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Ava knocks on Beatrice's door and looks down at her dress. It's forest green and she wonders if this is her favorite color or Beatrice's.
When Ava met her for the first time, Beatrice had been wearing a sweater of the same rich shade. Yet, Ava thinks the fondness she feels at seeing the color might be misdirected. Maybe Beatrice had worn green when they met because she knew it was Ava's favorite.
Ava's determined to find out today, during their fifth date, even if Beatrice appears as closed off today as she was during their first. Their interactions have been unpredictable with more downs than ups, but Ava still wakes up with a determination that feels foreign, one of the few perks that former Ava left behind before she lost her memory.
There are others. Former Ava liked sweets so current Ava has no problem tolerating them. Her only complaint is the random cravings that she gets around midnight to mix whatever substances are in her kitchen and call it a meal. Current Ava finds it repulsive, but her therapist is trying to have her learn that she shouldn't push the parts of herself that are trying to surface, even if they don't feel like her.
What would the therapist know, though, if Ava can't tell her about the OCS, Reya's realm, or the Halo, which she lost?
There must be some truth to her teachings, Ava supposes, even if they are far removed from the true context because there is Beatrice, a testament that not all former parts of herself are weird or negative.
Beatrice opens the door and Ava's stupid heart skips a beat. Her palms start to sweat. Beatrice is wearing a dress, too. It's navy blue and it makes Ava gawk. She loves Beatrice, even though she doesn't know when did former Ava fall in love with the former nun.
Oddly enough, Ava likes feeling like she's in love. It's so much different than everything else. Falling prey to Reya's manipulation and losing her memory had rendered Ava's other feelings and desires empty. Not this. Whenever she looks at Beatrice, Ava feels full to the bone. And her veins, they act like they might start dripping. This is why Ava keeps inviting Beatrice on dates. She has a genuine interest.
What she doesn't understand is why Beatrice keeps agreeing to them.
The hand that had opened the door falls to her side, and Beatrice turns her head towards her other arm. She looks at it with fondness and Ava with guilt. It's not there. Ava doesn't know how to describe it except half of it is not there. In its place, it left a lighting bolt for a scar that extends to Beatrice's shoulder. The scars are why Beatrice wears her hair down more often now. It helps cover the shoulder one and the one Ava left when she brought the divinium sword to Beatrice's neck. It unfortunately can't do anything for the scar on her brow, which looks a lot like Suzanne’s.
“You look beautiful, Bea” Ava says because that's what she thinks.
Beatrice ducks her head. “You had agreed that you wouldn't call me that,” she says.
Ava takes in a shuddering breath. “I'm sorry. Beatrice. Yes, I had promised to call you Beatrice.” And now Ava is even more nervous because Beatrice does not seem to be in the mood and the urge to make Beatrice happy is too big for Ava to handle. “Did you - should we go?” They have a reservation. This being their fifth date, Ava thought of it as a milestone, so she found them a happy medium: a restaurant not too expensive but not too shabby. With dim lighting to give off a more intimate atmosphere. Ava has found that Beatrice has an easier time relaxing when she feels like the rest of the world can’t watch her.
Beatrice’s lips part then close, however, and Ava gets the feeling that she’ll get rejected. “I uhm…”
“It’s okay if you don’t feel like it,” Ava says.
Beatrice bites into her bottom lip. Shakes her head. “Do you want to come in instead? We could make dinner or get takeout.”
Ava perks up at the idea. This suggestion might be ten times better. One hundred steps in the right direction. Ava has never been inside Beatrice’s apartment. Well, not under the underlying circumstances. She had stopped by once during a mission as the OCS had deemed it the safest place to sleep given the state of affairs at the time. Lilith and Camila had taken over the couch, Ava Beatrice’s bed. Ava still doesn’t know where Beatrice slept.
“Yeah!” Ava says a bit too excitedly. “I’ll make your favorite,” she says before realizing that she doesn’t remember what Beatrice’s favorite is. Beatrice tilts her head like she’s trying to quiz her, and Ava rocks on her heels, begging a memory to intervene. Ava has never been able to summon her old memories, but sometimes they crash into her head in the most unfortunate of times or when she’s desperate. Right now, she’s desperate to surprise Beatrice.
“We might not have the ingre-”
“It’s shepherd’s pie!” Ava says, recalling a blurry memory of Beatrice trying it after Ava made it for her.
Beatrice’s shoulders slump. Her eyes look pained. “It’s pot roast,” she says.
“ Oh .” Ava taps at her head and smiles as if to say ‘ Oops! It’s faulty!’. It really is, and it makes Ava feel embarrassed. “Well, what do we need to get?”
“I don’t have onions and might not have enough potatoes for two.”
“Okay, I’ll go get them.” Ava takes one step before she stops abruptly. She looks up to Beatrice. “Who’s shepherd’s pie, then?”
The overhead light is bright behind her, and Ava knows it's shining on her own scars. She doesn't look nineteen anymore, Ava knows. She looks closer to Beatrice's twenty-seven even if Jillian told Ava she is no older than twenty three. The stress of the Holy War caught up to her. It dimmed her skin and sharpened her features. It darkened Ava's hair, made her nails brittle. Maybe that's what unsettles Beatrice when she looks at her, but that's the easy answer, isn't it? It probably is everything Ava did to her.
“I’m not aware,” Beatrice says. She reaches for the door handle.
“But you liked it when I made it for you. Before,” Ava says. She doesn't believe the memory to be fake.
“I did.” Silence falls between them, and, in its own way, tells Ava it is best to leave before she sours the moment. She takes the same way she came in, remembering a corner store not far away that seemed to sell vegetables. When she reaches the stairs, she turns, realizing that she hasn't heard the door close. And Beatrice is looking at her, eyes turning tender as the evening progresses. She looks at her feet then disappears into her apartment momentarily. “I’ll come with,” she says with two jackets in her hands for the two of them.
***
Ava hasn't taken the jacket off by the time dinner is ready. It's Beatrice's. She knows not only because of the size but because it smells like her, but it could've very well been Ava's. It's olive green and of a military style. Many pockets to bury ones hands. Oversized. Former Ava would've bought it, and current Ava can't pretend she doesn't like it. It's Beatrice's, though. Ava is assured of this every time she brings the collar to her nose and takes a breath. Beatrice’s scent is deeply comforting.
Ava does wonder if Beatrice has kept other things that did belong to her. When Ava had asked if she did, Beatrice had said that she had thrown them away, but Ava sees the necklace that Beatrice is wearing, and Ava knows that it's hers. She knows that Beatrice gave it to her for her birthday. She doesn't have a specific memory to evidence this, but it's one of those things that she has learned are .
