Chapter Text
1 — 10
KNOCK KNOCK.
“Come in!”
Although Beatrice had known immediately the identity of her visitor, the two-beat-then-three rhythm of their knocking giving them away, it still takes her a split second, a split second longer than it should, to truly register the beaming face peeking its head in through the crack of her bedroom door.
“Hi!” Ava’s smile is blinding. Beatrice instinctively pinches herself for the thought. “Hope I’m not intruding?”
Beatrice shakes her head. “Not at all, I was just reading my book.” She closes it, of course. She’s better off than trying pointlessly to regain a modicum of concentration with Ava Silva in the same room. “How may I help you, Ava?”
“Well, funny you asked.” Ava closes the door with her hip only to miss the handle when she reaches back to lock it, nimble in her sensuality but clumsy in the freshness of her body and what it can do. “I was wondering if you’ll indulge me a little bit.”
There aren't a lot of things Beatrice wouldn't do for Ava, as both a tentative friend and a Sister Warrior to the Warrior Nun. Still, Beatrice had seen things, and Ava’s brain is equally destructive as it is marvelous.
(The convent’s kitchen table will never recover. May God bless thy to a better life. Preferably one where it’ll be made of solid metal.)
“Sure.” Beatrice says eventually, leading Ava to bounce cheerfully on her toes before soaring over to Beatrice's bed.
Clutched in her hands is a piece of paper with Ava’s familiar, almost ineligible but slowly improving, handwriting. Beatrice notes to tell Camila to double-down on Ava’s penmanship practice at a later time.
“Here’s the sitch.” A chuckle bubbles out of her throat, one Ava pays the smallest of attention to via a faux glare before she moves on. “I was doom-scrolling because I was sooo bored (“Weren’t you supposed to be in the middle of a lesson?” “That doesn’t matter right now.”) and then I found this quiz that seemed really interesting, so I was wondering if you would like to take it with me.”
That sounds harmless enough. “What is the name of the quiz?”
Even more interestingly, Ava’s cheeks flush pink. “That’s not relevant.”
“I would say it’s very relevant.” One of Beatrice’s eyebrows quirks high, and immediately the flush at Ava’s cheeks crawls down to her chest, made obvious by the low window of her top. Beatrice allows herself one quick glimpse, one glimpse too much, before her eyes dart back up. “Ava?”
Wickedly, Ava pouts. It’s unfair, really. Ava knows Beatrice is incapable of resisting her pout.
“Please, Beatrice?”
And in that tiny, dejected voice. Ava might as well have just asked Beatrice to revoke her vows.
Alright, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. In her defense, Beatrice is feeling very cornered.
“Fine. Fine.” Beatrice sighs, exaggerating every puff just so she can see Ava’s victorious body wiggle.
The girl never sits still, it’s both a scientific and scenic marvel.
“You won’t regret this!” She highly doubts that. “Okay so, there are 36 questions in total. The objective is really just to get to know each other better. We can take turns asking the question, but each of us will have to answer. Skipping is not encouraged but optional if any one of them makes you uncomfortable.”
“That sounds good. Would you like to go first?”
Ava’s returning grin is bright and happy, and so what if Beatrice was just at a cliffhanger in her book?
If you ask her, or even Mother Superion, the Warrior Nun is always far more important.
“Question 1, if you could invite anyone in the world to dinner, who would it be?”
Beatrice thinks about it, nose scrunched up in hard concentration, then realizes a slight kink.
“Does it have to be a real person?”
Double-checking, Ava gives a small headshake.
“Doesn't say anything about that here. I say we pick one real person and then one fictional person, both can be alive or dead, for funsies.”
“Funsies.” The word tastes funny on her mouth and in her accent, Ava’s little laugh sharing her sentiment. “I suppose, Emily Dickinson and Clark Kent.”
Here, Ava’s eyes twinkle dangerously. But she doesn’t say anything. That day at ARQ-TECH remains a secret even when it’s just the two of them.
Beatrice is glad.
“Who would you choose?”
Ava’s adorable pout makes another appearance, her whole face rearranging as she plunges herself in deep thoughts.
So many people think her thoughtless, Beatrice guiltily included at first, but little does everyone know that there is always a train of thought running through Ava’s head. She just considers them all too precious to be suppressed.
Much as she shames herself for even the concept of it all, Beatrice adores shamelessness when it is from her.
“Barbie, the Margot Robbie’s version, and probably my mom.” Beatrice stops breathing. Ava notices, chuckling humorlessly. “What? I just thought, talking to someone who quite literally has zero knowledge of the world we’re living in would be fun. It’s like talking to an incel without all the misogyny and bad intentions.”
Beatrice waits, and waits, and waits. But Ava doesn’t seem to want to elaborate, taken to fiddling with her fingers in her lap.
Alright then. “Can I change my answer?”
Ava’s nod feels like mud piling into Beatrice’s stomach. But it’s only fair. Beatrice has promised Ava will never be alone again, and even though she meant it in a literal context, Beatrice won’t allow herself to abandon Ava in even the little things.
