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*
[Beatrice]
Beatrice is finishing putting the recycling out into alleyway when she hears it: a sniffle, muffled. It pulls instantly at her heart, the way it’s been stifled and choked down; as if trying to hide - one’s tears, one’s self.
She glances around the alley and spots only the dumpster, sighs softly at the thought of someone crying on the other side of it; alone.
Looks to the cafe she owns just next door.
“Hey,” she calls out, as clearly and as gently as she can, “Would you like a drink from the cafe? On me. No questions asked."
It’s not something she does often - or at all, really, though that was her original intent with the cafe: to provide refuge, respite, a port in the storm. She hopes she can be that for at least someone, for this someone, now.
So Beatrice waits, hopes - though, she knows, feeling that low, their answer could go either way. After a few minutes, she lets out a breath, prepares to go back inside when a tentative voice breaks the silence.
"Do you have hot chocolate?”
Relief floods through Beatrice in a wave. “Of course,” she says, holds herself back from stepping forward. “We wouldn’t be a proper cafe if we didn’t."
"I don’t know, it seems like the kind of place that only has leaf juice.”
Beatrice blinks, brow furrowing as she attempts to parse out the turn of phrase. “Do you mean… tea?”
There’s a giggle that makes Beatrice’s heart stumble, then from around the dumpster, emerges a woman. She’s around her own age, wearing a shirt from the bar next door, hair pulled back in a messy half-up, half-down style. Unsurprisingly, her dark eyes are red-rimmed but her smile is wide and bright, like the sun peeking out from behind stormy clouds. “I mean you’re British, I thought that’s all you guys drank."
Beatrice remembers to breathe belatedly with a sharp inhale, nods inanely. "Yes, well - it’s genetic. We’re all about quality, you see.” Pauses, winces internally.
The woman’s grin somehow widens further. “Quali-tea, that’s a good one! Be careful, puns make me thirsty.” She bites her bottom lip as soon as she’s finished, near wiggling as she waits for Beatrice’s response.
Beatrice laughs, opens the back door and gestures for the woman to enter. “I was actually thinking about naming the shop along those lines, but my friends talked me out of it."
"Well, you need new friends,” the woman says as she draws forward, “Like me. I’m Ava."
"Beatrice,” she says, coughing slightly at her sudden breathlessness.
Ava waggles her eyebrows at her as she passes. “Nice to matcha you, Beatrice."
Beatrice rolls her eyes, "That was -”
“Horrible, I know, but see, I was promised hot chocolate…”
“Indeed,” Beatrice murmurs as she closes the door behind them, wondering just what she’s agreed to.
*
[Ava]
Hot chocolate leads to lunch, which leads to drinks at Ava’s bar next door, which leads them to the movie theater today. Sure, hot dogs and popcorn aren’t the most classiest of dinner dates but the way Beatrice’s eyes had hesitantly lit up when Ava had suggested it was enough to convince Ava to follow through.
So here they are amidst the weeknight crowd at a movie theater Ava personally loves for its showings of quirky, off-beat B movies. Beatrice had groaned at Ava’s selection -a sci-fi action flick featuring space ninjas and sequined costumes- but Ava’s quickly learned to differentiate between Beatrice’s lighthearted ribbing and her actual complaints (pineapple on pizza being one of them; Ava’s sure she can get her converted).
What she isn’t prepared for, however, once they’ve settled in with their hot dogs and candy, a massive bag of popcorn placed perfectly between them, is for Beatrice to completely rip apart the movie.
From the jump, at the opening fight scene, she hears Beatrice’s heavy sigh - catches her eye, raises a questioning eyebrow, worrying for a moment. “That’s absolutely not how you’d use that kind of weapon,” Beatrice says lowly, the grumble in her voice edging on petulant.
Ava grins, leans in closer. “I didn’t know you were an expert."
Beatrice turns back to the screen and mumbles, "I may have several black belts.”
“Several?”
