

“I know, Ava, I’m ten minutes early,” Beatrice supplies, and Ava slows down a little, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Oh, okay,” she grins.

Diego chooses that moment to run past Beatrice, throwing himself towards Ava.

“You’re pretty!” He shouts, too loud, but Ava only grins as she presses a kiss to his cheek, leaving a trace of rosy lipstick behind her.

“Thank you, Bean.”

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Diego chants, playing with the hem of her dress as Ava stands back up.

“Yeah, and look, it has pockets!” Ava shouts back happily, demonstrating by putting her phone into the folds of her dress.

They’re both yelling happily as they spin around the entrance, and Beatrice, for a quick and short second, thinks that she could get used to this. To ringing the doorbell and playing with Diego while waiting for Ava to get ready, to watching the two of them cheer on each other, to watching them say their goodbye and wish Diego a good night herself. But no, it smells and tastes awfully like some kind of date night that real people do, and Beatrice is not one of those people. She’s just Beatrice. Bea. Nothing more.

“Okay, I’m ready, for real this time!” Ava decides when they start to get dizzy, and she picks up Diego to cover his little face in kisses. “You be good, okay? You be good for uncle Michael or I’ll eat your toes in your sleep, got it?” Diego only giggles at the threat, and Ava presses another kiss into his hair. “I love you so much, and I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay!”

Beatrice is then handed the little boy with a cheerful smile, and she presses a kiss to his cheek too, trying to wipe away the lipstick left on his face as Ava grins cheekily at the two of them.

“I love you,” Beatrice promises, squeezing him one last time before handing him to Michael.

She is left to lead Ava outside of the flat, the both of them waving goodbye to Diego and Michael — who promises he won’t set the place on fire, because his boss would kill him.

Outside, the air is warm, almost too much for this time of the year, but Ava’s smile is much warmer, blinding as she wiggles happily as they walk next to each other.

“So, how did I do?” She asks, twirling a little and grinning like a child.

And Beatrice knows it’s an invitation to tease her, to make a joke like Ava has taught her, but she is left staring at Ava’s silhouette, at the way the street lights reflect in the darkness of her eyes and the shine of her mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, and it’s the truth, and it’s right, and it might be a mistake but it’s what she wants to say, in that moment. 

Ava seems puzzled for a second, like she didn’t expect it, but then she smiles, something soft and dazzling in the curve of her lips.

“Thank you,” she says. “You’re quite beautiful yourself.”

And Beatrice is an adult, she is a grown woman with responsibilities and a family, but she can’t stop herself from looking down shyly, the ghost of a smile on her mouth. 

Ava slips her arm under hers, pressing her side against Beatrice’s, another mischievous smile on her lips.

“Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

Chapter Text

As soon as she enters the room, Beatrice can’t breathe.

Suddenly, she’s twelve again and she is shadowing her parents to another one of those insufferable receptions and choking on the collar of her dress — the insufferable feeling of said dresses and the exposition they promised and the disgusting wave of nausea and fear that would wash over her when she’d see her own reflection, trying to understand who that girl was and why she didn’t feel like her . She’s twelve and she’s trying to hide, looking at her feet until her father scolds her and her mother jams her index finger into her spine, forcing her to straighten up. She’s twelve and she wants to go home, even though home doesn’t exist, even though home is not for her and she doesn't deserve it. She hasn’t earned it yet.

“Holy shit!” Ava whispers next to her.

She still has her arm under Beatrice’s, and she’s staring at the ceiling, where a ridiculously enormous chandelier is hanging, the lights reflecting themselves inside of the darkness of her eyes. And Beatrice isn’t twelve anymore, she’s a grown woman with her own life and her own family and her own home, and she’s not scared when she has Ava here, next to her, holding onto her arm and gazing at the chandelier, mouth gaping open. She looks a lot like Diego the first time he saw a train from up close, completely ignoring Shannon who was coming home from a week-long trip to ‘Whoa’ at the moving train.

“Damn, the bitch’s rich,” Ava whispers as they move inside the room.

“‘The bitch’, as you so elegantly call him, is one of our biggest stock buyers,” Beatrice whispers back, prompting an ‘ooooh’ from Ava. “So please refrain yourself from calling him or anyone in this room those… Words.”

“Aye aye captain,” Ava says with a military salute, and it takes everything in Beatrice not to roll her eyes or smile at how endearing it is — Jesus Christ, who is she?

Someone moves suddenly, emerging from the crowd and walking towards them with a friendly smile.

“Ah, miss Kleine-Young!” He all but yells in greetings.

“Oh my fucking God, they got Merlin!” Ava grins, excitedly whispering in her ear and the brush of her warm breath against her skin makes Beatrice shiver.

“That,” she says as low as she can, “is Mr. Sao, the benefactor I just told you about.”

“Oh shit, my bad.”

Mr. Sao strides up to them with an easy and charming smile, extending a hand for Beatrice to shake. The first time she saw him, Beatrice knew immediately what kind of person he is. He is the charming and easy-going type of person, easy to talk to and a kind person for the most part, but one day something little and unnoticeable will go wrong, and he’ll notice it and lose his temper, which was confirmed when she saw him yelling at the staff after a busboy dropped a plate. It took her three hours to realise what had set her off: he wore the same cologne as her father. 

“Good to see you again, miss Kleine-Young. It has been a few years already. God, you look so much like your father.”

There it is.

That uneasy feeling setting into her bone, the sour taste on her tongue, the memory of warmth on her cheek and ice in her chest. It’s not just how much she hates being compared to those people, it’s that she is painfully aware of how true it is, of how much she is turning out to be more and more like them and how much she needs to get out — but patience, it’d happen soon.

But here, now, she can only swallow it all down, offering a tight smile in return. Ava leans forward a little, rocking on her heels to look at Beatrice’s face, a little frown on her brow.

“I think you look more like Diego,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate, leaving it to Beatrice to get her own conclusion of her comment.

Beatrice who can only stare back at her, not knowing what to do or what to say or even acknowledge the fact that yes, Ava just managed to make the ice in her chest melt away with just a few words.

