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Ava is painfully aware of every overly taught muscle in her body, of the unsteadiness of her bones and the irregular pattern of her heart as it adjusts to beating once more. She can feel her blood flowing through her veins, pouring through all of the various open wounds on her body, either from a gunshot that made it through her defenses or the skin that split from the impact of her body meeting the concrete after her thirteen story drop. Her body aches in a way that she’s never known before, each and every nerve alight with over stimulation until Ava’s breath stutters in her chest but taking another one feels like climbing Mt. Everest in a wheelchair.
She isn’t aware of the arms around her, not at first. Not until she recognizes the voice in her ear as Beatrice. Not until she realizes that Beatrice is begging her not to die. I don’t want to, Ava thinks, the words fluttering around her brain and crashing against her skull in waves of pain and desperation. I never want to leave you.
Ava comes back into herself slowly, aware of the pain in her body, of the way her skin tingles, of the way she can’t move her legs yet, but more aware of the arms that hold her up, of the voice in her ear, of the way she can feel Beatrice’s heart beating out of her chest, thundering against her own. There’s a slight tremble in the hand that cradles the back of Ava’s hand, one that Ava probably wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t hyper aware of her once again newly reanimated body. It matches the waver in Beatrice’s voice that Ava is positive no one else can notice, the unsteady way she inhales and speaks softly but insistently, the words bursting out of her chest like they can’t be contained.
“I don’t want you to die.”
Beatrice is crying. For Ava. Because of Ava.
That knowledge burns brighter in her chest than any of the pain she feels and Ava forces her eyes to open, her mouth to move.
“You know,” her voice is dry to her own ears, but she feels Beatrice stiffen in surprise and hope and despite the pain ringing through her body, Ava continues. “I’d like to avoid that myself.”
Beatrice pulls back just a little too quickly, her hands moving across Ava’s aching body and radiating pain and comfort in equal measure. Ava groans softly.
“Easy, easy.” Ava can’t help but grin, shaking her head as much as she can manage when Beatrice apologizes. “It’s okay.”
I’m okay, you’re okay, Bea. We’re okay.
Ava thinks but can’t say. Her eyes rove over Beatrice’s features, taking in the worry and relief in her eyes, the softness of her brow. Beatrice, despite the tears in her eyes, looks so utterly relieved to see Ava alive and Ava has to say something, something to reassure, something to promise.
“They can’t beat us, Bea. Not together.”
Beatrice’s shoulders heave with a deep breath and she cradles Ava’s head between her hands, her finger just barely brushing against Ava’s jaw.
“I know that.” Beatrice’s voice is steady, thick with emotion. She’s so close, Ava notices, close in a way that she hasn’t been for awhile. Close enough that Ava can feel the soft brush of Beatrice’s exhales against her lips, close enough that Ava doesn’t have to move her head at all to find herself looking at Beatrice’s lips. Close enough, and with enough longing in her eyes that Ava can’t force herself to pretend to not see it, can’t let herself remember that there are a million reasons why she decided to wait and let Beatrice make the first move, enough of her Bea, the one she got to see in the Alps when it was just the two of them, to not think of a good enough reason to not close the distance between their lips.
She doesn’t expect much of a reaction from Beatrice. Ava moves in as quick as she can manage, though her movement is limited enough that she’s certain Beatrice has at least an idea of what Ava wants to do in the moments before their lips connect, but the action itself is surprising enough on its own. Beatrice is perfectly still against her for the first three seconds that their lips are in contact, but just when Ava begins to pull back, she feels a slow return from Beatrice.
It’s slow, unsure, and hesitant, as unsteady as the hand that moves to cup Ava’s jaw, but as the moment stretches on infinitely, Ava can feel Beatrice grow steadily more sure against her. The kiss is barely more than a meeting of lips, a slight tilt of the head so their noses don’t press together uncomfortable, but it makes Ava feel more alive than the Halo ever has.
Beatrice is steady when they pull back, firm and grounded again in a way that Ava can’t help but feel reassured by.
“We need to move.” Mother Superion’s voice cuts through their moment like sand slipping through their fingers. There’s a shift in Beatrice’s expression that Ava can’t quite interpret, but her hold on Ava never wavers. “Ava, can you walk?”
