Archive of Our Own

Before anything, there was blood – and a ton fuck amount of dirt. Ava awakes, earth pressing against her lungs and she can't see. But the smell of wet soil and grass sends a twisted sort of relief through her.

It's too much earth for Reya to mimic.

She digs through it, all hands and nails. Presses her eyes shut in order to not get anything in her eyes. She's already blinded enough as it is.

When her head is above the ground she heaves, spitting out grime from her mouth and dragging the palm of her hand over her face to rid some of the sticky feeling.

There's a grave.

It's not hers.

She pushes herself up to her feet and blinks a couple of times as it takes considerable effort to keep standing. Then she looks down at her body, a red t-shirt caked with blood and wet grime and– Wait... Her mouth pulls down into a complicated frown as she stares, wondering if her brain is still rebooting. She pulls at the material, feels it up her body, how it sticks to her with a clear damp fabric-texture to it. This is not the armour she wore when she went through the arc... And there are no shards.

The shards of divinium that splintered into her flesh in a moment of destruction. The shards that made her body finally cave and blood pour freely, like a sigh of relief – no longer obstructed by the halo's insistence to heal.

"What the fuck..."

Her mind reels. She tries to remember anything between now and the arc.

There had been Beatrice.

Trembling knuckles fuzzing over her cheek as if desperate to collect the very last moments but also afraid to break it – that moment, that second (life had given her too many second chances.) And her. Her. Her. She touched Ava like one would with creation, cradling and protective.

It made her chest break, bone rattling and eyes crinkling and she remembers the words leaving her lips like a promise. I love you.

Her mouth tastes like iron.

How long had she been gone? Where even is she?

The time between the arc and now could barely be described as time. There had been then, Beatrice's hands, Beatrice's breath, the portal's persistent hum. Then there was now. Empty, pressing, darkness, until– light.

There had also been a memory. A momentary feeling of anger for something she couldn't recall. Of Reya.

Ava inhales, long and forceful and maybe it was a while since she last took a breath. Maybe, for a moment, she didn't breathe at all...

Hm. Doesn't matter.

What does matter now is to find out where the fuck she is so she can figure out how to get back to them, to Bea– which means looking back at where she came from. Meaning the ground. Meaning a grave.

And she wishes she never did because the name on the tombstone makes her heart sink and stomach twist because why the fuck is it her mothers?

She sucks in a breath, head tilting up towards the dark sky. Then she blinks harshly. Swallows. Looks down again.

The name doesn't change.

EILEEN SILVA
1976 - 2008

"Shit."

Ava steps back, wobbling on two legs and inhaling through teeth in a poor attempt to collect herself. It only makes things worse. The nasua grows like a sickening clog of air and her throat close up before she folds over and vomits. It comes out in a mixture of bile and blood and leaves her mouth weirdly dry. She ships another couple of breaths, eyes closed and still folded into herself in fear of moving and making it worse.

This is so fucked up.

She tries to laugh but it only produces a twisted grimace.

Everything in her body is screaming, twisting, pushing against each other. Her ribs hurt.

The halo, like suddenly realising its role in it all, glows.

"Thank. Fuck.”

It hums in response, spreading warmth through her body and up her spine, leaving a tingling sensation behind that Ava tries to linger on. It's as much comfort she will get at this moment.

Something changed between now and the arc. She can't put her finger on it but the halo feels... Different. Still weak from the initial injury but thrumming in its presence, as if suddenly realising that it was connected to something human. A sentient being with a mind and a body and will.

To Ava.

The streets are decolent, darkened by rain and people are huddling inside various homes and bars. She can hear them laughing as she walks past the streets, music vibrating through the earth in an echo of memories. The warm light's shine through the windows and casts a strange glow to the outer surrounding. She's glad that they can't see her. A woman covered in blood and half closed up wounds, barefoot and ragged.

Ava wanders, staggeringly towards the water. The town is ghostly familiar from where life first spit her out when she got the halo. Therefore, much like last time, she seeks the ocean.

The sand beneath her bare feet is grounding. She sinks down in it, body heavy and very very alive. Near frantic, she rushes into the water until the waves clash up to her knees. There she cleans herself. Shaky hands and uncoordinated movements that slowly washes away most of the grime. It's cold as fuck and she's literally shaking but it's another reminder that she's alive. That's what's important. She came back.

Ever so slowly, in sequences, she notices how familiar the shirt is. Working on the dirt under her chest, she reveals a print of a dog with a lightning bolt on his hip. Much like the shirt she got from her mother as a child. The one she wore all the time because Bolt was her favourite movie growing up and she didn't care that it was two sizes too big (it was the only size left in the store) because it meant she could run around in it like a dress.

It still went down past her knees, curiously, several sizes too big.

And she's not about to get hit by a van again so she'll have to figure out another way to find new clothes but most of all, Beatrice.

It's still dark when she eventually leaves the beach and moves up towards the city, the asphalt strangely warm and tingling beneath her feet.

Ava wonders how Beatrice will react when she sees her. How long she'd actually been gone. A month? Years?... A decade?

It felt disturbing to not have any idea herself. Like she'd skipped over a life she was supposed to have. A blip in the universe.

And like that blip, it makes everything wring in on itself.

A distant clank draws her attention back towards a porcelain store and she stops in her tracks, swearing she saw shadows disappearing into the alleyway.

She'd know that sound from anywhere.

Ava goes into a sprint, turning into the alleyway and straining her ears in hopes of hearing something more. A thud of feet, a voice, a click of a gun...

Maybe if she just turned another corner, just walked a little faster, looked a little harder, she'll see them. Maybe they'll appear in front of her with a welcoming that was meant for someone that had been lost.

There's nothing.

"Shit."

Maybe she's losing it.

She rubs at her face, frustrated. Okay. She should focus on getting to the Cat's Cradle like she initially planned.

Ava takes a step back before turning and that's when it comes. Hands push her back, slamming her into the wall and taking her lungs with it. She sucks in a staggering breath, rattling, gritting through the pain before blinking her eyes open. She's about to move. To bend out of the grip of however the fuck thought it was a good idea to attack her but the person in front of her makes her freeze. The knife pressing against her throat doesn't matter. Just that it's; "Bea."

"How do you know my name?" It's sharp, demanding. Brown eyes familiar and calculating.

Ava can't answer. The only thing going through her mind is Beatrice, Bea–

You're here.

I found you.

I came back.

Except something is off. She's geared up in her battle clothing, black with hard-shell leather covering and knives in their seath over her chest. She looks younger, features softer but not in any way that's relaxed.

There's no recognition in those eyes.

Ava breathes. "You don't know me." A realisation. A heartbreak.

It's not a question but Beatrice takes it as one anyway. "Should I?"

Yes.

You should. You should. Fuck.

Ava bites back the overwhelming feelings trying to rise up to the surface. She swallows and the knife against her throat threatens to break skin. She's arching her neck, pressed against the wall with hair still plastered and wet against her forehead. "What's the date?"

There's a small twitch to the left. One Ava only recognises because she's had so many moments where she just studied her, every meticulous movement, unintentionally, intentionally. This one she doesn't get often. It's one of confusion.

"April second, 2020."

Ava sucks in a breath. That's two months before she got the halo. Two months before she died and resurrected.

This is not her Bea. Or it is, she's not sure what to believe. The only thing she knows is that she's no longer in the present, but in a time where Beatrice and the OCS hadn't even met her yet.

The portal had spit her out in the past.

“Fuck–”

"Why are you following us?" Beatrice cuts off, expression flicking down in displeasure from the use of language.

“I…” She doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know what to do. Because Beatrice is looking at her like she's a stranger. She's looking at her like Ava is the enemy.

The universe really had a sick sense of humour.

“Beatrice!”

Both heads turn towards the voice, urgent and angry.

It's Mary. Shit. It's fucking Mary.

She takes a quick look between them, shotguns in both hands and blood splattered on her clothes. “We need to move.”

Ava knows that tone. Something has gone wrong.

Beatrice's attention flicks back to her and before Ava has the time to register what's happening, she has taken her hand to her throat and squeezed. The tranquilliser goes into her skin with a fizz and her knees buckle, everything growing heavy. “Shit.”

She tries to keep herself up by pressing herself against the wall but slides to the side, hitting the rough concrete ground with arms merely blocking the blow to her face.

Not now. Not this.

Her vision fades as she tries remarkably to keep herself awake, following Beatrice's blurred body with her eyes as she hurries after Mary.

Come on. Come on. She groans. Digs her nails into the side of her waist in some sort of recognition.

The halo sputters, warm against her back and Ava forces all her energy to the halo before moving it out to her body. That's something she really hadn't been able to do before but it's easier now. Stronger. Like the bond between her and it had intertwined.

On her hands and knees, she moves one finger at a time, painstakingly, slowly. But it's there and she can feel it and the more she goes on the easier it gets.

Eventually she can stand again. She hauls herself up to her feet with the support of the wall and takes another stabling breath, feeling her lungs expand and the sensation move through her entire body.

Okay. That… complicates things.

But she's not about to walk away even though this is her past.

A fleeting moment. One that goes through her heart and the nerve in her brain tells her; this is it. You can run. Explore the world like you were so desperate to do when she first got the halo. They had Shannon now, so staying wouldn't be necessary. (She's not even sure if she should be here at all). And she had control of the halo so if something were to happen, she could handle it.

Except Ava no longer wanted to find something. Explore in an effort to discover. She'd already found it and it was what she lived for. It was what she died for.

She wanted a family. She got it.

Which is ironic because that family was a bunch of nuns working for a catholic order that did everything under God's eyes. But that's the thing, really. They dragged her into it and said, okay, we love you despite it all.

There was Beatrice, who had taken up so much space in her chest that she's not sure she would be able to breathe without it.

So Ava followed. She tracked the path she thought Beatrice and Mary might have gone, having little to no clue what she would do once she found them.

She thinks back on their past missions. How they were structured. It was made to be effective, quick in and out. Someone led the group, (which most certainly right now was Shannon) and the other followed close by, having their specific targets and goals.