“I stand by Emily Dickinson, mostly because I think her poems are beautiful and I would like to hear her thought process. For the other person,” Memories come rushing back like tidal waves, making Beatrice’s chest squeezes tight. Ava’s hand creeps into her vision, palm open. She takes it, grateful for the lifeline. “My parents were busy people. They had better things to do than to take care of a toddler, not when their careers were prospering, so at a very young age, I was sent to a custodian with whom I would spend my day till night falls and either one of my parents would come pick me up.”
“I swear to god, Bea, every time you talk about your parents, I feel like murdering a bitch.”
Beatrice chuckles. “Language.”
The chide is only to keep up the facade. Six years since she graduated high school and ten since she had last been home, to Beatrice, her parents are about as well as dead.
Ava’s eye-roll is equally comedic and comforting.
Someone else’s anger on her behalf is always delightful and fascinating, Beatrice thinks it’s unlikely that’ll change anytime soon.
“My caretaker was a kind-hearted woman. She was quite a bit older than my mother, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at her. She had this beautiful smile and the most soothing voice.” Her eyes are suddenly dry and so is her throat. “Her name was Shi. I… I loved her. I loved her like a mother. I never got to say goodbye when they sent me away, and I’ve never been able to come back to visit her ever since. So if I could invite her out to dinner…”
“You would tell her all about being a secret ass-kicking, demon-stabbing, ninja nun? Now that's a dinner party I would pay to be at.”
They both share a laugh, Beatrice’s with a hint of exasperation and Ava’s a paragon of comic relief. All the while, their hands never once separate.
“She would like you.” Beatrice says, her heart fluttering at how Ava’s face immediately softens.
“My mom would like you too.” Ava says, smile turning sad and wistful. Beatrice itches with the desire to make it go away. “Now that we’re done with the 1st question— geez, is it only the first one?— do you wanna read the next one? We can take turns, it's more fun that way.”
Agreeing, Beatrice scootches closer to see the paper.
“Question 2, would you like to be famous? In what way?”
Ava purses her lips loudly. “Fuck no, too much hassles and too many people breathing down my neck. I would go insane.”
“Can't say I would disagree,” Beatrice pauses, giving it a couple more seconds. “I might relent if it's a fame disconnected from me as a person. Recognition for my hard work is always nice.”
“Like a pen name?” She nods. “I can see that. You would rock as a dark, brooding and mysterious author type.”
Beatrice quickly ducks her head to hide her flushed cheeks, even though she’s half convinced her smile can be seen from outer space.
“Thank you, Ava.”
“You're welcome.” Ava winks, following her lead and putting her back against the headboard. “Question 3, before making a phone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”
Caught up in the excitement, Beatrice nods a little too fast, immediately wincing at the subtle crack of her spine. Ava, thankfully, doesn’t notice.
“I like to know exactly what will be discussed before I make a commitment that will take up my precious time.”
Ava looks back up, smile unrelenting as it is teasing. “Nerd.” When Beatrice waves at her to take her turn, Ava tilts her head back and thinks. “I don’t exactly have experience with making phone calls, but I think I should be fine once the other line starts talking and all I need to do is bounce back.”
“You’d have no problem with making small talk, I bet.”
Eyes narrow, Ava raises a finger in caution. “Is that a dig?”
“What, no!” Beatrice immediately defends, only to deadpan when Ava bursts out laughing. “You’re awful.”
“Awfully funny, you mean.” Ava’s giggles bounce across the room. Beatrice, in her disgruntlement, can’t resist smiling along with her. “Alright, you go.”
Beatrice nods. “Question 4, what would constitute a perfect day for you?”
“Oh that’s a tough one.” Ava strokes her chin with her hand, pensive. “You wanna go first?”
“It’s probably not as exciting as yours,” Beatrice tries, dismissed by Ava waving her hand to get on with it. “No, really. A perfect day for me would mean a productive training session with the other Sister Warriors, maybe even a mission, before coming back to Cat’s Cradle.”
“It's not boring.” Beatrice stares at her. “Okay fine, it's a little uneventful maybe, but a perfect day for me would just be getting to run along the sandy beaches and maybe get ice cream afterwards.”
Beatrice softens, entranced by the longing look so apparent in Ava’s eyes. Beatrice has never known desire can look so shameless.
“That sounds wonderful, Ava.”
Her friend smiles, always smiling, before turning back to the paper. “Question 5, when did you last sing to yourself and to someone else?”
Mortifyingly, tellingly, Beatrice's cheeks flush hot red. Ava sees it, brightening with clear interest.
“Beatrice, do you sing?” Ava asks with a grin so wide it's a miracle she hadn't cramped her jaw. “Beatrice! Beatrice!”
“Only for myself.” Beatrice answers, shy and small. “I’m not very good.”
“I highly doubt that.” Ava bumps their shoulders together. “What music do you like? I’m picturing Mozart or Beethoven. Oh gosh, you don't listen to one of the gospels on cassette players, do you?”
“I— just how old do you think I am?”
Had she not felt so indignant, Beatrice would have glared or maybe even sulked. But Ava is laughing hard now, slender neck arching back and her smile almost lighting up the room.