Beatrice shushes her hastily, but it’s Beatrice who ends up talking for the bulk of the movie, muttering just loud enough under her breath for Ava to catch things like, “Why go through the trouble of having an Akira slide and not do it right,” “They’re making up maths as much as they’re making up words,” and many a commentary on the “utterly ridiculous, completely illogical choreography” of the fight scenes.
Midway through the movie, the action changes to well, a different kind of action. While Ava isn’t above watching essentially soft porn on screen, she’s not sure that Beatrice is. In fact, Beatrice hasn’t spoken once since the grunting and moaning started, so Ava chances a glance to her right.
Doesn’t expect to see Beatrice, red-faced and shaking, trying to hold in her laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Ava whispers, equal parts surprised and confused and wanting desperately to know what she missed as she glances between the ‘action’ on-screen and Beatrice near tears.
“It’s just,” Beatrice manages with a giggle -a giggle! Ava grins, delighted- “It’s just so unsanitary!"
Ava stares, can’t help but let out a small laugh as she takes her in: Beatrice, curled so comfortably in her seat, half-lit in the dark of the theater, giggling herself silly. It’s such a different Beatrice compared to the straight-laced perfection she usually sees in the light of day. But here, in this dinky theater, with their cheap hot dogs and salty popcorn, is a new Beatrice, a Beatrice that tugs at her own heart.
"We’re totally doing a B movie marathon next time,” Ava murmurs, nudging Beatrice’s still shaking shoulder with her own; grins when the scene abruptly shifts to another fight scene and Beatrice groans again.
*
[Beatrice]
In Beatrice’s defense, she hadn’t intended to go into what her friends have dubbed ‘critique mode’ at the theater, but where her friends have merely tolerated her muttered rants, Ava had seemed to actually enjoy them. The way Ava had leaned in closer, the way she’d softly snort and laugh, the way she’d looked at Beatrice like she was more interested in her than the spectacle (and atrocities) on the big screen had only prompted Beatrice into leaning further into it as the movie went on. It was exhilarating; freeing, even. And for the first time in a long time, she wanted more.
It’s what allowed her to agree to coming over to Ava’s apartment for a pizza and movie night - “where you can rant to your heart’s content and we don’t have to worry about getting kicked out of the theater,” Ava had grinned when she’d proposed it across the counter at the cafe. Beatrice had insisted on at least bringing the toppings (though, she suspected pineapple would somehow still make an appearance).
Ava had bragged also about her DVD collection, which Beatrice admits is quite extensive, taking up several shelves along the living room wall. Like Ava herself, the space is vibrant and eclectic. From duck-shaped candle holders to mismatched pillows on an already multi-colored couch, to a Pacman-themed maze rug, it’s a showcase of Ava’s interests, of Ava’s love of life. It’s a space where Beatrice feels oddly comfortable, despite her preference for clean lines and organization; a space she can see herself spending more time in.
“Find anything you like?"
Beatrice turns, softens again at the sight of Ava in her 'comfy clothes’ -the one rule she’d had about entering her home- and takes the proferred drink. "I feel like I should just close my eyes and choose that way,” Beatrice says wryly, eyeing the rows of DVDs.
“That’s what I do half the time,” Ava says with a grin. “Should I get you a blindfold? Do it donkey style."
Beatrice blinks at her.
Ava blinks back. "That’s not what it’s called, huh."
Beatrice clears her throat and turns toward the kitchen. "Maybe we can choose after making the pizza?"
*
To Beatrice’s dismay, the-fruit-that-shall-not-be-named indeed finds its way onto the counter with the other toppings, though Ava relents and keeps it to her side of their shared workspace. The dough is fresh - "well, as fresh as anything from the grocery can be,” Ava says with a shrug - and the process is messy, but Beatrice finds that like many things now, she doesn’t mind when it’s with Ava. Especially here, in a space that’s hers; where it’s just the two of them.