It was one ‘rule’ to be aware of when going on a mission. It didn't matter how much you tried. Something always went wrong.

Now when she closed in on them, hearing the ever growing sound of gunshots and steel colliding with steel she knew that it hadn't been anticipated.

The street opens up and she sees them. It's chaos. Orders are being yelled back and forth in desperation to draw back.

Mary staggers to the side towards a burning van, looking to be caused by an explosion and merely avoids a bullet that hits the door instead. Glass splinters cover the ground, crunching loudly under boots as the goons close in on them, masked with large heavy hitting weapons.

Shit.

There must be at least ten of them.

A shot rings through the air and Lilith grunts, clutching her left shoulder and gritting her teeth. The man kicks her in the stomach before she has any time to recover, knocking her down to the ground.

Shannon comes up behind him, tearing the divinium blade through his chest.

The halo glows in Shannon's back and the man lets out a gurgling scream before sagging to the ground.

"Draw back!" Shannon yells, cut off by a hit against her jaw before swinging around and knocking another down.

"No." Mary barks, shooting one man sprinting towards her and then ducking to get away from another, sweat beading her forehead. "We can't let them escape. It's too risky.”

"Behind you!" Just as another guy is about to hit her from behind Beatrice swings her staff sharply against the backside of his knees and he buckles forward.

“Bitch.” He snarls, fumbling on his hands and knees on the ground. Before Beatrice can get a hit to his head he has turned around, glass shard in hand and knuckles dripping with blood. It cuts through the fabric and into Beatrice's upper thigh and she flinches.

Mary is on him in seconds, a loud shot ringing through the air as she aims a bullet right through the back of his head.

Several more men circle around them, closing them in and Beatrice is readying herself for the next attack, blood slowly staining the fabric of her pants red.

She's swaying, the grip of the staff growing white knuckled and that's when Ava can't take it anymore. Can't just look on.

She jumps in, knocking the next guy to the ground with her entire body weight and throws a punch straight to his head. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins and she blasts another guy away before raising up from the ground and swinging towards the next. It's all a flurry of motion and hits and she registers distantly how the others are backing away, staring.

A bat swings towards her and she blocks it before gripping, making use of the strength from the halo and Beatrice training to bend the bat to the side and taking the man's arm with him. The bat falls to the ground with a clatter and Ava wastes no time throwing a sharp hit to his throat.

There's only two left now and as if shaken from a trance, Beatrice comes in and blocks several bullets with her staff before bringing one man down.

Mary shoots the last man with one steady aim and Ava takes several steps back, breathing heavily and watching the dead bodies scattered on the ground.

The halo is warm, thrumming in her back but she can't think past what just happened. Shit. Shit.

A voice nagging in her head, one that isn't hers but she knows all too well, hisses; you shouldn't have done that.

Eventually, after what felt like eternity but probably only lasted a few seconds, Mary breaks the silence. “Okay. I can't be the only one who wonders what the hell that was.”

“That's what I would like to know as well.” Lilith says, watching her over with brows furrowed and lips twitched down.

“Uh…” Ava glances between them, frozen underneath their stares and the questions they wanted answered. How could she even begin to explain? Would they even believe her if she did?

She doesn't have any time to even try to talk, however, before Lilith is on her again. Ever the sceptic.

“How can you possibly have a halo? Where did you get it from?”

“Lilith.” Shannon snaps, voice sharp and she looks between them before glancing at Beatrice who is supporting her weight against hers. “Not now. We need to leave. A van will pick us up on the next block and take us back to Cat's Cradle.” She turns to her and Ava can't even begin to describe the expression on her face. “Considering you want to come with us?”

Ava's eyes fall on Beatrice who's already looking at her. “Yes… yes, I want to come with you.”

It's silent when they get to the van and climb in, air tense and uncertain. Lilith gets in first, settling furthest to the back and Mary gets in after her. Last is Shannon that heaves Beatrice's weight into the van with her, Beatrice wincing with the movement but making no other sign that she's hurt.

Which she is. Badly. God, Ava forgot the amount of stubborn she could be when she first met her.

“Let me help.” Ava says, settling herself on the opposite side in the van. The small space makes the distance between them minimal.

Shannon shakes her head, not even taking her words into consideration. “We need to stop the bleeding. Mary, fetch me the first aid kit.” Ava doesn't take offence, only waits. She knows how it is. Had known the Sisters and the OCS long enough to be aware of the bubble you get in after a mission. Especially one that went badly.

It's an automatic response – one that was surely trained into them through time. A singular focus, and now that was to help Beatrice. To do so in a manner that was familiar to them.

However, Ava had never actually met Shannon before. She'd heard stories, sure. Many of them. But it felt really fucking different having her sit in front of her in the position that Ava took over after her death. And she already has a hard time processing that Mary is sitting beside her, alive.

Mary hands her the aid kit and Shannon takes it, all focused on the task. Beatrice has kept herself occupied by pressing her hand down on the wound, blood seeping through her fingers. Her breathing is heavy, head resting against the wall.

“Hey, I can help.” Ava urges, a little louder and simultaneously leaning closer.

She so badly wants to help.

To reach out. Actually confirm that Beatrice is real.

Lilith scowls, protective. “She can't–”

“How?” It comes from Beatrice, voice forced through the strain but eyes steady on her.

Ava folds her hands into fists in her lap to hide how they're shaking. Shit. She'd missed that voice. “I can heal.” Ava starts, but backtracks when she realises how unbelievable that sounds. None of the previous warrior nun's have ever been able to heal another. And they probably didn't see her as one anyway. “Just… trust me, okay?”

Shannon looks sceptical but Beatrice nods, just barely but it's enough for Ava to get up from her seat and kneel in front of her. Her hand hovers, hesitating, before she says. “You'll have to remove your hand.”

Beatrice's hand twitches before she does as told and Ava replaces it with her own by pressing down onto the slick surface of her thigh, knowing from how vigorously the blood is still flowing that the cut went deep. Fuck. Okay. Don't screw this up.

Beatrice's skin is warm beneath her fingers and it takes everything for Ava to focus. To settle her energy on powering the halo and bringing the attention solely to the wound instead of her. She's here. She's here. She's here.

God. She can feel her blood beneath her fingers.

Ava closes her eyes, well aware she won't be able to concentrate if she leaves them open and takes a stabling breath. The halo in her back hums to life, tingling, buzzing through the nerves of her body. She tries to concentrate on guiding it down over the wound but doesn't get anywhere. Come on. Her hand shifts and she focuses on Beatrice's warmth. It's her. It's your Bea. Can you feel it?

And she can. God, she can. As soon as she shifts her attention to Beatrice's body instead of her own the energy starts to surge. Like a spark of connection it travels through her and down to Beatrice's leg. Right where the glass cut so deeply.

There's a knee jerk reaction from Beatrice that makes Ava's grip on her harden in an effort to stop her from moving. "It's okay. It's only a tingling." She mumbles, eyes still closed and mind barely focusing on the words. Just a little more.

Beatrice stills and Ava lets out a breath and makes it all flow down. That's it. She's your Bea. You can heal her.

Strangely, the halo listens. All energy and warmth and when Ava opens her eyes the next time and slowly removes her hand, still stained with her blood, the wound is gone.

“Well I be damned.” Mary whistles but Ava's attention is solely on Beatrice who is carefully tracing fingers over the spot of her thigh – like it would suddenly appear again under all that blood. Then she looks up at her.

“Thank you.”

Ava gives her a weak, almost pained smile. She's looking at you like you're a stranger.

—

There are no beginnings without destruction.

Much like the big bang, a tension needs to grow until it's so large you can't control it anymore. It's a cataclysm, an explosion. One that wipes you to the ground and forces you to start from the beginning.

Much like dead bodies decomposing and turning into soil – which will be grass, which will be trees – it creates the possibility of life.

A rain forest must burn every year for it to survive. A person must crash before getting up again...

And no matter what, no matter how much you claw and scream and grieve for something that is gone – you can never go back. Going back would mean the death of destruction. Which meant the death of everything. Which made walking into the Cat's Cradle stomach churning.

There's goosebumps prickling up her body, like everything in her knows she shouldn't be here. Twisting, turning compression of errors that pile up on itself.

They stare, the Sisters who's training for a battle they would never be a part of. Ava is an outlier, a anigma among a stable group of warriors that had worked together for as long as they could remember. Shannon carries a sort of composed confidence that radiates from her as they walk through the church. She's leading them to the head office. Ava has no choice but to follow.

Her eyes find Superion as soon as she steps into the room. She's sitting behind her desk, cane resting beside her and scar more evident than ever. Ava had forgotten just how rigid she was when she first got here.

Once she sees them she stands up. "Report."

Shannon steps forward. "It was a scam. Trained goons were hiding and ambushed us at first call. They never planned on giving us the divinum."

Superion nods, one short bow of the neck, like the news didn't phase her. "That had been my concern. I'll make sure no one considers negotiating with them again.”

Ava snorts. That went well last time.

She did not realise that she'd said it out loud before every head had turned towards her.

Superion's grip of the cane tightens. “And who might you be?”

“Oh, I'm… Ava.” Ava waves a hand, swaying back and simultaneously going forward in undecision. “I am…” Her brows furrow. What can she even tell them? It's not like they're going to believe her if she says anything about coming from the future. Besides, it would probably not be wise to begin with. Her eyes flicker over to Beatrice, poised with her back straight and hands folded in front of her. What would she do in this position?

“She has a halo.” Beatrice speaks up. “Or at least something with similar abilities… She helped me– us, during the ambush.”

“Oh what the hell, don't be stupid. It's most definitely a halo.” Mary cuts in. “What else could produce that kind of power?”

Lilith huffs. “There are no documents hinting at the existence of another. The descendent of Areala is the only one.”

Superion looks at her then, “how did you manage to attain a halo?”

Ava chews at her bottom lip. Okay. So there probably was no use trying to convince them that it was something else. The circle on her back was kind of a dead giveaway anyway. Eventually, she shakes her head. “I can't answer that. Just know that I'm not a threat, I can help.”

