Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Diego and Ava wait until it's dark before they sneak back down to the kitchens. 

"It's not even stealing," Ava reasons. "It's my cake." 

But she's whispering, and avoiding all the creaky spots on the floor, so he knows she’s not convinced that her argument would fly with Mother Superion. 

The halls of St Michael’s are still and cold and silent around them, as if the building itself is keeping watch as they head off on their adventure. Their last adventure here together, because tomorrow, Ava is leaving the orphanage for good.  

They make it to the kitchens without incident. He hoists himself up onto the counter while Ava goes digging in the fridge for the remnants of the cake leftover from her farewell party. 

"Aha!" She flashes him a triumphant grin. "Got it." 

There's only a small slab of it, with the letters GO and AV still legible in green icing. Originally, it read GOOD LUCK AVA, but Ava had insisted that they eat the piece that said LUCK first: to absorb its powers, obviously. 

The cake is the exact sort of novelty that Sister Frances deemed an unnecessary and unaffordable indulgence while she was in charge, but since Mother Superion replaced her, the money for small celebrations has somehow turned up. 

Ava cuts a slice for him and then for herself, and holds hers in the air until he bumps his own against it, as if they’re clinking champagne glasses. 

"Are you nervous?" he asks Ava. 

"For sure. It's kind of scary to think about leaving." She licks a bit of icing off her lip. "It's funny. For so long, I wanted to get out of this place more than anything. But it's not so bad now. Mother Superion's pretty cool."

"She is."

"I mean, can you imagine Sister Frances hooking me up with that housing program? Or helping me write a resume? No fucking way."

He swallows another mouthful of cake. "I'll miss you," he says. 

Ava's expression shifts, goes so sad and warm that he has to look away, or maybe it'll hit him too hard and he'll actually cry. And he's managed not to cry about this at all so far. 

"Oh, bud. I'll miss you too. Loads. And you know that if Frances was still around, I'd be busting you out of here the second I had ten bucks. But I talked to Mother Superion about it, and she said that it would be hard for me to get any legal right to you, cos, you know, we're not technically family, and the government isn’t jazzed about letting broke eighteen-year-olds adopt kids. That’s paraphrasing," Ava jokes, bumping her shoulder to his. "But she’ll look after you, and she said I can come visit whenever. And I'll be able to take you places, as long as I sign you out." 

Diego perks up a bit at this. They've never been allowed on excursions without a supervising Sister before. Maybe Ava becoming an adult does have some benefits. "Really?"

"Yup! Hello, gelato and beaches and movies! We'll do all kinds of awesome stuff."

And he knows they will. Diego's met a lot of grown-ups who liked to promise things, only to disappear or change their minds or decide that it's too much, too hard. But Ava has never once broken a promise to him. 

They don’t talk much after that, instead focusing their energy on finishing off the cake. 

"When she finds out, tell Mother Superion I acted alone," Ava says as they make their way back up to their beds. "I can't get put on dish duty when I don't live here anymore."

"Doesn't living by yourself mean that you're always on dish duty?" 

"Ah, fuck, I hadn't thought of that." 

Ava's apartment is awesome. Well, okay, it's very tiny, just three rooms: one with a kitchen and a beanbag and a beat-up television, one with a bed, and a cramped bathroom off to the side, but it's hers. 

"Whaddaya think?" she asks, gesturing grandly around. "Pretty sweet, right?"

"Extremely epic," he agrees, giving a decisive nod. The beanbag, in particular, is epic, and according to Ava, was the very first thing she bought for herself. 

"And I've got some cool neighbours, too. Okay, one cool neighbour. But Camila is great! Super nice. We can go say hi to her later, if you want."

The rest of the tenants in Ava's building are also recent leavers of the foster system. He remembers her explaining it all to him — it's some sort of social services program to help them find their feet and adjust to life outside the system — but most of it went over his head. 

"Are there lots of rules?" he asks. 

"Not really. I can't stay out too late, or get too crazy, but apart from a few check-ins and stuff, I get to do whatever I want." 

She tells him all about her job at the bar, which he isn't allowed to visit, but apparently is lots of fun. She's bought a whole bunch of different sodas and lined them up on the counter so she can make him nonalcoholic versions of the new drinks she's learned. The first few are very good, but eventually they just start mixing together the weirdest soda combinations they can think of, and give themselves stomach aches. 

Ava walks him back to St Michael’s by five o'clock. 

"Can't I stay with you a bit longer?" He's trying not to sound like he's begging. It's just — he misses her, and everything feels unbalanced now that she's gone. 

Ava pulls him into a hug. "I'll come by and see you after school on Tuesday, okay? I reckon that once we've shown Mother Superion that I can be a responsible adult and return you in one piece, we'll get more time." 

He hugs her back tightly, and pastes on a smile when he steps back, because Ava's got that guilty frown, and he doesn't want her to feel guilty. 

Eventually, Diego starts to get used to life without Ava just across the room. They see each other at least twice a week, and she's always there when he needs her, just like she said she'd be. 

For the first few months, he still struggles to ask for things. It's Ava's money, and he knows she's worked hard for it, that she needs it, and he doesn't really need anything. But when his ninth birthday rolls around, she's insistent. 

"I am absolutely getting you a present, whether you like it or not," she tells him. She's got her determined face on. The No Arguing with Ava face. 

They both know that toys have a short lifespan in a place loaded with too many kids and not enough to go round. Anything she buys him will inevitably be broken or stolen or lost in the shuffle. 

So he asks for something else, something one of the boys at school mentioned weeks ago that lodged in his head: "My friend Joseph does aikido classes. He says they’re really cool. Maybe I could try one of those?"

She tilts her head. "What’s aikido?"

"It’s a martial art." It’s actually the kind of thing he imagines Ava would’ve liked to do at his age, but she was still in physical therapy then, still relearning how to walk under the painful press of Sister Frances’ vicious care. 

"Ooh, that sounds awesome! As long as you promise to never use your powers for evil. Unless it’s funny."

Diego is thrumming with excitement when the day finally rolls around. School lasted approximately eighteen hours longer than usual and he’s dying . 

He hurtles out the front door and collides with Ava in a hug the second she lets herself through the gate. 

"Can we go now?" he asks. 

"Whoa! One sec, I gotta sign you out," she laughs.

Signing him out also takes a million minutes, because Mother Superion wants to ask how Ava's doing, monologue a little bit about responsibility, and resolutely ignore the way Diego is tugging on Ava's hand, attempting to bodily drag her back outside. 

Ava takes him to the same class that Joseph goes to. It's in a large, tidy room that's very well lit. There’s a small crowd of other kids around his age milling about, talking to their friends, settling in. 

"I didn't realise we were supposed to, like, get you a uniform, or something," Ava mutters, gaze flicking over the other students — they're all wearing the same white outfit. 

"It's not compulsory," someone behind them says. The voice is soft and lightly accented. 

Diego and Ava spin around.

The woman standing there is tall and straight-backed, and probably about Ava’s age, although he finds it hard to tell with adults. Her hair is up in a tight bun and she's wearing a uniform too: white and black.

Diego waits for Ava to say something. He doesn't know what compulsory means. 

Ava opens her mouth, but doesn't get any further than that. Maybe she doesn't know what compulsory means either. 

"We do have spares you can borrow, though, if you like," the woman offers. Her expression is impassive, although not unfriendly. "But it's up to you."

Ava blinks, then turns to him. "Um, Diego? Do you want to borrow one?" 

"Yes, please." 

The woman nods. "I'm Beatrice," she says, leading them towards a small rack at the back. "I'll be teaching you today."

"Have you been doing this long?" Ava asks. 

Beatrice tilts her head. "Teaching, or aikido?"

"Either?"

"I started learning when I was just a bit younger than you," Beatrice says to Diego, although her gaze flicks back up to Ava. "And I’ve only recently started teaching here. But I can assure you that he's in safe hands." 

"Oh, I didn't mean that question in, like, a doubting way. I'm sure you've got great hands," Ava corrects herself, and then freezes. 