She finds that Ava is more mischievous here, rearranging Beatrice’s toppings when she’s not looking, sneaking bites and letting out exaggerated moans when she is; and more tactile too - it’s one of the first things Beatrice had noticed about Ava, the way she seems compelled to connect with things, with people, through touch. There’s a hand on Beatrice’s hip when Ava reaches over to grab some cheese, a shoulder bump when Ava cuts the pepperoni slices into stars, a thumb pressed to Beatrice’s cheek to wipe off some wayward sauce.
“What?” Ava asks, licking her thumb in a display of faux-innocence. Beatrice can tell because there’s a grin threatening to break out at the edge of her lips - lips she’s glanced at several times in just the last few minutes.
“Nothing,” Beatrice says, turning back to her pizza, curls her restless hands into fists. Contrary to what her friends believe, Beatrice isn’t stupid about these things - she knows what this is. 'This’ being the attraction that’s clearly between them, the pull that she’s been helpless to resist. And she wants to give in, it’s just -
A warm touch runs gently over Beatrice’s knuckles before settling along her wrist. She sighs, eases the fist back into a hand - flips it over palm up; an offering.
Ava takes it by leaning in, curving her hand around the inside of Beatrice’s arm so she can run her fingertips along the lines of Beatrice’s palm. “You can always tell me,” Ava murmurs after a few minutes of listless tracing, “If this is too much.” 'If I’m too much,’ Beatrice hears in the silence that follows.
“It’s not,” Beatrice says - and it’s true. It’s new, that’s for sure; different. Ava is unlike anyone she’s ever known, and she likes that. Likes her; likes how she is, who she is with her.
Beatrice curls her fingers around Ava’s, tangling them lightly together. Likes how that feels; how she feels, here; with her.
Lets that feeling give her courage: “Can we take things slow?"
Feels the response through Ava’s hand before she speaks, warm and reassuring: "Of course.”
Then Ava looks up at her, a gleam in her eye and Beatrice readies herself for Ava’s trademark cheekiness. “I know how to take my time,” Ava says, holding up a sprig of thyme with her other hand.
Beatrice just rolls her eyes, shakes her head when she feels Ava’s giggles against her arm. Likes this too, the way Ava looks up at her, the way she slowly draws away, the way her eyes soften, the way her hands linger.
Yes, Beatrice thinks, letting herself fall into this easy pace, let’s savor this.
*
[Ava]
Ava can’t help but laugh to herself when she opens the cabinet to find a perfectly alphabetically organized tea shelf. “She wasn’t kidding about genetics,” Ava says to herself as she picks out the black tea Beatrice had requested. She takes a peek over her shoulder as she sets up the kettle, catches Beatrice frowning at the crutches next to her on the couch.
She gets it; she wouldn’t want this kind of injury on anyone, especially someone as active as Beatrice.
It was one of the things Ava had delighted in early on at the start, how game Beatrice has been for everything. Sure, there’s the occasional grumbling - like the time they went axe throwing and Beatrice had muttered the whole time about questionable safety and the liability of mixing sharp objects with alcohol - but she has yet to turn Ava down, has yet to call any of her ideas ridiculous or cheap. She’s just as easily said yes to an art walk to a roller skating rink to pub karaoke to the aquarium. It’s been the biggest of surprises, that someone like Beatrice would want to spend time in any of those places, to spend time at all with someone like her.
And it’s fine, that they’re taking their time. Ava hadn’t lied - not really. Sure, she may not have direct experience, what with most of her relationships having been flash bangs (Ava snorts to herself) rather than anything serious, but she knows what time feels like when it’s done right. Like learning to walk again, like her first paycheck, like seeing one of Beatrice’s rare, full smiles.
Some things can be worth the wait, Ava thinks as she lets the leaf juice steep.
“How’s the hero doing?” Ava asks as she carries a tray with tea and snacks over to the coffee table.
Beatrice rolls her eyes. “There’s no heroes here, I’m afraid."
Ava straightens, hands on her hips and pins Beatrice with a glare. "Bea. You stopped an actual mugging with your bare hands, saved that girl from who knows what else -” she bends down to catch Beatrice’s eyes “- you did a good thing."
