Work Text:
Switzerland Day 5
The soup stock simmers quietly on the stove as Ava whirls around the kitchen, cutting the vegetables they’d bought yesterday at the store that were somehow already wilting. If only Mary could see her now, she’d totally compliment Ava’s new cooking skills. Beatrice watches her carefully over her tea from their tiny kitchen table.
“What do you mean you’ve never seen Legally Blonde!?” Ava asks incredulously, her mouth open in a fake gasp.
“It wasn’t exactly a Catholic school approved movie, Ava.” Beatrice smiles, blowing lightly on her tea cup.
“Ah right, I forgot!” Ava jokes waving around the knife in the air while she talks in a way that makes Beatrice grimace, “God forbid the banished Catholic school girls hear about a gay person!” humming to herself quietly, reaching for the salt and pepper to add to the soup before turning up the heat again. “Though I guess the nuns always skipped that part for us too.” She adds, frowning slightly.
“I wasn’t banished.” Beatrice says quietly. “My parents didn’t send me away out of hatred. Not really.” Beatrice says staring down at her steaming mug, her hands clasped together on top of the table.
Ava stops her whirling about immediately. The mood change is exceedingly evident, even to her.
Ava has said the wrong thing again.
“Bea, I didn’t mean-“ Ava starts, her voice has a slight edge of panic to it. Beatrice can’t stop staring at her mug, the way the steam curls into the air.
“I know what you meant, Ava.” Beatrice says quickly.
“Bea…” Ava breathes out, her voice more gentle now. She carefully sits opposite Beatrice at the small kitchen table. Shoving her nervous energy aside, this is clearly a conversation that requires her newfound maturity.
“They sent me away because they cared about me. They wanted me to get better.” Beatrice says with an air of finality.
Ava’s hands, still learning to be gentle, reach across the table and place themselves over Beatrice’s clasped hands.
“But you didn’t need to get better, Beatrice.” She says, her head tipped low, trying to catch Beatrice’s eyes.
“I did not fit into their world. I was,” Beatrice paused, as though searching for the right words, “I was odd.” She finishes. “And they knew before I did that I had a certain… predisposition towards women.”
“Bea,” Ava sighs, “neither of those things were wrong - are wrong.” She corrects herself.
Beatrice looks quite small, sitting opposite Ava at their tiny kitchen table, Ava’s hand resting gently over hers. Beatrice pulls her hands away quickly as though burned, carefully placing them on her lap. She’s not sure why she feels the need to justify what her parents did, or how they feel. Still refusing to meet Ava’s eyes, she chooses her words carefully.
“My parents did what they believed to be best for me. They believed me capable of sinning, and they wanted to save me from that lifestyle.” Beatrice states. Ava sighs, her arms are still outstretched on the table where her hands had been touching Beatrice's moments ago.
“And what do you think?” She asks quietly. At this, Beatrice’s eyes finally raise to meet hers. They stare blankly, more vulnerable than Ava had ever seen the nun before.
The sound of soup coming to a full boil, bubbling on the stove snaps their attention and both women swivel their heads to find the source of the sound. Beatrice clears her throat quickly and rises from the table.
“I’m going to head to the bakery, grab us some bread for dinner.” Beatrice says before promptly turning around, slipping on her trainers, and walking out the door of the apartment. Ava isn’t even sure Beatrice grabbed her wallet.
Ava slumps, dejected, at their little kitchen table. She and her stupid fat mouth. The past couple days she had thought she was making progress with the nun, settling into their new space. Fighting back tears, Ava rises. She will not fuck up this soup. She will prove to Beatrice that she is useful, reliable.
Beatrice arrives back at the flat nearly an hour later, slightly out of breath. Ava doesn’t mention that Beatrice doesn’t have any bread and Beatrice seems thankful for it. Instead, Ava smiles at her a little shyly before going to pull out two bowls from the cupboard.
Beatrice slips off her trainers and steps carefully over to Ava by the stove. She busies herself pulling out spoons and a ladle. They work together quietly, carefully stepping around each other to set the table and serve the soup. It’s polite, and a little distant. Ava is pretty certain that it’s not quite the right colour described in the cookbook, but Beatrice offers her a small smile after their first bite, so Ava thinks it must be fine.
“There’s a bar down the road that is urgently hiring bar staff.” Beatrice states, breaking the silence.
“You want to be a bartender?” Ava asks, doing her best to keep the incredulity out of her voice. She’s not quite sure she succeeds when Beatrice frowns slightly.
“Between rent and food, we’re going through the Church’s emergency cash quite quickly. I believe we would be able to start there quite quickly. Not to mention, the bar would provide an excellent vantage point for us to keep an eye on the townspeople.” Ava smiles. The plan is very Beatrice.
“I think that’s a great plan!” Ava’s voice comes out a little too enthusiastic, even for her own ears, and she winces slightly. Beatrice doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she decides to spare Ava and doesn’t comment.
Beatrice nods, going back to her soup. They eat their meal in relative silence. It feels like a comfortable quiet, despite the leftover energy from earlier, and Ava finds it’s one of the first times she has ever considered quiet to be comfortable. For most of her life, quiet has been a form of punishment inflicted upon her for being too loud.