Beatrice stares at her for a second before she turns back towards the rack, pulling a uniform off and holding it up. "This should fit. There's a change room back there." 

By the time he gets back, Ava has unfrozen herself enough to keep talking to Beatrice. She's bouncing a little on her toes, all enthusiasm, and Beatrice appears to be listening intently, even if her face gives nothing else away. 

Diego loves aikido. 

Fortunately, Ava also loves taking him to aikido. 

It's perhaps a slightly disproportionate level of excitement for someone who has to stand in the back with the parents and watch for an hour, but Ava's a pretty upbeat person, so Diego doesn't think much of it, at first. 

And then he notices how often Ava finds herself in conversations with his instructor. Ava, who is chronically a little bit (or a lot) late to everything, but manages to consistently time their arrival for after Beatrice's previous class lets out but before Diego's class really starts to trickle in. 

He mostly does his stretches on the mat while they talk. One time, he stuck around long enough for Ava to start asking questions about a paper for a translation course that Beatrice is apparently taking, and no offence to either of them, but it was horribly boring. He wouldn't guess they're discussing lame stuff by looking at them, though: Ava is riveted, and Beatrice — well, okay, Beatrice is kind of unreadable. But he hears Ava make her laugh once, and he's never heard Beatrice laugh before, so that can only be a good thing. 

After the rest of the class is dismissed, Beatrice waves him down. "Diego? Do you have a second?" 

He shuffles over to her, not quite nervous, but close. She’s never called him back before; he wonders if he did something wrong. 

"Your last drill with Joseph just now —"

"Sorry I didn’t get it right," Diego says quickly. "I’m trying really hard."

She smiles at him. He’s learning that Beatrice isn’t one for big, wide smiles, not like Ava, but the little upturns of her mouth mean the same thing. "I can see that. It’s very commendable, how much you apply yourself. I was just going to say that you were really close, and I think if we practise it together a few more times, you’ll have it."

"Really?" 

"Absolutely. Let’s run through it again, okay?"

Beatrice takes him through each step, gently correcting his form, modelling the flow of the movements herself. She’s a great instructor to the whole class, but something about having her attention and confidence focused solely on him makes him feel like he really can do it, that he’s capable of things he sets his mind to, the same way she is. 

"Alright, now we’re going to do it in real time," Beatrice says.

And he does. He actually manages it, mirroring Beatrice, twisting, and landing solidly on his feet. 

When he looks back at Ava, she shoots him a double thumbs up. 

"Did you know Beatrice is on YouTube?" Diego says, as they're walking through the park together. He's still working on his first hot dog, but Ava's already finishing her second. 

She laughs. "Um, no way is Beatrice a YouTuber." 

"Not like a YouTuber ," he sighs, rolling his eyes. "Like her tournaments. Joseph showed me. It's way different from what we do in class. Give me your phone — I'll show you."

They drop down in the shade under a large tree and Diego cues up the same clip that Joseph showed him. It's Beatrice at some event two years ago. Joseph says she doesn’t do competitions anymore; he doesn’t know why.  

"Holy shit," Ava exclaims, as Beatrice sweeps the other girl clean onto the mat in an improbably short amount of time. "Beatrice is such a fucking badass." 

"We're not allowed to swear at aikido."

"I think I should be allowed one swear."

"We're not allowed any swears. Beatrice has a rule."

"Well, Beatrice isn't here right now." 

By far one of the best activities available to them since Ava left St Michael's is grocery shopping. Ava's technically adult supervision — it's why he's allowed to be here with her, after all — but she certainly doesn't act like it. She'll buy anything in a brightly coloured packet or with a funny name if either of them wants to try it. 

Right now, their grocery cart is loaded with pancake mix and sweets and a microwaveable lasagne so that they can eat more of the sweets without throwing up. 

Diego's focused on inspecting biscuit options when Ava nudges him. 

"Hey, isn't that Beatrice?" She jerks her head in the direction of the produce section to their left.

He realises that she's right — that's Beatrice — although Ava's managed to recognise her from impressively far away, especially since she walked right into another shopper without seeing them not five minutes ago. 

He's so used to Beatrice in her uniform that it's weird to catch a glimpse of her in slacks and a buttoned shirt. If he'd ever stopped to consider it, of course he would've realised she doesn't wear her aikido outfit all the time, but still. 

"Yeah! Can we go say hi?" 

"Sure." 

He hesitates. "Is it okay to just go up to her here? We’re not at aikido." 

"Well, I mean, I’m not all up on my grocery store etiquette, but it’s probably okay to say hi. Probably not okay to throw a melon at her," Ava teases.

"I think she could dodge a melon," he says, with absolute confidence.

"Definitely." 

Beatrice spots them while they’re walking over and gives a small, contained wave.

"Hi," he and Ava say, at almost the exact same time, which makes him blush but makes Ava laugh. 

"Hello," Beatrice replies. He thinks she's smiling a little. He's almost sure of it. 

"Fancy seeing you here," Ava says. 

He watches Ava clock the contents of Beatrice's basket — leafy greens, strawberries, a dark multigrain loaf — and quickly sweep six capsicums into their own basket. This appears to have little to do with how much either of them likes capsicums (he certainly doesn't, and he's not sure Ava's ever tried one) and more to do with the fact that they’re the closest vegetable.

"Gotta save the best for last," Ava jokes, patting one of the capsicums gently, as if that’s a normal thing to do.

"Indeed," Beatrice agrees. "Are you — making something with a lot of capsicum?"

Ava slaps a hand down on Diego's shoulder. "Yup. They're Diego's favourite. So."

He isn't sure why they're lying to Beatrice, but Ava must have a good reason, so he nods loyally. As long as he doesn’t have to take a bite out of one to prove anything, he’s on board.

A woman walks over from the next aisle; she's tall, brunette, and has a cool tattoo running up her left arm. 

The woman drops an odd-shaped squash into Beatrice's basket and pulls to a stop beside her, their shoulders brushing. "Hey, who's this?"

"Shannon, this is Diego, my student. He's doing very well, especially at Kosadori. And this is Ava."

Diego is almost flattened with pride. He's not sure he's done especially well at anything before. And Beatrice doesn't lie or embellish; she likes the truth, and she wouldn't have said it if it wasn't the truth. She'd have found a different way to be kind. 

"Are you an aikido teacher as well?" Diego asks Shannon. 

"No. I used to practise it, though," she tells him. "Not so much now. But that's how I met Beatrice, way back when. She was even younger than you. Like, this big." Shannon holds her hand out in the air at a height around Diego's chest. "And she could beat me."

"That's an exaggeration. I was not that small."

Shannon lowers her hand. "This small?"

Beatrice pulls an expression that isn't rolling her eyes, but might be as close as Beatrice ever gets. 

Ava looks delighted by this, even as her gaze flicks between Beatrice and Shannon curiously. 

"I was an average-sized child for my age," Beatrice informs them both. 

Shannon's phone buzzes and she slips it out of her pocket. "And that's Lilith, threatening to leave without us," she sighs. "We'd better go. It was nice to meet you guys."

"Yeah, you too."

"I'll see you both on Tuesday," Beatrice says, and this time she definitely does smile at them, then follows after Shannon as they head to the checkout. 

Once they're out of sight, Ava stacks the capsicums back on the display: all except one. 

"I mean," she says, "we could at least try it."

Diego chats with Joseph by the door in the lobby until Joseph has to go, ushered out into the parking lot by his mother. He heads back inside the studio to find Ava exactly where he left her: helping Beatrice wipe down and roll up the mats, a task she seems to get slower and slower at each week. 

He goes to join them, but stops when he sees Lilith slumped on one of the benches nearby. She’s imposing and elegant, even slouched back against the wall, and gives off the vibe of someone who took up aikido so that she’d have an excuse to hit something. 

Diego’s never actually spoken to Lilith. He knows that she runs some of the adult classes offered by the studio, and he’s pretty sure she was in one of those YouTube videos he and Ava watched, but other than that, Lilith is a complete mystery to him. A scary mystery. 

But maybe she’s glaring into space for a reason, and maybe he should check on her, just quickly, from a safe distance. 