She regains composure, turns back towards Mr. Sao who is looking at the two of them curiously.

“Mr. Sao, this is Ava Silva.”

Ava immediately takes it as her cue, showing off her most enchanting smile — at least Beatrice thinks so, Lilith just calls her stupid (but Lilith calls everything Ava does stupid).

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. This is a beautiful place, Mr. Sao, absolutely splendid,” she says, extending a hand, all smiles and moduled voice.

And Beatrice can only stare in disbelief as Mr. Sao smiles back, taking Ava’s hand which was clearly waiting for a handshake and bringing it to his lips for the most outdated hand kiss. For a flash of a second, Ava looks truly disgusted, the most terrible grimace etched into her face, and a small part of Beatrice wants to laugh while the biggest part of her wants to take a step to the side and put herself in between the two of them, but then Mr. Sao looks back at Ava and she is once again all smiles and shimmering eyes. Right. Shannon was right. She knows how to handle herself.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he says with a smile, letting go of her hand.

With a polite nod and a smile, Ava moves back to her side, as if trying to put some distance in between Mr. Sao and herself, and Beatrice takes that cue to wrap an arm around her waist, softly setting her hand on her hip not to startle her. It makes her sick, the hint of possessiveness in that gesture, the unnecessary protectiveness and the little bit of that beast rumbling in her chest, but Ava leans against her side, setting her own hand atop Beatrice as if to promise that this is fine.

Talk about déjà-vu.

Mr. Sao reaches out for a passing waiter, taking out two flutes of champagne from the silver plate he is carrying, handing them to the two of them with another fake smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you have many people to meet,” he says. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

And then he is gone, and Beatrice feels like she can breathe a little bit better — not completely, she’s still in that room, she’s still stuck in this crowd, with those people, she isn’t safe.

“Douchebag,” Ava coughs into her fist, and Beatrice can’t stop herself from smiling, trying to hide it as best as she can.

“He has known my father since he was younger than I am,” Beatrice replies. “He basically owns half of the company.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t be a douche,” Ava shrugs.

Beatrice doesn’t think she’s wrong. Actually, she’s probably right. She often is.

“What’s wrong?” Ava asks then, like she has sensed something.

Beatrice looks down at her glass, at the sour and sweet smell coming out of it and the bubbles rising to the surface in golden liquid.

“I can’t drink.”

Not today, not right now. She needs to be focused and sharp and keep her mind clear.

“Well, I can,” Ava shrugs.

She drowns her glass in one gulp, switches her empty one with Beatrice’s, shoving it into her hand, and throws her head back as she all but lets the content drip into her throat, Beatrice watching her in disbelief, mouth open.

“What?” Ava asks once she’s done, her now empty glass in her hand.

“I’m— Nothing,” Beatrice mutters.

There’s something shining at the corner of her mouth, something that traps Beatrice’s eyes and makes her gesture to her mouth in a silent message for Ava. Of course, Ava completely misses it, and after a few seconds of Beatrice trying to get the right spot, she finally gets tired of it and reaches out to wipe the drop herself.

She’s trying so hard to keep her cool as she brushes her fingers against the corner of Ava’s lips that she speaks before she can stop herself.

“How did you do that?”

“I’m a bartender, I do this for a living. Plus it’s cheap as fuck, who the fuck is this guy?”

“No, I mean, how did you do that… That thing? How did you look so comfortable talking to him?” Beatrice asks, dropping her hand away from Ava’s face.

Ava only shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, like she didn’t just hold her ground against one of the most successful businessmen Beatrice has ever met.

“I’m a good actress.”

That does get Beatrice to laugh, a snorting sound escaping her and making a few heads turn towards them.

“What? It’s true!” Ava gasps, offended.

“That is definitely not true,” Beatrice smiles. “Remember when you tried to convince Diego that he’d shrink to the size of a rat if he didn’t eat his vegetables?”

“It worked, he ate it all!”

“It worked because Lilith sprinkled his food with soy sauce and convinced him it was magic flavouring,” Beatrice replies. “Now, that is acting.”

“Okay, I get it, you love her more than me,” Ava huffs, as a joke, acting like a petulant child.

But Beatrice doesn’t laugh, Beatrice doesn’t throw back another joke, because Ava is wrong . Beatrice loves her differently, and that’s the worst thing she could ever come up with and she wants to rip her own hair. Because yes, she loves Ava, just like she loves Diego and Shannon and Lilith and Camila and even Mary, but she doesn’t love love her. This is just a stupid crush — Oh God, it’s a little tiny stupid crush but a crush nonetheless.

“Mom used to drag us to those same receptions, Michael and I,” Ava continues, completely unaware of Beatrice’s inner debate. “Ya know, showing us off like cool toys or something. She hated it, and we hated it, but we didn’t really have a choice. So, yeah, I know this isn’t my crowd or my scene, but I know it,” she says, waving her hand in the air to show the people around them.

Beatrice nods, like a robot, not knowing what to say or how to act, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava has another waiter in her radar, grinning like the Cheshire Cat with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

This is going to be a long night.

All things considered, things are going very well.

Ava made a friend. She made a friend and that was enough to keep her away from ‘all the assholes she wanted to punch’, which, in Beatrice’s book, is nothing short of a blessing. Sometimes she wonders what Ava would have turned out to be if she hadn’t been basically raised by Mary.

Her friend’s name is Michelle, and she’s this sweet old lady who is telling Ava everything about her grandchild that her son has left in her care for two weeks to go on a well deserved vacation with his wife.

“Honestly, I wish I was with her right now, but Mr. Sao is one of my oldest friends and I couldn’t miss it,” she explains.

They’re sitting at a table, conveniently placed next to her, and Beatrice’s mind has grown a bit fuzzy, she doesn’t know if it’s because of the anxiety or actually because Shannon was right and Ava’s presence helped her relax. She simply stays silent, sitting next to Ava and mindlessly gazing at her discreetly, lulled by the chatter in the room. At that moment, she’d be friends with Michelle too.