When they finish eating, Ava offers to wash the dishes while Beatrice takes a shower. It’s late now, Beatrice’s impromptu fun run meant that the sky had been dark for quite awhile, and after their morning training session Ava was pretty tired. As much as Beatrice tried to hide it, Ava knew that the nun was tired as well. She’d hoped that sharing the bed would mean that they’d both feel better rested, but now she wonders if the nun has been sleeping much at all. She hears the shower running in the bathroom, and she busies herself with the dishes, of which she is thankful there aren’t that many. She is thankful for her own independence (if you can even call her current situation that), thank you very much, but she could probably do without the dishes.
Ava slips quietly into her sleepwear in the bedroom. She’s just finished taking the bun out of her hair by the dresser when Beatrice steps out of the bathroom in her long sleeve sleep shirt and pants that are absolutely uncharacteristic for the summer night heat. Her wet hair is down, falling over her shoulders. Avas not sure she will ever get over how beautiful Beatrice looks with her hair down. The nun looks so soft and so young that it makes Ava’s heart ache. Beatrice slips past Ava, who can’t seem to stop staring, to put her towel in the laundry bin in the corner opposite the bed. Ava ducks into the bathroom quickly.
She emerges to find Beatrice folding and putting away clothing from the laundry. Ava is pretty certain that the laundry had already been folded earlier that day, but she doesn’t mention it.
That’s how this works with Beatrice. Ava is learning what makes Beatrice tick. Sometimes, it’s leaving in the middle of a heated moment to go for a run, and sometimes it’s refolding laundry to avoid the awkwardness of settling into their shared bed together. Ava lets her.
“Should we go check out the bar tomorrow after training then?” Beatrice asks, not looking up.
“That sounds great Beatrice,” Ava replies, crawling onto the bed to the spot against the wall.
Slipping under the sheets, Ava adjusts her slightly worn out pillow and turns to face the wall. Beatrice, ever the protector, had chosen the spot closest to the door. A moment later Ava feels the bed dip beside her as Beatrice positions herself under the sheets next to her, shutting off the bedside lamp.
The air is thick, the unresolved tension from earlier this evening seems to have returned, head rearing. The room silent and dark. Ava curled up against the wall, Beatrice straight on her back staring at the ceiling. Ava thinks they might implode. The politeness and quietness of their night coming to a head.
She hears Beatrice open her mouth and close it twice. Ava waits. She’s never been one for patience, but here, in their little flat, she aches to try.
“I was a bit of an odd child, growing up, I believe.” Beatrice states, finally. Ava shifts herself on their mattress until she’s lying flat on her back beside her. “My parents never quite knew what to do with me. I didn’t speak until I was four years old, and even then I’m not sure I spoke very much until primary school.”
Beatrice’s voice comes out more wobbly than she’d hoped. Ava, beautiful Ava, seems to notice, and reaches out to grab Beatrice’s hand in the covers and squeezes lightly, her head turning towards Beatrice and nodding slightly for her to continue. “I always did well in school and with my tutor, it was never hard for me, and my parents were pleased.” Beatrice takes a shaky breath, “I made a best friend when I was ten. She was lovely, and kind… and pretty. I found myself drawn to her.” Beatrice pauses for a long time. Again, Ava waits.
“I suppose I talked about her often. I’d never had a best friend before, and I didn’t realize that the way I talked about her was wrong.” Beatrice’s voice drops on the last word, her breathing hitching when Ava squeezes her hand tighter. “I didn’t understand what I had done wrong.” Beatrice whispers, her face blotted with tears.
“Oh Bea…” Ava sighs.
“You asked me earlier what I thought. About them sending me away.” Beatrice takes a deep breath. “That’s what I think. I think that I was too young to understand why they had sent me away, and I think it hurt in a way that I cannot ever imagine hurting a child.” Beatrice can’t seem to look at Ava. “I just wanted my mother and father.” She breathes, wiping her tears away gently. Ava shifts slightly in the bed before pausing.
“Beatrice, can I please give you a hug?” She whispers, the question seems to shake Beatrice, her body tenses before relaxing. Beatrice nods curtly, and before Ava can overthink it, she wraps her arms around for her and pulls her into her side. The position is a little awkward considering they’re both lying down, and it takes a second before Beatrice hesitantly reaches her arm over Ava’s body lightly. Ava’s arms wrap up around her in a much less stilted manner, hugging Beatrice into her. Beatrice rests her head on her shoulder and Ava thinks that she hasn’t been this physically close to someone in a time she can remember. She wonders if Beatrice has. If Beatrice was ever held like this.
One of Avas hands moves from her back up to cradle Beatrice’s head. She feels Beatrice take a shuddering breath against her shoulder.
“You haven’t done anything wrong, Beatrice.” Ava murmurs, her voice is low and a little scratchy. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Beatrice pulls away from the embrace quickly, it seems to startle both of them. Ava’s shoulders sag with disappointment as Beatrice curls her body inwards, facing away from her.
Touch, Ava knows, is likely just as unfamiliar for Beatrice as it is for her. She feels herself caught between wanting to swaddle Beatrice with all the physical affection she can offer, and wanting to be more careful about her touches.
They lie awake, untouching, until nearly dawn.