He edges as close as he dares. “Are you okay?” Asking feels a bit like reaching into a dark space and hoping that nothing bites. 

She glances over at him. Her frown becomes a few degrees less intense. "Bored. My car’s at the mechanic and Beatrice is my ride, so I’m stuck here until she’s done with your sister."

She's not my sister, Diego nearly says, means to say, but doesn't. 

It's just that — well, Ava's the only family he has, the only family he's had since he was five years old, and it kind of sucks that there's no word for that, for what she is to him. 

Sister is pretty close, though.

"You could help them, if you want it to go faster," he points out. 

"I have no desire to be any closer to whatever that is." Lilith waves a hand vaguely in Ava and Beatrice’s direction. "They get five more minutes of cute crap before I’m going over there and busting it up. It's been fu— freaking ages."

"You can swear in front of me," Diego assures her, catching the slip. "I don't mind. I know all of them."

"All of them?"

He considers. "I think so? Ava uses them a lot."

"I bet I know some that you don't know."

"Really? What are they?"

"Lilith."

Even though Beatrice has only said Lilith's name, both of them snap around. He was dead sure that she was out of earshot, but maybe he just hadn’t seen them finish up, or more likely, Beatrice has a psychic sense for when someone’s breaking the no-swearing-at-aikido rule. 

Beatrice doesn't continue speaking, but the raised eyebrow seems to have the same effect on Lilith that it does on Diego's entire class: namely, that anyone considering misbehaving reconsiders it. 

"I mean, I kinda wanna learn the extra swears," Ava pipes up from beside her, knocking the back of her hand against Beatrice's.

Lilith bares her teeth in a smile that's not a smile. "You’ll know them when you hear them." And then, as if Ava has ceased to exist, or at least Lilith is committed to ignoring her on an ongoing basis, she turns to Beatrice: "Ready?"

They leave the studio all together, with Beatrice locking up behind them. There's a stretched moment in the parking lot where both Ava and Beatrice turn to one another but nothing gets said, and Lilith huffs out a long-suffering breath before grabbing Beatrice's arm and hauling her away. 

"Hey, Diego. What do you call an expert bandit who’s called upon to give their opinions?” Ava is obviously gearing up for a bad joke. He’s well acquainted with the warning signs. 

He doesn’t humour her only because she just pushed him on the swings for, like, half an hour, but that doesn’t not factor into it. "What?"

"A pundit." She waits, but he doesn’t laugh. "See? It works on two levels, because it’s a pun and it has the word pun, and — come on, at least pretend to be impressed. That took me half my shift to come up with."

"Ava, I don’t know what a pundit is."

Ava takes him to the zoo. She says that she went once, when she was small, too long ago to remember anything but the fact of it. 

It occurs to him as they watch the penguins toddle out of their enclosure that they’ve been doing a lot of stuff he’s never done — normal kid stuff that has always been out of reach. Like Ava’s kept track of everything he’s missed out on and is slowly catching him up as best she can. 

Ava stretches up on her toes to get a better view of the tiny penguin that’s stealing fish from a larger one. "If you were gonna be an animal, what would you be?" she asks. 

It would’ve been an easier question yesterday, before he’d seen so many of them up close, before he’d read so many facts and heard from so many trainers and realised how every single one is incredible in its own way.

"They’re all amazing," he says. "I’d want to be all of them."

Anyone else would think that’s a cop-out, but Ava just nods like it’s a perfectly valid answer, like she understands wanting everything at once.

And she does. Of course, she does. They’re both children of St Michael’s, they both lost out on having regular homes and regular lives; the only difference between them is that he has someone who can take him to the zoo, and she never did. 

The rain starts in the last five minutes of class. It doesn't occur to him to worry about it until he's standing in front of Ava, taking in the slightly sheepish expression on her face. 

"That's the last time I believe the stupid app when it says it's not going to storm," she laments. "We can put my jacket over your head, but I think it's going to be kind of a gross walk back. I'd suggest we wait it out, but we've gotta get you back early tonight for that church thing, remember?"

Beatrice must hear them from where she's filling out paperwork a few steps away, because she pauses and says, "I don't mean to overstep, but I could give you a lift wherever you're going, if you like? It’s raining quite heavily."

He can tell that Ava would be more than happy to take her up on it, but she still looks to him to make sure he's alright with it. If he isn't, they'll walk home, wet and miserable, and Ava won't complain at all.

Diego wishes he could communicate with her telepathically, but he can’t, so he tugs her sleeve, willing her to get the message.

"Sorry, one sec," Ava says, and Beatrice nods, disappearing off to get her kit bag. "You okay?"

"I don't want her to know I live at St Michael's," he admits in a whisper. 

Whenever someone finds out, there's an unavoidable shift in how they see him, how they act around him: some pity or discomfort or secondhand despair that sets in and never budges again. 

And — Beatrice is so nice and so cool and he can't bear the idea of her feeling sorry for him, treating him more softly than the others. 

"Bud, we had to put your address down when we enrolled you online, remember?"

"Oh." Which means that Beatrice has always known. Which means that how she is with him now is how she's going to be, that nothing’s going to change, and if she gives them a ride, then all that will happen is that they won't get rained on. "Okay, then."

They head over to where Beatrice is packing her things with far less efficiency than usual. 

"A lift would be amazing, thank you," Ava says. "And also I would love to see your car."

"Don't get too excited. It's a very ordinary car."

"But I feel like cars tell you so much about a person, you know? Like, whether they have fluffy dice or bumper stickers or old McDonalds wrappers in the dividers."

Beatrice seems mildly horrified. "I don't have any of those things."

"Not even fluffy dice?"

"It seems foolish to have anything that could impede your vision."

"And you think they're tacky."

"Everyone thinks they're tacky, Ava."

"That's the charm of them."

"If I had a car, I'd put a shark fin on top of it," Diego says. "That it'd look awesome in traffic."

He's pleased to see that Beatrice appears quite amused by this idea, even if he doubts she'd ever actually do it herself. 

Beatrice locks up the studio and they cross the parking lot quickly, rain hammering down. 

He slides into the back seat and Ava gets in the passenger side, twisting around to check he's put his seatbelt on. He rolls his eyes at her; he might get in cars basically never, but he knows how they work. 

"Yeah, yeah, make your faces. I'm the one who'd have to explain to Mother Superion if I returned you with a single scratch."

Ava gives Beatrice a few directions and then they're pulling out onto the road. 

"So, Ava," Beatrice says. "What does my car tell you, exactly?"

Ava's out of luck, from what Diego can see. The inside of Beatrice's car is spotless, and completely devoid of anything personal or decorative. 

"Hmm. Well, that you're very tidy, but we already knew that. And that you're road safe. You've that whole ten-and-two thing going on." Ava pauses, glances around, scouring for anything else that might be as revealing as she promised. "Okay. I'm not Carmen Sandiego. I'm out."

"Wasn't she a criminal, not a detective?"

"And therefore cooler."

The drive to St Michael's is brief, even in the storm. The water is so thick in the air that the orphanage is only a dark shape when Beatrice parks by the curb out front. 

"Is here okay?"

"Here's great," Ava nods. 

"Do you have a way to get home as well?"

"I only live, like, fifteen minutes from here, and a bit of rain won't kill me."

"You're little," Diego pipes up. "You might get washed away."

"He's got a point," Beatrice says, and her voice sounds the same, but he can tell she's being funny when she glances over at him and the corner of her mouth turns up. 

"Beatrice, you are at best two inches taller than me."

"I would estimate three."

"Well, there’s no way to know unless we stand back to back."

"Surely taking separate measurements is the most accurate means of determining the difference."

"Yeah, but that's not how you do it! Didn't you ever stand back to back with your friends as a kid? To see who was taller?" 

"No," Beatrice replies, in a tone that doesn't invite further questioning, and for a second she seems abruptly closed. Then she softens again. "I'm happy to drive you home, Ava."

Ava hovers in place, maybe unsure of whether she's upset Beatrice somehow: there's the start of a small, confused frown on Ava's face. But she clears it away, smiles, and nods. "Okay, sure. Yeah. Thanks. That’d be great. I'll just be a couple minutes." 

