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There's a lot of blood that comes with dying.
Of course, this feels like a given. Ava goes through the portal and she bleeds. Her wounds are open and vile, but they are glowing. Blue and sharded; as if destruction couldn't exist without beauty.
Always a balance. Something the universe had agreed on needed to remain current.
It's red. Everything is red. Then there's nothing.
The stars quake as Reya rips the halo from her body. Ava likes to imagine that they screamed with her– the stars. That they felt her flesh be torn apart and mended back together, stinging with fire of something (un)holy.
Reya can't hear them. Or at least, she's not listening.
That's why when she falls to earth – the portal spitting her out with an electrical hum – that it takes so long for her to realise that she's actually back.
Maybe it's another one if Reyas tests, she thinks with bitter mouth, down on her knees on hard marble floor that press uncomfortably against her bones. It's cold. Ava shouldn't be able to feel cold. She licks her lips. Tests her voice, coughs- "fuck this."
It's not Reya who answers, or some other celestial being that thought themselves better than one that bore flesh. It's Lilith. God damn it it's Lilith.
"I thought your time on the other side would make you realise that God scorns upon those words."
"Says the one who lets a fake angel goad you to his every desire."
There's a displeased scoff, Ava blinks in an attempt to see the familiarity of a down curled smile. It doesn't come. Instead it's nothingness. The existence of oblivion, so empty that it collapses into itself.
For several moments there is silence, exactly how long Ava doesn't know. It could as well have been hours. The other side really fucked up her perception of time.
Lilith walks closer. Ava can hear the leather boots click against the floor. "She did something to you."
"Whatever do you mean?" Ava jabs back, frustrated and far too exhausted to deal with it in a better way. Beatrice wouldn't be happy with her if she knew.
"Your eyes look different."
"She did a lot to me. About everything is different."
"Yeah, but not this different. You're not even looking at me. In fact, you're not looking at anything at all. It's like you're completely spaced out."
Ava, down on her knees on the cold marble floor rubs hard at her eyes with the flat of her palms. White spots dance before it disappears, as if it was sucked away by a black hole. "Reya took the halo."
"It doesn't explain that."
"I can't see."
Lilith hums, acknowledging.
Ava laughs, her voice leaking with frustration. "I can't fucking see." She really did not need this right now. She had gone through enough already. It didn't need to be more difficult– why did it always have to be so fucking difficult–
"Ava."
"What?" She hiss.
"You've been gone for six months. Beatrice isn't here but she has been waiting for you. We all have."
Thanks. Now she felt like crying. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Thought you'd want to know."
"Thanks." She says. It comes out merely as a whisper.
Her body shudders at the thought of Beatrice seeing her like this. What will she say when she finds what has become of her? Of what is left. What will she say when she realises she's lost a part of her she valued most?
—
There are voices coming from the distance. Sharp and short cutting, like they're arguing.
"You can't expect me to be ready after she's been gone for several months." A woman speaks through clenched teeth and it sends a jolt through Ava's body. She knows that voice. It couldn't be mistaken for anyone else.
"You think she won't accept it?"
"No, I'm just–" Beatrice stops, like something took whatever she wanted to say and let it evaporate in the air. They must have realised Ava is awake.
Ava raises up from bed, smoothing down the blue gown Jillian insisted she should wear during her examination. It had been two days since she'd come back. There was nothing they could do for her blindness.
"Ava..." Beatrice's voice trembles. It's well disguised, really, but Ava is zoning in to every bit of her breath, picking up on old ways she'd missed for so long.
Familiarity.
Lilith, who is likely standing beside her mutters something about duties and leaves the room with a slam of the door. They are alone now, in that she's at least certain.
"Bea, I–"
A warm hand on her cheek makes her stop in her tracks. The thumb grace for a moment, making her skin tingle and her whole body shudder as if starved. Which wouldn't be entirely wrong.
Then it leaves. Far too early in her opinion and it takes every bit of resistance not to chase after it.
"I apologise. I needed to be certain you were really here and I don't think–" she stops herself, her exhale shaky. "I needed to touch you."
Her hand twitched to reach out. Wanting to do anything that could keep the contact between them she was so desperately craving. What if I'm not? She wants to ask, scream. What if this is just another lucid dream where I can hear your voice and feel your touch but you're not really here. What if... "I wish I could see you, Bea. Would make this whole thing a lot easier." She laughs but it breaks at the edges and turns into a pained wince. It's too close to the truth.