Ava can barely manage to shake her head in the negative. She still can’t feel anything below her waist, and everything above is tingling with the not exactly comfortable energy of the Halo working to heal her.
“I’ve got her.” Beatrice says, looking down at Ava to confirm that she’s okay with being carried. Ava nods, nearly giving in to the urge to kiss Beatrice again but refraining as Michael comes up to them, offering his help. Beatrice gently moves Ava into a bridal carry, murmuring apologies when Ava groans softly against the pressure on her spine. Michael offers a steadying arm to them as Beatrice stands, an offer to take Ava from Beatrice dying on his tongue long before he can speak the words.
The walk back to the van is made quickly, Beatrice careful with her hurried footsteps so she doesn’t cause Ava any more harm. Ava’s eyes had fallen closed long before they get to the van, exhausted as she is, but she remains awake enough to know when she’s laid on the floor in the back of the van, Sister Yasmine carefully adjusting her feet, Michael ready to assist however he can, and Beatrice bringing Ava’s head to rest against her thigh.
“Rest now, Ava,” Beatrice tells her, brushing her fingers through Ava’s blood dampened hair.
“Bea…” Ava wants to say more, to ask Beatrice to stay with her, to beg her to not let go. The words die in her throat but she thinks that Beatrice understands anyway. Her hands brush against Ava’s skin, across her neck and shoulders, back through her hair, down her arm as far as she can reach. Beatrice bends at the waist, her warm lips pressing against the crown of Ava’s head.
“I’m here.” Beatrice promises, the words whispered against Ava’s skin.
Always.
They’re back at Jillian’s mansion by the time Ava wakes up, healed enough to walk under her own power but letting herself lean against Beatrice anyway. Beatrice’s arm around her waist is strong, guiding her through the halls of the mansion towards the wing where they’ve been staying. They stop at Beatrice’s room first, where the woman collects some sleep clothes for both of them, and then they trudge on down to the bathroom.
It’s the first time that Ava is consciously aware of the blood that covers Beatrice’s clothes. All of it is Ava’s, the dried blood on her combat habit that Ava can’t see but knows is there, and the rust colored stains on her hands that had so carefully guided Ava away from the bloodstained concrete on that sidewalk. Ava leans against the bathroom counter, a heavy silence filling the room.
Beatrice slips off the outer layers of her habit, leaving her in the tight black tank top and shorts that she wears underneath it. Some of Ava's blood had slipped through the thick seams, staining the skin along Beatrice’s shoulders and arms and legs. Ava looks at the splatters of her own blood in the same disconnected way that she’d imagine she’d look at a limb that had been cut off, a vague sense of ‘hey, that’s mine’ that doesn’t quite feel accurate anymore.
Beatrice steps closer to Ava, her bare feet perhaps the only part of her that’s clean, and carefully raises one hand. Her fingers are gentle as they slide against Ava’s cheek, caressing along her hairline where the cut that had been dripping blood hours ago is now only a faintly raised pink line. Ava’s eyes fall closed as let’s Beatrice examine the places where there had been open wounds before, breathing in the scent of Beatrice so close to her. Her eyes open again when she feels warm fingertips against her neck, moving to caress the place where her neck and shoulders meet.
Beatrice is close enough that Ava has to tilt her head up slightly to look into her eyes and she does so slowly, taking in every inch of Beatrice that she can see until their eyes meet. Beatrice’s thumb strokes against her cheek.
There are a thousand things that Ava wants to say, declarations and promises and wishes that she’s held close to her chest for so many weeks now. Words that she couldn’t say no matter how much she wanted to, words that she had resigned herself to never saying at all if it meant that she could stay in this soft space of belonging she’d created with Beatrice. A place where they weren’t more, but they weren’t less either.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Beatrice’s tone is as gentle as her touch, her brow furrowing slightly as Ava breaks eye contact with her. “Ava?”
“I was waiting for you to be ready, before I kissed you.”
“Oh, Ava,” the laugh that comes out of Beatrice is breathless, startled. “I’m not upset that you kissed me. Not in the least.”
“But you are upset?” Ava asks, even though she already knows. She could tell from Beatrice’s silence as they moved through the mansion, from the way that she had herded Ava away from the others with barely any acknowledgment to Mother Superion’s suggestion to clean up and get some rest.