Ava unbuckles her seatbelt and he follows suit. 

"Bye, Diego." Beatrice says. 

"Bye, Beatrice! Thanks for driving me!"

He and Ava rush through the rain and up the steps, slipping on the tiles of the foyer. 

Mother Superion is passing by with Abby and Lucy, two of the youngest girls at St Michael's — both of whom worship Ava, instantly turning shy as soon as she appears — and all three of them stop as he and Ava skid inside. 

"On time," Ava declares, presenting him to Mother Superion. "As promised."

"And soaked."

Ava brushes a few droplets off his collar. "Maybe a little damp. Definitely not soaked."

She grins brilliantly, not discouraged in the slightest, and Mother Superion only sighs. "I'll see you on Friday, Ava."

"Sure will!" 

Mother Superion has finally agreed to allow Diego to sleep over at Ava's place, and it's going to be awesome . He'll get to have pizza and chocolate and stay up late and do all the things he isn't allowed to do at St Michael's.

"I better go," Ava says. She gives him a hug, waves at Mother Superion and Abby and Lucy, and darts back out into the storm. 

The next week after class, he spots them as he's leaving the change rooms. They’re talking by the water cooler, but from where he’s standing, Beatrice is obscured from view, leaving only Ava, who is bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, hands behind her back. 

"I make a mean cuba libre," Ava says. "And it's a good vibe. You should come by." 

"I don't drink," Beatrice replies evenly.

"Oh. Right, I —"

"But I can still come by," she adds.

Ava beams, a swoop of energy passing through her whole body. "I can also make a mean virgin cuba libre. Or — or whatever you do like to drink." 

"Wouldn't a virgin cuba libre be just cola and lime juice?"

"It’s special, how I do it." 

"I suppose I’ll have to try it for myself, then, won’t I?" 

He's always tired after aikido, properly worn out, but Ava invariably leaves with even more energy than she came in with. 

Camila's nice. He's glad Ava has a friend living next door, someone who can help her if she needs it. 

Right now, they think he's asleep. Which, in their defence, he definitely did accidentally pass out halfway through the movie, but he's awake now. 

He can hear them moving around in the kitchen, plates and cups clinking as they make lunch. 

He'll get up and help. He will. But he's warm and still a bit tired, and it's so easy to keep lying there, face pressed into the beanbag. 

"So?" Camila says. 

"So, what?"

"Don't be cute."

"I can't help being cute."

"Did she come by the bar?" 

"Yep." Ava pops the P. "And I didn't spill anything on her, so I think it went well. At least, it went okay." 

"Only okay?"

"I just — she's so together, Cam, you know? She's getting her degree, and she's a badass, and gorgeous, and she knows so much stuff. Like, she told me that vodka dates back to the ninth century." She makes a small sound that isn’t a sigh but isn’t not. "And I’m not totally convinced she isn’t legit royalty. I doubt I’m the kind of friend she'd be looking for."

Diego feels bad for eavesdropping now; Ava probably wouldn't say any of that if she knew he was listening. 

"I happen to think you're an excellent friend," Camila answers firmly. "Plus, you said she doesn’t drink. Kind of notable that she’s up to date on her random alcohol facts, then, huh?"

"Trust me, that’s very on-brand. She’s just genuinely into learning about everything." 

"Maybe. Or maybe she thought it would interest you, seeing as you’re a bartender." There’s a pause. "And she wouldn’t have taken you up on your invitation if she didn’t want to hang out with you. I mean, if I could flip a grown man to the ground, I'd never do anything I didn't want to do." 

"She can flip a grown man. It's hot." 

Sometimes, Ava lets him use her phone for games. She says that she downloaded all of them for him, but he's not falling for it — the apps aren’t completing new levels by themselves. 

He's playing one where he has to swing from rope to rope when the text comes through as an overhead banner.

Beatrice (12:12pm)
I do not agree that a crocodile would win in that scenario. Your argument assumes that the shark would... 

He's almost curious enough about crocodiles and sharks to click to see the whole message, but he doesn't snoop. 

"Ava!" he calls. 

"Just a sec!" 

She steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered after their ill-fated excursion to the park. Diego has no idea how she managed to fall into that mud while he stayed on his feet, but that's Ava for you. "What's up?" 

"Beatrice is texting you."

He holds out the phone and she snags it from him quickly, lip caught between her teeth. And then she's grinning, typing off a reply and sending it, before she turns her attention back to him.

"Is that Beatrice from aikido?" He doesn't think she knows anyone else named Beatrice, but Ava manages to meet people everywhere, so he's never sure. 

She nods. "Yeah. We — we're, like, friends now. Does that bother you?"

"Why would that bother me?" 

"Because she's your teacher."

"Only sometimes. And she's a really good teacher. I bet she's a really good friend, too."

"She is." 

Joseph invites him to go for pizza on a Thursday afternoon. It’s not the first time he’s been asked to hang out with someone from school, but it’s the first time he’s felt confident enough to say yes. Ava is proud of him for it, and he doesn’t point out that it’s dumb, that everyone else his age has already done it a million times, because it’s hard to protest in the face of Ava’s enthusiasm.

Joseph’s mother, Marie, picks them up right after the final bell and takes them into town to a small restaurant that offers what feels like every topping imaginable. Marie is nice, and Joseph seems very pleased to have him along, and eventually, he relaxes into it. 

He nearly does a double take, though, when he sees Ava across the street, outside of the gelato place. That, in itself, is far from unusual — Ava eats an inadvisable amount of gelato — but what is unusual is Beatrice walking up and Ava immediately reaching out and pulling her into a hug. 

Beatrice is evidently unsure about what to do, how to return the gesture: her hand hovers in the air for a long moment before finally settling between Ava’s shoulders. 

When Ava steps back, she doesn't go very far; she grabs Beatrice's hand and drags her into the gelato shop. 

"Are you okay?" Joseph's mother asks him. 

"Yeah," he says. "I just saw my friend over there."

"Do you want to go say hi?"

He shakes his head. He knows Ava would be happy to see him, like she always is, but he’s enjoying his time with Joseph, and he thinks Ava is probably enjoying her time with Beatrice as well. 

Diego knows he shouldn't have done it. 

He should've woken up one of the other kids, or gone to see Mother Superion, or one of the Sisters, or just tried to go back to sleep. Anything but sneaking out the window and walking the ten blocks to Ava's apartment. 

He knocks and knocks, still sniffling, but she doesn't answer. "Ava?" he calls through the door. 

Maybe he's got her schedule wrong, or she had to stay late at the bar, and she’s not here after all. 

The door to the next apartment opens, and Camila steps out, dressed in her pyjamas. "Diego?" 

He scrubs the tears off his cheeks, embarrassed. "Hi, Camila. Is Ava here?" 

"She's at Beatrice's. Let me call her for you, okay?" 

And now he's got in Camila's way, and he's ruining Ava's evening with her friend, and — "Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll just —" 

Camila reaches out and tentatively sets a hand on his arm. "It's okay," she says. 

The phone's ringing. Ava takes a little while to pick up, but when she does, and Camila tells her that Diego's here, the phone is getting handed to him immediately. 

"Hey, D. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? Like, fifteen minutes. We're not far away. Are you going to be alright with Cam?"

"Yeah."

Diego gives the phone back to Camila, who promises Ava that she'll watch him until she gets back. 

Camila's got a key to Ava's apartment, so they let themselves in. It really is only fifteen minutes before Ava's bursting through the door, trailed by Beatrice — Beatrice, who is arguably the coolest person he’s ever met (she can do a backflip), and who now knows that he's still a baby about nightmares. 

He cares a bit less about that when Ava scoops him into a tight hug. Vaguely, he's aware of Camila and Beatrice drifting off together, giving them space, but he's more focused on answering Ava's questions about how he got here and the dream that upset him. 

After he's cried a bit more and let Ava pat him on the back for a while, he's feeling more like himself. 

The front door opens and Beatrice steps back inside, holding a backpack he recognises as Ava's. She sets it down on a nearby chair. 

