Chapter Text
Beatrice was being followed.
She straightened up slowly from the bushel of apples she’d been examining, giving the confused market vendor an absent smile as she scanned nearby shop windows for any suspicious reflections. Nothing. There was nothing, always; Beatrice didn’t know if Adriel’s supporters were getting more skilled, or she was getting more paranoid. She didn’t know which was worse.
Either way, she was done shopping. She had enough for dinner tonight, and could always head back out in the morning, or after work – she’d found a nondescript job answering phones in a local accountant’s office, had landed easily with her excellent professional French and impressive (mostly fake) employment history, and settled into a routine she found dull and comforting. The job was in a small suburban community a short train ride from the centre of Paris – close enough to a major airport to make a quick escape if needed, but not in the heart of the metropolis; she was hoping to avoid making any waves for a while. Making waves had been Ava’s strong suit, anyway.
“Merci,” she told the vendor before making her exit, pulling her long wool coat closer around her neck. She still had no obvious tail but took the long way home anyway, catching a bus in the wrong direction for ten minutes before doubling back through the park, which was comfortingly busy even on this chilly early-winter afternoon. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she’d been jumpy ever since Ava had...left. Not to mention that this was the first time in a while she’d been fully alone, away from the security of her Sisters, and she hadn’t quite grown accustomed to total solitude yet in the few short months she’d been in France.
Beatrice had chosen France almost arbitrarily, mainly due to their low frequency of OCS missions there, and using one of their most discreet contacts she’d hastily had new documents forged, lied her way into a job and an apartment, and quietly, calmly, slipped off the map.
At first she’d dithered over keeping her name. It wasn’t the one she was born with, after all, and it made her slightly easier to track (if anyone would even bother to track her). In the end, though, she’d kept it. She would be Beatrice forever, even if the ‘Sister’ part was currently up for debate. Her new identity wasn’t airtight, but she felt pretty secure in her ability to stay hidden, even if some days she wasn’t sure who she was hiding from.
Just under an hour later, confident she hadn’t been followed, Beatrice let herself into her draughty third-floor apartment. It was small and badly in need of renovations, but she was used to living minimally, and hummed softly to herself as she set a pot of water on the stove for tea while she unpacked her vegetables. Maybe she’d read for a while before making dinner, she thought, or go for a quick run –
Knock knock knock.
Beatrice froze. She was so sure she’d lost her tail, but who else could it be – she didn’t have any other friends here, and a sales call was unlikely in an apartment block of this size. The knock came again, louder. It didn’t sound aggressive (and since when did assassins knock?) but you could never be too careful. As Beatrice silently padded into the hall, she slid a knife out of the hidden sheath in the small of her back, and then almost dropped it as a familiar voice came drifting from the other side of the door.
“Bea?”
It was Ava? It couldn’t be Ava. It sounded like Ava.
“Who’s there?” Idiot, she chided herself immediately.
She heard what could have been a sigh, or a sob, then a faint thunk from the other side of the door, exactly as if someone had slumped against it in relief.
“Bea,” said the voice. “Open the door, please?”
It was a foolish hope, Beatrice was foolish. There was no way that after three months Ava would just show up at her door with no prior warning; she was already opening the door; Ava was there.
Beatrice’s instincts kicked in without thinking; the knife slipped to the floor as she drew Ava into her arms; Ava let out a sob against her shoulder and then they were clinging to each other, tears falling freely from Beatrice’s eyes as she hugged Ava as hard as she could. The warm body in her arms was so familiar, though Ava felt thinner than she remembered – but it was her, she was real, she was here.
Finally Beatrice managed to gather herself enough to pull partly free of the embrace. Ava’s eyes were brimming with tears, and there was a bruise high on her cheekbone that Beatrice tried to avoid as she gently cupped Ava’s face, wiping away tears with both thumbs.
“Ava,” she said. “What...how?”
“Long story,” Ava tried to joke, but Beatrice could see the tightness in her once easy smile, and Beatrice drew back to arms length so she could look at her properly.
Ava looked tired; older, maybe. There were thick shadows under her eyes, the shirt under her leather jacket was rumpled, she smelled faintly of sweat and the stale air of an airport lounge. Her hair was an inch longer and there was a rawness to her skin, as if she was recovering from sunburn, a new scar on her chin. But it was more than that – there was a wariness to her posture, the primal air of a small, skittish creature. But her eyes, when they met Beatrice’s, were soft, and when she squeezed Beatrice’s hands something sharp and fierce blossomed in Beatrice’s chest.
It’s her, she realised, suddenly light-headed. It’s really her.