“How could we trust you if you refuse to tell us who you are?” Superion asks.

“You wouldn't want me against you.”

“That sounds a lot like a threat.” Lilith says, distrust leaking from her voice. Ava tenses, the memories of Lilith turning against her friends and the OCS just to get in favour of a fake fucking angel flicking through her head.

She breathes, because, later. And in order to be able to stay here and be close to Bea, lashing out on Lilith would jeopardise her more than the momentary satisfaction would be worth.

“I have a lot to provide. I'm trained and I know things… useful things. You'd want me on your side.”

“Who trained you?”

It surprises Ava for a moment that the question comes from Beatrice. She turns to her. Opens her mouth, closes it. You did. She wants to say. Take her by the shoulders and shake her because she shaped her to who she is now. I learnt everything from you.

“A good friend of mine.” Ava says instead, swallowing. There's a lump there that refuses to go away. “She was a great teacher.”

—

There is a collision of images and sounds intermingling with the present, which is the past, which is the future where Ava spins round round round. Dizzying snapshots of things that had been that will be that goes on loop again and again. Like looking through the lense of a digital camera, where the screen is broken and light manages to wring itself into rainbows.

Click, click, click of a cane against the hard marble floor as Suzanne walks through the corridors of a Cradle that is yet not dead. Dead people walking. Dead people walking.

Ava is the ghost that chases the sound of nothing. A distant remembrance of something solid. A warmth she could grasp, hug, sink into until she felt safe.

She peels the red shirt off, the one awashed with blood and saltwater from the sea. It smelt of old summer's. The arm is ripped at the end and the collar is stretched out from fists dragging. (Bea, it's Bea). The side, right where it would count as long enough to be a dress, a black crayon mark jerked forward into a big ugly stain.

She used to hold crayons with a knuckle grip, all fist and pressure down as she dragged it over the paper. That had been when her feet didn't yet reach the ground and she swung them back and forth as she tilted her head to the side – all concentration – sun warming her neck and mosquitos insisting on taking up space.

The shirt is hidden underneath the pillow in the small room she'd been given – because they had given her a room, after all. (Not Shannons, of course not).

And not with trust. No, no. They did not trust her. Superion had that look in her eyes that entailed suspicion. Which meant, undoubtedly, to Ava's frustration, monitoring.

A bearer of a ring. Not the halo. They had twisted the words into something else. Something unholy. Something to look on with a sort of heedful stare that put space between God and Angels and her.

She might as well have climbed out of the devil's layer and told them of Adriel and how this was more connected to him than anything holy.

It makes her sick to think about so she stops.

Of course, no matter what nuns make you believe, they whisper. Of power. Of light so strong it blinds your eyes and makes the back of your teeth ache. They whisper of dead bodies. Efficiency of a sudden clash.

Ava had never meant to fall into the fight so brashly that it echoed. Her only thought had been; Beatrice. And. They hurt her, they hurt her – they have to go.

While others keep their distance Shannon moves forward. She walks up to her one day and asks her about the fight. (I'm on your side, Ava wants to insist. With the space she takes up. With how she looks at her). Ava knows Shannon is more interested in how she used the halo in order to take down those men than she is about the whispers of trust. She asks her if they can spar. The question alone makes her stomach turn. She's not supposed to be the teacher. She's in the wrong line. Line, time– shut up. She knows. She knows.

Sickeningly aware that the people in front of her aren't the same as her own. (But they are). No, no. Her people know she sucks at sparring. Her patience runs out and she ends up going sloppy, sticking to the next best punch in order to move forward. Her fighting technique isn't about memorising the way you're supposed to twist your hip or balance your body. The only rule is – know when to collide, and don't ever fucking hesitate if you take the plunge.

It's through hesitance that you misstep. It's through secondary assumption that you lose.

Shannon takes her out to the training ground anyway and Ava follows. So does a group of Sisters wanting to watch the fight – including Bea.

Beatrice sits down on a bench nearby with a book open in her lap as she looks up now and again to study them. (Her. She hopes it's her. Ava so desperately wants her back that having her there, unaware of what they've gone through together, is almost painful).

When Ava goes into position on her side of the mat she does so in the goal to impress her. She'll have to win her over somehow. Except, except…

“I want to see what you can do.”

Ava tightens her jaw, having a hard time staying put. Two halos meeting. That sounds like a calamity. “You sure? My powers can be pretty unpredictable at times.”

Shannon only nods, as if understanding (Ava grasps at the reality that she may be the only one that does).

“I have no problem with unpredictability. That's why I came to you.” Shannon answers and it settles like an agreement between them.

Okay.

They don't clash in the middle of anything dramatic – like someone might expect. No, Shannon is too watchful and Ava is having difficulties going all in.

Instead Ava throws a half-punch towards Shannons jaw as soon as her left foot comes too close to the line. She dodges, ducking underneath her arm to spin around and aim a hit at her back.

The halo's reaction is automatic. It thrums to life on instinct and the next she knows an arm is phasing through her body. Her skin prickles with goosebumps and she twists to the side to get away.

Shannon blinks back the surprise and collects herself quickly – she's the warrior nun after all, years of training. Even then it seems like Ava knows things she doesn't.

Shannon goes at her again, throwing punch after punch and Ava blocks them like a whirlwind, simultaneously pushing back and having her falter. Flashes of Bea's hard eyes fill her vision. She'd always parry, letting Ava charge.

A foot hooks behind her leg and she falls forward, hands already reaching for something to grab. She blindly reaches and catches Shannons arm and she gets dragged down with her.

They tumble on the ground, legs and arms snaking around each other in an effort to get away. Get away.

Her body goes cold and her eyes sting and she's pretty sure someone is screaming. Doesn't matter. It's all muffled sounds and ears ringing and she never knew how terrifying it could be to feel the halo's power from the outside.

This feels wrong.

She fumbles and her hands get a grip of the body weighing her down and the next thing she knows she's shoving the body away, the halo lighting up in intensity and making the action an oblivion. Shannon flies back and hits the cobblestone wall.

Her body collides with a terrible crack and Ava has to squeeze her eyes shut and hiss through clenched teeth before opening them again. Fuck.

Sisters run up to her, hovering by where she's still laying like a ragdoll trying to get control of their own limbs.

Fuck. Fuck. fuck.

She's fucked.

Ava stands, frozen and staring as Shannon tries to heave herself up to a sitting position and simultaneously wave the worried Sisters away.

Her breathing is hard, chipping and quick as her lungs try to get air back into its system. It's noticeable that the halo is working full time to heal her wounds. It's not only her body that cracked, the wall did too. There are visible lines, like lightning, going through the rocks and ending in sharp jerks.

When she looks down at her hands that shake the nerve endings are glowing a dim blue, following up her arms and she takes a wobbling step back from herself. You can't flee from yourself.

Ava quivers, goosebumps prickling her body like thousands of needles. The halo in her back is cold. “Fuck.”

“Language.” Beatrice warns as she steps in front of her, a knife drawn from its sheath. She's moving like she's expecting an attack. Like Ava was a threat that needed to be neutralised.

“I didn't mean to do that.”

“Really.”

“It's true, I–” she takes a step forward and Beatrice tenses.

Ava stops, fumbling and desperate. “I don't know what's happening. I've never felt another halo before. I didn't mean to do that.” Her teeth grit through the last sentence. She flexes her fingers, muscles spasming and skin feeling like it's being pulled taught against her body.

"You're not doing that on purpose?"

"What?"

"Your body is glowing."

Ava laughs, the words skirting on ridiculousness. "Fuck no, this has never happened before."

Her breath shakes. This has never happened before.

“I don't know what's happening.” She whispers. More so to herself. She puts pressure against her chest in an attempt to calm down. To stop the shaking.

Beatrice takes a cautious step forward. “Ava…”

“Stay away from her.” Lilith tears through the masses, putting herself between her and Beatrice. Her eyes are piercing. “You should leave. You don't belong here.”

Ava shakes her head, still keeled over as she takes a large gulp of air. Her eyes are locked on her hands. “I can't.”

Lilith scoffs. “I'm not really asking.”

“Trust me, things will become much worse if I leave.”

Lilith's eyes shrink into slits. “Why?”

Ava's attention flickers back to Shannon who is now halting towards them, supported by sisters on either side and clear blood staining her side where her shirt got ripped.

The halo definitely healed her but Ava knows it doesn't take away the lingering of phantom pain.

She takes another breath, head tilting up and eyes closing for a moment to force herself to relax. Think of something else other than the possibility that she's ruining all of this.

“I know who's going to betray you.”

Lilith scoffs again. “We are the order of the cruciform sword. Dedicated to the cause. We do not–”

“Lilith.”

Lilith turns to Shannon, all snarl. “She can't be trusted.”

“Drop it. I'll take it from here.”

“But–”

“I said, drop it.” Shannon repeats, tone growing firmer.

Lilith only gives Ava one last look before leaving.

Shannon's attention is fully on her, serious but seemingly not angry. “What do you know?”

The halo has dimmed down and thus the blue light flowing through her veins. Beatrice is still looking at her from the side, like she's trying to figure her out.

“Where is Vincent?”

Having not seen him yet set Ava on edge. More so than the opposite.

“How do you know Father Vincent?” Beatrice asks.

“I–”

“Why do you think someone is going to betray us?” Shannon steps closer. She's searching for something there. Maybe the proof of what she'd noticed herself. Ava didn't know much of what happened before she got the halo but Beatrice had told her about how Shannon had seemed skittish before the attack. On guard, almost. Like she knew it was coming but couldn't figure out from where.

“You know why.” Ava insists. “You've had a feeling that something is wrong for a while, right? That someone is trying to manipulate the missions from the inside.” She knows she's reaching far. Gripping at loose ends. They would never believe her if she said it was Vincent. That snake has swirled himself so far into the order that poison has become their wine.

But she needed to do something. Needed to give them something that showed them how she was on their side. That she was needed. “Just… I know this sounds really weird but if you give me a little time I can prove it.”