"Ava?" she says quietly. "Sorry to interrupt, but should you call St Michael’s?"

"Oh, shit, right. Don't want them to start a manhunt for ya, hey?" Ava chuckles, smoothing his sweaty hair from his forehead. "Give me one sec, alright?" 

She ducks off to her bedroom, leaving him with Beatrice. 

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Beatrice asks. 

She looks different, in normal clothes, late at night. Less like the other versions of Beatrice he’s seen — the teacher, the shopper, the awkward hugger — and more gentle, softer. Her expression is open and free of judgement, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel weird anymore about her having seen him cry. 

"Okay," he agrees.

She seems to know where everything is in the kitchen, although she does hesitate when grabbing mugs, asking if he has a favourite. 

"I'm sorry if you were busy," he tells her, while they're waiting for the water to boil. "I didn't mean to interrupt." 

"You didn't interrupt," Beatrice promises, leaning back against the counter. "You know, I used to do a very similar thing when I was about your age. I had horrible nightmares, and sometimes, back when we lived in Italy, I went wandering around the city at night." 

"Were you trying to find your parents?" he asks. 

Beatrice frowns. "No, they were in the house. I just didn't think to go to them," she admits. "I don't know what I was looking for." 

A brief flicker of melancholy passes over her, but she blinks it away, and gives him a warm smile. Understanding and empathy, without pity. 

"Okay, so no one's in trouble," Ava announces, bounding into the kitchen. "I mean, I think you're probably in for a lecture from Mother Superion, but who hasn't had one of those before? And since you haven't got school tomorrow, she said you can stay here tonight, and I can bring you back in the morning." She glances between him and Beatrice, and then the kettle goes off. 

Beatrice pours the hot water into the mugs. 

Ava pouts at her. "Just two mugs? Do I mean nothing to you, Bea? You would leave me tea-less?"

"This one’s for you," Beatrice points out dryly, tapping the mug that isn't Diego's pick. "I’ll head off now; I don’t want to intrude."

"I don't mind," Diego says. And he doesn’t. It would be nice if Beatrice stayed. She's one of the only adults who's ever been consistently kind to him — who praises him when he gets something right, who reassures him when he's stuck, who lets him try again without berating him, who repeats something patiently when he doesn't understand. He likes her, and she makes Ava happy. 

Ava eyes him, checking that he means it, satisfied that he does. "See? Diego doesn't mind. We can watch a movie."

Beatrice hesitates, but Ava must see an opening of some kind, because she moves swiftly into Beatrice's space, slinging an arm over her shoulder. 

"Please?" Ava entreats. 

It's a bit funny how fast Beatrice's expression changes, but she doesn't actually say yes. She closes her eyes for a second, then turns back to Diego. "Are you sure?" she asks. "You've had a long night." 

He bobs his head. "You can pick the movie," he adds generously, to seal the deal. 

Beatrice's eyes widen. "Oh, I don't know any age-appropriate films. I don't watch a lot of television —"

"It's not an exam, Bea." Ava still hasn't let go of her, even though she’s got what she wanted: Beatrice isn’t going anywhere. 

Ava recently snagged an old couch from someone who was moving out of the building, and they all pile onto it: Diego leaning into Ava, Ava leaning into Beatrice. Beatrice is sitting so stiffly that it can't be that comfortable for either her or Ava, but Ava persists, and eventually Beatrice starts to relax, settling back into the sofa cushions. 

Diego falls asleep like that, his head against Ava's arm, listening to Lilo describe Stitch's badness level, listening to Ava ask Beatrice what she thinks her badness level is, listening to Beatrice question whether Ava is hungry in this hypothetical scenario, because that changes things.

He wakes up briefly, hours later: it’s dark, the movie’s over, and Beatrice has gone; Ava’s tucked a blanket over him on the couch and is passed out on the beanbag a few feet away. 

His eyes are only open for a few seconds, but it’s enough for him to realise that he hasn’t had another nightmare, and enough for him to be sure he won’t.  

After that, Ava takes to inviting Beatrice along with them more often. She always asks Diego first, always promises it's okay if he says no, and there are still always times when it's just the two of them. 

But he likes Beatrice, and Ava really likes Beatrice, and it’s kind of strangely easy to slot her into things. 

He can always tell which adventures were planned by Ava, and which ones Beatrice contributed to. 

For example, the time they go to the cinema and eat so much chocolate his jaw hurts? Definitely an Ava plan.  

The time they go to the mediaeval section of the museum and Diego leaves with a new obsession with jousting and a surprising amount of facts that weren't on any of the placards? Definitely a Beatrice plan. 

"Okay, then hold the ruler there — exactly." Beatrice nods approvingly. "And then a sharp fold."

Diego follows this instruction with as much precision as possible, and at last, his paper plane is complete. 

He hands Ava the ruler so she can finish her own plane. She’s a few steps behind him and Beatrice, which makes him wonder whether she’s been actually listening or just tuning out and watching Beatrice talk. 

He picks his plane up and throws it, watching as it glides up and then crashes down on the other side of the couch. "Awesome!"

"If you want it to go further," Beatrice says, "you can tip your hand like this, and follow through from the shoulder." She demonstrates the same way she does in aikido class: slowly, so he can see each step, and then in real time, so he can see the effect. "If you keep it level, then it won't arc towards the ground."

Diego tries again, and this time, the plane flies so smoothly that it collides straight into the opposite wall. "Did you see how far that went? This is the best one I’ve ever made. We have to try this in the parking lot!"

"Wait, wait, I’m not done —" Ava tries, but he’s already hurtling towards the door. 

It’s not often that Diego is called to Mother Superion’s office, and he spends the walk there trying to remember what he might’ve done, or not done. 

Mother Superion isn’t one to give anything away; her face is impassive as he closes the door quietly behind him and slips into the chair in front of her desk. She could be furious. She could be bored. She could be thinking about lunch, although he’s not completely convinced that she even eats. 

"Am I in trouble?" he blurts, his fingers fidgeting together in his lap. 

Her eyebrow arches. "Should you be?"

"I don’t think so." 

"Then no," she answers. Unlike him, she doesn’t fidget; her whole body is purposeful and contained, as though she wouldn’t move an inch without first deliberating it. "This is not a reprimand, Diego. You’ve been doing very well,” she assures him, and he wriggles a little straighter in his seat, pleased. "I intend for this to be a check-in. It’s been several weeks since your — excursion," she says tactfully. "And while we’ve discussed it previously, I wanted to give you another opportunity, now that you’ve had some distance from it."

"Um. Okay?"

"I only mean to ask, Diego, whether there’s anything you need that we can give you."

"Oh." Maybe a few months ago, he would’ve been tempted to ask for something impossible, for Ava to come back, but he finds he doesn’t want that anymore: he likes all the new parts of his life, all the other things he gets to do and have — pancakes and movies and sleepovers and aikido and always Ava there to help him, to listen to him, and somehow Beatrice now too, slowly becoming less of a novelty and more his new normal. "I think I’m good. Thanks, though." 

Ava slaps her palms together in a prayer pose. "Come on, Bea. Teach me how to do a flip. Just one. Any."

They're in the living room of Ava's apartment, the beanbag and the ratty couch pushed to the side because Diego begged Beatrice to demonstrate one of the manoeuvres he saw her do in a YouTube video, and it turns out that Beatrice isn't really much better at saying no to him than she is at saying no to Ava. 

"They're not called flips, Ava," Diego tells her seriously. 

"Diego's right," Beatrice nods, expression solemn, but he can tell she's amused. He's getting quite good at reading her, at figuring out when she thinks something is funny or unwise or when she’s just about to cave. "That's not the proper terminology." 

"And I'll carry the shame of that with me until I die, obviously. But, come on . You taught Diego how to do flips."

"Diego did all the foundation work. And he’s very skilled."

He preens, a little. A lot. "Thanks, Beatrice." 

"I'm skilled. Super skilled. Well, okay, I'm not. But I could be! Cos you're such a great teacher." 

