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*
The first time it happens, it stops Ava completely.
She only realizes that she’d completely frozen when Beatrice pauses her search to look at Ava with a touch of concern. Ava somehow, silently, shakily points to the countertop, where the glasses Beatrice is looking for are sitting.
Beatrice studies her as she slips the glasses onto her face. “Is everything alright?” Her voice is soft, careful. A part of Ava - the small essential part of her that’s still functioning - wonders what must be written on her face to warrant that tone.
It takes another moment but her brain and her body both reboot and Ava can finally breathe. “I’m fine,” she says, a touch breathless and she doesn’t try to say anything more than that. Not when that word is still ringing in her ears, pulling at her heart. Beatrice watches her closely, nods slowly in that way that Ava knows means ‘okay,’ with a softness in her eyes that says ‘whenever you need me.’ And Ava can't help but reach out at that - because she always does.
“Hope you have a good day,” Ava says before smiling and pressing a kiss to Beatrice’s cheek. The smile she receives in return almost makes Ava forget what she’d heard, what Beatrice had said without thought.
*
The second time it happens, they’re on their usual afternoon walk through a nearby park and Ava does her absolute best to capture the moment in her mind: the afternoon sun filtering through the trees, leaf shadows making friends with the freckles on Beatrice’s face, the fond smile that makes Ava wonder if Beatrice even realizes she’d spoken at all.
Ava knows that Beatrice almost always thinks before she speaks - ‘almost’ because there are moments when her words will spill out in a rush, moments where she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve or her courage or be judged. Where it takes a hand on her arm, a kiss on her cheek to soothe, to reassure. (There are other moments too, moments where Beatrice speaks less in words and more in gasps, in whines, in moans - and Ava knows these come from the same place: a heart uncaged, a soul unbound, unburdened.)
She had never needed to hear any specific set of words to know Beatrice’s feelings, had known in the way Beatrice’s palms had cupped her face, gentle, tender; had known in the way Beatrice had let her into her space, sometimes even leaning into Ava’s touch, so often with a look of wonder, of reverence when she would allow herself to return it, to hold and be held; had known in the way Beatrice had never left her side, had fought to retake her rightful place whenever they were separated, even when it had been by Ava’s own design.
Even without Beatrice saying the words, Ava had known. But there’s something about hearing this particular endearment that makes something deep in Ava shudder - something old and yet young at the same time. Old because she’s wanted it for so long; young because it’s new, like so many things she's found in Beatrice - trust, safety, love.
The bunny Ava had been enchanted by swiftly scampers away with a scattering of fallen twigs and grass, leaving Ava and Beatrice alone. Ava follows its example and bounds over to the center of her world, hears Beatrice start to laugh before she even reaches her. Holds on tight when Beatrice catches her. Tight enough for Ava to feel Beatrice sigh into the touch, to coax her to rest her head in the curve of Ava’s neck.
“What was that for?” Beatrice asks from the nook she’s made for herself in Ava’s shoulder.
Ava feels Beatrice’s hands trace the circle of warmth emanating from her back. “Just because,” Ava says as she draws her nose along Beatrice’s neck, her cheek, presses her smile onto Beatrice’s mouth before Beatrice can question further, before her thoughts can take over. ‘Be here with me,’ Ava thinks as she pulls Beatrice in closer; knows that the answering arch under her hands means ‘I am.’
(Ava will always cherish the words that pass from Beatrice’s lips but there’s also so much that Beatrice says without saying, without knowing. And sometimes it’s those things that Ava loves best of all.)
*
It’s the third time it happens when Beatrice finally becomes aware of it.
Ava had known it wouldn’t stay a secret for long but she hadn’t expected the revelation to happen in the middle of the night after Ava had woken up screaming from a nightmare and panic-sobbed into Beatrice’s sleep shirt. Faint moonlight illuminates the room just enough for Ava to see Beatrice’s gaze change slightly, for that familiar curl of curiosity to overtake her face. It’s an expression Beatrice wears when she notices something, knows something, and it leaves Ava feeling exposed. Exposed because she suddenly realizes she can’t explain why the word affects her so much, why it sends a little thrill through her every time the word falls from Beatrice’s lips, why it fills her with so much warmth. She can’t explain it, only knows she wants it, always.