Shannon gives her a long look before nodding. “Okay. You can stay.”

Anxious, hushed protests come from the crowd and Shannon turns to look at them. It's enough for them to go silent.

“Under one condition. You will be under supervision at all times.”

“That's–”

“I believe you understand why we must take precautions when we don't know you.” Shannon cuts off.

Okay. Ava breathes. Her eyes go to Beatrice. “If she does it.”

“What?”

“I want her to supervise me. She's one of your finest, right? I'm sure you can agree to that.”

Beatrice visibly straightens.

Shannon raises an eyebrow but doesn't question it. “Would you agree on that, Beatrice?”

“I suppose that could work.”

Her tone is stiff, formal. Even Ava has difficulty interpreting how she's really feeling about it.

Doesn't matter. If she managed to wrangle herself into Beatrice's life one time, a second time shouldn't be too hard. Right?

Besides, there was only a little over a month left before the mission. Before Shannon was supposed to die and she was supposed to get the halo. She needs to focus. Needs to make sure that Shannon's death never happens.

She has a working theory that it won't affect herself. If she's already here, how would getting rid of the other change anything?

—

They end up moving her to stay in Beatrice's room. Ava almost laughs at the prospect, chest rattling and lungs giving in for a chance to breathe. They saw it as a precaution. Ava saw it as about the best thing that's happened since she got here.

She gets a bed further into the room, a good distance away from Beatrice's. Of course, everything is in impeccable order, barely any items anywhere except for a lone book on the counter and a burnt candle with wax that had dripped down its side and collected around the rim.

Beatrice is all stiff shoulders about it. She moves around the room in a pattern that could be mistaken as planned out (always a step ahead, always prepared) while she relays what time she needs to be here and what times she needs to wake up. Ava is meant to follow her schedule. It was the most optimal way of having Beatrice watch over her without diverging from her own routines.

Instead of having it discourage her however, Ava grabs the opportunity by the shoulders.

Beatrice had never been someone to talk about herself. Especially not when it came to her past. Ava thinks slowly over time, learning about her had become sacred.

Beatrice prays with her hands clasped and thumb hooking over thumb. Head lowered, habit shielding a part of her face that Ava wished to see. Her eyes are closed and Ava lowers her head too, more so in amusement, down on her knees beside her in the rows of sisters that prays to God.

Ava does not pray to God.

She thinks about what would happen if she instead of clasping her hands together, reached out and took hers. Thinks of how she would gently tug until Beatrice's hands would unfurl to fit into her own.

Of course it doesn't happen, because she can't, not yet. But her eyes crinkle anyway at the prospect and she huffs out a laugh.

She can feel Beatrice's eyes on her at the end of the service. It makes the hair on her neck stand on end.

—

They do give her more time. Although Ava is not sure if it is because they truly believe she will come to them with something that proves betrayal within the order or if it was simply because they had too much else going on.

Beatrice trains with the nuns in the courtyard every day at exactly nine o'clock and then later at one.

Their training is formulaic, perfect rows with staff swinging through the air at the same time upon Superions instructions. It's sync training, Beatrice explains later when Ava asks while moving up to balance on her toes where she stands before going down again. She repeats the process, shifting weight from foot to foot in boredom. Beatrice takes notice of it but doesn't make a comment. She learned by now that Ava can't stand still. “It helps us connect better as a team.”

“Couldn't you do that through something else?”

Beatrice rewraps the white cloth around her wrists. It's for stability. When they lived in Switzerland she made sure, even upon Ava's insistence that it wasn't necessary, to teach Ava how it worked.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean like playing games or watching a movie or something. If you're going to connect you must have a little fun together! No need to be so serious all the time.”

Beatrice looks up at her before refocusing on the cloth. “Was that how your friend teached you? Through movies and… games.” Her mouth twists down weirdly at the word and she shakes her head. “It's very unconventional.”

If you only knew. Ava can't help the smile that slowly breaks free. “Can't say she's unconventional exactly… It was more me who convinced her that it was a good idea.”

Ava remembers how Beatrice would force her through training, hour after hour every day before work, rigorous and demanding. It was a combination of stress and anxiety that made her push more than she maybe should have. One day when she'd run her third lap and was practically dying (ever the dramatic) bent down with her hands on her knees and panting like a damn dog she'd had enough.

She said ‘fuck it' and wrangled off her shirt and pants before getting into the shallow part of the lake.

She can still remember the look on Beatrice's face when she looked up from her notebook and saw her, just in her bra and underwear, walking barefoot into the water. It was the way the notebook dropped to the ground and Beatrice turned awkwardly away before facing her again to ask her what she was doing.

‘Cooling down!’ is the only answer she got in return and it was enough because Beatrice didn't ask much for the rest of the day.

It was only when they'd gotten home to their apartment, Ava with wet socks and clothes sticking to her in uncomfortable places because of course she didn't have a towel with her, but whatever, it's fine. She enjoyed the way Beatrice couldn't seem to stop casting glances at her. Beatrice caved for the first time in weeks to buy fast food and they crammed together on the couch, watching some crappy drama show on TV.

It was the first time she truly saw Beatrice relax enough to fully laugh. Since that day Beatrice had also become more willing to listen to Ava's suggestions of making training more fun. (Which included bonding through crappy television and drama).

Beatrice huffs at the frank response, mumbling. “Why doesn't that surprise me?”

She stops then, just a momentary jerk of a motion that would go unnoticed if you hadn't been paying attention – oh, but Ava is paying attention. She leans forward instinctively and sees how her brows crinkle in slight puzzlement before she straightens up. “There's another half hour of training before we take a break. You can meet me by lunchtime in the dining hall if you wish to do something else.”

“You trust me enough for that? Maybe I will, I don't know, go up and blow up the kitchen or something. Steal all your pastries.” Ava wiggles her eyebrows, head tilting to the side and hair falling with her. She's fully grinning now, not helping it.

“We don't have pastries.” Is the comment she gets back but she can see a small smile slipping.

Damn it. She'd missed that smile.

“I neither think you would be foolish enough to do something since you're heavily outnumbered.” Beatrice finishes.

“How kind of you.” Teasing. Always teasing.

She tilts her head down. “Yes, well…”

“Could I join you?”

Lips strain. “I thought you said our routine wasn't ‘fun’ enough.”

Ava shrugs. “I need to blow off some steam and it feels like ages since I last trained… I miss it.” She bites down hard on the inside of her cheek from the last words, searching Beatrice's face for how she will take it.

“I suppose that wouldn't be an issue. As long as Superion agrees.”

Ava hums. “I can be pretty charming.”

Beatrice opens her mouth before closing it. Turns around. “I'll ask her.”

It's the little victories.

—

Camila joins on a Monday.

It's only then that Ava realises, with some horror, how new she had been to the OCS before the mission. Right before Ava had crashed into the order and put everything to chaos.

Beatrice greets her by the gate with a gentle hand on her shoulder and words of welcome. She is polite and formal but soft in a way Ava knows she's put on specifically for her. Camila smiles up at Beatrice, uncharacteristically timid with her habit sitting slightly lopsided.

She's far too quiet for Ava's liking. They all had a past. Ava had never had much of a chance to get to know hers.

So she moves from where she'd been standing a couple feet away, far enough away not to disturb because, yes, she could hold herself back if she needed to – but this felt too important to pass up on.

Both heads turn towards her when she gets closer and she stretches out a hand, smiling big with her eyes crinkling. “Hi! I'm Ava. It's nice to meet you.”

Camila reciprocates the handshake with some curiosity. “Are you not a nun?”

Ava takes the question in strides, probably too unserious if you asked someone else. But she doesn't care and she sure as hell doesn't think Camila cares either. “Nah. Never felt like my style. But I contribute in other ways…”

Beatrice looks over at her in clear bewilderment before stepping forward, close enough to her that their shoulders brush together. “Information. She contributes information that is essential to the order.” For some reason she diverges completely from even mentioning that she has a halo in her back and the fact that she has barely even given them any information yet. It shakes her.

“A little like me then.” Camila smiles. “Do you code?”

Ava chuckles. “No. You're probably the only one here that can do that.”

There's that look again. When it feels like she's said something weird and Beatrice is trying to depict it.

It goes away with the shake of her head and she turns her attention fully back to Camila. “That's why you're needed. We're glad to have you here, Sister Camila.”

Camila straightens, hands clasped but smile broadening. “I'll do my best.”

Strange, how small she seems here. Ava wishes she could tell her that everything would be okay.

Although, that would be a lie.

—

Ava has always had a fucked up relationship with sleep. Back at the orphanage it was hard sometimes to separate being awake from dreaming. She would stare up at the white ceiling, blink, look at the screen and whatever was playing before her.

What she saw would meld into her dreams. Sometimes those dreams would make her walk. Would put her in the boots of the characters on screen like she so often wished for.

God, it was so much that she'd wished for. Even then she would rarely ever actually walk. She would get stuck staring at her hands, slowly twisting her wrist and curling her fingers. It became blurry.

She'd wake up screaming, sweat beading her forehead and everything around her feeling unreal. What could even count as real?

Ava hated those nights as much as Francis despised being woken up.

After she regained her body back she refused to stay in bed for more than a couple hours. Sometimes even less. There were nights where she'd sneak out of the Cat's Cradle when phasing around her room wasn't enough.

The others would often find her sitting on top of the roof with legs dangling over the edge. She had a choice there. Press her hands into the rough surface and keep still. Look up at the starlit sky and memorise a pattern she'd never had the opportunity to learn before.

Beatrice disliked the idea even more when they were in Switzerland and Ava insisted on going through the window in their small bedroom to climb up the fire escape. Even then, she never stopped her, not completely at least. Ava thinks it's because she could see how important it was for her.

At least give her that.

Now, in the dark room in the Cat's Cradle, she wakes up with a rattle. Her dreams were different now. Time warping backwards. She's hyperventilating, eyes flicking around in desperation and as she tries to will her body to move.

She can't. She can't.