“Of course I’m upset,” Beatrice says, pain in her voice and Ava’s chest feels tight again. “Ava, I watched you die today. You didn’t have a heartbeat. I held your body in my arms. I thought you were gone.”
Beatrice breathes in sharply through her nose in that way that tells Ava she’s trying to keep herself from crying.
“Bea…” Ava reaches for her, wrapping her arms around Beatrice. It takes only a moment for Ava to lift herself onto the counter and then pull Beatrice back to her, the new placement allowing Beatrice to bury her face against Ava’s neck without having to bend down and risk hurting either of them. Beatrice cries softly, wrapping her fingers in the leather armor Ava still wears and holding tight, pressing into Ava until it feels like they’re one person. Ava’s arms are tight around her, undoing the bun Beatrice had pulled her hair into with one hand and then smoothing her fingers over the nape of Beatrice’s neck.
“I can’t lose you, Ava,” Beatrice whispers against her skin. “I can’t.”
Ava doesn’t make any promises she can’t keep so she stays silent, nosing against Beatrice’s hair and then placing a kiss at the edge of her ear.
“I’m here, Bea,” Ava says, “I’m right here.”
Ava isn’t sure how long they stay like that, Beatrice standing between her legs as she sits on the counter, pressed so close they might as well be one, but it doesn’t feel like it was nearly long enough when Beatrice eventually pulls away.
“I’m not sorry that you kissed me,” Beatrice says when she’s far enough back that they can see each other’s faces.
“I sorta surprised myself with that, honestly,” Ava says, smiling softly. Beatrice hums, tracing her fingertip over Ava’s lips. “I was trying to wait for you.”
“We waited long enough,” Beatrice looks unsure for a moment and Ava waits patiently for her to gather her thoughts. “I’ve never done anything like this before, Ava. I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t either, not really.” While she didn’t regret the time she spent with JC, it was nothing compared to everything she wanted to do with Beatrice. “We can figure it out together.”
“I’d like that.” Beatrice pursues her lips slightly. Ava tilts her head, curious and wanting. Beatrice smiles. “Can I kiss you?”
“God, yes.”
This kiss is, if possible, softer than their first. Though neither of them have forgotten about it, they don’t have the weight of Ava’s injuries over them, or the eyes of anyone else on them. It is just them, alone, wearing blood stained clothes in the fanciest bathroom Ava has ever been in. This kiss is infinitely more, because it is infinitely them and Ava would happily live in this moment forever if it meant she would never have to go a second without the taste of Beatrice on her lips.
“We should get cleaned up,” Beatrice says when she pulls away. Ava hums, looking down at the leather armor she wears, knowing that though she’s healing well, there are a myriad of bruises hidden beneath her clothes. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.” Ava answers without hesitation because she does want Beatrice to stay. She doesn’t want to be apart from her at all, and she knows it won’t last forever so she wants to savor the moments that they can be together without anyone or anything pulling them apart. She wants Beatrice to stay, but she doesn’t want to cross any lines or make her uncomfortable. Whatever is happening between them feels new and fresh and fragile and Ava will protect it with her life.
“But you don’t have to. Showering together is supposed to be like a thing .” Ava swallows. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t okay with it,” Beatrice says. “I will go if you want me too, but I don’t really want to be away from you.” The admission is made softly, a small flush covering Bea’s cheeks that Ava notices but doesn’t comment on.
“Okay,” Ava lets go of Beatrice for the first time since they had settled against one another, moving her arms in the stiff leather of her jacket. “Help me out of this?”
Beatrice does so carefully, hyper aware of any pain her movement might cause Ava despite her assurances that she’s not hurting as much as before. The jacket comes off easily, the undershirt harder to manage but still pried off and tossed on the floor. Beatrice’s hands find Ava’s hips as she guides her off the counter, her skin tingling pleasantly beneath Beatrice’s touch. The pants come off quickly, far less bloody than her upper body had been and Ava uses the time that they are separated as Beatrice gets the shower running and warmed up to survey the remaining damage on her skin.
Besides the ever present blood stains, her abdomen is covered in varying shades of blue and yellow, an uncountable number of bruises that are in varying stages of healing. She’d guess that her back looks similar, but her legs are relatively unscathed. A benefit of not landing feet first, she guesses, though she won’t voice the thought. Her movements are tense as she pulls the last of her clothes off of her body and throws them into the pile with the rest, turning towards Bea once she’s done only to find the other woman already looking at her.