They’re exchanging wild stories about their children, Ava grinning as she tells her about how Diego keeps sneaking into her room and climbing into her closet to play with her socks. Across from them, some old man — Mr. Boleyn — and a middle aged woman are talking together, leaning towards each other, like in secrecy. Beatrice doesn’t care much for them, she’s a bit too busy watching the way Ava’s hair bounce around her face, the way her lips shine when she smiles, the way the light catches into her eyes.

Michelle keeps laughing at her antics and calling her ‘dear’ and Beatrice can already hear Ava about to invite her for Christmas or something like that, because this is Ava and she does that kind of things — inviting strangers for Christmas, accompanying her into this mess of a reception and barging into people’s home to tell them they have a surprise child (well, Beatrice was the only one to live that situation, but still).

“Oh dear, you truly are a wonder, aren’t you?” Michelle laughs once again. “You must feel very lucky to have her by your side, don’t you?” She asks, turning towards Beatrice.

And Beatrice can only smile back, because she’s right, and because Beatrice knows it, and that one doesn’t feel that dangerous. Not yet anyways.

“Yes,” she says, ignoring the way Ava looks down at her lap like she’s trying to hide her smile. “I am.”

“How long have you two been married?” Michelle asks then.

They both almost jump at the question, immediately shaking their heads and talking over each other to try and explain that they are definitely not married, not in any life.

Ava is about to go into her long explanation about how they are tied together when Michelle’s phone starts ringing, and she interrupts her politely to take the call.

Beatrice pointedly avoids Ava’s gaze, too embarrassed to even face her. Why does everyone keep thinking they’re married or even together? This isn’t happening, this is very strange. 

“What?” Michelle asks into the phone. “Is she okay? Coughing? Oh, alright, I’m on my way.”

She hangs up the phone, turns towards them as she gathers her purse.

“Sorry, dears, I have to go. My granddaughter is sick.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Ava asks, always in compassion and empathy.

“It’s just a cold. She’s a strong little girl, she’ll pull through,” Michelle reassures her, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. “You enjoy your night, ladies.”

And with that, she’s gone, Ava watching her walk away without a word. Noticing the hint of something akin to worry or sadness on her face, Beatrice lightly taps her index finger against her wrist, silently if she’s okay.

Ava only smiles, setting her hand over her.

Mr. Boleyn scoffs from the other end of the table, looking at Michelle disappearing away.

“See, this is why we can’t have those women running the place,” he says, to no one in particular, but they still hear.

“I’m sorry?” Ava asks, frowning.

Mr. Boleyn must be oblivious to the anger in her tone, or choosing to ignore it, because he takes it as his cue to continue.

“See, we can’t have them on boards or as heads of the companies when they have their brats still hanging onto their skirts. They’re distracted, they’re emotional, they’re not where they should be. How can we trust them to make the right decision for a company of a thousand employees when they have to change diapers and breastfeed?” He says, waving his hands in the air like he can’t even think about it. “Which, by the way, isn’t healthy. It makes them hormonal, and they can’t think right. This isn’t a job for a woman, and especially not a mother. A mother should focus on her kids, and leave it to competent men to get the job done.”

Now, Beatrice has her elbow leaning against the arm of her chair, her chin supported by her hand as she hides in her palm. Because the more he talks, the more Ava’s left eyebrow is raising, and the more her eyebrow is raising, the more Beatrice smiles. At the end, she is almost giggling into her hand, incapable of being serious as Ava stares at him in silence.

Months ago, she wouldn’t even have moved a muscle.

Ava finally turns towards her, gesturing towards Mr. Boleyn with her index finger.

“Can I get him?”

“He’s all yours,” Beatrice nods.

Ava grins, turning back towards the confused man.

“Right now, I really wish your mother had spent some time with you. Maybe it would have stopped you from being a complete asshole.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Boleyn gasps.

“Ya heard me, dickhead. Seriously, what’s up with you and your little talk about women and what they should be and not be? Shut up, you’re ugly. I don’t give a single fuck what you think of us, alright? Also, by the way, those hormones you’re talking about? Yeah, they’re in your Mr Potato-looking-ass too. So come on, big guy, say it with your chest. Go on, say it.”

Mr. Boleyn only gapes at her, speechless as the lady next to him starts laughing hysterically, making Ava grin proudly.

“I’m not even gonna take the time to tell you how much you’re wrong, I got better things to do,” she says, shaking her head. “Bea, we’re going?”

“Sure,” Beatrice nods, getting on her feet immediately — yes she is aware how it looks like she’s getting walked on a leash, Jesus Christ.

“A’ight, cool. Hope I don’t see you, shithead,” she says, giving him the middle finger.

She turns around to walk towards Beatrice, but then turns back towards him with a proud grin, jutting her thumb in Beatrice’s direction.

“By the way, this hot lady right here? Yeah, we got a kid together. Think about that in your little pity corner.”

She turns back around and all but grabs Beatrice’s arm, leading her towards the exit or rather dragging her behind. Beatrice can only stare at her, disbelief swarming through her mind. What just happened?

They all but speed walk past Mr. Sao, Ava shouting a ‘Bye Mr. Sao!’ as they pass, opening the door herself and pulling Beatrice outside, into the night and the warm swirl of wind that carries a hint of Ava’s perfume and makes her head swim just a little.

“Peace out, motherfuckers!”

And Beatrice can only laugh as she stands under the stars, Ava grinning back at her, the lights of the city shining into her eyes.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry not everything went as planned,” Beatrice says.

She’s driving through the city in the night, Ava leaning back into the passenger seat, a pleased grin on her lips.

“Well, it wasn’t your fault,” Ava says, extending a hand to tap against the back of Beatrice’s which is resting on the gear stick, goosebump travelling all the way from Beatrice’s arm to the back of her neck.

She clears her throat, looking straight at the road.

“I mean, you did promise me food, but, ya know, we don’t always get what we want,” Ava grins, stretching like a cat and clearly teasing her, but Beatrice takes it seriously.

“Alright, what do you want to eat?”

Ava freezes next to her, looking at her with curiosity and surprise.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“I am, yes. I promised you food and I’ll keep my word,” Beatrice nods, and perhaps it’s a bit too noble and serious for the situation, but she wasn’t raised to take back her words.