It’d given Ava a shock walking into the cafe after her shift at the bar to see Beatrice bruised and in crutches, but with the help of Beatrice’s staff, she’d rallied enough to coax Beatrice to go home early. She’s not surprised that Beatrice has been grumpy at her new limitation, but Ava can also tell that some of it is discomfort.
Ava bites her lip as she watches Beatrice shift again on the couch before finally blurts out, "May I?” with a vague gesture. Beatrice tilts her head curiously and nods. Ava nods back and works efficiently, rearranging the cushions like it’s muscle memory - makes sure to elevate Beatrice’s feet, that everything is within reach.
Looks up to see Beatrice studying her. “You seem quite adept at this,” she says in that quiet way of hers, openings framed as observations.
With anyone else, Ava would have shrugged it off but that’s another thing that’s been different with Beatrice: a desire to share; a chance to be known. She sits down beside Beatrice and starts unwrapping one of the treats she’d found in the cabinet next to the tea. “Yeah,” she finally says, “You learn a couple things when you spend your entire childhood in and out of the hospital."
Beatrice accepts the treat with the same reverence she does the tidbit, a sure and steady quiet that Ava appreciates as they take sips from their tea and eat (several, in Beatrice’s case, Ava notes) of the treats.
"Would you…"
Ava perks up at the request - it’s not often that Beatrice asks for something outright, and the pink rising in Beatrice’s ears makes Ava all the more interested. She takes a page from Beatrice’s book, gives her time and space to find the words.
And she does, after a deep breath: "Would you like a hug?"
Ava would have laughed, teased her for framing it as a service, but she finds that yes, she would like one; yes, she’d especially like one from Beatrice.
It helps, being able to hold her, to feel with her own hands Beatrice’s solid form, the steadiness of her breath, the sigh when Ava claims the space at the curve of her neck. Feels herself relax when she feels Beatrice’s hands settle against her back.
It takes a while for their breaths to sync, for bravery to sink in and the words to rise up. "My mom and I was in a car accident when I was seven,” Ava begins. “Mom didn’t make it; I barely did.” She gives Beatrice the abridged version of her sob story: the loneliness of the orphanage, the miracle of meeting Michael and Jillian; saying yes to the experimental surgery and the Halo, the years of work that followed.
“And now I’m here,” Ava finishes with a small shrug, “Serving beer and wine to the city’s finest.” She knows it’s nothing fancy, nothing grand - but when all she had were magazine clippings on her wall, even this small slice of the world was more than she’d imagined she’d ever get.
She feels Beatrice’s arms tighten around her. “I’m so glad you are,” Beatrice says, and Ava feels the way the words hum in Beatrice’s chest, gives in to her instinct to curl into it. “I think you’re the hero here, Ava.”
Ava scoffs, hiding her face (and surreptitiously wiping her tears) in Beatrice’s shirt. “Says the one who literally saved someone’s life.”
Feels something warm press against the crown of her head. “Well,” Beatrice murmurs and Ava burrows deeper into her hold, “You light up mine, Ava. I’m thankful everyday for it - for you."
*
[Beatrice]
A soft chatter descends upon the dojo now that class has ended, and Beatrice finally turns to face Ava fully. She’d snuck glances at her throughout the class, catching her in rapt fascination as she watched Beatrice’s fellow practitioners tumble and twirl, exchanging energy, redirecting motion. Having Ava there had almost distracted Beatrice completely from the techniques she was meant to be practicing but although it’d been a while since Beatrice has attended an aikido class, her body had easily remembered, making up for when her mind started to wander.
Beatrice bows and steps off the mat and makes her way to the benches where Ava’s seated and chatting brightly with the instructor. It makes Beatrice smile, seeing her mentor’s usually stoic expression thaw in the face of Ava’s enthusiasm.
“Next time,” Beatrice hears him say as she draws close, “You join us in a gi, hm?"
Ava laughs and agrees, shaking hands with the instructor for good measure. He exchanges a polite nod with Beatrice before taking his leave. The radiance of Ava’s full attention is near blinding. "Bea, that was amazing - you were amazing!"