Beatrice’s hands gently press into Ava’s skin, massaging the tension that had started to gather in her neck, her shoulders, her back. Slowly Ava’s hands loosen as well, and she surrenders herself to Beatrice’s arms, allows herself to be pulled in and cradled in Beatrice’s lap. Safe, here in the face of the unknown; safe, always.
They stay like that for a while, long enough for everything to settle into the stillness of the evening. “Did you know,” Beatrice says after her hands have nearly lulled Ava into a doze; her voice is as soft as the fingers she combs through Ava’s hair, and Ava stirs, breathes into Beatrice’s neck - feels her shiver, and Ava smirks.
Beatrice clears her throat and starts again. “Did you know that the word darling comes from the word dear?” Ava shakes her head slightly, lets herself sink further into Beatrice’s warmth. Listens as Beatrice explains its etymology from Old English to Middle English, tells her its modern definitions: “Favorite, charming, beloved.” Hears with each word how Beatrice’s voice shifts from factual to fond, from academic to awed.
Ava listens and feels that place that’s old and young and new start to tremble. Of course, she thinks, of course Beatrice would have the words when Ava herself is empty handed.
“Is it okay for me to call you that?” Beatrice asks, her voice only loud enough to fit in the space between them.
Ava’s hands give her away, clenching tightly into Beatrice’s shirt in want but Beatrice still waits, ever patient, ever faithful. And Ava knows it’s not just a question of permission, that sewn within Beatrice’s words is a second inquiry - a prayer, even - for Ava to believe, to believe in what she means when she says it.
Ava closes her eyes and breathes. Beatrice knows she doesn’t have to ask. And yet here she is, asking. Always giving Ava the choice, always giving Ava the chance to voice the way she receives love. Everything, she thinks, I want it all; all that you’re willing to give.
“Yes,” Ava finally says, in between a pair of Beatrice’s heartbeats and she feels the second one stutter before resuming, steady and true. Beatrice cups a hand around the back of Ava’s neck and Ava sighs, safe; believes that it’s true, here, with her. Ava lets the sound of Beatrice’s heartbeat and the warmth of her care surround her and lead her back into sleep, so she can wake and have it all still be true.
*
The fourth time it happens, it’s completely unfair.
Everything about this moment is unfair: the fever that’s making her skin feel like it’s on fire (and Ava knows what that feels like; at least there's no smell), the body aches that make her wish she couldn’t feel at all, the headache that makes everything spin and fall whenever she tries to open her eyes. Through it all, Beatrice has been nothing but patient but Ava knows that she is the worst patient to have to care for. Beatrice doesn’t deserve this. Ava doesn’t deserve this - both being sick and being taken care of - and she’s scared that she’s going to make Beatrice sick and she knows that she’s a mess, crying and throwing a tantrum on the couch and probably only half coherent but Beatrice just won't -
“I’m not going to leave, Ava,” Beatrice murmurs, gentle but with finality and everything, everything from the tips of her hair to the depths of her soul aches. Beatrice’s face is blurry and the headache makes Ava want to hide. She sniffles and draws the blankets tight around her with one hand, the other wiping at the tears and sweat and snot on her face. She’s an absolute mess; she really wouldn’t blame Beatrice for leaving.
“Ava.” The sound of her name only makes her curl further into herself; the waver in Beatrice’s voice nearly breaks Ava completely. “Please don’t make me break that promise.”
Beatrice never has. Has been as steadfast and solid as the stone Ava had been phasing through when she’d first made that vow, had never left Ava alone in a time of need. Ava knows the fever's taken over her brain, her body and she hates it, hates it in a way she can barely explain, but she knows she has to try. Because more than the fire and the aches and the pain, she hates that tone in Beatrice’s voice, the fear, the despair; hates that she’s the one who put it there.