“Really?” Ava grins, something hopeful and cheerful in her voice.

“Yes, just name it.”

“Oh, I know just the place.”

“Milkshakes? Really?” Beatrice asks.

She’s parked in front of a little building out of the city, in the empty parking lot, with the pink sign reading Pedro’s Diner reflecting in Ava’s eyes as she grins back at her.

“Yeah!” She squeals happily, and Beatrice doesn’t know if she’s more excited about getting a milkshake or about making Beatrice try one. “Come on, let’s go!”

She practically jumps out of the car, bouncing excitedly, shoulders wiggling just like Diego does sometimes, when he’s really happy about something. Beatrice can only follow after her, like a moth to a light, and Ava grabs her hand as she pulls her towards the glass doors and enters the building.

Beatrice’s brain is left on that parking lot.

The inside is strange, cold and out of time, everything lit up with blue and white lights, like in some kind of movie. It’s completely empty, no one even behind the counter, and Ava leads her towards it, cheerfully repeatedly hitting the little bell left on it.

“What are you doing?” Beatrice asks, slightly panicking.

“Telling them it’s me.”

The double doors probably leading to the kitchen open and a grumpy looking man comes out, mumbling something in spanish under his breath. He looks up, sees a grinning Ava, and immediately starts laughing, approaching the counter with a flurry of words in Spanish that seem to be a scolding at her.

“I know, I know, I should have come by earlier,” Ava concedes, raising her hands in defeat while Beatrice looks at the exchange in confusion. “But in my defense, I was busy! A kid doesn’t raise itself, you know that, right Pedro?” She grins, like she knows exactly how to get away with anything.

The man rolls his eyes but Beatrice can see that he isn’t immune to Ava’s charm either — is anyone really?

“How’s Alma?”

Pedro gestures to a picture hung across the counter behind him, where a teenage girl — probably his daughter — is grinning at the camera with a graduation cap.

“Damn, she got in?! Dude, that’s fucking awesome!” Ava shouts, excited, reaching for a high-five. 

Pedro smiles back at her, just like everyone else seems to do when Ava is… Well, being Ava.

She’s the one to order for the both of them, with a grin and a ‘Trust me’ directed at Beatrice, and Beatrice tries to ignore the way Pedro seems to be looking at her with mockery in his eyes, like he knows exactly everything she’s thinking, like she isn’t the first — she probably isn’t. Pedro disappears behind the kitchen doors, grumbling under his breath after Ava convinces him to let them order fries — with obnoxious eyelashes batting, but Beatrice doesn’t complain.

“He owes me, I basically restarted his strawberry milkshake,” Ava explains, leaning back against the counter, reaching for the lollipop jar and trying to open it — Beatrice is pretty sure the lid is glued to the jar, Pedro doesn’t seem the kind to freely give candy.

“You did?” Beatrice asks, watching as the lollipops jiggle inside the jar as Ava tries desperately to unscrew the lid.

“Yeah, I used to come here almost every night when I was pregnant with Diego. I don’t know what it was, but I was craving those all the time. Even though I never even liked strawberries.”

“I do.”

Ava lets go of the jar, looking back at her in confusion, and Beatrice shoves her hands in the pockets of her trousers, face burning up in embarrassment.

“I like strawberry milkshakes. Shannon would buy me some in boarding school.”

On the days they were allowed to leave the campus, they’d walk all the way to the nearest town and sit down on a bench in the main street, and Shannon would let Beatrice sip her milkshake quietly while drinking her own mulled wine and ignoring Camila and Lilith fighting for a bag of fries (Because of course it tasted better if they had to fight for it, and Lilith would always give it up) — and they’d call Beatrice weird for drinking milkshakes despite the cold and Shannon would tell them to shut up and make Beatrice hold her cup under the pretence of being too tired to do it, allowing her to warm up her freezing fingers.

Ava opens her mouth, closes it, eyes wide open in what seems to be surprise and a little bit of indignation, one finger slowly pointing at her.

“That was you!” She shouts, almost startling Beatrice. “That was you! I hate strawberry milkshakes! Pedro!” She calls out into the diner, despite Beatrice’s protests. “Eh, Pedro!”

Pedro pokes out from the inside of the kitchen, looking slightly disgruntled at being interrupted in his work. Ava grins at him, pointing an accusing finger at Beatrice who doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“I found your culprit! She’s the reason your business is at the top of its game, dude!”

Pedro doesn’t seem to understand a single of what she just said, but he gives her a thumbs-up nonetheless, and Ava grins happily, snickering to herself.

“I didn’t do anything,” Beatrice whispers furiously after Pedro disappears once again behind the doors.

“Nah, but your kid did,” Ava replies, hopping up to shamelessly sit on the counter.

She grins, and Beatrice rolls her eyes.

“Don’t do it.”

They’re sitting in the empty parking lot, a few steps away from the car, leaning against the edge of the sidewalk, both with a cup of light pink milkshake in their hands. And, of course, Ava held a fry in between two fingers, a mischievous grin on her face, holding them both out of Beatrice’s grapes and away from her dress — self awareness came in many forms, apparently.

“Don’t do it,” Beatrice repeats, as Ava holds up her fry closer to her cup, moving even slower to annoy and tease her.

“I’m doing it.”

“Don’t— Oh my God.”

Ava dips her fry in her strawberry milkshake before shoving it into her mouth, grinning at Beatrice, mouth full of a sweet and salty mixture. Beatrice grimaces, disgusted from her own cup for a moment.

“I’m not letting Diego anywhere near you until he’s at least fifteen,” Beatrice decides — she’s joking, of course, she knows better than to get in between these two, plus she doesn’t actually want him to miss his mother. “This is a bad influence.”

“Oh, wanna talk about bad influences? What’s that rice cake Camila made him try last week?”

Beatrice chokes on her drink, coughing into her fist. Right. That was a whole thing, especially when she got a very angry voicemail from Ava when she picked him up and he wouldn’t stop saying ‘Puto’, as Camila had taught him — Camila who got scolded and pretended to be heartbroken at the accusations held against her.