"Lilith teaches the adult classes," Beatrice reminds her. "I can sign you up —"

"Fuck no."

"Language."

"Sorry. But, come on. Lilith? She scares me."

"Me too," Diego chimes in. 

"She's a bit severe and closed-off," Beatrice concedes. "But so am I. It's just how we were raised, I suppose."

"You're not severe," Ava says. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, without Diego noticing, she's managed to grab onto both of Beatrice's hands. "You're — maybe a bit reserved. But I like that about you. I like everything about you. And reserved is, like, mysterious. And that's se— cool. That's cool." 

Beatrice looks a bit bemused — or flustered, maybe — but shakes it off. "You don't have a mat here, Ava. I wouldn't attempt to teach you anything without the appropriate safety precautions." 

"Ava needs a lot of safety precautions," Diego says wisely. "One time, she rolled her ankle by —"

Ava's picked him up and dumped him onto the beanbag before he can get the rest of the story out. "I don't think Bea needs to hear about all the embarrassing bullshit I've done."

But Ava is smiling at him, and Beatrice is laughing — language, Ava — and he tells the story anyway. 

The next time Mother Superion calls him into her office is so that he can use the phone. 

"Hey, bud."

"Is everything okay?" he asks, because Ava doesn't usually call him. 

"I can't pick you up tomorrow afternoon," she says, her voice thick and croaky. "I'm sick, and I don't want you to catch anything from me."

There's a tug of disappointment in his stomach — they were going to make burgers, which they've never done before, because Ava claims she was worried about giving him food poisoning, but she’s confident that Beatrice won't. "Are you alright?" 

"It's just the flu."

"You're all by yourself."

"It's not too bad. I'm just sleeping a lot. And Beatrice came to check on me."

"Oh, good. She's probably really good at taking care of people." 

"Yeah," Ava agrees. "She is." 

For one week in the middle of summer, Beatrice goes to stay with her parents. 

Ava is resolutely totally not bummed about it, so unconvincingly that he feels sorry for her. 

"Come on, it's Saturday! Perk up," Ava tells him, as though he’s the one who just spaced out, gazing sorrowfully into the distance. "What do you want to do?" 

"We could go to the museum?" 

"Sold!"

They wander in through the new exhibit, and Ava takes a selfie of them pulling stupid faces next to a suit of armour. 

"You should send that to Beatrice," he says. "She probably misses you too." 

Ava's cheeks go a little pink.

Beatrice comes back three days early from her trip. 

Lilith takes over her classes that week, and Ava is moody when he sees her, like she's caught somewhere between helpless and frustrated and sad and trying not to show him any of it.

"Did something bad happen?" he asks. "Is Beatrice hurt?" 

"Just — complicated family stuff," she hedges, her hands drawing into fists and then releasing as she walks him back from aikido, which isn’t nearly as fun when it isn’t taught by Beatrice. 

Ava won't give him any details, and he's too chicken to ask Lilith, so he resigns himself to it being none of his business. 

When they next hang out all together, Beatrice seems mostly the same, if a little more closed-off. He’s used to Ava's hanging off her, tangling their fingers, hip-checking her, but all of a sudden, Ava’s more careful, keeping her hands to herself more often than not, and those rarer touches are newly tentative. 

He tries not to worry about it, but he does. Maybe because Ava seems to be slightly off-kilter too, and he picks up on it, can't parse her anxiety from his own. 

But by the time they go to the beach together a week later, whatever it was appears to have passed. Ava is spinning a soccer ball with one hand and clutching Beatrice's hand with the other, and they're both relaxed and easy with each other again. 

Ava has spent half the summer teaching him to swim at the local community centre, and he's desperate to jump in the waves now that he won’t drown — to know whether it feels the same as a pool or different. 

He and Ava kick the ball back and forth between themselves on the sand while they wait for the sun to heat the water up. Beatrice opts out of soccer — "I do martial arts and fencing," she says. "I don't do ball sports." This, for some reason, makes Ava choke on a laugh — and reads her book instead. 

After about half an hour, Beatrice evidently decides that the water's going to be warm enough, because she tugs off the shirt she's wearing over her swimsuit and walks into the ocean. 

Ava looks over at her, and Diego kicks the ball, fully expecting Ava's attention to return to their game in time for her to catch it. 

Only she keeps looking, and the soccer ball hits her right in the face, toppling her onto the sand. 

"Ah, fuck!"

"I'm sorry!" he yells. "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," Ava assures him, holding her hand to her nose. "I'm fine." 

"I'm getting Beatrice."

"I'm —"

"Beatrice!" he hollers, twisting around. 

Beatrice must've heard Ava curse, because she's already making her way over to them. "Oh, Ava," she murmurs, turning Ava’s name into a sigh, exasperated and fond. 

"I’m fine," Ava starts again, but goes silent when Beatrice gently cups her face in her hands, inspecting the damage to her nose carefully. Her thumbs sweep over Ava’s cheeks as she tilts her head just a little, and Ava’s gaze stays locked on Beatrice. 

"I think you’ll live," Beatrice determines, but lingers for an extra second before she lets Ava go. 

"Maybe you should be more thorough."

"You said you were fine."

"No, I’m definitely in terrible, horrible pain. Or something’s broken." 

"You’re ridiculous," Beatrice says, shaking her head, but her fingers come up to brush Ava’s jaw again. "You’ll feel better in a minute." 

Beatrice pulls Ava to her feet, and Ava lets the momentum carry her straight into Beatrice’s space. She kisses Beatrice on the cheek. "Thanks."

"How’s your nose?" he asks, later, when they’re lying on the sand, watching the birds. 

"You didn’t hurt me. I’m really okay," Ava promises, wrinkling her nose a few times, as if to double-check that what she’s saying is true. "Although I’m starting to wonder if maybe we should’ve signed you up for football instead of aikido. You’ve got a real kick."

She doesn’t seem to think anything of it, turning in the direction of the shop to see whether Beatrice is on her way back yet — maybe because she’s hungry, maybe because Ava always turns in her direction — but her words stick in Diego’s mind. 

"What if I quit aikido?" he says abruptly. 

Ava’s brow furrows lightly. "Do you want to quit aikido?"

"No! I like it." 

"Okay." Ava’s still got that same frown; he can see her trying to follow the thread to the source of his question, but Diego can’t help her when even he has no idea where it leads. There’s just a sudden, urgent feeling in his chest, like he needs to know something, something important. "Do you want to start playing soccer?" she guesses. "We could look into that." 

"No. I just — I don’t — but what if I did want to quit aikido? Or I got bad at it? Or I broke my leg and couldn’t do it anymore? Would it still be like this?" He gestures around, not sure what he’s pointing at, wishing there was a way he could grab the feeling of the day and hold it up to her. Like this , he means, but there’s nothing they can touch or keep. 

Understanding ticks over in her eyes. "Oh. You mean, like, would Beatrice still be friends with us, if we didn’t go to class every week?" 

And yes: that’s it: or that’s close enough to it. His life feels abruptly precarious, like any carelessness could send them sliding back to the way it was — the two of them, locked away, Sister Frances making them smaller and smaller and smaller. 

He nods. 

"Well, that’s easy. She would definitely still be friends with us. One hundred percent. We’re pretty charming, you and I. Did you know that she’d never seen Lilo and Stitch before we showed it to her? And she’d never eaten gummy bears or had orange soda. And yes, to be fair, she didn’t like either of them, but she liked trying them, and she wouldn’t have done that without us. She’d never built a blanket fort or hung upside down on monkey bars — that’s stuff you showed her, dude. We are a nonstop coolness factory, just like Bea is. That’s why we’re all so awesome together. And you could quit aikido tomorrow and it wouldn’t change anything for her or for me." 

Maybe it’s what Ava says, or maybe it’s the conviction with which she says it. Maybe it’s how Beatrice comes back from the shop with three ice blocks — Diego’s favourite kind — and Ava immediately lights up. 

"I thought sugar in the late afternoon disrupts sleep ," Ava quotes, accepting the ice block that Beatrice hands her. "Allegedly."