Beatrice shakes her head. "I’m a bit rusty,” she admits. Though, she was happy that she’d received no complaints from her knee, now several weeks after her so-called heroics.
“Well, you looked plenty sharp,” Ava says with a grin, prompting a smile from Beatrice in return. “And this is only one of the martial arts you have a black belt in?"
Beatrice nods a touch self-consciously as she sits down next to Ava. "I’ve studied several striking arts and grappling as well. I can take you to watch those too if you’d like.” She takes a peek at Ava to gauge her interest, stops at the look of wonder on her face. “What?"
Ava hums, studying her with a fondness that has Beatrice fighting a blush. "I never would have guessed you were a fighter when we first met."
Beatrice winces at the word. "I wouldn’t call myself a fighter.” Glances at Ava, sees only openness; the openness she’s learned to trust. “The only person I was ever really fighting was myself.” She looks down at her hands, the callouses on her palms, the faded scars along her knuckles; years in the making.
“For a long time, I saw my body as something separate, something to train and hone; a tool. A weapon. I thought maybe the harder I trained, the more I learned, the closer I could get to something normal - or at least acceptable. But when you’re punished for being different, you begin to hate what you are."
She sighs, folds her hands atop her lap. "It took me leaving martial arts entirely to undo all that pain. To learn to listen to what my body has to say.” She glances over at Ava and offers a small smile. “It’s what eventually led me to opening the cafe." ‘And to you,’ she adds silently; thinks Ava understands when her face softens and takes Beatrice’s hand.
"I’m glad you were able to come back to martial arts,” Ava says, twining their fingers together. “Thank you for showing me how beautiful it can be."
Beatrice shakes her head, feels a telltale heat in her ears, her cheeks. But Ava doesn’t let her go far: a soft touch at her jaw coaxes her back towards Ava, to the sincerity in her eyes, the inviting curve of her smile. Beatrice snaps her gaze up when she realizes just where she’s strayed, but Ava’s expression hasn’t wavered - if anything, it’s only grown more encouraging.
"You are, you know,” Ava murmurs into the space between them, “Beautiful."
A laugh from behind them breaks the spell, has them both startling and drawing back from each other. "So,” Beatrice says, tries not to wince at her own awkwardness, “Shall we go to lunch?”
Ava’s grin parts the tension, makes way for the ease that’s always been there between them. “It’s my favorite meal of the day!"
Beatrice stands with a chuckle. "I thought that was breakfast.” Ava’s eyes light up in response, as if surprised at Beatrice’s memory. ('Of course I remember,’ Beatrice wants to say, 'How could I not want to hold on to you?’)
“Spoiler,” Ava says, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, “It’s always whichever meal is next."
And Beatrice gets it, has been enamored by it - still is; even more, every day- with the joy Ava has for each meal, each experience. As she laughs along with Ava, Beatrice thinks about the listening she’s relearned, thinks about what her body has been telling her this whole time: how easy it’s been to be with Ava, how easy she makes everything; how easy she can see herself falling in love with her.
Smiles to herself. She can; she will.
*
[Ava]
It takes Ava a moment to realize where she is when she wakes up.
In fact, it takes her a moment to even realize that she’s awake - it happens seamlessly, the transition from warm dreams to warm sheets; to comfort and safety.
She stretches her body languidly, relishes in the feel of the sheets against her skin, the tenderness of her muscles - grins, remembering.
Ava really hadn’t expected anything when they’d gone on their date last night. It was nothing special, just another new experience that had left them giggling but still hungry, which had led to ice cream sundaes at Ava’s apartment for dessert.
And sure, maybe Ava had played things up a bit - letting her tongue slide along the spoon in a way that wasn’t completely necessary for eating ice cream. But she can’t be blamed for noticing, the way Beatrice’s eyes have lingered more and more, the way she’s let herself lean in closer. Can’t be blamed for enjoying it: the simmering, the pull.