Finally, she gathered herself enough to pull Ava into the apartment, checking the corridor quickly as she did so, and once inside didn’t know what to do with herself. She dropped Ava’s hands and awkwardness pooled between them until Ava broke eye contact to glance around Beatrice’s apartment.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you.”
Ava was probably just being polite; it was the cheapest one-bedroom Beatrice had been able to find on such short notice. The entryway was barely large enough for them both to stand in and the rest of the apartment wasn’t much larger. But it was clean, if sparsely decorated – Ava had put most of the work into making their place in Switzerland feel like home, and anyway, Beatrice was happiest surrounded by empty spaces.
“What happened?” she started, then caught herself. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“It’s okay.” Ava smiled at her, faintly embarrassed, and Beatrice was somehow comforted by the idea that this was weird for both of them. Of all the fantasies she’d allowed herself of the possibility Ava was still out there, that a reunion was possible, somehow she’d never imagined it would be as easy as her simply showing up at the door.
“Are you hungry?” Beatrice asked, gesturing towards the room that acted as both lounge and kitchen. “I was about to cook dinner. Or, a bath, perhaps?”
“A bath sounds fucking great,” Ava said, so Beatrice led her to the bathroom, glad to have been given a task. She could feel Ava’s eyes on her as she reached over to set the taps running, and the back of her neck flushed. Ava’s proximity was like a drug in the air; Beatrice felt dizzy with the urge to kiss her.
“I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” she said instead, giving Ava’s shoulder a squeeze and feeling a crackle in the air between them as she slipped past and back into the cool safety of the apartment, letting the bathroom door click closed behind her.
God, why was she being so awkward? She needed to get ahold of herself. Ava had been – literally – to hell and back, and the least Beatrice could do was give her an hour to get settled before bombarding her with questions or – emotions. Still, Beatrice felt an extremely un-nun-like rush of butterflies as she heard an item of Ava’s clothing drop to the ground, and had to quickly take herself off to the kitchen before she could do something ridiculous like open the door.
Ava remained in the bathroom for a good half an hour, which gave Beatrice plenty of time to chop some vegetables for a casserole – about as adventurous as she got with cooking these days – and set it going in the oven. She was just stirring through some fresh herbs when the soft pad of footprints announced Ava’s arrival, and she glanced up to see Ava walk through the door of her kitchen, freshly scrubbed, hair still wet, wearing Beatrice’s bathrobe – it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” she said, though it was hard to talk around a tongue that suddenly seemed at least two sizes too big for her mouth. She slid the casserole back into the oven and straightened up, stopping herself from looking back at Ava as if avoiding looking into the sun.
“Bea?” said Ava, suddenly right behind her, and before she could overthink it, Beatrice turned around and kissed her.
Ava was surprised, and then she wasn’t; almost immediately she kissed Beatrice back, bringing her hands up to catch her face. Beatrice wrapped her own arms around Ava’s waist, bringing her as close as possible until they clicked together like puzzle pieces. Ava lips were chapped, she tasted like toothpaste and smelled of Beatrice’s shampoo. The oven was warm on the back of Beatrice’s legs, almost as hot as the rest of her skin, and she could feel a pounding in her chest that could have been her heart, could have been Ava’s, could have been the pulsing of the halo as her fingers strummed across the space it occupied between Ava’s shoulder blades. She felt Ava’s warm hands slide under the hem of her shirt and pulled away suddenly.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she said breathlessly, and Ava looked worried until she realised Beatrice was only trying to twist round to switch off the oven. “The casserole.”
“Fuck the casserole,” Ava said, but she was grinning as Beatrice leaned in to kiss her again. Ava’s hands found her hips, and she started guiding them backwards towards the sofa, Beatrice helping the best she could while prioritising keeping as little space between them as possible. Somehow she ended up sitting on the sofa with Ava straddling her lap, and she opened her mouth to Ava’s tongue as hands snaked once more under Beatrice’s shirt, tugging it over her head to reveal her sensible sports bra. Ava gently cupped her breast, tracing a nipple with her thumb, and Beatrice gasped aloud, then blushed deeply.
“Ava,” she said, suddenly nervous. “You know I haven’t –”
“I know,” Ava said. “This is okay, right?”
“Yes.” With more confidence than she felt, Beatrice moved her own hands to the front of Ava’s bathrobe, and as she untied the cord and slid her hands inside the folds of terrycloth to caress Ava’s skin she felt a soft moan against her lips.
“God, Bea, I missed you.”
“Show me?”