Combined with the force of the sun shining through her window panes, how is Beatrice not burnt?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ava trails off, a hysterical smile still tugging at her lips. “Wow, that was a good one. I feel like I’m floating.”
Wearing somewhat of a glare, Beatrice hands her a glass of water, because Beatrice believes in the importance of constant hydration. “You're mean.”
“Aww, I’m sorry.” Ava says, still smiling behind her glass of water. “Tell me then, what's your go-to music genre?”
Beatrice shrugs, feeling her answer inadequate. “I like R&B, I suppose. Ballads. I was singing to Frank Ocean this morning.”
She half expects Ava to say something along the lines of, boringgg or I don't know how you don't fall asleep standing up.
Instead, “I love that guy! I’m still incredibly bitter that Wiseman isn't on streaming platforms, but I most certainly will not pay for Youtube Premium out of sheer principles.”
The passion in her voice makes Beatrice laugh, which in turns makes Ava laugh too. They share a lot of things in common, a distaste for capitalism being one of their most prominents and earliest ice breakers.
“Okay answering mine, last I sang to myself, I was rocking one of the Mamma Mia’s soundtracks as I went into the kitchen. And as for singing to someone else, do animals count? Because I was singing the chippi chippi chappa chappa song to a stray cat I found in the front yard this morning. Oh hey, cats. Cat’s Cradle. How funny.”
Beatrice has no idea what song that is, but the image of Ava crouching down and singing to a random cat is so adorable she is willing to just accept it at face value.
“Question 6, if you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”
The answer feels obvious to Beatrice, so she answers almost immediately. “Mind of a 30-year-old. I would like to keep learning till the day I die.”
Unlike her, Ava takes a minute. Beatrice waits, and waits, and waits. But Ava is still thinking.
It's the longest Ava has thought about a question so far, and the quietest Beatrice has ever seen her in a really long time.
She's just about to offer an option to skip when Ava speaks up.
“I… I don't think I can choose.” Ava’s voice cracks like spiders and Beatrice's spine automatically stiffens in worry. “I don't think I’ll ever be ready to forget about the world and everyone in it. But, at the same time, I know what it feels like to have completely zero control of your body. When you're in that situation, you feel so… inhuman. Or at least, that's what the world makes you feel. That kind of pain, I don't… I don't think I have the courage to relive that. Not by myself.”
Beatrice’s heart promptly cracks wide open. “But you won’t be. By yourself.”
When she looks back, Ava’s eyes are shining far brighter than any star Beatrice has ever seen.
“You won't be.” Beatrice tries to say, choked up on the emotions telegraphing so obviously on Ava’s quivering lip. “You will never be alone again. However you end up in your 90s, you will always have me.”
She doesn’t say we, doesn’t say the OCS, just her. Just Beatrice, because that’s all that she can give.
“You mean it?” Ava asks, sounding so meek and so unlike Ava.
It only further hardens Beatrice’s resolve. “Paralyzed, festooned with boils, a talking head in a bag, remember? Whatever you may think you will be, one thing you will never be is alone. I swear on your life.”
Ava lets out a tearful chuckle, droplets dripping down onto their intertwined hands.
“My life?”
“Yours is far more precious.”
To me. To everyone.
Beyond the fact that you’re the Warrior Nun and you’re destined to die. Surely you must know that.
“Agree to disagree.” Ava says sternly, and Beatrice knows there's no arguing. “Wow, this got real heavy real quick.”
Beatrice chuckles, demurely pulling her hand back. A flash of something akin to disappointment flashes across Ava’s face. She’ll have to deal with it, Beatrice has bottomed out of everything left to give.
“Is the next question going to be as heavy?”
She gets her answer when Ava peers down to read and winces.
“Question 7, do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”
Images of what transpired at the Vatican haunting them still, Ava and Beatrice unanimously decide to skip the question, Ava out of understandable trauma and Beatrice out of a sense of failure.
It’s Beatrice’s turn to ask, so she leans down and reads the next one.
“Question 8, name three things we have in common.”
“Damn, such hard-hitting journalism.” Noticing Beatrice's quirked eyebrow, Ava elaborates. “Come on, we clearly don't have a lot in common. I thought that was an established fact.”
Feeling playful, Beatrice allows herself a taunting smirk. “I don't know, it sounds awfully like you just don't pay enough attention.”
Competitiveness rivaling hers even on her worst days, Ava immediately rises to the challenge.
“Fine.” She puts up three fingers, her gaze heavy. “We both have a sweet tooth, we’re early birds, and we went through a lot to get to where we are today.”
Touche. “I concede, you do pay attention.”
Ava’s smug smile is eye roll and heart palpitations-inducing at the same time. Beatrice’s skin prickles with tendrils of mortification from being too seen, but she curls her fists and pushes forward.
“We both like Frank Ocean, we both believe in doing the right thing for the right reasons, and, this is most important, we’re going to defeat Adriel.”
Ava’s grin splits her mouth so wide, making the corners reach all the way to her ears and right into Beatrice's heart.