Ava brings her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them; she’s shivering and she sees Beatrice’s hands twitch, then fall reluctantly to her sides. She tries.
“I don’t want you to get sick,” Ava rasps, and it hurts to speak and it sounds so dumb but she started so she has to finish, “I don’t know if I’m any good - at taking care of someone else.”
When Ava looks up, it’s as if something in Beatrice’s chest has collapsed in on itself while something raw and tender has risen to Beatrice’s cheeks. Ava can only watch, revealed and frightened. “Ava,” Beatrice says, not quite broken but toeing the line between that and disbelief, weighed down by an infinite sadness.
“Darling,” Beatrice says again and Ava lets out a whimper, and she has no more strength to hold herself back. She tips ungracefully forward and Beatrice - again, always - catches her.
One of Beatrice’s hands make their way to the back of her neck and Ava shivers at the cold of her touch at the same time that she nuzzles into Beatrice’s shoulder. Everything aches, her very skin feels stifling, her nose is stuffed and her eyes feel heavy but Beatrice’s hold is comforting, grounding. “You are good,” Beatrice whispers, lips against Ava’s temple, as if trying to press the words into Ava’s mind. “And you always take such good care of me, Ava. Who else gets me animal stickers for my papercuts?” A ghost of a smile touches Ava’s lips but it’s enough for Beatrice to continue.
“I know that for a long time you grew up without care. But Ava, you are nothing like those - those people at St. Michael’s. That was not care. You didn’t deserve that.” Beatrice’s voice is low and harsh, almost a growl and it makes Ava sink further into her. To soak up an anger burning on her behalf, to finally feel what it’s like to have someone defend her, protect her, even from things like this - things that have long since passed.
Then she feels Beatrice’s hold tighten. “And you’re nothing like what I’d thought when we’d first met.” Her voice quiets into remorse and Ava blinks in surprise. She moves to lift her head but the touch at the back of her neck stills her, as do the words that follow. “I’m sorry for saying those things then. You’re the most thoughtful person I know; you’ve given the world, given me, so much.”
Somehow, Beatrice draws her closer and Ava nearly cries because it’s all she wants, to be closer, and closer still. Does cry when Beatrice speaks again: “I’ve become who I am because of you and your care.”
Ava’s tears are hot on her cheeks and she wants to blame it on the fever but she knows that it’s more than that. She lets the words sink into her veins, a balm for the dark thoughts that had risen with her fever; a calming, a blessing. (She closes her eyes and wills herself to believe once more.)
*
The fifth time it happens, it’s in public and in front of their friends - their family.
It’s nothing special, really, the time or the place. Ever since it’d opened, Camila had been trying to get all of them to go try this new food hall that had opened up in the city (so much so that Ava high-key suspects she’d done something to get their schedules to finally align).
It doesn’t take much to impress Ava but she feels better when even Lilith and Mary’s expressions wear a touch of surprise, when she hears an impressed hum from Beatrice. Stalls upon stalls line the walls, different cuisines and smells - and samples! - at every turn. Ava had just caught Camila’s eye, a wide grin spreading across both of their faces when Beatrice had called out to her, wanting some sort of plan and it almost makes Ava laugh - always the strategist, she thinks as she turns, you can’t take the habit out - hm, you can take the habit off the woman -
Ava pauses the chaos of that train of images when she notices their friends looking at them. It takes a moment but Ava eventually, belatedly realizes what Beatrice had just said, just how Beatrice had called out to her, what Beatrice had called her. (Ava had known it’d happen sooner than later; guesses that now was as good a time as any.) Their friends’ reactions range from delighted to studiously impassive, but all of them have a knowing glint in their eye, a bit of fondness pulling at the edges of their lips as they stay quiet, waiting.