It's like their dance in the kitchen. Ava doubts they ever practiced it, but they move around the kitchen with ease, always able to predict each other's movements and maneuver around them with efficacy. Ava realizes it's the main thing that would put her at a disadvantage whenever they pit against each other in the battlefield. Beatrice just knew what Ava would try next.
“Did you train me?” Ava asks as she shreds the beef with two forks. She is elbow deep in the pot. “Or did I learn combat in the OCS?” Ava knows it's not a date appropriate question, but she'd rather get it out of the way before they sit at the table.
Beatrice is standing a few feet away from her, having thought about getting the bowls ready. “I did.” She places one of them next to the pot.
“Was I a good student?”
“Terrible.” There's no bite to it, only a glint behind Beatrice's eyes that tells Ava she enjoyed teaching.
The heat that creeps into Ava's cheeks tells her she enjoyed learning. She wipes her hands from the towel under the stove and reduces the distance between them. “Could you serve dinner, please?” Ava half whispers as she looks up to Beatrice.
Beatrice's eyes flicker to Ava's left shoulder, the only part of herself Ava has placed in front of her. She turns her head to look into Ava's left eye. “Yes,” she says just as she seems to realize that this is a test. Ava means to check on her, so to ease Ava's nerves, Beatrice places a fleeting kiss on her cheek. It makes Ava giggle all the same.
They forgo the table in favor of sitting on the couch. In order to achieve their current position, Ava has hiked up her dress, draped her legs over Beatrice's lap and left Beatrice place her warm bowl on Ava's thighs. It feels like a drunken night. There's a black and white movie on the TV–slapstick comedy with a dramatic woman as a side character. She seems to have a dream. Beatrice isn't saying much. Ava, in fact, thinks she's playing with her food, but she doesn't dare bring it up. At least she knows she didn't oversalt the roast.
Wanting is one of the many things Beatrice struggles with. She has expressed that it's not exclusive to dating and not due to Ava, but rather a side effect of having been a nun for so long. Of having been a warrior who was constantly assigned missions that superseded her individual interests. In way of decoration, that's why she only owns a vase that was never painted and a collection of DVDs that she's been slowly curating.
“Have you thought about the car?” Ava asks as she licks off her spoon.
Beatrice lets the laughter from the TV taper off before she speaks. “I don't need a car. I can't even drive.”
“You had mentioned wanting to move north. Closer to the mountains. You'll need a car, and we can have it fixed so that you can drive it.” Ava would not prefer that, but she's on board with anything Beatrice might want.
“I don't even know if I want to do that,” Beatrice says and stretches to place her bowl on the coffee table. She closes her eyes as she breathes in and out. Runs her hand through her hair. Finally, she says: “Thank you for offering, but that's a lot of money.”
“Don't thank me. Thank the church.” They were the ones to deposit a considerable amount in her account for Ava's silence and retirement. She knows Beatrice accepted her sum but donated over half and buried the rest somewhere she doesn't have to think about it. Effectively, it is only for emergencies. “Hey.” Ava turns Beatrice's head by her chin. “Here.” She brings a spoonful of roast up. It's a good one with a sizable portion of everything. Ultimately, Beatrice relents and lets Ava not only feed her but use the spoon to wipe her mouth.
Ava thinks of it as mercy. One day, Beatrice will truly love her back. Her. Not her former self. Much less the Ava that had tried to kill her.
***
Beatrice starts breakfast early. She needs to start early because with only one arm–her non-dominant one–everything takes over twice the time. No longer can she do things fluidly like spread butter or chop onions. She can’t grab more than one item at a time. She needs to wash her one hand constantly to avoid cross contamination. So cooking now entails a lot of turning. She’s usually dizzy by the end and grumpy.
She sleeps less because she wants to maintain her levels of productivity, but even if she wanted to have a lazy day, her nightmares would wake her. She had one today. It was triggered because Ava had turned and wrapped her arms around her waist while they slept. When Beatrice opened her eyes, she had found herself back on that day where Ava–not Ava, Beatrice. Reya–did the same but with the purpose to slam her against concrete.
That Ava is gone. Her Ava is back and she’s sitting on the couch, looking confused. It’s always taken Ava some time to adjust after she wakes. It’s like she goes into an alternate reality when she sleeps, so waking becomes a mental procedure: eyes puffy and vacant, big yawns, and the sound of her tongue running through her mouth. Beatrice had missed it.
It’s a big day. Beatrice is afraid to acknowledge it, but it’s the first time Ava stays over. It's also the first time they shared a bed since Beatrice sent Ava to Reya’s realm. Beatrice, of course, had to taint it by having the aforementioned nightmare, so Ava moved to the couch to give Beatrice some space. Beatrice is glad she's still here, however.
She’s noticed that Ava doesn’t leave or ends a date until Beatrice tells her. It’s one of the many qualities that remind Beatrice that the Ava in front of her is hers, not Reya’s. Reya’s Ava wasn’t considerate. She was extraordinarily loud and extraordinarily strong. Her Ava still keeps the strength, but she’s strikingly tender. She hears Beatrice even when she doesn’t say anything.
“Do you like green smoothies?” Ava asks as she stands from the couch. She stretches her arms as far as they can get over her head. Beatrice’s shirt rides up with them. “I can taste a green smoothie, but I suspect that was more your thing than mine.”
Beatrice looks up from the sandwiches to Ava. They are askew, so she tries to replace the negative thoughts arising from their image with something else. She tries a memory. “I used to force you to drink one in the mornings.”
“Ugh, why Beatrice?”
Ava starts to walk over, and, feeling ashamed of the state of her sandwiches, Beatrice rushes to cover them with a napkin. “Energy and stamina.”
Knowing that Beatrice would be mentoring OCS trainees later today, she starts to gather the ingredients. It amazes Beatrice how Ava does it. She has explained that she barely has any memories from before she went to Reya’s realm, but her muscles remember. Her eyes, too. She moves around the kitchen, grabbing and arranging the proper ingredients with little to no hesitation. Almost like a puppet of her usual self. Left, right, left right. She keeps crossing the kitchen, and Beatrice stands still, her back to Ava, keeping her dreadful sandwiches away from Ava’s view.