So it was less of a surprise and more proof of the inevitable when Beatrice had paused after wiping a stray bit of whipped cream from the edge of Ava’s mouth, had glanced down and stayed there - eyes trained on Ava’s parted lips as she’d asked, “May I?”
“Yes,” Ava had breathed, hands fisting in Beatrice’s shirt, trying her best not to pull, not to beg; not caring about failing, “Please."
She’s learned a lot about Beatrice over the past few months - the methodical way she approaches everything, her care, her focus - and had often wondered if Beatrice would kiss the same way. The confirmation had made her shiver, to be kissed wholly, with everything she has.
Then it’s breath and heat in equal measure - a gasp when Beatrice’s palm finds her breast; a moan when her tongue follows the same path; a breathless laugh when Beatrice coaxes Ava’s legs up around her waist and carries her to the bedroom; fond and fervent when she settles onto her back and welcomes Beatrice in - again, and again.
And Ava’d had her fill too, quelling a hunger that had been building the moment they’d met, if she’s being honest - and there really isn’t any other way she can be with Beatrice: honest about how it feels to touch her, to swallow down her quiet groans, to sink in and take all she has to give.
It’s everything. And the best part is, Ava thinks as she rolls over to press her wide smile into the pillows, she knows that this is only the beginning.
As if on cue, her bedroom door quietly swings open, and in enters Beatrice, clad in just her button down from last night but fully unbuttoned now, carrying a tray laden with food. Beatrice’s expression softens when she catches sight of Ava and she feels a different warmth roll through her at Beatrice’s shy smile.
"Good morning,” Beatrice says, settling the tray across Ava’s lap after she sits up; Ava smirks when Beatrice stumbles slightly when the sheets catch and fall from her breasts. But it’s Ava who becomes greedy when Beatrice climbs in beside her, pulls her in by Beatrice’s collar to return the greeting.
Ava sighs when Beatrice finally pulls back, lips plush and eyes heavy-lidded as Beatrice brushes their noses together. “Did you sleep alright?"
"Amazing.” Ava presses another kiss to Beatrice’s mouth to emphasize her point. When she finally looks closer at the tray, she realizes it’s full of all of her favorites. It takes her breath away, being known like this; to be cared for like this. “Beatrice …"
Beatrice bites at her lip, fiddling with the cutlery. "Too much?”
Ava sighs, fond and exasperated; in wonder, in love. Leans in and kisses her in a bid for forever. “Perfect,” she says; because it is.
*
[Beatrice]
Beatrice is in her office, pacing, which she knows she never does, knows her staff is worrying from the looks she sees them giving her through the window, but she doesn’t have time to explain - glances at her watch, curses internally and sighs. “No, I understand,” she says into the phone with the person she’s been trying to negotiate with for the past 20 minutes. “Mistakes happen. It’s just - this was very important. Are you sure there isn’t anything you can do?”
She’s doing another lap around her desk when the voice on the line comes back with a hopeful tone. Beatrice stops, intent. “What kind of substitute?"
*
It’s only as she’s unlocking the door to her apartment, Ava chattering blithely behind her, that Beatrice wonders if this is truly a good idea. She’d told Ava that she’d forgotten something at home, diverting from their chosen outing for the evening; Ava, as far as Beatrice can tell, doesn’t suspect anything at all. In Beatrice’s defense, Ava hadn’t ever said she doesn’t celebrate her birthday so surely -
Beatrice swallows, gathers her courage. There was only one way to find out.
She steps aside once they clear the hall to let Ava enter the living room ahead of her.
Watches Ava do a little hop. "Found your sunglasses, Bea, they’re right -” Watches her freeze.
Beatrice holds her own breath; waits.
It’s a simple thing, really: a display of cupcakes shaped into ducklings frolicking in the water, one even butt up as if diving, with ‘Happy Birthday’ written in looped icing. All things considered, it’s quite cute, even if it wasn’t what Beatrice had originally planned. She just wanted Ava to like it; to know that she’s loved.