Her muscles tense up in painful contractions but refuses to listen to her. There's black, suffocating darkness closing in on her vision and she lets out a whine, pathetic and whimpering. Not now.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Her lungs expand and she gulps in air as her fingers try to grip into the sheet.

Fuck. Just move.

Her head turns towards Beatrice when she hears her stir. Blurry dots dance before her vision and she blinks into the darkness.

Don't wake up. It's not fucking worth it.

She sucks in another breath, jaw clenches and teeth grinding. It's like her body is trying to overcompensate for something that shouldn't be possible. Please move.

"Ava?"

Fuck.

"Don't." She grits out, not knowing why. It's too much.

Ava doesn't look but she can hear Beatrice move out of her bed and get closer. Her fingers dig into the sheets in a locking motion.

"What's wrong?" Her face entered her vision, hair down and falling across her shoulders and nightgown fitting loosely. It reminds her too much of Switzerland.

"I can't move." She says, every word hard to formulate. She realises then that Beatrice has no idea of why that is. Has not heard of her paralysis or childhood because Ava has never told any of them how she got here.

She sucks in another breath, wincing.

She distantly registers Beatrice hesitating, hand hovering over her body before she clasps them to her side. "How can I help?"

"I want to... Need, feel." She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to calm her breathing. Calm down.

She doesn't make any sense.

Ava wets her lips to try again, desperate for this to be over.

A hand is placed carefully on her upper arm. Saving, gripping, relief. "Can you feel this?"

It's a tingling. Goosebumps prickle up her body. "Yes."

It takes a moment of indecision, one where Ava can practically feel Beatrice tear through her own restrictions. Her hand moves down to squeeze her hand. "And this?"

Ava nods. Her fingers twitch to squeeze back. “More.” Please…

Beatrice listens. She moves closer, bed dipping as she sits down at the edge – a careful distance away but it's still close enough to make Ava want to cry.

Instead she focuses on Beatrice's hand. How her thumb hooks and wanders over her knuckles and sends bolts of electricity through her veins.

She grips harder and she breathes and she ever so slowly starts wiggling her toes, rolling her ankle, adjusting her legs. Beatrice sits quietly, patient. Until Ava heaves herself up to a sitting position and falls into her arms.

Her hand halts just over her back, body locking up in surprise. Ava digs into her warmth, forgetting for a moment that this wasn't her Bea. They've never hugged before. (Well…)

Eventually, like Beatrice has to consciously relax each muscle in her body in order to reciprocate, she wraps a careful arm around her back and holds her. Ava cries. It's all racketing breath and fingers digging into the thin fabric of a nightgown. Her body is warm, searing. She lets herself, selfishly, take the moment for herself.

“Thank you.” She whispers, quiet into the darkness.

Beatrice exhales. Doesn't let go. Not for a while at least. Not until Ava untangle herself and wipes her hand sloppily over her face and laughs. Loud and leaking, a rise of joy that only came after something terrible. Beatrice simply looks at her, puzzled but holding back questions she so clearly wanted to ask.

“I wish I could tell you.”

“What?”

“I wish I could tell you everything.”

—

Time seemed to whir faster after that, band rolling back to replay the movie on a big white screen.

In two weeks it is doomsday.

Beatrice no longer watches over her like she thinks that she'll fold at any moment. Take one wrong step. A moment of a turn that will showcase betrayal.

They relax around her, the nuns. Mostly because every time they whisper over their shoulders Beatrice gives them a glare that's enough to make them bow their heads down in shame.

Ava makes sure to get close to Camila, sitting with her at lunch and bringing up topics she knew she secretly loved. (Sci-fi and thriller movies are her jam). It makes Camila squeal before leaning closer and whisper conspiratorially. ‘You know of the butterfly effect?’

Ava nods, because Camila has told her about it before. Small changes are big changes are small changes etcetera… a theory that there's a complex system of interconnections that makes everything you do matter. The butterfly is the cause of the storm. A halo dropping to the ground is the cause of an awakening…

Would that be where Ava fit into all of it? Receiving the halo? If she'd never been in that morgue, in that church, on that day – if Shannon never had stepped forward first and gotten right in the line of the blast, well… it's something she'll see for herself when she gets there.

Ava shudders, the prospect making her feel slightly sick. How much had she already altered for being here? What if she told them everything now…

She searches after Shannon. Because if anyone needs to know it's her. She finds out later, when she's been wandering around far too much for Superion's liking (she's warmed up to her, Ava is sure of it) that she's out on a mission.

There's a moment when panic surges through her and she thinks she's missed it. Has counted the days wrong and now she's gone.

But no. No, no.

Nine days left, nine days left.

Shannon bursts through the door two hours later with Mary in toe, a sister Ava didn't recognise barely keeping herself standing as she is heaved forward.

“She's lost a lot of blood.”

Sisters crowd around her in the room as she's carefully laid down on the floor. She's barely conscious, eyes drooping and teeth gritting. The bullet seems to have dug right through her abdomen.

Shit.

They talk between each other, Shannon pressing down on the wound and Beatrice coming up behind Ava with water and gauze, already having heard the commotion from the courtyard.

The group disperse and Beatrice goes up beside the sister, composed but clearly searching for something that indicates that she could be saved. She takes over by pressing the gauze against the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It's soaked through in seconds.

Ava stands behind them, uncertain. Even though she'd managed to gain many people's trust she still had some that were wary of her.

“Ava.” Mary grunts, turning from the group. “Can you heal her?”

No.

She can't.

“I–”

“Today, preferably. She won't survive losing this much blood.”

Ava bites back a response and gets closer, leaning down to put her hand against the wound. Beatrice's own hand moves. Mary nods, urging her on.

She could try. But even before the halo lights up she knows it won't work. Knows she won't be able to save her.

The energy isn't there. There's no connection.

The sister groans, folding to the side in pain and Ava's hand slips. So much blood. Her hands are slick of it.

"Why isn't it working?" Mary asks.

She's hovering beside her, desperate and frustrated.

"I don't know her.” Ava says simply. “I can't make a connection." She curls her hand in her lap, balling them into fists. The halo is already fading in her back.

"You didn't know Beatrice either." Mary insists. “How is this any different?”

I love her.

For a second time she can feel Beatrice's eyes on her. That burning feeling of being perceived.

Ava shakes her head. "I'm sorry.”

She learns much later that her name was Tina. She never made it out of that room and Ava refuses to believe it's her fault.

Instead she refocuses on talking to Shannon. Ava finds her walking around her room, as if searching for something and when she sees Ava she flinches.

“It's impolite to come in without knocking.”

“Sorry.” Ava attempts, but there's not much heart to it. She phased through the wall when she heard Shannon's footsteps. “I really need to talk to you. It's important.”

Shannon bends down to look under her bed, “I'm quite occupied, Ava. You can come back later.”

“I can't.” Ava takes a step forward. Shannon turns her head to look at her before standing up properly. Finally, maybe she's picked up on something.

“And why is that?”

Where to start? Oh yeah, you'll probably die from a terrible blast in just a few days and I'm just going here to warn you. No biggie.

“This will probably sound crazy to you and I get it… but I think that someone here is going to try and kill you.”

Shannon sits down on the bed, picking up a book that's been laying on her counter only to run a hand over it. Her voice comes out scarily calm. “It's quite bold of you to walk in here and make such a claim. Especially when you've barely been here for more than a month. What makes you so certain that I'm going to die?”

She must have noticed it. Must have noticed at least something because despite the mask she's trying to put on, Ava can see right through it. It's not much different to the one she wore after the final battle with Adriel.

“Has Vincent told you anything? Tried to make you do something without letting the other Sisters know?”

“What are you getting at?” Shannon says and Ava swears she's gotten the bluntness from Mary. But it's softer here, more attentive.

“I think,” knows, “he's working for someone else. Someone outside the order.”

“No.” It's sharp. Shannon stands, getting closer. Ava doesn't know what to make of it so she takes an uncertain step back. “I don't know what makes you believe that you know him better than us. He's been with the order for years and is vital to our group. He would not go behind our backs.”

“Shannon, I know it sounds unbelievable–”

“Because it is. Especially coming from you.”

“I'm from the future.” Ava blurts, gripping for control of the situation. “I know because I've seen it. I was there when you… when he betrayed us.”

It sounds ridiculous even for her own ears. Shannon stands, staring down at her with careful consideration. “Please leave. I need to focus, Ava. Your declarations do not help me at the moment.”

“Shannon–”

“Leave. Or I'll make sure you won't be allowed to step a foot inside the Cradle again.”

Ava listens, jaw tightening and hands going over her face in frustration. “Okay. Just… know that I'm saying this to help you.”

Shannon doesn't respond. Only returns back to what she was doing and Ava can do nothing more than walk out of there.

Shit. Beatrice would have known how to handle that better.

—

It's funny. It's fucking hilarious. She has to convince herself of that. Doomsday, the tragedy, the catalyst, starts like any other day. The wind doesn't change course. Nothing seems particularly strange or wrong. No, why would it? Doomsday doesn't know it's doomsday. Much like Shannon doesn't know she's going to die (well) and Ava… she's still mad at Francis for that.

So terribly bitter that it fills her mouth whenever she thinks about it. If she hadn't gotten the halo, if she hadn't rewoken, she'd gone out from this world with no one knowing she was in it.

Except for people who could care less. Except for those who saw it as burdens being taken off their shoulders. Except for Diego…

She missed him. Ava had thought many times of visiting him. Slip inside and talk to him one last time. But the prospect of doing it when there was potentially another of her there scared her enough that she never took the leap.

It was too late anyway. Everything was too late. Which is funny because she should have all the time in the world, with gaining more back than she had in the first place and all that.

It's funny… she has to tell herself it's funny or else she will lose it.

Maybe she already is because when she storms through Vincent's door, not caring to knock or even say hello, he jumps up like a scared rabbit with his eyes shot wide and Ava draws satisfaction from it.

Today is doomsday.

Vincent came back on a doomsday. He had been away on a long term mission, one “regarding the pope” as Suzanne so finely stated when she had pressed her about it.