Beatrice considers disposing of them and starting something new, but that's not something that her physical therapist has recommended. She has recommended leniency, but more so in the way of things don't need to be perfect ’. It's hard for Beatrice to assimilate this, particularly in the OCS. She just stands there. She just speaks, and she's not sure the trainees listen to her. Unable to demonstrate her skills, Beatrice doesn't believe that she commands respect. Her scars aren't like Superion’s or Ava's, which offer some kind of intimidation. Beatrice's scars come from having been bested. They display her weaknesses and make everyone fear the power of the Halo, God's wrath… Ava's.
Moving north feels like Beatrice is running away from it. Beatrice doesn't want to run. She's not a runner. At the same time, Beatrice doesn't possess a great idea of who she is now. She's no longer a commander for the OCS, she's no longer Ava's right hand, she's not even her girlfriend. Nothing is official yet. She simply keeps the accounts for a local supermarket, she goes to physical therapy, she watches movies.
“Maybe you should get a plant,” Ava says.
Beatrice turns around and sees Ava's finger ready to turn on the blender. “What?”
“A plant. You shouldn't get a pet in case you move. It'll be difficult to move with a pet, but a plant should be easier. It will keep you company.” Ava turns on the blender then and the sound grounds it's way into making Beatrice feel anguished.
Does Ava think she cannot keep a pet alive? Is she that useless? She is. After all, Ava–Reya's Ava, Beatrice–wrestled her to the ground, and she cut off her arm. With the dull end of her sword. Four hacks. She had smiled like it had been easy.
“Bea,” Ava's–her Ava–hands come to cup her face. She looks worried. “Are you okay?” The blender is off. There's no noise. The other Ava is gone. This one loves her.
“You know, we both like protein shakes. Vanilla flavored,” says Beatrice. She's shivering.
***
“Beatrice, why am I here?” Lilith asks somewhat impatiently. It is Saturday morning and she’d rather be anywhere than where they were – a car dealership. She had been out on a run when she received the phone call asking for her assistance. It isn’t often Beatrice would show any type of need, not even after everything. So, if she calls and said she needs Lilith, Lilith would drop everything and show up. Except they had been looking at cars for over two hours and Beatrice hadn’t even touched one, let alone talk to anyone. She’d dismissed any salesman who’d even looked their way. This is the third place they visited.
“I want your opinion.” Beatrice looks at the compact car in front of her. It looks small but manageable. She’d dismissed bigger vehicles as they seemed unnecessary. There would never be a need to have a large vehicle. She isn’t capable of carrying much as it is. Anything requiring a larger vehicle would be better transported by someone else.
“I gave you my opinion on motorcycles at the last place.” Lilith had aimed to break the tension that always followed Beatrice. She thought addressing the inability to operate a motorcycle was easy enough to get a chuckle or at least a smile. Humor is not Lilith’s strongsuit. Never had been. The joke fell rather flat. It may have actually made Bea’s shoulders droop more if that was possible. She leans on the car and looks at Bea’s face.
“You did. Thank you.” Beatrice didn’t want a motorcycle. Yes, she had looked at them because they were majestic machines. She remembered Mary riding hers. But she didn’t want one herself. It isn’t practical. Before, she had always needed to transport someone or carry gear. That’s not you anymore. Lilith’s comment, however, left her desolate in a sense she hadn’t expected. She could not wield the weight of such a machine. She could not balance it properly. Between the throttle, brake and gear shift, it is a lost idea.
“Bea…” Lilith shakes her head. “Why are you getting a car? I mean are you actually getting one? Cause you haven’t even…”
“I don’t know Lilith.” She snaps at her. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Lilith reaches out and puts her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. Her right shoulder. She knows it isn’t something many dare to do. She feels Beatrice stiffen but then relaxes under her hand. “Ava… Ava offered to get me a car. She thinks if I want to leave here… that I need one.”
“You really don’t.” Lilith shrugs. “You name the place, and we can blink there in a minute or less.” Beatrice smiles and ducks her head. “It’s one of those few privileges being my sister grants you.”
“I appreciate it. I do.” She feels the weight of Lilith’s hand still on her shoulder. It is rare moments like this that she truly marvels at the devotion Lilith shows. The memory of that night will never leave her. Whether in the dead of night during painful dreams or standing in a car lot, she can see it all. Hear it all. God, she can smell it too.
The fight was all around. Metal on bone. She could hear the screams that were hers. Brown eyes that used to smile at her looking down at her in cold fury. Beatrice barely registered as Lilith tackled Ava off her. The sword clattering away.
“Beatrice.” She pulls herself out of the memory at hearing her name. There is a tall, lanky man standing before her. Lilith didn’t need to ask. She’d seen the far-off look too often. “Carlos here was asking if you wanted to look at this car. He can get the keys.”
“Uh… yes… I mean… I’m not sure. I have… well…” Beatrice feels the heat in her cheeks as she points to her missing limb. She is wearing a light jacket but the sleeve is tucked into itself. He smiles but she sees the look in his eyes.
Beatrice was storming off. She hates that look. It reminds her of how flawed she is. She could hear Lilith catching up. They walk in silence until Beatrice finally stops four blocks away. She allows her anger to bubble up. “Why did I even think this was… Stupid…”
“It’s not stupid, Bea.” Lilith bites her bottom lip. “If you want a car, you don’t need to have Silva pay for it. The OCS would…”
“They already paid me. I don’t want… I don’t want anything more from them.”
“Ok… but still, if you want a car, Camila can make the modifications. She mentioned…”
“You talked to her about this? When?” Beatrice frowns and knows she shouldn’t be upset. There is no reason. Both Camila and Lilith only wish the best for her.
“Take a moment before you bite my head off.” Lilith doesn’t coddle Bea, especially in situations like this. While she can’t imagine what it feels like to lose an arm, Lilith knows what it feels like to lose all she had worked for her whole life. Yes, she has gained some things in the grand scheme but it isn’t without adjustment and finding alternatives. She’d learned to mask her scales if her wings were retracted and hidden. She can be out in public without looking like she isn’t cosplaying or expressing major anti-establishment body mods. If anyone looks close enough, they can still see small traces on her own skin where the facial scales would be. No one gets that close save her sisters.
“You saw… You saw how he looked at me… And to have you and Cam…”
“Thinking about you and caring for you? Not exactly a capital offense, Beatrice.” She tilts her head. “The guy was an idiot. He lacks the tact to deal with anyone who isn’t generic. That much is obvious.” Lilith takes measure of her words. “But Camila and I were thinking of things to make it easier for you to get around on your own. I can blink you anywhere, but we both know I’m not exactly a rideshare service 24/7.” She smiles as she continues. “I am sometimes in compromising situa…”
“Do not finish that sentence.” Bea can’t help but smile. Lilith’s use of humor is getting better. It isn’t as caustic or sarcastic as it used to be. She likes the change in her. Not all change is bad. She sighs. “Did Cam figure out… something?”