“Still,” Beatrice soldiers on, “this is sacrilegious.”

Just saying that is sacrilegious, but, well, Beatrice already accepted that she wasn’t making it to Heaven anyway so it doesn’t matter.

“It’s gonna end up all mushed up together in my stomach anyway, I’m just speeding up the process,” Ava replies, smirking when Beatrice once again rolls her eyes.

They sit together in silence, in the warmth of the night and the emptiness of the parking lot, Beatrice mindlessly biting into her straw and Ava shoving fries into her mouth, looking up at the starry sky. It looks nothing like Switzerland, the immensity of darkness turned slightly golden from the light pollution of the city, constellations hidden from their eyes. Perhaps, if they went up on one of the cliffs, away from the city, they’d be able to see them, but here, now, the stars aren’t watching, nor listening. 

They’re all alone here, Ava, and Beatrice, just them.

“Did you really come here that often?”

She only realises she was the one talking when Ava turns towards her with an interrogative look in her eyes, one of her fries peeking out from in between her lips.

“I meach yech caush—”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, please,” Beatrice says, instinctively.

There’s an amused light in Ava’s eyes, something that tells Beatrice that she has been there too, probably more than Beatrice herself. She swallows her mouthful, sipping from her cup to wash it down.

“I mean, yes, because my sleep schedule went from party girl to night owl, so let’s just say it was pretty fucked up,” Ava says, stretching her legs in front of her, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “I’d either be puking or getting woken up by him kicking me in the gut, he was a night owl too, at least at the time.”

Beatrice wants to apologise, because she wasn’t there, because she would have been useless and impotent, but at least she would have been here , someone for Ava to reach out to if she had needed. But she wasn’t. And Ava had to do this on her own.

“I’m—”

A fry is shoved into her open mouth, Beatrice stares at Ava in confusion and surprise, having almost had a heart attack at the sudden movement.

“Keep apologizing for something you didn’t do and I’ll keep going, even if I have to sacrifice all of my fries for that,” Ava replies very seriously, another fry already held in between two fingers.

Beatrice chews without a word, trying to look as stern as possible.

“I could have choked.”

“I’d have given you CPR,” Ava grins, wagging her eyebrows, and Beatrice deliberately chooses to ignore her because she doesn’t have the energy to even think about it right now.

She sighs, wipes her fingers on a napkin. Pedro has long left, waving them a good night and telling Ava something that sounded suspiciously like something along the lines of ‘Use protection, kid’, which made Ava actually choke on her straw.

“You don’t know how fucking weird it is to have a living thing inside of you until it does happen to you, and trust me when I say it is fucking weird ,” she says, shaking her head and grimacing. “Like, you can feel it inside of you, but you’re not the one controlling it? Like it’s some kind of parasite or alien mutant flea? It’s weird ,” she insists, grimacing once again.

Beatrice doesn’t know what it could feel like, but just watching the look on Ava’s face, she gets a pretty good picture. 

“You know, I wasn’t always okay with it. Having a kid, I mean,” Ava continues, leaning back with her hands on the ground behind her. “I did consider abortion when I found out, you know. Because I didn’t know if I could do it. Didn’t know if I even wanted to.”

“What made you change your mind?” Beatrice asks, softly.

To her surprise, Ava only shrugs.

“I honestly have no fucking idea. It was just… It was just right with me. It was just my kind of weird, my kind of chaos, it was familiar, in a way, I guess. And I wanted that kid, somehow, although I didn’t know it yet.”

“How did you know?” Beatrice asks, leaning her arms against her knees, curled up on herself and wrinkling her shirt — but she couldn’t care less.

Ava lets out a breath, not quite a sigh, but something thoughtful and quiet, like she’s thinking about it herself, like the answer is somewhere inside of her mind, and she just needs a second to reach out and take it.

“Around the fifth month. I was a bit out of it, if I’m being honest. You know, no sleep, nausea, barely any food down, that kinda fucks you in the head a little. My mind was, like, fuzzy. I didn’t really know what was going on, I wasn’t in denial, I don’t think, but it’s more like it hadn’t hit me yet.”

She smiles, looking up to the sky and the hidden stars, but Beatrice doesn’t look at them, only at her profile, at the shape of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the length of her eyelashes.

“Yeah, and then, one night, once again, couldn’t sleep. He kept kicking me, and I was exhausted, I wanted some fucking sleep, I could have screamed, even though he probably wouldn’t have heard me,” she laughs. “And it was weird , Bea, you have no fucking idea how weird it is. And then, it hit me.”

She looks back at Beatrice, grinning like she just discovered the meaning of the universe — she probably did.

“He had the hiccups. Yeah, he had the hiccups, that’s why he was moving so much,” she laughs louder, free and light and beautiful into the night. “And that’s what hit me right in the fucking heart. Because he was real. I mean, like, obviously, he had to be with how much I was puking and all, but he was a real fucking person. Not just a weird shrimp or something, but a real person that would have their own brain and their own thoughts and their own voice and that’s what I wanted,” she says, her own index finger on her chest to accentuate her words, and Beatrice wonders how someone can be so good in the real world. “Somebody to love, somebody to raise, something to watch as they grow and learn, just like I did. And I also realized I was gonna be a mom, and that was maybe the weirdest fucking name I had ever been given.”

She laughs, again, and the sound twirls and twirls into the warm air and the stars must be listening now, because Beatrice doesn’t think they’d have the strength to look away either.

“I know,” she says, because she does, because she has learned so much in the past few months she thinks she might be one of the only people to understand that part of Ava’s life and her view. 

“Yeah, you do,” Ava chuckles. “You do, now.”

Beatrice smiles, looking back at her, stupid and a bit smitten — God, too smitten to even admit it to herself — as Ava grins, giving her a wink as she takes another sip of milkshake, grimacing.

“Yeah, no, this is shit.”

“Why do you drink it, if you don’t like it?” Beatrice laughs, because it doesn’t make any sense.

“Things don’t have to be good or beautiful to be loved, Bea,” Ava shrugs.