She's fucking relived to not have had to see his face for more than necessary but also really wish she could have gotten this over with sooner. Preferably not at all.

The surprise is gone as quickly from his face as it appeared. Although he doesn't quite settle back in his chair, his shoulders visibly lowers.

“Ava, I've been expecting you.”

Ava scoffs. “Don't do that bullshit on me because it won't work. You're sending the team into a suicide mission and you know it.”

He only raises an eyebrow. One infuriating eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Yes.” Ava says, too impatient to play along with Vincent's little charade. She walks around the desk, deliberately destructing the space between them. Vincent doesn't make any indication of being bothered but Ava knows he is. “You set this up. Well… or should I say,” she tugs at the hem of his sleeve, revealing the edge of a tattoo. “Adriel set you up.”

Vincent's hand flies up to grab her wrist before she has any chance to move away. His eyes are piercing. “How do you know of him?”

Ava lets a smile curl on her lips, because this is too damn good to pass up on. “You think Adriel only has you on the outside? I have far more power than you could ever gain, he needs me.”

His nails dig into her skin. Ava doesn't care. Only pushes closer. “I can bring you down in a heartbeat but I'm not going to do that. Instead you'll take my orders. Not his.”

“He can't possibly have you on his side. He never mentioned another.” Vincent spits. “I'm the one he called. I'm the only one that can make the prophecy come true.”

“Do you really believe that?” She makes the halo light up and the energy sears through her body. She bends the hand Vincent had gripped her wrist with back until Vincent jerks back.

He scrambles up, chair falling to the floor with a loud clank. “You're the devil.”

“That's really funny coming from you.”

Ava walks closer, not caring for the consequences anymore. Sure, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to kill him but what the hell.

Vincent, fuck his pride, doesn't back away.

“I want you to tell me where the detonation is. When will it happen?” Ava knows it's what got Shannon killed. If she could stop that, it would be enough to save her.

“I don't know what you're talking about. You have to be more specific–”

Ava launches, shoving him into the wall with a hand around his throat. “The mercenaries you hired to kill Shannon will plant a bomb at the delivery location. Tell me where.”

Still, even now, he looks back at her with a blank expression.

She growls in frustration. Her grip around his throat tightens. “Fine. I'll just have to–”

A loud ringing sounds through the Cradle and it makes Vincent smile.

“Too late.” He forces out, far too smug for his own good. “They're leaving.”

Fuck.

Ava lets go of him and phases through the wall. She stumbles to the ground outside, the courtyard already full of life.

They're running back and forth, trying to get the last things ready before going. Sisters are dressed up in battle gear and Ava can spot Mary further away by one of the vans.

Shannon and the others are already climbing in.

Ava runs forward, catching the door right as Beatrice is about to close it. “I'm coming with you.”

“What?” Lilith says from Beatrice's side, already growing annoyed.

Ava focuses her attention on Beatrice. “Please. I can help.” She hopes her eyes can convey what she can't say with words. Hopes Beatrice understands.

Beatrice nods and it makes Ava's entire body sag with relief before she climbs in. The others look at her sceptically and Shannon's mouth strains but she doesn't say a word.

Okay. That's not ideal.

“You're not prepared.” Mary says after the van has started rolling, breaking the silence. “Those clothes won't protect you from shit all.”

Ava looks down at herself. And yeah, Mary is right. She hadn't thought that far ahead. She's only in her basic training outfit that's practically just thick cloth.

She curses under her breath, muttering.

You're not very good at this, are you?

Mary rolls her eyes, seemingly taking pity on her. She takes a knife out of her seeth, small with a thin blade and holds it out for her. “I don't doubt you can protect yourself with those powers of yours but it's always good to have backup.”

Ava takes the knife carefully, the metal handle cold against her palm. “Thank you.”

“Whatever. We're not predicting much backlash so fighting on your part will probably be unnecessary.”

Ava winces. “You never know. There's always a risk that something bad could happen…”

Mary stares. The others are silently watching the conversation go down. Camila looks like she wants to intervene in her corner of the car.

“Then we will be prepared.” Mary states simply, and that's how Ava knows the conversation is done.

The rest of the car ride goes by in silence. Air tense with guns in people's laps and thoughts swirling. It's this moment that's the most daunting in a mission. Not when it happens but right before you go in to it. You can feel your body resisting against the possibility of danger.

Some people take that as exhilaration.

The car stopped by a decolent street a few blocks from church, darkness pulling over them. They jump out one by one, Beatrice and Shannon already going forward to scan the surrounding area, weapons at the ready and body on guard.

“They said they would meet us down by the station.” Camila says, voice hushed.

“What, why? Do they want to get fucking spotted.” Mary asks, flippant.

Camila only shrugs, one finger against her earpiece as she listens in on whoever she has on the other line.

“Let's go, then. We have no time to lose.” Shannon says, moving forward. “Camila, you'll stay put and warn us for any incoming problems.”

“Understood.” Camila nods, visibly shaky. It's her first mission after all.

The others quickly disappear down the stairs that lead down to the metro and Ava hesitates, turning to Camila to squeeze her shoulder and give her a smile. “This is going to go great. I'll make sure of it.”

Camila nods back. “Thanks, Ava.”

Ava takes in her name with a shaky breath and then, after one last squeeze of her shoulder, turns and goes down under.

It's not big, the tiled tunnel that leads to the train station, but it only manages to make it feel more pressing. The lights are few and far between, some broken and flickering with an insistent hum. It casts an uncanny green light over the area, almost disguising the dirty stone floors that were littered with rubbish from the latest evening rush. People just couldn't quit tossing things on the ground.

Loud voices make Ava stop in her tracks. They're here and they've already started negotiating.

One speaks loudly, gripping a red bag by his side like it was going to break if anyone went closer than one meter. Black slicked back hair and beard stub, Ava is certain she's seen him before.

There was no one else there than him. Not what was seen at least. Ava casted her eyes behind him into the dark tunnel where construction was still ongoing, railing put up and piles of rubble being left from yesterday's work.

Ava doesn't know where the bomb is or when it will go off but she knows two things; It's here – and they are most certainly not alone.

‘Armed mercenaries were at the delivery location.’

She frowns, walking closer. The group is on standby, the only one coming closer being Shannon. She's discussing something with the man that Ava can't hear.

It clangs in her head before it even begins. Like her body already knows what's going to happen before it happens. Dying is an art like anything else.

Shannon nods as they seem to have come to an agreement and the man grips the bag to give it to her. It's held forward with careful consideration, fingers curling around the rem.

He's drawing it away from himself in a way that makes Ava's stomach turn.

It hits her then, that the bag is the bomb.

“No!” She runs forward, legs trying to catch up with the sudden movement. Her breath clogs in her lungs and she knows, she knows, it's over.

Before she even grabs the bag and throws herself to the side where no one else is, the explosion has happened. A shockwave, large and rattling with divinum splintering around her. Into her.

The side of her face stings in an insistent burn and her arm jerks into her side in reverberation, the skin over bones already forming bruises.

Her eyes water and her ears ring and everything is burning. I do it exceptionally well.

People are screaming. She thinks. She imagines. Gunshots firing through the air above her.

She's screaming. Out of pain. Maybe.

They're here. They've revealed themselves.

Good.

All around her people are fighting. She grits her teeth, head throbbing and she blinks in an attempt to get her vision back.

It's blurry, eyelocks heavy like something is weighing down on them and she registers how her right eye isn't opening. Isn't responding to her will.

“Fuck.” She hisses through teeth as she pulls herself up on her elbows.

“Ava!” Someone runs up to her, a hazy image of a body going down to their knees to cradle her face. It stings and she jerks away, the pain running like needles through her skin.

The hands go away. Goes down to her shoulder and arms instead.

“Ava. Answer me. Can you hear me?”

Ava blinks up at the blur of a person, her mind slowly registering the voice.

“Bea.”

“Yeah, it's me. It's me. How are you feeling?”

Ava cracks a smile. It pulls at the skin by her lips. “You feel nice.”

The hand on her upper arm twitches.

Beatrice huffs. “Come on, we need to get you out of here.”

She's distressed over something. Ava can hear that. Is not certain she knows for what.

She hums but it comes out more like a gurgle of clogged saliva.

Beatrice is pulling her up to her legs before she can make another attempt at answering . Ava's still blinking, jaw locked in pain as she tries to desperately get her vision to clear.

“Why would you do that?” Beatrice asks, desperate. “I can't believe you– how did you know? I didn't even...”

Ava can't answer but she topples into her body, legs not really carrying her and Beatrice catches her, strong arms wrapping around her waist.

Every nerve ending in her body is screaming.

Beatrice guides them away from the fight and gets her up the stairs, fingers tightening by her waist when she feels Ava slipping.

“Stay with me.”

Ava chuckles. Knocks into a pole. “Fuck.” She groans, the pain searing through her arm. Her skin feels burnt. Gone.

Is it gone?

She sways in and out of consciousness as they get further and further away from the fight. She can still hear the gunshots. Feel Beatrice's steady body pressed against her side.

“Where are we going?”

It's hard to speak. Straining.

“The church. We can find cover there.” Beatrice answers quickly, tense.

Her eyes flick over to her now and again, scanning.

Ava blinks. Squinting through the spots in her vision. “Huh.”

Time can be pretty stubborn sometimes. It doesn't want to change.

When they stumble into the church the gunshots feel as close as when they left.

Beatrice mutters something under her breath, taking them through the long winding corridors made of cold stone.

“They followed us here.” Ava mumbles, more so to herself.

Beatrice answers anyway. “The others will take care of it.”

“Hm.” Ava looks around, finally feeling like her head has cleared enough to take in more of what is happening. The halo in her back is working overdrive in an attempt to heal her.

She doesn't think it's working.

“Stop.” Ava says, catching the door into a room she wished to forget. “I said, stop.” Her left hand takes a hold on the side of the door – she can't feel her right hand. Doesn't want to think about it.

“Why?”

“Just…” Her heart beats hard against her chest, mind searing. This is the room where they found her. The morgue where she came to be forgotten but instead became something godly.