But Beatrice needs to know. Needs to be aware that the person in front of her isn't the same as the one that went through the arc so long ago.
Beatrice takes her hand in hers, intertwines their fingers. It's steadying. She squeezes it and Ava can feel herself start to tremble. "Hey, I'm here. I promise I'm here. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."
"It took me six months to get back to you." Ava says, even though it felt more like decades. "I lost the halo. It's been so long I think I've-" gotten worse. Weaker. Ava turns away, even though she can't see her she knows for a fact Beatrice is looking at her. Studying and gathering information like it's ingrained in her very being to do so.
That's a thing she loves about her.
"I just want to go home." Is what she says finally and it sounds so lost even to her. She needs to hold on to something. Be in a place that felt more alive than herself. A place where they made memories that sipped into her very core.
"Of course." Beatrice thumb rubs over callused skin. Where the fire had burned too long for any reprieve. "I'll speak with Jillian for any arrangements that can be made." Her hand goes away way too soon and Ava lurches out, capturing her wrist.
"Please don't leave." It's empty without you. I'm afraid it will go back to nothingness. The kind of stillness she had grown used to when she was laying in the orphanage, unable to move or control her body in any way she wanted. Except this time it's more uncertain, frightening.
The grip around her wrist shifts. "I'll be back, I promise." And it's said with such conviction that Ava believes her. This is the real deal.
She lets go.
—
They arrive in Switzerland late. Ava can feel it as soon as they step out of the train. The air is humid, thick with rain that paints everything dark. For once, Ava is relieved.
It smatter on impact on her brown raincoat (she'd asked, personally she thinks yellow would have been a much better choice) and drips down her temple to collect in the little divot of her mouth. She licks her lips, hums in the sensation of being alive. She's alive, after all.
Beatrice is holding on to her hand, as if afraid she would lose her if she let go. Ava squeezed back, grateful.
It frustrates her how her body doesn't seem to get it, that it still works as if her eyes are closed and she could just simply open them and everything would flood back, the light she'd lost remaining.
She moves as if expecting impact. Far too slow and if she was clumsy before, now couldn't even compare. You'll adapt, in time. Jillian assured as she'd gone over her assessments. But it's not just the eyes, her sight– it's her body too. It aches. As if a part of her was still there, never fully settling on one side.
Sitting on the bed in their apartment (with the sheet bunched up to one side because once Beatrice had found out she was back, she left without notice) she asks Beatrice to describe how she looks. If anything in her appearance has changed.
"Your features are sharpened." Beatrice starts and Ava tries to track her movement throughout the living room. Follow the sound of her footsteps. It's hard, Beatrice had adapted, surely instinctively, to move quietly. "Your hair is longer, past your shoulders and…" a knee bumps into hers and she knows Beatrice is in front of her.
"And?" She prompts, leaning into the touch when Beatrice traces a thumb right below her left eye.
"You have a scar beside your eye. But it's small and barely visible."
Her brows furrow in thought as she tries to understand how she got it. Her memory is a blurr, a static that intertwines and melds together only to fall apart. There's no definite. She doesn't trust it. Doesn't trust herself to enough to know what's real or what's not– what if this isn't real–
"Ava?" The hand on her arm makes her flinch. It draws away in apology, or perhaps surprise, but Ava chases after it and takes a hold of her wrist, keeping her there. There's a hesitant pause before Beatrice speaks again. "Are you okay?"
"Tell me more." Ava says. "I want you to describe everything you see about me, everything that has changed." Please let me know that my body is still whole. That I'm still human.
"Okay." Beatrice agrees slowly. The bed dips as she settles down beside her. The air is thick with something heavy neither of them could place. By the way Beatrice's voice dips down; Ava knows she's not the only one affected. "Your eyes look the same, a deep brown with a faint ring of gold around the iris. Only now I'm guessing they move without your control, responding to sound, so it's a little erratic. Even then…" a careful hand cups her cheek and she brushes a soothing thumb over her brow. "You're still you. Everything I've missed. Everything I…" Ava wished she could gauge the reason for the pause by Beatrice's expression. Instead she must wait. Trust that her voice tells her everything she needs. "You look beautiful, Ava. I don't believe I've ever told you but I want you to hear it."