“You’re lucky the OCS would likely cap the cost, otherwise she’d go totally Q on you.” Lilith recalls Cam’s research and how her eyes lit up knowing there were existing possibilities for amputees to operate vehicles comfortably and safely. But even with existing concepts, she has been researching design and utility for additional features. “Which reminds me, unless you want to walk the rest of the way home, her car is back that way.” Beatrice mutters as they both turn and head back.
“Wait, Q? Did you make a James Bond reference?” The smug smile on Lilith’s face makes Beatrice chuckle. “Since when do you make movie references?”
“They were books first, I will have you know. I may not be referencing the movies.”
“I do know. Did you read the books?”
“No.” Lilith laughs.
“Insufferable.”
“Camila likes the movies. Means I get to watch them. She’s very into the gadgetry.”
“Always has been.”
“Remember how she let out that bloody squeal when she got the dart gun on her wrist guard?” They both laugh as they walk. It is temporary. While Beatrice is getting better at being in the present and enjoying the past, there are always the nagging spectres that creep up. She knows the signs. Bea’s posture stiffens. Not a lot. And not visible to those not paying attention or aware of her. There is a grimness in her face. But it is her eyes that Lilith paid attention to. She can always tell when her memories are making their presence known. She didn’t fault Beatrice. It had been a stark and painful time.
Lilith had been too busy fighting off a tarask to see the first blow and the second. But as she dispatched the beast, she had seen the sword rise and fall. She couldn’t move fast enough. By the time her body made contact with Ava, the damage was done. Lilith had struck Ava a couple of times out of sheer effort to keep her occupied in healing while she turned back and tended to Beatrice. Her wails echoing off every surface. The blood was so dark and didn’t seem to stop. Lilith put pressure on the arm.
They arrive at the car. Beatrice stands by it, looking at her reflection in the windows. She knows what people see. She isn’t unaware of the difficulties people with such loss face. As a nun, she had helped care for people. She’d seen their struggles, their desperation. She had also been witness to their rebirth and reclaiming their lives. She hasn’t reached that and isn’t so positive she ever can. Her life has been one of battle more often than not. She is no longer a warrior.
A couple of days later, Beatrice is feeling optimistic. While the car shopping had yielded no results, it made her feel a little better. She talked more with Lilith once she relaxed a bit and they called Cam. She couldn’t meet them as she had a mountain of paperwork to process but she told Beatrice about push-button shifting and steering knobs. Both could be added to most vehicles with some effort. Nothing was impossible. Lilith told Cam about Bea wanting a motorcycle. Beatrice vehemently denied saying such a thing. Camila only came back with maybe fitting a bike with a sidecar as a possibility. But she would look into it. Lilith stared at the phone in awe while Beatrice laughed realizing Camila was having a bit of fun.
She is nervous about today. Before all of that, Mother had asked her to teach a defensive course. It isn’t to be taught in a classroom. It is out in the courtyard. She doesn’t know how she will manage to make it engaging. She can’t show them how to do it. But Beatrice knows she can grab a couple of more experienced trainees if she needs to. Most of the techniques she would be covering are fairly simple if she really thinks about it. She can do this.
Dressing comfortably, but practically, Beatrice sets off for Cat’s Cradle. Her apartment isn’t too far and it is a nice morning. She wears a longer-sleeved shirt to cover her arm. She doesn’t often like to have her scars on display in front of trainees. She feels it portrays the perils of battle a little too bluntly. Her old self would not have mind but this version of her isn’t as brave. Her trainee group is small. Six. Most of them are jovial but centered. There are two that she has her doubts about, but it isn’t up to her to decide if they should be there or not. She would offer her suggestions when asked.
Approaching the mat in the rear courtyard, Beatrice can see that her students are milling about. After addressing them cordially, she begins her lesson explaining defensive and offensive stances. It is rudimentary even if these trainees are fairly green. When she talks about using an attacker’s force to heighten defense against them, one of her students continuously raises objections until she finally asks Beatrice to demonstrate. She remarks she can get a more advanced trainee to come show them but the objecting student balks. She points out that Beatrice’s impediment should not hinder a defense if it works as she was instructing. She acquiesces and takes the position of defense while her student takes on the role of attacker. There is a look in her eyes Beatrice should recognize but she mistakes it for pride. Surprisingly, she holds her own until there is an unavoidable strike from behind.
Beatrice can’t remember how she ends up in Mother Superion’s office. She had been teaching a class. Now, she is sitting in Mother’s office though by herself. What class had she been teaching? Her entire body is shaking. She looks at her lap and is confused as to why she could only see her left hand. Oh. Yes. She looks at her right arm. You screamed. Did I? The door to the office opens and Mother comes in along with Camila and Lilith.
“Beatrice.” Mother addresses her and comes to stand in front of her. She is not sitting behind her desk as is the norm. That should alert Bea to the severity of things. “How are you feeling?”
“Confused.” She looks around at their faces and understands something has happened. “I was in class.” Mother nods. “But… I don’t know how I ended up here.”
“Perhaps Bea should rest Mother.” Camila speaks up. Beatrice notices she seems nervous. “Surely we can talk about this later.” She wrings her hands. Lilith stands behind her and puts a hand on Cam’s shoulder but says nothing. Bea notices it all and feels herself as if standing behind her own body now.
“I think it best if we did this now.” She leans down and takes Bea’s hand in hers. It is uncommonly gentle. Not for Mother necessarily but more so here in this office. Things here tend to be more direct. Painful. “You were in class, yes. Do you remember what happened at all?” Bea swallows and shakes her head. “You were in the middle of lecturing in the courtyard. You were explaining a particular type of attack and one of the trainees asked for an example. You… You decided to try and show them.”
“I…I did what?” She feels the ache in her body now. It isn’t simply shaking with anxious energy. She is aching from exertion. “I’m…”
“You tried taking down one of the trainees.”
“I got hurt?”
“No, my child. You took them down. More than once.” Beatrice is astounded by this information. But there is more. She sees it in everyone’s face.
“What happened?”
“The trainee was… less than pleased with herself and came after you when your back was turned. She managed to take you to ground that way.” She feels the squeeze of Mother’s hand. “Your reaction was… immediate. Before anyone could think, you had the trainee pinned. She did not have the capacity to adequately defend herself or to get away.”