She can't help the pull, the impulse she has to open the door and walk inside.

Beatrice reluctantly takes them through the door but they don't get far before Ava spots her. Her. She. Ava. Me.

Dead and resting in the clothes she'd worn all her life. Not much of a difference than when she was alive and staying at the orphanage.

Beatrice breathes. “What the fuck.”

A chill shoots through Ava's body before the halo goes deathly cold. Her knees buckle and she can feel Beatrice's arm slipping before she saves most of the blow towards the ground.

“Ava!?”

She has no control over her body anymore when it starts to spasm, muscles contracting and releasing in painful sequences.

“Mhhm.” She grits out, mouth not forming words. The room is cast in an intense blue light emitting from the halo.

It's going through her veins.

Curled up on the cold floor of a morgue and crying through the pain, a voice in her mind whispers. You're going to be roadkill forever if you keep going on like this.

Her vision turns black and the last thing she registers is not a thought, but a sensation.

Feels like hell.

—

What did you expect?

That everything would solve itself just because time was in your favour? It wasn't though. It never has been.

Ava wakes with half her face covered in band-aid, her lips straining and dry. She winces and her skin pulls weirdly against the motion. She can't feel her right hand.

“Fuh–”

“You shouldn't speak.” A voice comes from her left. “It will only aggravate the wound.”

Ava strains her neck to see Beatrice sitting on a chair by the bedside. They are in her room, windows open to let in some fresh air and several things scattered by her bedside, including a glass of water.

“Thirsty.” She forces out, every syllable hard to formulate.

Beatrice takes the glass from the counter but instead of giving it to her like Ava expected she leans closer and puts it to her lips. After a slight pause, Ava tips her head up obediently and every gulp of cold water feels like fucking heaven. She pushes closer and water dribbles down her jaw and falls onto the sheet below.

“Slow down.”

The glass leaves her lips and she chases after it, stretching out a hand to grab it herself but the sight of her arm makes her stop.

Nearly the entirety of her right arm is covered in gauze but she can see the red, inflamed skin peeking out from under it. It looks burnt, skin dented and strained where palm was supposed to meet thumb.

“The halo healed the most vital parts of your injuries but it couldn't seem to get past where the divinum had hit you the deepest. It's a miracle that you're even alive…”

Ava doesn't budge, her eyes still glued to her hand. She moves her fingers, or more exactly tries to. They barely respond, pinky curled into her palm in a forced locking motion.

She shivers.

“Close the window?”

Beatrice only tilts her head to the side. “Why?”

“Cold.” Ava bites, throat still raspy.

“I promise you it's warm in here, Ava.” She hesitates, eyes leaving hers to trail to her back. “The halo hasn't stopped glowing blue since…”

“-you saw my own dead body.”

Beatrice flinches by the words, body going tense and jaw straining. “So I was right.”

“Right?” Ava asks, hoping she understands with as few words as possible because she really doesn't want to speak more than she has to right now.

“You're not from here.” Beatrice states, like it's something she's been sitting and mauling on for a long time and finally has the chance to spit out.

Ava adjusts in the bed, sitting more upright with her hand tenderly resting in her lap. She runs her nails over the palm of it, only being met with numbness. “No, you could say that.”

There's no use in lying anymore. She didn't want to lie anymore.

“Who are you?” Beatrice asks again and Ava takes a deep breath. She's been wondering that for such a long time.

“Ava Silva. Orphan girl, dead mom, terribly atheist.” She cracks a laugh and then winces from the shot of pain it sends through her throat.

Beatrice's lips twist up but her eyes are sad. “And?”

“I'm from the future.”

That's when she finally nods, taking it all in. Ava knows she needs time. Beatrice always was someone that needed to process, stir through the information until they felt concrete and set in place.

Ava will give her time. Even though she knows she will run out of it.

—

The first question comes after a couple of days, when they've deemed that everything that can be done has been done. The scars will not disappear but the inflammation has gone down, leaving a permanence to the explosion.

She had persistent goosebumps over her skin from the halo that refused to dim down. They don't know why and it disturbs Ava even more than if she knew.

She's in front of the mirror that's set up in the room, small and originally covered by an old paper of a psalm that looked to have been taken from a bible.

Now she traces her fingers over the uneven ridges that went down the right of her face. From under her temple, past her cheek and a jerk up to the side of her eye – which still made her unable to open it fully – to finally go down to her throat, where the smallest of splinters had snicked and left it dotted with sunken in red lines.

She can move her right arm with barely any resistance now, twist her wrist from left to right, but her fingers are still stubbornly locked in place. The sight looked gruesome, with the skin trying to heal anew on top of what was burnt.

Ava doesn't remember just how bad it was. Just the ringing in her ears and the spots in front of her vision and the warm body refusing to let her go.

As if in calling, Beatrice comes into the room, her attention immediately focusing on her.

Ava blames the halo for how it makes her shudder.

“How does it feel?”

“Leathery.” Ava says, lips twitching up to a smile. Her throat felt better now but her body still remembers.

Beatrice bows her head, her own smile trailing her lips. It had done that more now, like she'd let go of something that had previously held her back.

“I have a question.”

“I may have an answer.” Ava squints at herself in the mirror, noticing how her right eye doesn't follow the motion of the left. It's still sunken down, like in a constant squint.

“How did you get here?”

They'd barely talked about it since the accident, Ava because she was healing and Beatrice because she was processing. Now Beatrice looked like she couldn't hold back anymore. Had kept it for herself for so long that it needed to come out.

“I can't exactly tell you that without spoiling a potential future, you know.”

Beatrice nods, accepting. Like she'd expected it.

“Shannon is looking for you. Says she wants to talk.”

“Oh?” Ava turns away from the mirror. “Do you know what about?”

“No. But I have a feeling… after you saved her she's been acting jittery.”

Ava straightens, brows furrowing. “Okay…”

“Just, talk to her please. She said it was important, for her, that you two talk.”

“Okay.”

—

The second question comes the night after the talk, that where, thank God, not another dismissal of what she had been trying to warn her about.

Shannon finally opened up to her (of all people) about Vincent and the worries that had been growing within the OCS.

She also thanked her, in a way that made Ava understand why she had been (are) such a good leader. Why she had been chosen purposefully as the warrior nun.

Shannon let herself be wrong. She let people, as well as herself, make mistakes. Even though Ava knew that the questions about Vincent still bothered her.

Ava forgave. Because what could she do? It's not like she didn't know how it was to be the warrior nun. The pressure that can suffocate you from every direction.

It's when she slips into the room late at night, past curfew and trying valiantly not to trip over her own feet, that Beatrice speaks.

First as a whisper, like she was uncertain if she wanted to be heard or not.

“What?”

Beatrice shifts in her own bed, rising up to lean on her elbow and face her. “How long were you with us before you came here? In the future, I mean.”

Ava doesn't move from her spot in the middle of the room. “Not long. Just a few months.”

She wouldn't tell her that those months were the most significant and eventful months in her life. That they had been inseparable.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“You're here.” Ava answers simply, not knowing what to say. “How can I miss something that isn't gone?”

Beatrice sits up completely, hair cascading down her shoulders. She's more open with it now, not looking like she wants to disappear into herself. Before, she had been visibly wary of taking off her habit in front of her, even when they prepared for bed.

“But there are things that are gone. Moments, things that haven't happened yet.”

Ava comes closer, slowly, still careful to not go past Beatrice's comfort zone. She knows how important it is for her. “Sure, I miss how they shaped who we were.”

It's quiet as Beatrice takes this in. Studies her.

“Do you mean me?”

Ava sucks in a breath.

“Ava, do we share a future?”

Her voice is measured but for how she said it Ava knows it's important. She wants to know. Needs to know of the possibility.

“You could say that…”

“But you're here.” Her hand twitches in her lap like she wants to reach out and touch her.

Ava stares. “Yeah, I'm here.”

The words are bitter in her mouth.

Things will never be the same. Can never become how it was.

“Sorry, I need to sleep.”

It doesn't feel right. Something twisting in her gut tells her that she can't stay.

The halo casts the dark room in a faint blue light.

(You've set this universe to ruin.)

—

When the fourth question comes it's already too late.

The halo is angry, Ava thinks. And she laughs, because isn't that fucking ridiculous.

It's angry and it's humming and it's making her body pull in every direction. Twisting, turning, glitching out of moments in a blink of an eye before coming back again. Bending, cold, darkness that sends her shivering, eyes flicking everywhere and chest heaving, her friends trying to calm her down and simultaneously understand what's going on.

Ava laughs because she's afraid. She laughs because it feels like agony.

She doesn't want to go back to the darkness.

Ava tries to get back some sense of normalcy by trying to have some fun with Beatrice. To get her to react in the way she's missed from the Alps.

She wiggles as she tells her about her latest plan, how she wants to go up to the roof and watch the sunset before the others get up.

Beatrice only meets her with concerned eyes and a constant stitch between her brows.

Right there.

Ava wishes she could reach out and touch it.

The halo hums again and she glitches out of the moment, muscles tensing and releasing with the strain.

She blinks back into reality a couple minutes later, sweat beading her forehead and her lungs never seeming to catch enough air.

It's getting worse. She knows it. Doesn't want to accept it.

Because she thinks she knows the only solution that would make this stop. To potentially take her back to the time where she belonged.

It needs to end where it began. Which is dying.

Funny. Maybe she's made for doom.

But no, no. She needs to believe that it could work. That she could go back to where everything is like it's supposed to be. (Not perfect, but hers). Her Beatrice, their memories, their heartbreak.

Who else to go to help for but the source itself.

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice looks up from the book she's been reading, the library empty except for her. Ava never got how she could have the patience to read books.

“What is it?”

“How do you– I haven't even said that it is something.”

Beatrice adjusts in her chair, leans back as Ava sits down opposite of her. “It's written all over your face.”

Ava can't help but smile. “You're starting to learn.”

Beatrice hums.