It’s not verbatim what Beatrice said to them last time they got sweets after four o’clock and she refused to eat any, but it’s pretty close. 

Diego rips the packet off his and bites the top right off, even though he knows it’ll give him brainfreeze. 

"It does," Beatrice replies. The sun is bright behind her, and she shines at the edges. "I’m making an exception." 

"Hey, Bea? What do you call a bomb that makes everything shrink?"

They’ve just watched Honey I Shrunk the Kids because it was airing, and Ava’s been going Honey, I at every possible opportunity. Honey, I need the salt. Honey, I can reach that shelf, actually. Honey, can you please reach that shelf. Evidently, she’s found herself a new way to amuse herself, though: she’s paused in chopping up a carrot and is waiting, impatient, for Beatrice to respond. 

Beatrice finishes washing another plate — she subscribes to a clean up as you go philosophy when cooking that Ava typically does not — and hands it to Diego to dry. "Like a shrink ray, but a bomb?" 

"Yeah. Glad we clarified that, but it’s a joke, so you have to guess."

"A weapon of mass reduction."

"Oh." Ava grabs a piece of carrot and pops it into her mouth. "Nevermind, that’s better than mine."

"I want to hear yours."

"Nope!" Ava declares. "Can’t make me."

Beatrice flicks some soapy water at her. It’s not the sort of thing he’d have ever pictured Beatrice doing back when he met her. "I could," she says. 

Ava swallows and leans back against the counter. "Yeah?"

"We promised never to use our aikido powers for evil, though," Diego points out. "That includes beating up Ava when she’s being annoying."

"So it does," Beatrice agrees. 

He finishes his first full year of aikido, and as promised, receives a certificate with his name on it in Beatrice’s perfectly neat script. It’s the first certificate he’s ever had, and it thrills him more than he wants it to. 

"It’s just a piece of paper," he tells Ava, shrugging, nonchalant, even as he holds it carefully so that it won’t crease.

"Excuse you, it’s a massive accomplishment," Ava replies. "Sticking with something for a year is a big deal! I’ve never stuck with anything for a year. Well, bartending, I guess, but they pay me to do that."

Beatrice is still finishing off her paperwork by the time he’s all packed up and ready to go. He and Ava wait by the counter until she’s done, and then they head out to her car. They’re going to get gelato, per his specific request; Ava had said anything you like.   

"What did you do to celebrate your first year of aikido?" he asks Beatrice as they pull out into traffic. 

Only a sliver of her face is visible to him in the rearview mirror, so he can’t make out her expression. There’s a silent beat, then she says, "It was too long ago to remember. But I think gelato is the exact appropriate marker for the occasion."

"Literally name a single occasion that gelato isn’t perfect for, I dare you," Ava replies, in a bright tone, but he doesn’t miss the way her hand darts across the gear shift to rest — lightly, briefly, just for a second — on Beatrice’s knee.

"A funeral," Diego suggests. 

"Think again, dude. Gelato is for sure a funeral food. When I die, they can bury me in gelato."

"Ava, that is entirely disgusting."

"Obviously, they should pick a good flavour. Duh."

"That’s not what I was taking issue with."

Another dojo in the city is hosting a tournament. 

Diego doesn't want to compete, and no one's going to make him. He loves his classes, but something wrenches tightly inside him at the thought of having to spar in front of people who aren't Beatrice and Ava and his fellow students. 

Beatrice is competing, though, for the first time in years, and it takes literally no convincing on Diego's part to get Ava to take him along to watch. 

"Of course you can come if you want," she agrees, ruffling his hair. 

"It's on Saturday, though, and I know you're working —"

"Hans already agreed to take my shift for me so I could go," Ava admits, her cheeks a little pink. "He owed me one."

"Oh. Okay, cool."

It's not until Saturday morning that he starts to feel nervous. What if the reason she stopped competing was that she got injured last time? What if someone better than Beatrice shows up to the tournament, and she gets hurt again? Diego's not sure if there actually is better than she is, but it's theoretically possible. 

He doesn't voice his concerns to Ava, though, in case it comes across like he’s doubting Beatrice, or thinks she’s been out of the game too long. Which he isn’t! He doesn’t! It's just — he wants her to win.

"You okay?" Ava asks him, when they're nudging through the small crowd of spectators to get a good view of the mats. 

He nods, scanning the room for Beatrice — there she is, over in the corner, stretching and talking to Lilith. 

Lilith, who still scares him, but maybe marginally less than she used to. Beatrice wouldn't like her if she was as mean as she seems, so she must be nice, somewhere under all her glaring.

Plus, Ava’s encountered Lilith at the bar, and lived to tell the tale, so that counts for something. Maybe they’re even kind of friends, in an unfriendly way; at least, Lilith’s comfortable enough to be rude to her, even though Ava is a paying customer of the aikido studio.

The tournament itself is riveting. Everything is so much faster and harder than he's used to; it's almost impossible to actually make out every hit — they move so quickly, and it can be brutal. 

Lilith is the first fighter he recognises to go on. She gets dropped once with a well-placed kick to the stomach, but retialites harshly and turns the match around. After a terse handshake with her opponent, Lilith stalks off to the side, not far from where they're standing, to watch the others compete. 

He watches the loser from Lilith's round slink off the mat and to a guy waiting on the sidelines. The guy wraps his arms around the girl and kisses her, murmurs something that makes her perk back up. 

He wrinkles his nose, and Ava laughs at him. 

"Oh, come on," she says. "It's not that gross."

"It is," Lilith chimes in, regarding her former opponent with great disdain.  

This puts Diego in the odd position of siding with Lilith: not something that's ever happened to him before. 

"You already threw her into the floor," Ava points out. "You can't let her have this?"

"I could've thrown her to the floor a lot harder."

Diego glances across at the couple again. He doesn't recognise either of them, but it does get him thinking. 

Apart from when Ava was in high school and that exchange student JC trailed her around for a few weeks, he's never really seen her date anyone. 

It's probably for the best that she doesn't. Ava spends all her time working or hanging out with him or Beatrice or both of them together, and he doubts that there's any room in her schedule to fit a boyfriend in. 

But what if that's why? What if she's so busy looking after him, and making sure he's taken care of, that she doesn't get to do the stuff other nineteen-year-olds get to do? Or worse, if she does have time, but boys don't want to date a girl who's got a pseudo-little brother constantly hanging around? 

He elbows Ava lightly in the side to get her attention. "Ava? How come you don't have a boyfriend?" he asks. 

"Huh?" There's a pause, and he can almost see Ava's brain stutter into stillness before lurching back to life. "Well, um, Diego, it's like — I'm not really — I wouldn't — if I thought that — not that I would push — that —"

He hears Lilith scoff and turns towards her. "What's with the word salad? It's not that hard. Kid, Ava's down bad for —"

"Shut up, Lilith," Ava grinds out, cutting her off.  

Lilith's eyes widen mockingly, and he's not sure if she's being actually mean or mean in the way that's supposed to be funny. "What? Were you being subtle?"

"I just — why are you like this?"

Lilith grins. "Fun, mostly. And because while you've somehow convinced Beatrice that you're amazing, or whatever, you've yet to impress me."

That was definitely mean. "Ava's impressive!" he defends, loyal to the last, looking up at Ava to make sure that she’s alright. 

Ava actually looks better than alright. Looks pretty pleased, in fact. "Did she tell you that she thinks I'm amazing?"

This earns an eye roll from Lilith. "Jesus Christ, Ava, she didn't have to."

Ava goes to say something else, but then Beatrice is up to the mat, and all of them go quiet. 

He's not sure if Beatrice has seen them, but he decides not to wave, in case it distracts her. Ava is tense beside him, resting on the balls of her feet. He's not sure he's ever seen her this still. 

Beatrice’s match is over quickly: she moves so fluidly that it’s almost difficult to distinguish one move from the next, and she’s unrelenting. Diego’s so used to her carefully demonstrating sets with them, straightforward and unhurried, that it almost gives him whiplash to see her in real action. 