She stands up, stretching her arms over her head, like a cat, beautiful in her fancy dress in the middle of an empty diner parking lot.

“I used to come here and jam in this parking lot at night,” she grins. “Pedro would look out for me.”

“‘Jam’?” Beatrice repeats. “Here?”

“Yeah!” Ava grins, reaching for her phone. “I have a whole playlist, duh! I’d come right here and dance like an idiot.”

“Dance?” Beatrice smiles, because the idea of Ava, who is already pathologically clumsy without being pregnant, dancing right here in that parking lot at night, seems so Ava it becomes joyful.

“Hey, don’t start mocking me now, I got dancing lessons!” Ava replies, offended.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Diego comes with me.”

Right. That explains the picture in the dance studio from a lifetime ago.

“How is it?”

“I mean, I’m not good at it, but the girls say I got enthusiasm,” Ava says, smiling. “But they’re probably just being nice because they want Diego to stay.”

She puts her phone down on the ground, music flooding from it, and Beatrice vaguely recognises the melody as Ava extends both of her hands towards her with a grin.

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “You dance, I’ll just stay here.”

“Come on, it’s fun!” Ava insists.

“It’s embarrassing!”

“It’s me, Bea,” she smiles, soft and kind and good and so sure of herself it seeps into Beatrice’s own head and convinces her a little. “Come on, up on your feet, you owe me this.”

Beatrice wants to shake her head, to refuse, but a little voice in her head, a voice that sounds a little bit like Shannon, is telling her to ‘stop being a dick and get on her feet’.

And so she does, because she has never been known to refuse Ava anything, standing up and putting her cup down to take Ava’s hands, letting her lead her a few steps away, still showing some well deserved reluctance. Ava is smiling so big her cheeks must hurt, and Beatrice’s own mouth is itching to mimic her.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits.

“Wanna know a little secret, Beatrice Kleine-Young?” Ava asks, before standing on her toes and leaning to whisper in her ear: “Me neither.”

She grins as she stands back down, still holding onto Beatrice’s hands.

“Come on, you just do like this.”

She guides her into a tentative sway, grinning until Beatrice is smiling herself, twirling and making Beatrice twirl. She’s laughing, tripping on her own feet and leaning on Ava’s hips to keep her balance, Ava giggling into the crook of her neck.

She’s clumsy, awkward and graceless, but Ava isn’t much better, bouncing happily around her and moving her arms and legs without real coordination. Beatrice feels drunk on nothing and everything at the same time — happiness, the night, champagne, her stupid little crush on her son’s mother —, the night tangling itself into her chest and forcing her to breathe, to inhale and exhale in time with Ava. She’s laughing, she’s smiling, she’s mumbling stupid things devoid of sense as they bump into each other and all but bounce around each other, together, free and unburdened and unbound. Solaced.

Ava twirls and twirls and twirls, arms extended to her sides as her dress extends around her, and she laughs into the night and the faraway stars and the world that seems to be waiting, listening for her. And Beatrice is lost in the moment, lost in the warmth and the erratic beating of her heart and her own jagged breathing, her eyes closed as she moves, like an idiot, like a stupid fool in lo— No.

It feels dangerously close to freedom.

When she opens her eyes, Ava is bouncing back to her, a warm smile on her face, blowing on a strand of hair falling on her face, and Beatrice stumbles back to their sitting place, out of breath. Ava is still bouncing as she follows after her, her energy unmatched.

“Come on, didn’t they teach you to dance in your ‘posh-people-manor’?” She giggles.

“They certainly didn’t teach me that kind of dancing,” Beatrice smiles, as Ava keeps swaying next to her.

She stops, showing all her teeth in a grin.

“Show me.”

And Beatrice has been warned, she’s been told not to fall into temptation, not to follow the devil no matter the beauty of his smile, the sweetness of his words, but Ava is no devil, and even if she was, then Beatrice would revoke God Himself and follow her into Hell.

And so she stops the music on Ava’s phone, stands up and walks up to her, all but stepping into Ava’s space. She takes one of her hands, guides it on her shoulder, puts hers on Ava’s waist and keeps their joined hands at shoulder level, guiding Ava into some kind of experimental sway, moving her feet to a rhythm she had been taught to count even in her sleep.

“You know how to lead?” Ava asks, clumsily following her example.

“Camila needed someone to practise with,” Beatrice explains quietly, almost turned peaceful in the moment.

Ava steps on her foot, apologises, but Beatrice doesn’t care, because it doesn’t matter in the end. It doesn’t matter as they sway into the silence, Ava’s hips bumping into Beatrice’s, her hand on her shoulder moving to the back of her neck for stability, giggling into her chin.

Beatrice is starting to wonder if Heaven and Hell truly exist or if they weren't the invention of hopeless fools who didn’t know what it was to be truly alive. There is no fear of death in the beauty of being alive, or perhaps it is what makes it beautiful. How ephemeral it is. How real it is.

Ava leans against her, tucking her head against her neck, breathing into her chest.

“Bea?”

“Hmm?” Beatrice hums.

Ava looks up at her, smiling, and the stars are dancing in the reflection of her eyes.

“Thank you.”

Ava falls on the bench in her entrance as soon as they walk into her flat, giggling to herself. The open door to the living room shows Michael lying on the couch, asleep in front of the lit up TV.

“These shoes are killing me, next time I’m wearing sneakers and you can’t stop me.”

Beatrice doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if she should tell her that she’d never stop her or that there’ll never be a next time, she can’t choose. Instead, she kneels down in front of Ava, silently unclasping the straps of her shoes.

“Oh, you don’t have to— Alright.”

She takes a gentle hold of her ankle, sliding the shoe off and then repeating the task, before looking up at Ava. Her face is hidden in the darkness, the only light from the TV, but Beatrice could swear her cheeks are slightly more red than usual.

“Can I go kiss Diego goodnight?” She asks.

“Yeah, uh, sure.”

Beatrice makes her way down the hallway, all the way to Diego’s dark room. In the dark, she almost trips on a forgotten toy, containing a curse at the last time.