"Oh." Ava's lips wobble and she bites back the urge to cry.
Fuck.
"Ava," Beatrice's voice is soft, knowing. She could listen to her say her name for eternity. "I'm going to make myself some tea, if you want some?"
Ava nods. Knows for a fact that if she tries to speak, she will cry. Beatrice knows to give her space. Knows that tea is something that calms her down because she can clasp her hand around the mug and focus on the warmth. She knows so many things about her that it's hard to swallow. The lump in her throat builds, eyes watering but she refuses to cry. Don't you fucking dare.
And when Beatrice comes back and hands her the mug it's silent. It smells like chamomile and honey and she decides; maybe it was still pieces left of her after all.
–
Ava dreams of her childhood in the form of music that vibrates from a broken car and strawberries that smear over hands and cheeks, leaving stains on her clothes and the arch of her neck.
It flits between moving light to static darkness and laughter. Bright and joyous, something only a child could produce and then it swerves into that thing in between when you don't know if they're laughing or crying.
They whail. Turning into screaming that makes her ears ring and lungs rattle.
She wakes up gasping, her body stinging and joints locking up as if they no longer know how to respond.
There is red. All enveloping, like the shadows of wraiths that existed on the other side. She grits her teeth, trying to get away. Her hands curl and grasp the sheet below. "No. No." It slips out of her like a whimper and that's when the weight beside her shifts.
"Ava?"
She sucks in air. For a terrifying moment the voice feels like a memory.
"Bea."
"I'm here." Beatrice says, alert and clearly worried. Poor little lamb. Don't be a burden. Another whimper escapes her throat and she grits her teeth, face twisting into the pillow.
"Ava." Beatrice urges, intertwining her hand with her own. "Can you feel my hand?"
Ava grips back, tears falling, slow but persistent. You can. See? You're alive. She chuckles between breaths, her voice weak. "This is really fucked up, huh?"
"We've been through worse." Beatrice whispers back, her hand brought so close to her mouth that she can feel her breath skim over her knuckles.
She shudders.
"Can I do something to help?"
"This helps." Ava gulps down a breath, squeezing her hand for empathise. Beatrice squeezes back. "Also," her chest constrict, wrapping around her bones. Everything is too tight. Too much. "Maybe talk for a bit? I like hearing your voice."
Beatrice shifts, resting her hand on her stomach, still intertwined with her own. "What do you want me to talk about?"
"Anything." Ava says. "Talk about what you were up to when I was gone."
Ava focuses on her own breaths as Beatrice chews on the question. Knowing that she always needs to taste, learn all its flavours and intricacies before spitting it out again. Especially when it comes to this. Especially when it comes to her.
"I cut my hair." She says finally and it's far from what Ava expects.
"You what?" It rattles her enough that her focus instead shifts to wanting to touch Beatrice's hair. How hadn't she noticed? She huffs between a laugh and a scoff. "What the hell, Bea. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't sure you would like it. Besides, it never really came up."
Ava clicks her tongue. "I bet you look hot." A final exhale. "Lean down, I want to touch it."
Beatrice compliess. Ava reaches out, miscalculating the distance and bumping into her jaw. "Shit, sorry."
"It's okay."
There's a pause before Ava moves up, careful. Run her fingers through the short fringes and notice how it stops by the bottom of her ear. She stays there for a while, tracing the outline, learning the ridges and bumps. Beatrice lets her. Finally, her hand dips back by neck neck, finding it spiky, as if buzzed. "Oh my god." She laughs. "No way you got an undercut. That's the most lesbian shit I know."
"Oh, well…" Beatrice stutters, surely blushing. "I wanted to make a change."
"I stand with what I said before. Women drool over you, right? Actually. Don't answer that. I don't wanna know."
Beatrice chuckles and Ava can imagine her rolling her eyes. "I doubt it. But it doesn't really matter because I have you."
"You have me." Ava breathes, letting it expand her lungs and settle there. She doesn't make a joke, try to wave the attention away from how Beatrice manages to say something even the stars couldn't compare. There's only them and it's such a fraction of the universe yet overwhelming.
I love you.
She wants to scream it. Kiss her crazy so she understands. But it's the middle of the night and she's already cycled through enough emotions for a lifetime so she keeps quiet, holding the moment between bitten lips.