God, how could loving something this beautiful be anything but a blessing?
“You bet we are.” Ava nods approvingly, and yes, Beatrice does take a sinful amount of pride in herself for that. “Okay. Continuing with question 9, for what in your life do you feel most grateful?”
Beatrice thinks about it for a second, then says. “I’m grateful that I’m still alive.”
“Preach it, sister.” Ava extends her fist and waits till Beatrice bumps hers against it before taking it back. “Question 10, if you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”
Oh.
Well that is… certainly a loaded topic.
Before Beatrice can say anything, or rather, voice her desire to skip the question, Ava is answering.
“Is it weird if I say I wouldn't want to change any of it?” Ava’s voice is a little detached and cool, something Beatrice has grown familiar with every time they touch upon the topic of her childhood. “Don't get me wrong, I hated every minute of being away from my mom at that orphanage, but I’m out now and, call me superstitious— though I guess that concept is a bit screwed since we are, in fact, fighting holy demons and whatnot— but I don't believe changing the past can make a better future.”
“Causes and effects.” Beatrice nods, admittedly impressed at Ava’s introspective approach to the question. “I… well, you know how my parents are.”
Ava softens, eyes empty of the judgment Beatrice has feared would be.
“We can skip, if you want.”
“It's fine. I… I don’t mind telling you.” Beatrice gets out, and surprisingly enough, finds the statement to be incredibly true. “I would have liked my parents to not give up on me.”
It's the first time in a really long time since Beatrice has said it out loud, and she feels that hurt, that stinging betrayal, squeezing at her chest raw like it all just happened yesterday.
She clutches at her chest with a hand, looking down and breathing deeply. Talk about an emotional sucker punch.
“For what it's worth, your parents are fucking dicks.” Beatrice's head whips up, a scolding on the tip of her tongue, and promptly goes mute at the molten rage all over Ava’s face.
How can someone feel so much for someone else and so unafraid to show it?
“Thank you.” Beatrice coughs, looking away and blinking repeatedly.
She won't cry, she has gone far too long and achieved too much to shed another tear over them again.
Reading the room, an ability still fresh but always adorably attempted, Ava moves onto the next.
“Question 11—”
Ava never got to finish.
Right at that moment, a series of urgent knocks come pounding on Beatrice's door. When she leaps off her bed to open it, Camila is telling her Mother Superion wants to see the two of them in her office as soon as possible.
How she knew Ava was in Beatrice's room is a question never asked nor answered.
Beatrice is too busy thinking about passports, clothing, hygienic products, weapons. Anything to keep Ava safe while they're miles away from the people they’ve both tentatively come to consider the closest thing to a family.
Beatrice knows a lot of things, but even she can't tell just what is awaiting them in Switzerland.
May God bless them all.
—
11 — 19
“Bea, I’m home!”
Truth be told, Beatrice had completely forgotten about the quiz.
It's an understandable thing to do when you're so busy running for your life and fleeing to a far-away land, eventually settling down in an almost no-man's land near the Swiss Alps.
Not to say Beatrice hasn’t found other things to occupy herself with. Between training Ava to be the best Warrior Nun, because heaven forbid only the best of them could defeat a threat they barely understand, and dealing with her growing feelings, Beatrice is kept quite busy.
On one hand, Ava is doing extraordinarily well in her training. Halo pulses, phasing, walking on water, levitating. Had this not been a unique and holy position to solely serve a holier object, Beatrice would have considered Ava a prodigy in and of itself.
Just the other day, Ava has beaten her own record of levitating, soaring to a new height and maintaining it for far much longer than any Warrior Nun ever documented in history.
On the other, Beatrice's tiny crush, if it was even tiny or just a crush to begin with, has grown detrimentally worse.
Unlike her worst nightmares, however, Beatrice finds that falling in love isn’t at all too bad.
Perhaps it’s Ava that makes it all so easy, so blameless, so… prideful.
All the feelings for which she has been shunned her whole life resurface with a ridiculous ease every time Beatrice lays eyes on one of Ava’s beaming smiles, butterflies fluttering wildly inside her rib cage.
“Welcome home.”
Long since they have adopted a name for this humble apartment, Ava’s lower lip still wobbles every chance she gets to say it out loud. Beatrice has never had a home, not really, but she thinks with time she too can learn to love it like so.
“How is my favorite nerd doing today? Are you doing nerdy things and generally being nerdy?”
Being Ava’s favorite anything is perhaps Beatrice’s greatest achievement in this lifetime. She won’t tell her that, of course, lest Ava develops an ego.
How unbecoming.
“Funny you asked,” Beatrice cuts off, only to pull Ava’s eyes away from the coat hanger and to herself. How utterly unbecoming, to crave for attention and delight in it. “I was rummaging through our stuff, to see what else we need to get during our next grocery run, and look what I found.”
Attention successfully grabbed, Ava spins around with curious eyes. Too far to make out clearly, they narrow in confusion before slowly widening in recognition as Ava walks to their bed, where Beatrice sits lounging.