Ava sees why when her eyes land on Beatrice. The surprise is the most obvious, along with a blush painted in a wide brushstroke across Beatrice’s cheeks. But Ava sees what the others can’t: the tenderness that lingers on Beatrice’s lips, the wonder shining in her eyes. Ava steps closer, takes her hand, tilts her head in askance.
Beatrice shrugs. As if to say, ‘It’s nothing they don’t already know.’
Ava grins, squeezes her hand and presses a kiss to her cheek in her own reply, ‘Of course they do.’ (How can anyone miss it, she thinks, how deep, how wide this feels?)
They all order too much food, but in the end, it’s not too much at all - how they laugh and eat and talk and tease; how they live, and how they love.
***
There’s a lot of things Ava’s learned about Beatrice over the years: how she prefers tea over coffee but is extremely picky about milk tea, how she prefers not to drink alcohol but will indulge in a hot toddy on nights the cold sits a certain way in her shoulders; how she prefers to always walk closest to the road, how she always enters a new space with her spine straight and her eyes sharp, always watching, always on guard; how she only lets down said guard when they’re both safe; how she now lets it down instantly when they’re together at home.
And it’s here in their home that Ava learns that Beatrice curls up into a ball whenever she takes a nap, contained even in sleep. But it’s not like someone holding back - it’s more like a cat, Ava muses as she runs her hand gently through Beatrice’s hair. A cat that’s warm and safe and without care for propriety or responsibility.
It’s different compared to how Beatrice is in the evening. When they turn in for bed, Beatrice will lay on her back or will spoon herself around Ava, always with arms wrapped around her in care, in protection. Ava had learned this in the Alps - they both had, waking up on their second morning tangled together - and they’d just never stopped. And Ava loves it; for her, it's the safest place on earth.
But Ava likes these moments too, Beatrice smooshed between Ava and the back of the couch, not protecting, not serving, just Bea being Bea - at rest, beautiful in her ease.
Beatrice shifts slightly in her sleep, nuzzles into Ava’s side, small. It’s what Beatrice allows when she allows herself to be herself and Ava knows it’s a gift to witness this at all - to witness her. So she holds Beatrice like the most precious gift she’s been given.
A thought taps at her brain, an idea she’s been wanting to try for a couple weeks now. She shifts onto her side so they’re face to face, so she can watch Bea’s reaction. Doesn’t think too much about it before she loses either her chance or her nerve.
“My darling,” Ava whispers, and she feels something in her own self release and bloom as she says it. Then she hears, feels Beatrice sigh - quiet, yearning. Oh, Ava thinks; understands.
But there’s more she wants to try. Ava reaches up to brush a lock of hair behind Beatrice’s ear, lets her fingers linger. “My dearest,” she murmurs, and Beatrice breathes in deep and snuggles closer in response. Ava can’t help but smile and she files away the learning along with all the other facts and trivia and truths she’s gathered about Beatrice. She combs her fingers through Beatrice’s hair in that way Ava knows she likes and feels Beatrice settle once more.
Then Ava presses close, closer; swallows the nerves in her chest, gathers the words she’s thought about and bundles it with the feeling she always gets when she turns to find Beatrice already looking at her, when Beatrice sighs that sigh that means Ava’s going to get her way, when Beatrice reaches out to hold her hand, when Beatrice says her name.
“My love.”
They’re so close that Ava feels Beatrice’s heart trip, feels her breath catch, feels her hands tighten and her toes curl and - and Ava wants to laugh, wants to yell, wants to shake the entire world awake because it’s true, because she believes, and she wants everyone to know, to be just as sure.
Ava contains herself somehow to a grin. She’s changed now, now that she knows - knows how the words fill her chest, how they feel leaving her tongue. She wants to see Beatrice’s reaction when she’s awake; wants her also to believe. Ava doesn’t have a plan for how she’ll say it next, where she’ll say it or why, but Ava isn’t worried - it’ll happen when it’s right.
For now, Ava just wraps an arm around Beatrice, lets herself follow Beatrice into a dreamless sleep, full of love, full of peace.
***