When Ava doesn’t move, doesn’t speak for a few minutes, Beatrice slowly eases around Ava to check on her.
Doesn’t expect to see her crying.
Before Beatrice can ask if she’s alright, Ava turns and throws her arms around her, crying into her shoulder. “Thank you,” Beatrice makes out amongst the sobs; feels her heart ache and holds Ava tighter.
It takes a while for the tears to ease, for Ava to quietly explain: when she was young, her mother had gotten her a similar set of cupcakes, with a mama duck-shaped cake as well. “It was my favorite birthday party,” Ava says, her voice tinged with the wistfulness of a child. “It was my last one with her."
Beatrice sucks in a sharp breath. "I’m sorry,” she murmurs mournfully, her mind already working out a disposal plan.
But Ava pulls back, smiling, eyes watery but at ease. “Don’t be,” she says; kisses her gently, lingers until the tension in Beatrice’s body releases. “Now I have two favorites."
Beatrice smiles, relieved at the light of Ava’s smile, awestruck at the way she loves. A profound sense of gratitude wells up inside her and Beatrice sighs, overwhelmed; holds her close. "Happy birthday, Ava,” is all she can say.
They stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms for several minutes before Beatrice’s phone vibrates in her pocket. “That would be your guests,” Beatrice says gently, loathe to break the tranquility of the moment. “Unless you’d rather it just be the two of us?"
Ava shakes her head, wipes away the last of her tears. Waggles her eyebrows in that way that makes Beatrice roll her eyes before she even starts speaking. "We can save that for later,” Ava says before giving Beatrice a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. “For now, let’s celebrate!"
Beatrice laughs as Ava begins to dance around, whoops when she finds the bag of party decorations. Yes, Beatrice thinks, eyes never leaving Ava, let’s celebrate the best of us, the most miraculous: you.
*
[Ava]
It’s not often they attend something as fancy as this but originally, Ava had thought it’d be a great two-in-one package deal: support Jillian at a gala for Arq-Tech and play dress up with Beatrice. Only - and Ava sighs in the corner she’s taken refuge in - it’s not as fun as she’d hoped, since Beatrice has been treating her like she has the plague lately.
Ava sighs again. She’s being dramatic, she knows but still. It doesn’t help that things have been stressful at both the cafe and the bar, plus there had been that whole thing with JC just this past week - but sometimes understanding doesn’t do anything to ease the ache of missing her.
“You look like you need a drink.”
She turns to find Michael standing next to her, holding out a second flute of champagne. No questions, just a sympathetic look on his face. He’s the best.
Ava tells him as much as she takes the drink and, to her credit, she doesn’t down the whole thing, even when a bout of jealousy threatens to overtake her as she glances again at the group across the way that Beatrice has been talking with for the past several minutes. Eyes how a woman in a slinky black dress has been drawing closer and closer to Beatrice.
“More like I need a weapon,” she growls, taking a measured sip.
Michael does the same as he follows her gaze. She hears him chuckle to himself. “Really? You’ve been a grumpy gus because you’re jealous?"
Ava elbows him in the side. "Shut up."
Gets a shoulder nudge back; it’s much gentler than she deserves. "You know you have nothing to worry about right? I saw how Beatrice was at your birthday party - she only has eyes for you.”
Images of that day float up from her memory but Ava stuffs it down. “Yeah but she has eyes,” Ava grouses, finally giving in and downing the rest of the champagne so she can grab another from a passing server. Michael just shakes his head, starts talking about his latest research and normally, Ava would be eager to catch up on his findings, but her eyes keep straying back to Beatrice, measuring the space between her and that woman narrow further.
Feels her blood boil as she thinks of how long it took for her to earn that space, the audacity of this woman to dare to steal it.
But Beatrice isn’t exactly fighting it, a small part of Ava’s brain points out. And it’s true - Beatrice’s expression has remained politely pleasant the whole time, but that’s how she is always, especially in public.