There’s a weight to Beatrice’s gaze that hadn’t been there before, a heaviness that sets over Ava’s shoulders like a warm blanket as she watches Beatrice’s eyes rove over her features. She doesn’t look at any one place for too long but Ava can see the desire grow between them. When their eyes meet again, Ava smiles, soft and sure and unhurried. Beatrice keeps her eyes locked with Ava’s as she pulls her underclothes off, standing bare before her.
It is surprisingly easy for Ava to focus her gaze on Bea’s eyes instead of the skin available to her now. Ava is more than okay with Beatrice looking at her, but she doesn’t know if Beatrice is ready for the same and so she resolves to not look until she’s told that she can. The temptation is there, of course, burning brightly in Ava’s stomach, but it is smothered by her desire to keep Beatrice comfortable. Beatrice brings her hand up just enough that it catches Ava’s eyes and she moves closer, threading her fingers through Bea’s. She still doesn’t look anywhere but Bea’s eyes. Bea smiles at her.
“You can look, Ava.” Bea tells her, her voice sure enough that Ava doesn’t question it. Instead, Ava casts her gaze downward in an eager motion that pulls a surprised giggle from Beatrice before she stills again, quiet beneath the weight of Ava’s gaze.
Out of her respect for Beatrice’s boundaries, Ava doesn’t linger for long. She takes in the swell of Beatrice’s breasts, the toned muscles of her stomach, the strength of her thighs and legs. She doesn’t let herself linger in the areas around the apex of her thighs, knowing that there will be time for that kind of intimacy later. Or never, if Bea prefers. Ava’s only had sex once and while she knows it will be infinitely better if it happens with Beatrice, she’s more than happy to not have sex if it means Beatrice is more comfortable. This soft, exposing intimacy is more than enough for her.
“You’re so beautiful, Bea.” Ava says when she meets Bea’s eyes again, meaning so much more than the body that’s on display for her. She sees beauty in every part of Bea, even the parts that she knows Beatrice herself doesn’t see beauty in. Beatrice hums, leaning forward to kiss Ava again, and then stepping back to guide her into the shower.
The hot water pours over both of them and Ava is happy to remain there, weightless and as carefree as she can manage, while Beatrice scrubs the blood off of her body. Her fingers are nimble as they untangle her hair and wash out the dried blood, her hands soft as they run a washcloth over the curves of Ava’s body. Ava reaches for the soap once she’s rinsed off, holding her other hand out for the cloth that Beatrice hands over without hesitation.
Ava washes Beatrice’s back first, letting the woman get used to the feel of her hands on her body before she moves to any areas that might be more sensitive. She catalogs every twitch in Bea’s muscles for later, checking that every movement is okay before she does it, and then repeats the process on Bea’s front. The process is slow, methodical, a devotion in her movements that Ava has never experienced before but it’s what she imagines it must feel like to worship.
The water has cooled considerably by the time they step out of the shower and Beatrice wraps both of them up in big fluffy towels before leading them to the room that Ava had been using. It’s not far from Beatrice’s room but it still felt like it was too far anyway. Anywhere that Ava can’t turn and see Bea there is too far away and she knows that she won’t have to ask Bea to stay with her that night. For a moment, Ava wonders if she’ll ever have to ask again but then decides it doesn’t matter that much. They’ll take the space when they need it.
Ava pulls one of Beatrice’s sweaters over her shoulders and a pair of boxers over her legs before she moves to the bed and begins pulling back the blankets. Bea dresses in a t-shirt and leggings, towel drying her hair with one hand as she moves to help Ava. The room is only lit by the light of the fading sun through the window and so they waste no time in settling beneath the blankets together.
There is no hesitancy as Ava lets herself curl against Beatrice’s chest. It’s far from the first time they’ve shared a bed, but it is new in that there is a new bridge between them, a precipice that they had stepped off only to find steady ground below. Beatrice kisses Ava’s forehead, humming against her skin. In return, Ava turns her head and applies the faintest pressure she can manage to Bea’s neck. Her hand rests against Bea’s stomach, already playing with the hem of her shirt until she feels Bea nod against her hand and her fingers slip below the hem, splaying across Bea’s bare stomach.
They fall asleep as the sun fades over the horizon, safe and warm in each other’s arms.