Ava nodded, pulling the bathrobe apart so it hung around them like a curtain, exposing miles of warm, scarred skin. Beatrice barely had the chance to admire any of it before Ava took her hand, guiding it down and forwards. Ava was as wet as Beatrice herself, and as soon as Beatrice’s fingers made contact Ava let out a shaky gasp, pressing their foreheads together and wrapping her fingers around the back of Beatrice’s neck to hold her in place.
Beatrice touched her tentatively at first, then with more confidence as Ava gave noises of approval. With every line and circle Beatrice drew she felt Ava growing tighter, like a coiled spring, and then, with a boost of inspiration, Beatrice slid one finger forwards until she could push inside.
“Yes,” Ava breathed. “There. God, Bea.”
Beatrice felt a rush of her own arousal, but pushed it to the side to concentrate on Ava, on the movement of her hand, adding a second finger at Ava’s request, going faster as Ava began to rock back and forth against Beatrice’s palm. Beatrice felt a throbbing need deep in her core, moved her hand faster and felt Ava squeeze around her fingers as she buried her head in Beatrice’s neck. “Fuck, Bea.”
“I love you,” said Beatrice without thinking, without knowing if Ava could hear her, and right then she felt Ava’s shoulders tense and shudder, Ava’s arms tighten around her as she let out a muffled cry into Beatrice’s neck, grabbing Beatrice’s wrist to make sure she didn’t slow down. Beatrice let herself be guided, curling her fingers until Ava gave one final shudder, one more squeeze to Beatrice’s wrist: stop. Beatrice pulled free as Ava caught her dumbfounded lips in another kiss.
“I love you,” whispered Ava, pushing her onto her back, and Beatrice could barely hear her past the pounding in her ears.
***
“How did you find me?” asked Beatrice, quite sure she already knew the answer.
The casserole had finally been cooked, then neglected until it cooled, and then reheated again so that Ava and Beatrice could eat it directly from the pan, sitting in their underwear on the floor of Beatrice’s living room, leaning up against the sofa with their legs mingling and the casserole wedged between them. It wasn’t bad.
“Camila,” Ava admitted, and Beatrice nodded. “I think she was just waiting for me to ask, she didn’t have to look up you address or anything, she just booked me on the next flight to Paris. She said you hadn’t been answering your cellphone – and, by the way, since when do you have a cellphone?”
“It’s for emergencies,” Beatrice smiled. In truth, she’d forgotten to check her messages in weeks, used to relying on more archaic OCS alert systems. The battery was probably long dead. She should probably call to make sure they knew she was still alive. “I really should know by now not to underestimate Camila. Though I’m surprised they let you come at all.”
“They didn’t want me to.” Ava’s expression clouded suddenly, and Beatrice’s heart dropped, regretting her words immediately. She knew what Ava was about to say, and wasn’t ready to hear it.
“What else do you remember, about the other side?”
Ava looked at her, and must have seen something in Beatrice’s face, because she didn’t question the sudden shift in conversation.
“Bits and pieces,” she took a bite of casserole, steeling herself to tell a story she’d no doubt had to repeat several times in the last four days, ever since Jillian had found her in an unconscious heap in front of the Ark. “I remember everything up to getting sucked through the portal, and kind of...flashes, after that?” She waved her hand to illustrate the point, grimacing. “I must have passed out pretty much immediately. I remember a white room, people in robes – it kind of feels like I was abducted by aliens, to be honest.”
Beatrice tried to laugh, couldn’t quite manage it. “Any idea how long you were there?”
Ava breathed out slowly, eyes narrowing as she tried to focus in on her fickle memories. “A few months – a year, maybe? I don’t feel...much different. But it’s hard to tell – I could have been unconscious for any length of time. And it feels like there’s so much I’m just not remembering – like, sometimes I get glimpses of this heat, maybe from that desert Michael mentioned…”
She trailed off suddenly, tracing the scar on her chin without seeming to notice; Beatrice knew immediately what she was thinking and slipped her palm into Ava’s.
“You can’t blame yourself. It was his plan; he went in there knowing he wouldn’t come back.”
“But I did” Ava blinked hard. “And it didn’t even work. He died for nothing, again, and I came back. Again.”
“Ava,” Beatrice took Ava’s chin in both hands, pulling Ava’s eyes to hers. “You stopped Adriel. You carried out the plan, and you lived. Michael wouldn’t have wished things any different. And, for the record, neither would I.”
Ava nodded, a single tear falling as she rested her head against Beatrice’s shoulder. Quietly, she let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”
Beatrice took a breath in, then let it out slowly above Ava’s head, heart aching. “I missed you, too.”