Diego is sprawled out on his bed, bottom lip tucked into his mouth, Moose at his side. His foot is emerging from the blanket, she presses a kiss to it as she tucks him in, adjusting the blanket around him. Diego hums in his sleep, turning on his side, reaching for her but never quite taking a hold of her. 

Beatrice brushes a finger against his cheek, draws the shape of his nose, a tiny smile on her lips, before bending down and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers. “Thank you, for choosing me to be your mummy.”

Ava has draped a blanket over Michael’s body in the living room, the TV turned off, taking off her earrings as Beatrice makes her way to the front door.

“I should go,” she announces uselessly. “Thank you, Ava, for tonight. And, for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Ava smiles as she opens the door to let her out. “Thank you, for, you know, being you.”

Beatrice can only chuckle, looking down at her shoes like a stupid teenager. Ava is still smiling as she holds the door open, and Beatrice throws everything she knows and has learned to fear out of the window, just for a moment, just for an instant of eternity, and leans down to press a kiss to Ava’s cheek.

And then she leaves, and closes the door behind her.

Chapter Text

Beatrice didn’t want to go. She did not want this to be how she’d come back to Switzerland.

She knows that, Ava knows that, her sisters know that, even Diego knows that with how much she has repeated it during the last weeks. But Shannon didn’t let her bail out on that one, reminding her that they had sworn on the Holy Bond of Sisterhood That Tied Them Together that they’d come back just to show everyone how they had become successful gays.

Beatrice doesn’t feel successful. Yes, she does feel proud every time she thinks about Diego, but other than that, nothing she has done really matters. She doesn’t know what she could possibly show that would make her former classmates feel ‘like little bitches about their boring life’ — Mary is a really bad influence on Shannon. 

So no, really, Beatrice didn’t want to go. And she’s still salty about that as she and her sisters move forward into the park, along the driveway and towards the castle. Hell, she’s even frowning like a little kid as she follows after her sisters, hands stubbornly tucked into her pockets.

“Come on, Bea, stop sulking,” Shannon says, playfully pushing her with her own shoulder.

“I’m not sulking,” Beatrice all but groans into the collar of her jacket.

“Yes you are,” Lilith comments. “You’ve been sulking since we left Ava and Diego at the airport.”

Right. When Diego started crying when he realised they were actually leaving for real despite Beatrice explaining it was just for a couple days. She almost managed to convince her sisters to stay, or at least to let her stay, as even Lilith looked a bit distraught with the sudden crying, but they hadn’t let it go. In the end, it ended up with Ava promising that they’d video call that evening and Beatrice left with one of Diego’s plushies — a little strawberry cow (why would anyone make a strawberry cow?) named Laurent — in her pocket, that she promised will travel with her and that she’d give back soon enough. So far Camila had already sent a hundred pictures of Laurent enjoying his flight, having a nap, and hanging out on the top of a sleeping Lilith's head.

She brushes her fingers on one of Laurent’s ears and she starts stupidly tearing up again, and Shannon shoos Lilith away with a frown.

“Come on now, don’t cry, Bea,” Shannon says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll see him again tomorrow.”

Right. She’ll see them — him, him, she’ll see Diego again tomorrow when they’ll come home. She just needs to hang on for a few hours and then she’ll be home and Ava will ask her for details on her former classmates to insult them behind their back. It’ll be over soon.

The castle opens up in front of them, its windows closed to keep in the warmth of the place. It’s beautiful, in the dying light of the sun, it hides the rotten stones and the moss growing here and there. They were forbidden to call it a castle, it was officially a ‘house’ for young ladies and the nuns that would teach them the right way. A castle sounded too vain, too luxurious. But that’s what is it, a whole castle with its immense corridors and its cold heart. Nothing less and nothing more.

“Oh shit, the old goat’s still here,” Shannon whispers as the Mother Superior exits from the double front door to greet them, Lilith wisely hiding into a little group of other former students that don’t recognise them to not be noticed — which is a bit ridiculous, Lilith is still too tall, too prideful and too beautiful to stay hidden for long.

Shannon plasters on one of her most beautiful smiles, her long strides moving her in front of both Beatrice and Camila as she climbs up the steps towards Mother Superior. 

Mother Superior always loved her, thinking of her as her best student and as the girls’ shepherd. Shannon, too, loved her like a mother, until she found her threatening to expel poor Ophelia Danvers for showing ‘inappropriate behaviour’ (looking at some mysterious girl for a little too long). From then on, Shannon decided to fully embrace her own hypocritical side and keep herself in her good books to get away with everything she wanted. She, too, should have gone into acting.

Camila’s hand brushes against Beatrice’s, and she’s looking at her with some hidden worry in her eyes, but with something kind on her face — always Camila, always kind.

“Are you okay, Bea?” She asks, softly. “Do you want my bracelet?”

Right. The one and only.

When Beatrice came here the first time, she was only the shadow of herself. The whole trip to get to that cold castle and its even colder residents, she hadn’t said a single word. She had only let herself be carried from one place to another, some other girl’s life in suitcases and bags.

She had refused to eat for days, to get out of bed. No threat nor coercion could get her out of that bed, out of that room. In the end, she ended up at the infirmary and woke up to some strange girl jumping up and down on the bed next to hers with a broken arm and earphones screaming Katie Perry.

Her name was Shannon and she didn’t care that Beatrice was new or that she refused to talk or that she had this weird bruise in the shape of a hand on the skin of her arm. All she cared about was that she was here now, she was away from everything and everyone she had ever known, and that Shannon liked them weird anyways.

She had been the one to come up with the bracelet trick, after getting distracted five times in a row by Camila jiggling the little bells as she flicked her wrist to write. 

“You’re out of their house,” Shannon told Beatrice as she passed the bracelet around her wrist. “You’re out of here, and now you get to build yourself back together. You’ll be what you make of yourself. But you’re out of their house. And you know that because you didn’t have a bracelet in their house.”

And yes, she was right. And anytime the memories would creep back in and Beatrice would feel her mother’s iron hands on her spine, she’d bring the ridiculous bracelet to her ear and listen as the bells would clink together.

She was out. She was safe. She was herself.