“Is that the quiz?” She asks excitedly, hopping on and claiming her spot.
Beatrice automatically scootches back to make room, but Ava being Ava, immediately follows and presses their shoulders against each other.
Oh what is Beatrice going to do with her?
“It is. I figured, since we don’t have anything else on the agenda tonight,” Ava squeals, not at all fazed by Beatrice’s slight annoyed glare at being interrupted. “I thought we could work through some more of these questions. We only got to Question 10 last time.”
“Sweet!” Cheering, Ava promptly leaps off the bed and dashes into the bathroom. “Give me fifteen and I’ll be right out to play with you!”
Reclining back against the headboard, Beatrice yells back. “Take your time, and be careful not to slip.”
“It happened one time! And I told you there was a spider the size of a demon’s dick!”
“I don't know what that means.” Beatrice pauses, wrinkles her nose. “And I have no desire to find out.”
Ava’s laugh echoes through their tiny apartment before gradually going quiet, replaced by the sound of the door closing.
Beatrice lets out a sigh of relief, thankful that Ava remembers, otherwise she would be distracted by the sound of running water and her brain going haywire imagining everything that happens under said water.
God forgive me for I’ve sinned. In my defense, I’m too gay for this.
It takes Ava thirty minutes instead of fifteen, Beatrice far too used to her flexible sense of time. It's hard to be annoyed at an Ava with wet hair and really short tops and even shorter shorts.
“I’m back!”
Yes, Beatrice thinks as Ava clambers into their bed, sunny grin and rain drops on her eyelashes, I am too gay for this.
Coughing to clear her head of sinful, naughty thoughts, Beatrice gestures at the paper. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.” Getting Ava’s approval via a nod, Beatrice looks down and reads. “Question 11, take four minutes and tell each other your life story in as much detail as possible.”
“Damn, is my life even interesting enough to make it through four whole minutes?”
Her reprimanding of Ava’s language stuck in her throat at the look of despondent on Ava’s face, one Beatrice has grown to detest in the span of time they’ve spent at the Switzerland Alps.
It doesn’t appear very often, but every time it does, Beatrice feels like committing first degree murder, intent and all.
“With your way of storytelling, I imagine you can make even finding a snail on your way home interesting.” Beatrice says, hoping to inject a bit of sunshine in between the clouds of Ava’s eyes.
She gets a chuckle for her trouble, one that’s teasing and full of affection.
“Are you saying I’m dramatic?”
“Well…” Beatrice trails off, laughing when Ava punches her in the shoulder. “Come on. You’re stalling.”
Ava groans, flopping backwards and landing her head somewhere in between the crook of Beatrice’s neck and shoulder.
Again, she is entirely too gay for this.
“Fine. I’ll go first. Do we need a timer—” Beatrice goes to say no need, but Ava is already bulldozing ahead. “Stupid question. I have the human equivalent of a computer right next to me.”
“I’m hardly a computer equivalent.” Beatrice says, almost whines, just so she can see her smile. “Stop yapping and get to telling.”
Ava scoffs in full offense, nuzzling deeper in her hiding spot as if in revenge. How does Beatrice even come close to telling her this is the most beautiful yet painful form of torture Ava can ever inflict on her.
Stab me with a knife, it’ll hurt less than wanting you.
Blinking herself out of her mushy thoughts, Beatrice returns to reality right in time for Ava to begin answering.
“Okay, backstory time. My name is Ava Silva. I was born in August, a Leo baby if you will, in a small city in Brazil. I don’t have a dad, he skipped out on us before I even learned what he looked like, so I was raised by a single mom. Her name is Elisa, she worked full-time as a florist and part-time as a market merchant. We were market celebrities, because everyone thought I was very cute with my big eyes and big smiles.
When I was seven, my mom decided to take me to Spain for vacation. We rented a car and on our last night, because I remember my mom telling me we need to sleep early tonight to make our flight back tomorrow, some douchebag drunk driver crashed into us and took her away from me forever.
Oh, I also got paralyzed from the chest down. Can’t forget about that part.
Let’s see, then comes Sister Frances at her shittiest. We already know what happened, so let’s skip her over. Oh, but I did make a friend in the orphanage, Diego, who I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life. Once this is all over, I’m going to try to find him again. Do you think that’s a good idea, Bea? I think Camila can help. She’s like Batman but short and smiley.
I was at the orphanage till I turned nineteen. Shortly after my birthday, Sister Frances killed me via sleeping pills. I know right, lame much? She could have gone for a more dramatic route like smothering me with a pillow but nooooo. Long story short, I died. My heart stopped, I saw the light, yadda yadda yadda.
Then I came back. Because you guys left an ancient artifact out for everyone to grab and shove into some poor orphan’s back. Seriously, what exactly was the procedure here?
Anyway, I’m alive again. I ran along the beach, it was awesome. I met this guy and his friends and took a shower all on my own for the very first time, still awesome but slightly more dangerous than I expected. Then I went to a party. I saw a Tarask. I met you. You knocked me out, then I knocked you out, and whabam, apparently I’m the next Warrior Nun.