“I hurt her?” She looks in Mother’s eyes, then her sisters. “How… I’m…”
“You are formidable, Beatrice. I have never thought that you weren’t.” Mother’s free hand touches Bea’s face. “You were pulled off her. She will be ok. Only minor lacerations, and likely some deserved bruising.” She takes a deeper breath. “But you were effectively cutting off her airway to the point that she went unconscious. And you were not stopping.”
“I did…” Beatrice is trembling a little more. The image Mother paints is alien to her. She cannot recall any of it. “What happened to me?”
“If I were to hazard a simple guess, it’s that you went to a different time in your mind. You were screaming and crying. You were not present. It frightened the trainees.” Another squeeze of the hand, stroke to her cheek. “Dora was teaching archery and realized the extent of the problem. She and two trainees were needed to secure you.” Beatrice feels cold. No, they are wrong. She isn’t capable of that anymore. And if she is, surely she would recall it. Camila is at her side now.
“Bea… It’s not your fault. She shouldn’t have attacked you.” Beatrice meets her eyes. The pain in them makes her dizzy. Camila wants to soothe her, to explain how it felt to see her in the moment. She had been too far to get to Beatrice in time. Both times. She hadn’t been able to prevent any of it.
It isn’t something she thinks about a lot. How Beatrice was hurt. How Ava lost the Halo. She isn’t delusional or forgetful. But Camila can’t dwell on it. Dwelling on it would terrorize her. And no one needs that, including her. But she remembers it too well.
Lilith had stunned Ava and gone to Beatrice. She’d pulled her onto her lap and was trying to stop the bleeding with her hands. Bea’s scream was a looped soundtrack. Camila reached Ava then. She had a baton in hand and cracked it across the latter’s back as she was trying to rise. The Halo tool was strapped to Camila’s back. It had been decided someone should carry it into battle should it seem like there was a chance to retrieve the Halo. No one knew if it would kill Ava, but they had to try and stop her. It was evident that should they fail, all might be lost.
Camila had unsheathed a knife and tore at Ava’s shirt enough for the Halo to be exposed. Ava half turned to push Camila off but she was struck against the temple. It should have knocked her out. Instead, it cleared her thoughts. She could focus on Camila, on the screams. She turned her head and saw where the screams were coming from. The vague recollection of the sword in her hand. The pain in Bea’s voice. The Halo tool was in Camila’s hands. Ava made eye contact. As tears fell from her eyes, Ava nodded to Camila and lay flat on the ground, accepting what needed to happen. It was that eye contact that Camila could never get over.
“Beatrice.” Mother speaks once more. “I think… I think it would be best for everyone, if you withdrew from your position as a trainer.”
“Mother…” Beatrice is trying to comprehend what is being said to her. She looks at Camila who has her eyes downcast. Lilith meets her eyes and gives the slightest nod. “You want me to leave?” Her heart aches. While she doesn’t want to belong to the OCS formally, having relinquished her vows, she wants, no needs, to feel useful at something. A piece of her past life.
“I am sorry, my child. It is in the best interest of both you and the trainees.” Beatrice begins to shed tears and Mother wipes at them. “It isn’t for lack of wanting you here. Know that. But I fear that being here is hindering you. You cannot move past the pain we have caused you.”
“Mother… I’m… I’m going to therapy. I’m doing everything right.” She hates the panic in her voice. “Please… I can be useful.” Mother lets go of Beatrice’s hand and places both of hers on Bea’s face.
“Please hear me. It is not about you being useful. I have no doubt of this. It is about you healing. Not your body, but your heart, your mind, my child. You have given so much and now you need to take. Time. Gentleness. Understanding. You need to find it in yourself to see who you still are.” She looks into Beatrice’s eyes hoping to see her comprehend what she is saying to her. Mother does not see that. Her heart hurts for Beatrice. She had seen Beatrice’s pain eased when Ava came along and then saw it multiplied a thousandfold. She doesn’t know how else to help her.
Beatrice hears the words but they hurt. She wants to raise her fists against them. Even forms a fist with her left hand but unclenches it when she looks down again and it is only one. There is a knock at the door. She can’t hear what is said but she feels a light kiss placed on her forehead and Mother’s hands leave her cheeks. When she begins to sob, Camila wraps her arms around her and holds her.
Mother Superion wipes her eyes and approaches Lilith. “Please make sure she gets home safely. If you have it in you, and she permits it, stay with her a while. Today… It will be difficult.”
“Yes, Mother.” Lilith puts a hand on Mother’s arm. “It was not an easy choice for you. We all understand. And in time, Beatrice will too.”
“I hope so. But I am willing to be the bad guy if it helps her.” Her voice breaks a little as she speaks. “She has known so little peace in her life.” Mother leaves them. Lilith allows Camila to offer comfort while she looks on. She will teleport Beatrice home when she is ready. Or when she is exhausted from crying. The tears are overdue.
***
The door to Beatrice's apartment stands gaping. Like a maw on a really big angler fish or something equally ridiculous, light cracking through just enough for the evidence of life. It's a thought that makes Ava huff, questioning her brain for being the way it is. Those thoughts never really went away, even though she didn't know where they came from. A life before, perhaps. Probably…
Still, the implication of it all makes her jaw tense. Beatrice would never leave her door open, and that car parked outside shouldn't be there.
It has been two days since their last date. Usually Ava would give Beatrice a little more breathing room before visiting again, aware that they both needed it... That Beatrice wanted it . But she walked past a flower shop yesterday and got the distinct urge to go inside. The man in the shop, round cheeks and a smile that made his mustache rise with the gesture, was happy to assist her in anything she needed. Which was why she was currently standing in front of her door with a small blood orange plant in her arms, pot heavy with dirt and leaves spreading wildly in all directions.
She doesn't know exactly why she chose it, just the feeling that Beatrice liked tending to something that gave something back in return.
Right.
Ava hefts the plant up in her arms with the help of her knee, chewing at her lip as she contemplates going inside or not. It's not like she can see anything, it's shut enough that you'd need to crane your neck to look inside. But from what she's learnt, from what she remembers, Beatrice is not one who would leave herself that vulnerable.
The inevitable guilt wrings itself through her body, crawling up her throat to settle at the roof of her mouth.
She swallows, shifting her weight to balance the pot in one arm while stepping forward and knocking on the side of the door. “Beatrice?”
There is no answer. Only footsteps that appear and then disappear. She's about to call out louder when a crash sounds through the apartment. Okay, fuck it.
Ignoring the rule, Ava steps over the threshold and rushes inside. Maybe it's a burglar. That could be why they didn't answer to Ava calling out Beatrice's name.