–
It doesn't take long before music becomes a part of their home. It keeps Ava calm, in a constant persistence of staying in the present. Oftentimes it's just background noise. Ava switches between a variety of different genres, sometimes even settling on rock. They learned early on that she would need to wear headphones if Beatrice was home during that time.
Ava didn't mind, but preferred it filling up a space rather than just her mind.
It proves how she exists in a space that lets sound bounce against surfaces and come back to you. She's alive. She came back far more human than when she left.
When Beatrice comes home, the door shutting with a thud, Ava is sitting by the kitchen table and dragging her fingers over dotted paper.
"What artist is this?" Beatrice asks, bags scrambling as she walks closer. She'd made a point of making her steps heavier around her so she could hear it.
"Uhm, Message to bears." She adjusts herself so she's facing Beatrice who is busy stocking groceries in the fridge. "You got me the strawberry jam I like?"
"I did, but personally I think it contains too much sugar."
Ava grins. "More for me then."
The music hums in the background, low and rhythmic. She likes it. She likes this song.
"Bea."
"Yes?"
"Come here for a sec."
A pause. "Why?"
"Just come here."
It takes a moment before the fridge closes and a hand settles over her own. "What is it? Are you having difficulties with the braille? We could watch another video–"
"No, it's not that." Ava rushes, biting down on her lip before asking. "Could you maybe teach me to dance? I remember we talked about it before– before everything. And I've always wanted to learn."
The hand over hers twitch before intertwining with her own. "Of course."
"Now."
"Now?"
"Yes," Ava heaves herself up from the chair, toppling into her purposefully and stabling herself with a hand on her shoulder. "Please, I want to do it now."
Beatrice sighs, readjust her position. Ava swallows from the feeling of Beatrice's hands on her waist, cursing the thin layer of clothing. Her breath stutters, as if she'd heard her. As if she understood. Okay. She loops her arms around her neck. "So… you're the lead."
"Ava, this isn't… you haven't even specified what kind of style you want to learn." She said, sounding mildly lost and more than a little puzzled.
"I want to dance with you, like this." Bodies close. Breath by her neck and skin prickling from the warmth.
The hand on her hip twitched. "Okay." She breathes, pressing her fingers into the flesh of her hip to guide her forward and away from the table.
Ava gasps.
–"It's a lot about following the music. Listen to the beat and let your body move with it. When you're with a partner– you make sure to know their cues, so you're in sync."
"Kind of like when we're fighting?"
Beatrice hums. "I'm not sure if I understand the connection."
"Well," Ava says, pushing on Beatrice's shoulders and nudging at her foot to force her to take a step back. "When I move forward you move back."
"I believe fighting is more about collision than retreat."
Collision, huh. Ava rests her forehead against hers. Beatrice stills, breath hitching when Ava starts moving her hips. Bodies pressed close, so close, hands tightening around her neck. "I could show you collision…" She whispers, lips tickling over soft skin.
Beatrice's breath ceases and because Ava can, she leans in and steals it. There's a low sound rumbling out of her throat and it's as if something snaps. Pours out and soon Beatrice is pressing forward, teeth clicking and lips slotting messily before realigning.
Finally.
The universe sings and she begins to understand the language of the God's– in the way she is, in the way Beatrice has always been.
She feels the ichor in her veins and her heartbeat in the pit of her stomach. Her back hits the edge of the table and Beatrice's hands begin to move up, up, up. She hears the constellations. Flicker and hiss and burn.
Breathtaking. The universe sings of the ruined angel's rebirth: the sun, how she burns eternally; a small price to pay, Ava thinks, to still be able to do this.
Beatrice lips trails down to her neck and settles there. Teeth sink into bared flesh and Ava whines between pleasure and pain. "Fuck–"
From the fallen, sharp edged stars, Ava bleeds. At least that's what it feels like. She's spilling open and Beatrice licks it up as if starved.
"Bea."
"I love you." She answers.
And the stars quake yet again.
It's her time to suck in a sharp breath. "I love you too, I hope you know–"
"I do." Beatrice says, placing a soft kiss on the edge of her lip. "I know."
Ava lets her head fall onto Beatrice's shoulder and they stay there. She can feel Beatrice heartbeat thud against her chest. She's sure Beatrice can feel hers too. Here's the proof. The universe says.
Proof that you exist despite it all.