It all sounded too much so I skipped out, sorry about that by the way, but I came back. I got into a fight with another bitch ass sister— language, I know. But she deserved the name calling okay, she broke my nose— and then you saved me. We read a book, written in a language only you understood, and decided to go unbury some coughing baby of an angel’s bones out of the ground.
It didn’t work out. That coughing baby of an angel turned out to be a fraud this entire time. He wanted my Halo but I wouldn't give it to him, no way Jose. He got loose, and I almost got buried alive in that tomb, but you blew up the Vatican and saved me. Again. You’re always saving me.
We retreated back to Cat’s Cradle and regrouped. Mom Supes said you should take me into hiding, protecting me and training me. And here we are. The awesome Warrior Nun and her trusty Sister Warrior, ready to take on Adriel and his goons and give their asses a heavy whooping.”
And three, two, one. “I appreciate the confidence at the end there.” Beatrice smiles faintly, humming at the chipper “Thank you!” pressed into her skin. “I must ask, what exactly is that coughing baby thing?”
“Eep!” Ava practically cheers as she wrenches herself out of Beatrice’s embrace, smiling knowingly when Beatrice’s lips subconsciously form a pout. She can’t help it, alright. Ava is really warm. “I love when I get to teach you about chronically online stuff. So basically it’s a Twitter meme—”
Three minutes and half a dozen examples which included Beatrice and Sister Crimson, with the former being the hydrogen bomb and the latter the coughing baby later, Beatrice finally understands.
Ava essentially means Beatrice is better than Sister Crimson.
People keep coming up with new words to say the same thing. How does anyone expect everyone to keep up?
“Your turn, Sister Photographic Memory.” Ava says, squeezing back into her spot.
Beatrice can’t suppress a smile even if she tries. “Alright, give me a moment please.”
It takes her a bit to formulate a tentative outline, but eventually Beatrice gets going.
“My full name is Beatrice Hoang, and this is my story. You know this already, but I was born to a pair of British and Vietnamese self-made politicians. I spent most of my early years in London, but after I turned thirteen, I was sent abroad to study in Switzerland. The reason why is because my parents caught me writing in my diary about this one girl in my class who I thought smelled really nice. I think you can draw your own conclusions.
For the next few years, I attended the Catholic Boarding School of St. Helen’s. I graduated at the age of seventeen, a whole year ahead of my peers, and with the reference of my headmaster, I officially joined the OCS.
It must come as no surprise, but my first few years in the convent were spent training as hard as I could. If you think I’m strict with my regime now, you should've seen me back then. I was a dictator to myself. Luckily, I became friends with Mary and Shannon soon after that, or rather, they recruited me, took me under their wing. I began to grow into myself for real, and then I met Lilith.
We were the closest thing to a family, until Shannon got the Halo and Lilith became bitter. We maintained our friendships and put our duties above everything else. Camila joined us years later. As a matter of fact, she was only an official Sister Warrior for 6 months when we met you. Shannon’s last mission was her first, I don't think she had ever gotten past that.
The rest happened like you just said.”
Blinking, realizing she still has so much time left, Beatrice blushes in embarrassment.
Luckily Ava notices and waves in dismissal. “It's okay, Bea. We don't have to stick too close to the rules.”
“But I like rules.” Beatrice says, genuinely a little disheartened that she didn't have a lot to share. “I’m—”
“Nope. Not accepting any apology. Please leave a message after the beep.” Ava then makes the most adorable, if not weirdly off-tuned beep ever. Beatrice has no choice but to chuckle. “That's my favorite smile. Okay, next one. Question 12, if you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”
It takes Beatrice less than a second to answer. “To cook.”
“Mmm?” Ava hums in question. “I fully expected you to say maybe perfecting another language.”
At the risk of sounding prideful, “I don't really need a holy deity to grant me the skill of learning another language, do I?”
Ava grins in response, as she always does whenever Beatrice says something flattering about herself. She's so cute. “You're right. So why cooking?”
Cheeks pink and warm, Beatrice shyly admits, internally grateful Ava can't see her blushing.
“You do all the cooking for us. I want to help.”
Mortifyingly, Ava starts to coo, the timbre of her adorable sound making goosebumps run down the length of Beatrice's arms.
“You're too sweet.” That's you. You probably taste sweet too— what am I on today?? “Ugh, my answer is so boring compared to yours. I want to heal.”
Beatrice blinks, rewinds that a couple times in case she didn't hear her right.
“But you can.” She feels dumb. Is she dumb? “Is the halo acting up?”
“No, you silly goose. Halo is fine. I meant healing other people who aren't me. Like you, for example. No, not an example. Just you. I want to be able to heal you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Well. If Beatrice weren't sure she was in love with Ava before, she sure was now.
“Bea?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” No amount of coughing will be able to dislodge the lump in her throat, nor the tears building in her eyes, nor the bright and astronomical Ava Silva-shaped meteor crash landing into her heart and making a home there, but it's the effort that counts. “Thank you… for thinking of me.”
Ava huffs, shy at the acknowledgment but altogether pleased.