She quickly disregards the pot in the hallway and turns the corner into the living room, through the kitchen where she distantly registers the piles of cutlery and different items scattered around. She fully expects to knock someone out before she spots her, Beatrice, hunched over a broken ornament bowl Ava knows she's received from her mother because Beatrice told her. Her movements are quick and uncoordinated, hand jerking from side to side and fingers swiping over the shards in clumsy motion to discard it on the table beside her.
“Beatrice?”
Beatrice flinches, wincing before dropping the piece she was just picking up. The cut makes itself known like a stutter, too late with blood seeping from the open wound and dripping down her wrist.
“Shit.” Ava moves forward before she can think, grabbing Beatrice's wrist to get a closer look at the damage.
It makes Beatrice drag away, a wild kind of desperation crossing her eyes before she lowers her hand to her side (stiff, all stiff) and turns around. “Don't touch me.”
Ava doesn't know how to answer so she is left standing while Beatrice returns to what she was doing before the bowl crashed to the ground. It has dolphins on it. The fin is no longer connected to its body, crack splitting through it in a way only things that weren't meant to be broken could.
There's a large duffle bag next to the couch. The clothes in it are shoved, DVDs collecting in stacks between it and it just doesn't look right.
“Are you going somewhere?” Ava is tentative, as much as she is able to while Beatrice's shoulders are raised to her ears and her jaw is set in a motion that seems almost painful.
Instead of answering Beatrice grabs another shirt (her shirt) from the closet and shoves it into the bag.
It leaves blood stains behind.
“Beatrice, why are you packing?” She hopes Beatrice could hear the other questions lying just below. The ones that stick in her mouth and make her run her tongue across her teeth. Like; why are you looking at me like that , and, what happened.
“I need to leave.”
She has settled in trying to fold the shirt one more time, again and again before letting out a sound of frustration that leads to her discarding it completely.
“Why?”
“I'm not needed anymore.” The response comes so quickly that it feels like whiplash. Said with so little hesitation that Ava has to drag a breath between her teeth.
“Bea- that's ridiculous… Who said that?”
The furrow between her brows only deepens. “I thought you wanted me to leave. Why are you questioning it?”
“That's not…” Ava bites back her response, the fleeting look enough of a warning for her to not step any further into this than she already has. “Your hand is bleeding. Don't you want to take care of it?”
Whatever this is. Whatever mindset Beatrice has put herself in that makes her believe that this is a reasonable way to move forward momentarily snaps out of focus when she looks down at her hand. Her mouth part opens as if she's noticing the cut for the first time and Ava can't help but step closer, hand hovering just over hers. “Let me help you.”
Beatrice stands like she's ready to be struck, taking her in with breath trapped in her lungs and hand curling into a fist. The sting startles her into a motion that finally seems to make her unfurl. First fingers, before her hand falls to her side and shoulders slump with it. It makes her look bone tired and Ava wonders if she has even slept since they saw each other last.
“Let me help you, Beatrice.” Ava repeats, searching for some sort of recognition. Acceptance.
She receives it with a nod, small enough that it would go unnoticed if you weren't paying attention.
Okay. The unraveling is an in-between of slow words and rushed gestures. Ava doesn't want to leave Beatrice alone. Doesn't want to take her eyes off her at all when it seems like she will– want to disappear at any moment.
Still she needs to search through the drawers in the bathroom for a full five minutes before finding out that Beatrice had moved the first aid kit to the kitchen. Closer risk , she says, and Ava understands what she means without needing to push. Which in a way, felt even worse.
So many things felt worse. The distant look Beatrice would get while Ava quietly patched her up was worse. The way she flinched only when her hand went above her head was worse. The way Ava apologized and was met with something that could only be interpreted as panic, was worse.
It happened that Ava would toss out a joke in the air, trying it on her lips and feeling it up to her neck that this was something she used to do. Those jokes were something they shared, from a time when the space between them didn't feel so wide.
Maybe that's why it fell, the twitch of Beatrice's lips being the best response all day. So she decides to switch focus onto something that could be of more use.
“There's a car outside your apartment.”
“I know.”
“Is it… yours? Did you drive it here?”
“Lilith helped me.”
Ava bites her lip, trying to not let the frustration bubble over. Something happened that she isn't aware of and Beatrice clearly doesn't want to talk about it.
She decides that bringing up the plant that was still standing in the hallway was probably not the best option.
***
Each summer tastes different.
Beatrice can feel the other day running underneath this one like an old videotape. It sticks there, stuttering on itself until she's forced to rewind and remember it all over again.
It folds into the hum of the engine as Ava turns the key, one hand on the steering wheel while she curves back to rummage through one of the few bags they have with them. Neither of them had much left since the holy war. The joy Beatrice remembers, the one that once sprawled the space Ava occupied, had dimmed.
She remembers the stones Ava used to pick up after their runs, when she insisted on taking her shirt off and cooling off in the lake.
Beatrice never understood why Ava saw the need for keeping them.
Now she wished she had.
The car feels empty. Too sterile, like it was never supposed to drive but instead be a prop someone could look at. The only thing giving it some resemblance of life, ridiculous foolish breath of light, was the blood orange tree spreading its leaves in the back of the car and pressing against the roof like it wanted out. Ava had come out the door with it hiding, sticking her head to the side to meet her eyes and give her a sheepish smile. Like, yes, I know how it looks, but it's what I have.
She's humming now, quiet but so prominent in the small space they share, twisting her hair up in a simple bun. Last time Ava did that it was when she first came to the Cat's Cradle, fresh to everything around and acting like a scattered whimbrel that could fly away at any moment. It was only Beatrice's touch that seemed to finally ground her in reality... Some comfort.
Beatrice never knew how to handle that and isn't sure if she does even now. At least not anymore.
"You have the map right? And the list?"
Beatrice's lips pull. "I got it."
Her voice feels too constrained. She wished sometimes she could go back to when she was a nun, and every day was this repetitive routine of training and prayer and no Ava that crashed into everything like it was-
She takes a breath. Pushes it away. Tries to, at least. "We will stop at the cat's cradle first before heading North. Mother is already waiting for us. She insisted..."
"I know." Ava bites her lip. "She wants to say goodbye to you, that's all."
Beatrice resists the urge to say something against it. Ava doesn't push, only gives her a quick look before starting to drive. The ride there feels long despite Beatrice knowing it can only possibly have been a few minutes. As if the time insisted on constricting in on this moment in the car, leaving no room for her to breathe.
She has had a hard time lately, breathing...