Penny Preston made fun of her for that ridiculous bracelet until Camila knocked her down during a PE class with a basketball — they didn’t have basketball anymore after that.

She smiles, shakes her head, letting Camila link their arms together, and Beatrice is not one for public display of affection, but she loves her sister so much, in that moment, that she leans over to press a kiss over the top of her head, into the halo of dark curls around her face.

And immediately fumbles with her own tongue, grimacing as Camila grins at her.

“I think I just ate one of your hair.”

Camila laughs as they enter the room, walking past Shannon smiling at Mother Superior, and Beatrice can't believe she used to want to be a nun.

Only a few hours and she’ll be home.

“Beatrice!” Some woman says with a polite smile — Beatrice remembers vaguely some other girl calling her Antonia back in the days. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Of course it has, Beatrice has repeated that kind of thing a thousand times already, it seems like everyone in this room is a broken record. Her hands in the pocket of her trousers, she can only offer a tight smile, looking around the room for one of her sisters to save her. But Shannon is once again being hogged by the Mother Superior, Camila is laughing with a few other girls she kept a good relationship with and Lilith has all but disappeared, probably hiding in one of the empty hallways.

She brushes the pad of her fingers on Laurent’s ears as Antonia waves her husband over, some flappy looking man who seems bored out of his mind.

“This is Beatrice, she was the best student in my class,” she says, even though her husband probably isn’t listening. “What became of you?”

I had a son , Beatrice wants to say. I had a son and he is the most beautiful thing I could ever have in my life. I had a son and I can’t tell you about it without all of this room screaming murder and blasphemy at me.

“I got older,” she says instead, and Antonia pretends to laugh even though it wasn’t funny.

“I still remember the first day you arrived,” she continues. “God, you brought a lot of trouble into this school, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Beatrice asks, immediately defensive and careful.

Antonia raises an eyebrow, probably surprised at the bite in her tone, glancing at her husband in a faux confidence.

“A few weeks after you came, with that young girl. You don’t remember?” She asks, over her glass.

Beatrice shakes her head, racking her brain to try and figure out who she could be talking about.

“She came to the school one afternoon while everyone was in class,” Antonia continues. “I wasn’t because I was having a meeting with the Mother Superior, you know, about our band practice that would play at the local church that same week, do you remember that?”

Beatrice shakes her head, a little bit annoyed and a whole bit impatient.

“Who was it?” She insists.

“I don’t know her name,” Antonia shakes her head. “She came screaming for you and asking to see you, it took five nuns to restrain her. I’m pretty sure Mother Superior called the police on her, she looked deranged,” she says, shaking her head like this is the gossip of the century and like Beatrice’s heart isn’t beating out of her own chest.

“What did she want?”

“I don’t know,” Antonia says, as it doesn’t matter to her. “Although she looked like you. The same freckles, and almost the same eyes, but hers were a bit… Smaller. And her hair was beautiful, very long and… What’s the word again, honey?” She asks her clueless husband. “Curly, that’s the word,” she nods proudly.

But Beatrice doesn’t care, heart drumming in her chest. Because she knows exactly a girl that looked like that.

“Colette?” She asks, incredulous. “Colette was here? My cousin came for me?”

Antonia looks at her in surprise.

“I don’t know,” she repeats once again. “I guess she did.”

“What happened? Why didn’t anybody tell me?!”

Her voice is rising, a few people turn to look at her, and Antonia takes a step back, a hand dramatically raised to her chest with a scandalised look in her eyes.

“They sent her on her way. What did you think would have happened?”

Beatrice wants to scream, wants to grab that woman by the shoulder and shake her like a tree until she tells her everything she knows, but knowing her, she probably doesn’t know anything.

She sighs, turning around and ignoring Camila’s inquiring gaze and Shannon’s confused one to all but storm out of the room, exiting the castle on the outside stairs and into the night.

A group of young girls in uniform sitting at the bottom of the stairs run away when they see her, probably returning to their rooms where they were supposed to be.

She stands before the double front door, facing the park and the night, exhaling into the cold air of Switzerland. 

Colette was here. Colette came for her. All on her own, since her mother would have never helped with that, she travelled all the way here just for Beatrice. But no, that’s impossible, she was only thirteen years old at the time, there is no way she would have been able to make the journey from France where she lived to here, she would have gotten caught. Her aunt would have brought her back. But then again Colette was always the boldest out of the two of them. Maybe she did find a way, maybe she did come here fifteen years ago, looking for Beatrice after she was sent away. Or maybe she didn’t, maybe Antonia imagined it or created some insane story just to get her five minutes of fame. That’s probably it, there is absolutely no way Colette could have done that. Why would she even bother anyway? She never really liked her.

She wishes Ava was here. Ava would all but walk up to the Mother Superior and demand to know what was going on and probably ‘accidentally’ spill her drink on Antonia. And she’d get Beatrice a whole lot of trouble and Beatrice would probably love it anyway. Because it would be Ava and it would be okay.

She sighs, rubs a hand over her face to get a grip of herself, goes down the few steps and sits down at the bottom, taking her phone out of her pocket.

Ava answers the video call almost as soon as Beatrice calls her, her face appearing immediately on the screen, so close to the camera Beatrice can count her eyelashes.

“Hey Bea!” She shouts, her voice drilling through Beatrice’s ears and making her smile like an idiot as Ava takes the phone away from her face, and she’s sitting on her couch in her pyjamas, her hair wet from a shower. “Hold on,” she says, turning around. “Diego, get over here, your mom’s calling!”

Beatrice hears a flurry of little ‘What what what’ before Ava is pushed away from the camera, and she is suddenly looking at the ceiling and the crown of Diego’s hair as Ava groans in pain.

“Dude, that was my boob, what the heck?!”

“What the heck?” Diego repeats.

“Try again,” Ava sighs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” Ava says before she takes back her phone, angling it to show Diego who grins as he sees Beatrice on the screen.

Beatrice smiles back, waving at him with that stupid happiness rumbling in her chest and making her feel lighter, in her own stupid little cloud of content.

“Mummy!” Diego squeals.

“Hello, love,” Beatrice smiles.