Then she catches the woman actually reach out and touch Beatrice. ‘Fuck this,’ Ava thinks - hands her drink to Michael while he’s in mid-sentence and all but stomps over to the group.
She’s nearly there when Beatrice suddenly looks up - either she has a sixth sense for danger or Ava’s presence - or both - but then, of all the reactions Ava had expected, Beatrice … smiles. And not just any smile at that: it’s the smile she saves for Ava, the smile she’s worked to earn. The sight of it makes the fire in her chest flicker, a messy mix of thwarted rage and giddiness that nearly makes her stumble.
Beatrice gestures towards her and Ava is close enough to hear her say, “In fact, here she is now: my girlfriend, Ava Silva."
The fire extinguishes completely at the fondness in Beatrice eyes, the pride in the rise of her voice. Ava feels a little silly now, like a deflated hot air balloon, but she manages to exchange hellos and greeting with the woman - Lucia, apparently from one of the research companies Jillian is courting so maybe it’s a good thing Ava didn’t deck her immediately - and the rest of the group.
Beatrice excuses them shortly after though, which Ava is surprised by but thankful for, and follows her lead out onto the empty balcony. Ava breathes in the night air, the quiet and the chill - she hadn’t realized just how overheated she’d gotten; how she’d nearly let her emotions get the best of her yet again.
"Are you alright?” Beatrice asks, head tilted in concern. It’d be cute if Beatrice wasn’t holding herself back, wasn’t so far away that she can’t reach.
“That’s my line,” Ava grumbles, shifting her feet. Sighs; dives in: “It’s just - you’ve been distant.” She looks up at Beatrice hesitantly. “Did I do something wr -”
“No, Ava.” Beatrice steps forward, hands outstretched - but stops short of touching her. “No. You’ve been wonderful.”
Ava eyes the space between them. “I must have though. Is it about JC? I swear we’re just friends, he’s just an idiot and has a horrible sense of humor."
Beatrice winces. "No. It’s not about him. Not really.”
Ava purses her lips together into a frown. “Then why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me? I know we’ve been busy but even tonight - I mean, I feel like this is the longest we’ve spent together in the past couple days."
Guilt shadows Beatrice face, drops her shoulders, her hands. "I’m sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t fair to you.” Ava watches her take a breath, then step close; Ava has to tamp down the thrill that immediately runs through her - even now, even still: she’ll always want to be near Beatrice.
“I worry sometimes -"
"Only sometimes?” Ava shuts her mouth at Beatrice’s raised eyebrow, though she’s relieved at the twitch of a smile at the edge of Beatrice’s mouth. Still, Ava mimes zipping her lips and pocketing the key.
Beatrice shakes her head, fond, before her expression falls. “I worry sometimes that I’m taking too much, that I’m taking advantage of your kindness. You’ve been so patient, letting me take my time -"
"Us, but continue."
Beatrice does, this time with a smile. "You remind me of a sunrise, did you know? The way you’ve eased into my life, the way you’ve opened my eyes to so many things. I’ve never felt as … fulfilled before. So seen, so understood.
"But I think that’s also made me feel too comfortable with leaving things unsaid.” She glances down at her fiddling fingers. “When JC joked that he’d steal you back, I realized there’s something I haven’t said. Something I was scared of before you. But I want to say it now, to you, to the rest of the world."
And as Beatrice steps in close, Ava’s mind works desperately to memorize the moment, the stars in the sky framing Beatrice’s face, the warmth of her palm against Ava’s cheek, her breath against Ava’s lips. Holds her breath and listens.
"I love you, Ava. I feel like I always have. And I want to tell you, to prove it to you, every way I can.”
Ava pulls her in, heart soaring in her chest as she rests their foreheads against each other. “You have nothing to prove, Bea,” she says, brushing their lips together lightly. “Not with me; not ever.” She lifts her hands in turn, holding Beatrice like the precious gift she is, takes the time they’ve learned together - to trace her brow, her flushed cheek, the curling edges of her mouth; takes her time to savor this moment, and all that will come after: “I love you too, Bea.”