The gravel crunches underneath the wheels on the car and Beatrice looks out to find Mother Superior along with Camila. They don't say anything when they step out of the car. They don't say anything about Ava being the one driving instead of her despite knowing it was adjusted so she could use it. She doesn't trust herself anymore. Don't trust that the same thing wouldn't happen alike in the courtyard, in the kitchen, in the office…
It is Camila who greets them first, a careful smile accompanied with a box of food. "For the journey."
“Oh I can't–”
“Yes we can.” Ava says, sliding up beside her and taking the box. She smiles, that wide one that bristles with loud wired confidence. “Thank you, Camila.”
It's all just an act, Beatrice is sure.
Even though she's different. She knows, of course she does. Beatrice sees it in her eyes. The memories that used to dance there were dimmed over. Clouded. Ava did this thing sometimes when she leaned back on her heels, hands pressing against each other and fingers curling. The edge of her eyes going up to build crows feet but lacking the reason behind those wedges.
Instead, to compensate, her brows would furrow and her forehead wrinkle, right there, just under her hairline, that reminded Beatrice of her age. Of how much she's been through.
They've all been through.
Beatrice clears her throat and nods, one strained acknowledgement of the small gratitude Camila was trying to provide. “It's a twelve hour drive, we need to get going to save the daylight.”
“Of course.” Camila says, her lip pulling into something more. Something restrained.
“Make sure to take breaks.” It's Mother, she comes closer, hands on her cane as she looks her over. She didn't really need it anymore, but she'd said it was a grounding spot for her. Something she could lean on.
“We will.” Beatrice says it even though they both know she will be hard pressed to follow through.
Mother looks at her at least like she knows. She did always seem like she could see right through her.
One arm comes forward, a little awkward in its unfamiliarity of the gesture, and it takes a second before Beatrice realizes she is opening up for a hug. She swallows and wills herself to step into it. There, with her head against Mother's warm chest, she closes her eyes for a moment and her breath shakes.
When Mother speaks next her voice is steady but low. A clang from the past echoing back. “This is not a mission, you are not running from anyone. You have time.”
Beatrice's jaw clenches and she pulls back, turning away. “Right.” She finds Ava looking at her. Does not want to know what she's thinking. “We are going.”
Ava doesn't resist like Beatrice expects her to. But then again, Ava did a lot of things differently nowadays.
***
Pop is playing on the radio. Beatrice knows because Ava has turned the music up full volume and is currently tapping her finger against the steering wheel while the boy (she's certain the singer wasn't even close to sixteen) repeats the same tacky lyrics with his high pitched voice that cracks at every other sentence. Honestly, she didn't understand what people enjoyed so much about it.
"Are you certain you put in the right directions?"
"I am certain the GPS knows what it's doing." Ava quips back, glancing down at the radio when the music stops to give the robotic voice space to talk.
Beatrice head thud against the headrest as she closes her eyes, teeth grinding against each other in a lost effort to keep calm. That was something she used to be great at. Keeping calm under pressure.
What pressure. There wasn't anything here to feel pressured about. Just Ava and the music and her, her, her. Fuck. Her bandaged hand goes up to her chest as she rubs the spot there. Flat wounded hand over plain fabric that would have no chance of protecting her in a fight.
But you're not fighting anything.
There's drums now. On the radio. Loud insistent drums that rattle through her head all the way down to her ribcage. She imagines gripping the drumsticks and breaking them in two. She imagines a boy. Hair wet with sweat, looking at her like someone would look at a monster. Gaping.
Because how could she ever be a monster? You can. A hard bang against concrete as a body smashes into it and cracks open. How was it ever a question? The scars lining her body was proof enough for it. Her arm. Who would ever take an arm of an innocent.
It is laughable really.
Ava is sitting beside her like she has no clue.
"Turn the music down." Her voice sounds like iron to her ears. The aftertaste of blood.
Ava shakes her head. It is blurry. "It helps me concentrate."
It reminds her that Ava wasn't someone who drove before the war. She never learned. Did not have time and even if she did Beatrice knows she would have been too scared. That was something she told her in the dark room of a warm Switzerland night after a nightmare. The crash that took her mother away haunted her.
Now she's behind the steering wheel and Beatrice is not entirely sure about the details. Everything had become so very blurry.
See? This is not your Ava.
The boy screams - Beatrice can't take it for anything else - and she leans forward and shuts the music off.
"Hey, I liked that!"
"They're screaming."
Ava scoffs. "You're not even listening."
Beatrice drags her hand over her neck, muscles tensing by the point. The road ahead is curving. "You're going too fast."
"I know what I'm doing."
The ringing in her ears makes her rub the shell of it, dragging in a large breath through her lungs. The Ava she knew didn't drive. the Ava she knew would never set herself behind a wheel. Why did she even agree to this?
Beatrice lets out a sound that is small and constrained. the muscle in her neck feels like it's going to cramp.
In her peripheral she sees Ava reach for the button and out of instinct grabs her wrist.
Ava jams her arm back and the steering wheel follows the motion. "Fuck, you can't just–" The car veers to the right and Ava's eyes widen. The loud noise of a horn splits her ears before she turns her head away, expecting impact.
It doesn't come.
Instead her breath is stuck in her throat and when she looks over Ava her hands are white knuckled.
She whispers. "I'm pulling over."
There's not long before a gas station comes into view. Ava doesn't even acknowledge her before she yanks the keys out of the ignitor and steps out of the car.
The image of Ava leaving makes Beatrice's stomach coil and she takes a breath, forcing down the nausea before following her. The door slams. "Ava."
Ava doesn't stop. Instead her steps quickens.
"I didn't mean to do that. It was a mistake." She winces. "I'm sorry."
Beatrice has to speed up to keep up with her. "Ava, I said I'm sorry."
Ava spins around and tosses her the keys, making Beatrice recoil. "You don't even want me here."
Beatrice stutters. "What?"
The laugh that breaks through her throat has no humor in it. "Everything I do seems to irritate you. It's like me, just existing, is difficult for you. I know I'm not the same as before but come on …"
"How-"
"Let me talk." Beatrice shuts her mouth. "I am not the same as whatever you've pictured in your mind. I wish I was, but we both got fucked during the war, Beatrice. Whatever you wish was still there isn't there anymore." The glaring red light of the gas station makes her expression look gruesome.
Beatrice fingers curl. "I do want you here."
"Prove it." Ava steps closer. "Prove that you want me here because right now it seems like I'm only making it worse for you."