“As if I ever think about anyone else.” Jesus, Mary, Joseph, please have mercy. “Your turn to ask a question.”
Beatrice nods, reaches for the paper and reads.
“Question 13, if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?”
“Absolutely not.” Ava shakes her head fervently. “I like to live in the moment. Knowing anything about the past, present, future, would just make me second guess myself about… everything, really.”
“I feel the same.” Beatrice gives the paper back. “Your turn.”
Ava gives a dramatic, belting clear throat, smiling when she can feel Beatrice rolling her eyes.
“Question 14, is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”
Loving you the way you deserve. “Walking the Camino de Santiago.”
“Ooh, that sounds fun. I’m going to steal that while also adding swimming in the Blue Grotto. I think the reason is pretty obvious.” Beatrice hums, mentally taking notes. Maybe when this is all over… “Your turn again.”
“Question 15, what is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”
It is rare for Beatrice to be speechless, even more so for her head to come up empty.
The question of a greatest accomplishment implies a modicum of pride, and for so long, Beatrice has not allowed herself such a mortal feeling to taint her heart.
But there is one thing Beatrice takes pride in. So much so that it makes her cringe if she thinks about it for too long.
“Being picked by you to bring you here and keep you safe.”
She remembers it like it was yesterday— the way she hadn't dared to hope even as she can feel her heart thumping with every second Ava takes to think over Mother Superion’s offer of a companion of her choice, how it ceases to function for half a minute when she catches Ava glancing at her far too many times in that thirty seconds, before promptly exploding in a show of quiet fireworks when Ava timidly extends a hand and mouths I want you.
It won't ever be the way Beatrice wants her, but being wanted by her is enough for Beatrice.
A finger pokes at her cheek, almost digging into where her carefully hidden one dimple should be.
“Nerd.”
It's not a tease, too breathless and shaky, rather a teaser for what's simmering, boiling underneath. Beatrice hopes sometimes, dreams even, but never dares to think about it for too long lest it becomes true.
She doesn't know what she’ll do if it comes true. Love has always been a bit of a stranger to her.
“The nerd would like to know what your answer is.”
The finger disappears from her cheek, instead curling under her chin and tilting it down so they can make eye contact.
Heaven above. Ava just doesn't know how much power she holds, does she?
“My greatest accomplishment is when I made you that pot of trứng thịt kho and you said it tasted exactly like how your grandma used to make it.”
It's Beatrice's turn to gasp, overwhelmed by the memory and the sheer care put into the gesture.
Having been sick that day, Beatrice was over the moon when she returned home from her shift at the bar to find Ava setting up their dinner table with one of her all-time comfort foods.
Everything was perfect.
The soy sauce was just the right level of savory. The eggs were chewy but also soft like butter that her spoon could cut clean through. The yellow yolk insides were cooked to perfection and glowed like the divine halo. The pork was expertly seasoned and Beatrice had indulged in eating all the fatness that Ava hadn't wanted.
Best of all of it was Ava, smiling happily at the sight of Beatrice before promptly skipping over and pulling her into a warm hug.
“Welcome home.” Ava had said, and right then and there, Beatrice knew her home had become a person.
“I love it.” I love you. I wish I could say that to you. “Petition for you to make it again this week?”
“Hmmm,” Ava hums, smiling. “I can be persuaded, if you allow me one extra pack of gummy bears during our next grocery run.”
Extending a hand, all formal and not at all like a dork, Beatrice harrumphs.
“Deal.”
Ava amuses her, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “Deal.” And she just never lets go. “Question 16, what do you value most in a friendship?”
Finally an easy question. “Communication and honesty.” She thinks about it a little more, then adds. “Awareness of each other’s boundaries might also be a mandatory requirement.”
Ava hums, playing with the lines of Beatrice's palm. “Of course. Mine is pretty much the same. Your turn.”
Leaning down so her head gently flops atop Ava’s, Beatrice reads.
“Question 17, what is your most treasured memory?”
Whatever sound she unconsciously made must’ve given her away, as Ava is murmuring for her to go first. Beatrice coughs, blinks away the sudden stinging behind her eyelids, and gives away one more piece of herself.
Someday, it’ll be enough.
Even if it won’t ever be, then Beatrice will know she’s given everything she could.
“One night when I was in elementary school, I came home pretty late from my math tutoring class.” Beatrice ignores Ava’s teasing grumble about private education, but allows herself a small smile nonetheless. “I remember just being helped out of the car by our chauffeur when my father appeared from the top step of the stairs and scooped me up in his arms. He wasn’t the most affectionate person, but compared to my mother, he could be considered touchy-feely.”
“Like me.” Ava says with pride.
“Like you.” Beatrice says with love. “I asked him what got him in such a good mood and why was he waiting up for me. He didn’t answer, only took me into the kitchen and, can you guess what was on the countertop?”
Ava hums, mind no doubt conjuring up all sorts of plausible food combinations.
Ava is brilliant like that, different from Beatrice’s academic and strategic intellect, and Beatrice may thank God every day for a lot of reasons, but letting her be the first and only person to experience this brilliance remains one of the highest on the list.