“Okay,” Ava says, putting her hands on the table in delay. Because she's nervous. Because she wants to get this conversation over with before it even begins. “I need to get back to my own time.”

Please understand. Don't be mad at me.

“We've relayed various possibilities of how that could work but haven't come up with–”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Ava cuts off, impatience quickly taking over. “I may have something that might work.”

There's a pause where Beatrice takes her in. “What?”

“I died before coming here– I think, at least. I woke up in a grave,” her face scrunch up into a full grimace from the memory. “...I think the only thing that will take me back to my time is going back. Dying–”

Beatrice stands up and the chair scrapes loudly against the ground. “No.”

Ava stands up as well. “I know it sounds… extreme, but I promise I wouldn't consider it if I didn't think it would work.” The halo flickers in her back. Her muscles strain unconsciously for another glitch.

Not now.

Beatrice takes a deep breath, closing her eyes before looking at her again. “How could you even suggest that?”

“Bea–” She steps forward but Beatrice steps back, shaking her head. “You're telling me you want to die and you expect me to go along with it?”

“I don't want to die. I just want to get back to the life I had before – to my friends. Everything is working against me to pull me out of here.” Ava insists, desperate and she feels the halo respond to her emotions.

“Please, Beatrice.” The halo increases in intensity, everything in her straining and she locks up before squeezing her eyes shut. “Fuck!”

She notices the fear in Beatrice's eyes before everything goes black.

—

The pull back in time is painful and she falls to the cold floor of the church. She swears, pulling herself up to her hands and knees, trying to get a sense of her surroundings.

She would never get used to it.

That feeling of being so faulity to the universe in its core that it tries to strip you away from it.

She can't take it. Can't continue living like this.

So when she sees Lilith standing by the altar, head turned to her in indecisive curiosity, she walks up to her.

“Are you–”

“Not now, I need your help.”

Lilith must see something – desperate, yielding, plea for help – that makes her lips pull together before she reclines. “What is it?”

A good, bad idea, Ava discovers later. Asking Lilith the same question she'd asked Beatrice. Because like Lilith is, she agrees to help her. Like Lilith is, she understands the rationalisation more than anyone.

They're running out of time.

She would be lost soon. Where? Don't know. Wouldn't that destroy the entire purpose of being lost?

It's decided. In a quiet hiss of an empty church where Lilith refuses to budge. She will cut out the halo from her back like she'd tried to do so many months ago.

It's better than not going out at all.

Better than living in constant in-betweens.

However, she should have expected it. Seen it coming before it happened.

Beatrice catches on. Someway, somehow, in a quiet and bitter anger that's blocked by something deeper.

“If you'll be so stubborn I beg you to do it in a different way.”

Oh.

She's begging.

Okay. Okay.

Ava accepts. “What did you have in mind then?”

It's tense air and held back thoughts as they plan it out in careful motion, neither of them wanting to talk about what they're doing.

Beatrice finally suggests a liquid – after much back and forth and disagreement – that will be made of different components, one of them being melted down divinum.

It's a rattling couple of hours when they get it ready. When everyone is just waiting and Beatrice, Beatrice…

She hasn't really talked.

Haven't been able to look in her eyes for more than a second before turning back to the task

The only ask Ava has is that they don't do it in the sickroom or anything that was remotely related to a hospital.

Her only ask is that there will only be the two of them.

Beatrice accepts without a word, taking them into their own room. The one they've shared for a couple weeks now and Ava has tried to integrate as much of herself in. It was easier when Beatrice finally accepted that Ava could no longer be held at arm's length.

The blue liquid is in a small porcelain bowl, because who has nicely shaped glass jars laying around.

“I've always wanted to go out peacefully.” Ava whispers, more truth in it than she had intended.

By her own endeavour, own hands – she could finally have control over her own destiny.

“So you'll just…”

Ava bites hard into the inside of her cheek, nerves running haywire in her body. She's cold. So, so cold. “Yeah.”

Beatrice takes the answer with the tightening of her jaw and looks down at the floor. “You're sure that it will work?”

No.

She just knows that she's desperate enough to try.

That the halo is what's keeping her here and in order to get back, it needs to stop functioning. Long enough that she won't be able to survive. Not in this reality at least.

One last glitch. One last pull through time before this is over

“I know that I want nothing more than to live… and this isn't my life. Not my timeline.”

Beatrice hums, still not looking at her.

Ava closes the small distance between them and takes her hands carefully, thumb brushing over callused skin. She wonders, only for a fleeting moment, if the burn mark that's still left on her hand bothers Beatrice.

She doesn't show any sign of it. Only tightens the hold around her hand.

“You don't need to be here. I can go somewhere else, far away. Where no one needs to know that I've…”

“No.” Beatrice looks at her, face twisted into a complicated emotion. One she probably hasn't figured out herself. “I want to stay.”

“Okay.” It's a mumble, a barely there sound. But they both understand what it means. Beatrice lets go of her hand (not the one that's burnt, not that one) and turns back to take the bowl from the cabinet.

Ava takes it, not mentioning how she could feel Beatrice's hands shake and how it vibrated through the thick liquid. It's cold, just like everything else is cold nowadays. Her other hand tightens around Beatrice's as she takes the bowl to her lips, tipping it up.

It tastes metallic but is otherwise strangely soothing, easily swallowed and easily gone. Beatrice takes the bowl from her before Ava, without a word, tugs her towards the bed and lays down.

Beatrice lays down beside her, head close and hands resting between them.

“How many puns do you think I could tell in ten minutes?” She asks, attempting to laugh but it comes out broken.

Beatrice's lips twitch up, like she's fighting against herself. She's looking at her like she tries to memorise her.

After a long silence Ava breaks. “You can touch me. I want you to touch me.”

That's what makes her restraints snap. Or maybe it's the fact that Ava will soon be gone – it doesn't matter – what matters is that Beatrice slowly starts to trace her fingers over her cheek. Warm and soothing.

Ava exhales into the touch but doesn't close her eyes. Wants to see, feel, that someone is here by her side at this moment.

Her thumb goes over her scar and Ava's heart nearly breaks. She feels the tears brim up to the surface.

“I want you to know,” she starts, “you deserve so much. Remember that. You deserve everything.”

Beatrice doesn't stop touching her, instead her movements become more desperate, daring. Her fingers go down her throat and feel her pulse where it is slowing down – even though it feels like her heart should be beating out of its chest. She visibly swallows. “You're surely something else, Ava.”

Ava laughs again, because apparently her stupid brain can't make her do anything else than laugh when something feels so tragic.

“I love everything you are, Bea. I always will.”

Now Beatrice smiles, but it's almost involuntary. Tears fall down her face and her hand bunch up in the collar of her shirt.

“I love you.” Ava whispers again, knowing Beatrice needs to hear it.

Ava's crying too, blinking to get her vision to clear. She has always wanted to go out peacefully. And in a way, she finally got it.

They stay there, silently, until her hand goes slack in Beatrice's hold and her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to linger on the touch. How Beatrice's hand has gone down to her chest to feel her heartbeat – not anymore.

—

Before anything, there was darkness. Black, compressing cold, reminding her that she's dead but yet still alive. Dead girl walking. Dead girl walking–

No, no. Alive. She's alive. She's breathing. It's painful.

Ava gasps, air rushing into her lungs all at once and she shoots up to a sitting position to curl into herself.

“Ava? Ava.” Warm hands grace over her cheek to get her attention. It swoops her with a sense of terrible deja-vu.

She blinks up to find Beatrice in front of her, familiar face and brown warm eyes. The nerve endings of her arms dripping blue of divinum. They are in a morgue, hard stone and dark room. She's done something to get her back but Ava can't tell what.

“Bea?”

Her eyes crinkle as she cups her face carefully. “Yes, it's me. You're here. You made it.”

“Through the arc?” Ava asks, looking for the trace that this is the correct Beatrice. Correct time.

"Not exactly, but I got you back. You're fine now. You're alive.”

Ava shakes her head, disbelieving. Her eyes automatically go down to her right hand that is still grooved with scars, as if she needs to prove to herself that everything that happened, actually happened. She traces her thumb over the leathery tissue and takes it all in, still shaky.

“What time is this? What's the date?”

She's desperate to know and Beatrice looks at her like she doesn't understand.

“You've been gone for nearly three months. After the battle with Adriel–” Her expression grows into a pained grimace. “I needed to get you back. In whatever way that was necessary.”

Ava's eyes cast down to Beatrice's arms that are still dripping with divinum, glowing a faint blue from the proximity of the halo. Her brows scrunch together.

“What did you do?”

There's a moment of pause where Beatrice exhales, rattling and shaky. “You came back dead. In order for me to save you I needed to get the halo working again and I think it worked because it hadn't rejected you yet. Even though it should have. Something must have held it back…”

“Holy shit.” Ava mutters, because it dawns on her what Beatrice is trying to say. She laughs. “Did you make a fucking ritual for me?”

Beatrice's mouth twists. “I suppose you could put it like that.” There's a pause where she seems to think something over. “I didn't think it would work. I was desperate… But it's strange, divinium is what kills you but it's also the halo's life source. It has the same raw material in it.”

Ava simply hums, because she can't believe this is fucking real. Can't believe she's back.

“How long was it for you? On the other side?” Beatrice asks and it makes her whip her head up because–

“I wasn't…” she came back early. Just not in the right timeline. To the right people. But how could she possibly explain that without mentioning the others? Of her past self? She has no time to answer the question however before the next comes.

“Did Reya give you that scar?”

Beatrice's voice is chillingly dark and it rattles through her. That this is the right one. She made it. She takes it in, all breath and exhilaration and she leans forward to catch Beatrice in a kiss.

Beatrice reciprocates after a small, surprised laugh (she got that from her, Ava thinks) and sinks into it. Her lips are soft and present and here and they move against hers in a way that makes Ava groan. She's here. Fuck. Ava whines into the kiss, still not feeling entirely real. “You're here.”

“I'm here.”

The halo has faded in her back, no longer sending shivers through her body.

She's warm. After so long, the heat makes her feel home. This must be home.

Right?