“Ava, you're not…”
She stares. Waits. Then huffs. “See? You can't even pretend to care.”
Beatrice startles forward and kisses her. Nose flaring and weight pressing into the action before she realizes what she has done.
Ava tastes like warmth, teeth knocking against teeth from the unexpectancy. She whines into her mouth. She had missed that. She missed it terribly.
She knows no other way to apologize, to prove to Ava that she can't live without her but to relent. To give her all of her. Sacrifice. A part of her is still searching for that spark. The same feeling since after the war. But this isn't the same. Her nails are like claws.
It is Ava who breaks out of the kiss, bewildered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Shit."
"I know im fucked up." Beatrice starts, the curse word salting her lips. Making it sting. "You're right. I've tried to find a way-" she shakes her head. "No." Her therapist would tell her otherwise but she knows it's a lie. "I don't think I've allowed myself to accept how it is. That you're... you don't remember. Our memory, our time together, it feels like it got wiped away with the war. With you being..."
"Me." Ava finishes.
"No, no that's not what I mean."
"What is it then?" Ava asks, relentless. Chest heaving after the kiss. She's searching for something Beatrice is not sure she can get a grip on.
"I just wish we could go back to those moments."
"We can."
"You don't understand-"
"No you're not listening. You're speaking like it's all over. Like time stopped existing after the war. But it didn't. I've been trying so hard to show you that it didn't." The words grow heavy at the end. Filled with frustration. "You still have time, Beatrice. You can give us back those memories."
Her hand grips around the keys.
"Okay." Her shoulders slumps but she doesn't know if it's because she actually believes her. Maybe she's just tired of fighting. “Okay…”
It makes Ava exhale, the exhaustion behind her eyes shining through. It's not just her.
"Do you want anything from the store? We might as well get something when we're here."
Ava's eyes are searching before she nods. Alright. Beatrice can work with that.
When they get back into the car Ava plunges down on the seat beside her with two hotdogs in one hand. The bag rustles between her legs but Beatrice's eyes are on the controls.
She has never driven like this before.
"You sure you're okay with this?"
Beatrice's mouth pulls. Ah. There it is. The softness never escaped her despite the war.
"I have to try." She looks down at the keys in her hands and knows Ava is watching. Sees how her expression shifts into forced conviction. She has been going over how to do this with Camila multiple times.
"Hey." Ava's fingers brush over her hand. "Don't think too hard about it."
She lets out a small breathy laugh. "That's easy to say."
"I know. Trust me…”
Beatrice bites her cheek. Looks down. “What do you usually do? To make it easier.”
“I distract myself with something else… Usually music. But I'm guessing you don't want that.”
“I do not.” Her hand shifts on the steering wheel. She closes her eyes for a moment. Imagine carrying her memories up the stairs like you would do with a sleeping child. “You used to sit by the window when you couldn't sleep… And when I told you to go back to sleep you'd smile and instead ask me to join you.” Beatrice looks over at her. “I never declined those offers.”
“What did you do instead…” Ava asks softly.
Beatrice smiles. “Looked at the stars.”
***
It's hot outside. The warmth spills through the windows and makes the molecules in the air vibrate. Like the wings of a bumblebee. Like insistent cicadas.
Beatrice pulls at her shirt with the pen held between her two middle fingers. She taps the tip of it against her chin as she thinks. The paper is blank. Suzanne is asking how everything is going... Two years and two months after moving away.
The time was never something she could get a good grip on. It leaked at its insistence. Made the muscles in her body wring together in order to keep up. There's a balance there that Beatrice has yet to find.
The table sways as she leans forward for the letter. The left foot is slightly shorter than the rest of them. Beatrice had been meaning to fix that.
There's a stack of notebooks piled on top of each other and rocketing down over the yellow flowered cloth Ava had used to cover the buns earlier. She sighs. The kitchen smells of memories.
Opposite to her is the chair Ava sits in when the sun goes down below the mountains. She'll have one foot up on the chair and rest the notebook against her knee as she wrote.
It had been... She chews her lip. Puts the tip of the pen against the paper as if it would suddenly garner the words she wanted.
Ava bursts through the kitchen door. "Bea! You have to see this."
She's breathless, sweeping her shoulder length hair away from her face without seeming to notice how Beatrice has dropped her pen. Cutting it again felt like a ritual. Brushing away the hair that had fallen to the floor even more so.
Beatrice teeth grinds before her shoulders fall. “What is it?” She hopes her voice doesn't sound strained. They're still working on that. Living in each other's space. Knowing how to walk around it. Or more so… Burst.
"You'll have to come with me to see." Ava says, smile widening the longer she stands there. It looks like she's going to crawl out of her own skin.
Beatrice huffs out a laugh by the image. Puts the pen down. "Where are we going?"
"I am so glad you asked." Ava says, taking her hand to tug her along. Beatrice allows it. That's something she'd been having to sink into again. The open space between them.
The air smells like rain and the grass is still wet. There's a car honking further away but it feels distant. Like the fence and the bushes blocks out the world around them.
Ava stops to crouch down by the tree. The smallest one in their garden and yet... And yet. She lifts one branch up with care, reveals a small blood orange hanging from its stem.
It is not supposed to be able to bear fruit yet.
They'd dug it down by the dirt and rocks the fifth day getting here. She'd gotten it under her nails. The messiness of it. Ava had wiped her hand across her cheek to rid some of the sweat and it caused Beatrice to stare at the dirt left behind.
Worry had creased between Ava's eyebrows like it did when she tried to figure out something she thought she'd missed. Forgotten.
Then Beatrice laughed. Bursting and unexpected.
It was the first time in a long time she felt like she'd taken a real breath.
Now it looks back at her. That tree. Ava. Shining, bright, standing out against the foliage. And when Ava snaps it off the branch and rises up to dig her nails into the flesh, Beatrice can only think, dirty dirty love . "It doesn't look ready."
"I don't care. I want to taste what we grew."
The orange splits in half. Messy and uneven with juice dripping down Ava's fingers.
Ava gives her a look, holds eye contact as she bites into the flesh. Then she hums, neck arching back and hair falling with gravity. The scars are even more prominent now.
When she holds out the other half for Beatrice she steps past it, instead leaning in to lick the juice dripping down Ava's chin. It tastes sweet. It has always tasted sweet. Ava tilts her head to lean in to a careful kiss. Quiet and soft.
It has been a lot of that the past months. They're still trying to navigate this feeling. Learning each other anew.
"How does it taste?" Ava breathes as she breaks away from the kiss, forehead resting against her own.
"It's good… This is good.”