“I got it!” Beatrice hums for her to go on. “There was a plate of tiramisu, wasn't there?”
Shaking her head and laughing at Ava’s indignant whine, overconfident in her knowledge of Beatrice's sweet tooth, Beatrice gives the answer.
“There were two bowls of instant noodles on the countertop, garnished by cabbages and in between the noodles, there were stirred medium-cooked eggs along with some fried caramelized onions sprung atop.”
“Oh.” Beatrice blinks, Ava takes it as offense. “Sorry, but that is a lot more… normal than what I would expect from your family. Didn’t your chef once make a cake that has two cannons exploding out confetti?”
Traumatic explosion sound aside, the scare was almost worth it for the cake alone.
“It was special because my father made them from scratch.” Ava’s understanding ohhh echoes. “He was a lousy cook, even worse than I am, if you can believe it, but the two things he could make were instant noodles and eggs, the latter always ending up burnt unless scrambled. Till this day I don't know what or who put him up to it, but sitting there chatting with him, the taste of the broth lingering on the tip of my tongue like the happiness I could feel spreading across my cheeks, I… I’ve never felt so loved.”
Where there is a rainbow, there are rains. Beatrice doesn't realize she is crying until she feels soft, careful hands reaching up to cup her cheeks and wipe them all away.
It gives her the courage to go on. “Whatever man he turned out to be, I still remember fondly of moments where my father just feels like a dad.”
“I understand that.” Ava whispers. “You don't have to do anything, Bea. You can remember them for who they were, who they were to you, without thinking about anything else.”
“A lesson.” Beatrice surmises, even then the word falls short. No longer willing to indulge in her own self pity, she nudges at Ava. “You go.”
Bright and eager, Ava launches into a spiel of childhood delight.
Beatrice sits there and envisions Little Ava being taken to the Christmas Festival by her mom, her little face brightening like the lights strung across buildings at stalls after stalls of food and toys.
The bee plushie she won is not here today, but Ava still carries with her the smell of her mother’s perfume and the distinct crunch of the fried chicken ball she tried to eat in one go to no avail.
At her back, Halo shines with warmth, so much so that Beatrice can't help but think she is releasing some of the love pouring out of Ava’s chest, lest they cumulate and explode.
Beatrice can 100% relate to that sentiment.
“Question 18, what is your most terrible memory?”
“Dying.” Ava answers almost immediately, wincing at herself. “The first time, I mean. In the crash. I felt it, you know. My spine shattering and my skull hitting the glass so hard it made a huge crack.”
However many times Beatrice hears of what Ava had to go through, it never fails to twist her heart like a twig.
“I’m sorry for your pain.” Inadequate as the words are, they are all Beatrice can offer. Luckily for her, Ava is kind and doesn't mind. “It's difficult for me to choose, honestly. But I would say it's when I found out my parents were sending me away, with the clear implication that I wasn't meant to come back if I… if I…”
A soft hand cradles her cheek, then soft lips and even softer words.
“I’m sorry for your pain too.”
They choose not to linger, moving onto the next question.
“Question 19, if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living, and why?”
At once, the atmosphere around their apartment thickens. Pulsates with tension. Crackling with looming demise and fear, just pure, unadulterated fear.
Beatrice opens her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
Ava isn’t saying anything either, similarly stone-faced and devastated. They both know the question to them, unlike for the majority who take this quiz, is far from a hypothetical.
It’s their truth. It’s their life. And there’s nothing they can do to stop it.
Adriel will return one day. Ava will have to defeat him. And Beatrice and the other Sister Warriors will join her in battle.
They don’t even have a year. Certainly not with the way Adriel’s antics have only gotten more and more extravagant.
Any minute now, they can be called back in. Any minute now, they can be ripped away from this place, from this life, from each other.
The thought of it is unbearably painful. So much so that even though pain was what made her a good Sister Warrior, Beatrice wouldn’t have been this good at living without Ava Silva.
Heaven and hell be damned. They only have this one life. “I would tell you every day that you are the most important person to me.”
Ava, who is as stiff as a board, gasps into her neck. It sounds like encouragement, Beatrice takes it as such.
“You are. I want you to know that. I want you to know, despite everything those nuns told you, you are my first choice and you will always be.”
“Bea,” Ava whimpers, her name sugary sweet and dripping with something divine on her tongue. “I want the same. I want to tell you everyday that you’re beautiful, that what and who you are is beautiful. I want to tell you that you’re my person. I don’t— I can’t— I can’t imagine living without you. Please don’t make me ever have to live without you.”
Beatrice sniffles, when has she started crying, and holds Ava tighter. “I won’t. I won’t ever. I promise you, you will never be alone again.”
Beatrice never got to keep that promise.
The next day, everything comes crashing down, and Beatrice will be too busy packing away their precious life here in a suitcase and two duffle bags to remember the promise they made.
But the piece of paper will stay right where she left it, pressed in her little black notebook, hidden underneath their pillows as they slept, waiting for them to come back, waiting for them to come home.
And they will.
May God willing they will.
—