Her opponent manages to land one hit to her jaw — he expects her to block or dodge, but she doesn’t, just absorbs the impact and follows it all the way through to the opening that’s been left. And maybe that’s the difference: Diego avoids pain wherever he can, but Beatrice steps into the path of it, takes it on as if she’s supposed to carry it, and turns it into something else. 

She comes to find them afterwards. 

"That was incredible," Ava says. "You’re a certified badass." 

Beatrice considers her, and Diego thinks she’s probably debating whether badass counts as a swear. She must decide it doesn’t, or that she’s giving Ava a pass today, because she just smiles. "Thanks."

"How’s your jaw?" Ava’s got her hands on Beatrice’s arms, then her neck. "That must’ve hurt." 

"Right," Lilith drawls. "I get a roundhouse to the guts but a little tap on Beatrice is a four alarm fire."

But Lilith seems to have lost her power to irritate Ava, who only smirks at her. "Do you want me to check on you, Lilith?"

Lilith grumbles something unintelligible, then: "No." 

"That’s what I thought." 

Diego notices that Beatrice apparently doesn’t get a choice in being checked on, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

Afterwards, they get dinner at a restaurant nearby. Ava and Lilith head up to the bar — to scope out the competition, obviously, Bea and I’m not doing this without alcohol — so it’s just the two of them sitting at the table, rearranging the silverware so that Ava has only forks and Lilith has only knives.

In a quiet moment, he asks Beatrice why she gave up going to tournaments years ago, if only to get the buzzing thought of her being horribly injured out of his mind. He knows accidents are very rare, but lots of things are very rare and happen regardless. 

She meditates on it for a moment. That’s something Diego appreciates about Beatrice; whenever he asks a question, she treats it like it’s important, like the things he wants to know matter, even if sometimes she can’t give him an answer in the end. 

"Back then, I was only doing it because I thought I had to win," she explains. She’s frowning, puzzling it out. "I didn't enjoy it anymore. So I stopped competing and started teaching instead. To — to go back to when I last remembered loving it, in a way, I suppose."

"And you like teaching, right?"

"Very much."

"But you did compete today."

"I did. I’m not really sure why. It just — it felt like something I could do again. That I wanted to do again."

He nods, satisfied. "And you had fun this time?"

"Yes. But to tell you the truth, this is the most fun part, right now. I used to go right home after a tournament, or back to the studio."

"And instead you’re here with us."

"Exactly." She smiles at him, and he smiles back. 

A moment later, Ava and Lilith return with their drinks. "Lemonade for Diego, virgin cuba libre for Bea," Ava announces, setting their glasses down in front of them. She’s bought a vibrantly coloured concoction for herself; it looks suspiciously radioactive, but Ava always orders something she hasn’t tried before when she goes out, and she insists the risk is part of it. 

Ava watches expectantly until Beatrice takes a sip of her cuba libre. "Yours is better," Beatrice confirms. 

"Ha! Knew it." Ava preens, dropping down into her seat with a distinct air of triumph. 

"It’s cola with lime in it," Lilith complains. "They’re all the exact fucking same."

"Language. And Ava’s is better," she repeats, shrugging. He's never seen her do that before. It's, like, the most formal shrug he's ever seen, but it still counts; she must've picked it up from him or Ava. He feels warm. 

Lilith rolls her eyes. "Of course, it is." 

He does, in fact, learn a new curse word from what she mutters under her breath, too quietly for either Beatrice or Ava to hear. 

Chapter Text

"We'll do it like in The Incredibles ," Ava says, nodding seriously. 

She's so smart. It’s literally impossible to go wrong with The Incredibles . 

"Good idea," he agrees. 

They usher Beatrice to the kitchen table and turn off all the lights in the apartment except the one directly above where she's sitting. In The Incredibles , the light points directly at the babysitter's face, but they're definitely not going to do that. For one thing, it's probably kind of painful, and for another, Ava doesn't own a single lamp. 

"Should I get a lamp?" Ava muses, evidently following a similar train of thought. "Like, am I not a real adult without one?"

"It depends on whether you’d like a lamp," Beatrice says evenly, looking not at all confused or surprised by their theatrics, or by the fact that Ava's already distracted herself. "I can take you to IKEA, if you want."

"I would fucking love to go to IKEA with you, Bea, you don't even know. Yes, yep, language. Sorry. But in my defence, that’s the only appropriate adjective in this case. Diego, did —" She glances over at him and sees his raised eyebrow. It's an expression he's done a lot of work on recently to really get the finer points right, and it’s been paying off. 

"Right! Totally! We’re on task." Ava drops her voice into a low tone that he guesses is supposed to be an imitation of either a mafia guy or a police detective. "Sorry, but we'll be asking the questions here."

"Ava, 'should I get a lamp?' was your question."

"So it was," Ava concedes. "Anyway, as you can see, this is an interrogation."

"Naturally."

He and Ava start to circle the table, but quickly realise this is a bit disorienting for both of them. Although not disorienting for Beatrice, apparently, who observes the entire performance with gentle amusement.

"We've known you more than a year," Ava starts. 

"Any questions will have to be directed through my lawyer."

"Bea! You obviously don't have a lawyer present, and this is very clearly an illegal investigation, so —"

"Diego," Beatrice says, turning to him. "Would you be my legal counsel?"

He's torn. On the one hand, he's never interrogated someone before, but on the other hand, he's never been legal counsel either. And it's all pretend anyway and completely stupid, but Ava has a way of making stupid things real and important, and Beatrice treats everything Ava thinks is important as being important too. 

"I want to be both!" he declares.

"Firstly, traitor," Ava complains, but she drags a second chair back over to the table so that Diego can sit beside Beatrice. "And secondly, it seems a little fishy to double up. In fact, I'm sure Bea has something to say about proper ethics and procedure?"

"No, I don't."

"Sure, you're pro-corruption when it's in your favour."

"It seems to me that this interrogation is getting away from you somewhat, Ava."

"Oh, shut up." 

Ava circles the table once more, squeezing Beatrice's shoulders as she passes behind her, and Diego wonders how many ethical issues might arise from the suspect and interrogator being best friends. 

"So," Ava goes again. "We've known you for more than a year."

Beatrice turns to Diego. "Is it wise for me to answer that question?"

He pretends to consider it. "Hmm. It’s fine."

Beatrice nods and faces Ava again. "Then yes, that is correct."

"And, as you well know, the average human has one birthday per year."

"I've heard that."

" Meaning ," Ava emphasises, "that you’ve had at least one birthday since we met you."

"But not more than two."

Ava gets that look that means she's doing maths in her head, and then the look that means she's decided she's too cool to do maths and is giving up. " Obviously , not more than three, Beatrice. I mean, two."

"She called you Beatrice," Diego whispers. "We're winning."

"Ava is very mouthy and stubborn. Arguably, she's better suited to being interrogated than being an interrogator," Beatrice shrugs. "She keeps secrets well, but the level of focus required to conduct a —"

"Hey, I can focus! Give me back Diego."

Diego returns to Ava's side, and they stand shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed over their chests, staring down Beatrice. 

She doesn't appear the least bit intimidated. 

"I figured you would eventually mention your birthday at some point," Ava continues. "Or one of your friends would let it slip. But nada . And I didn't want to be pushy, of course, but we've now missed a minimum of one — and a maximum of two. And that's unacceptable."

"I'm not big on birthdays."

"You celebrated my birthday and Diego's birthday," Ava points out. 

"Well, you're birthday people."

"And you're an us person! Transitive properties, Bea."

An interesting expression crosses Beatrice's face then; he doesn't know what it means. He wonders if maybe Ava used transitive properties wrong. 

"So." Ava sets her hands down loudly on the table, leaning forward. "When's your birthday?"

"Counsel?"

He rushes back to his seat. "Yes?"

"Do you advise me to answer that question?"

"Very much." He does his best formal lawyer nod. Probably he should've worn a tie for this. Could Ava teach him how to tie one? Or Beatrice? "I think you have to, for legal reasons. Or we could both go to prison." He overhears the stupid soaps Ava watches late at night sometimes, catching fragments of dialogue when he gets up to go to the bathroom. They're always talking about going to prison. 

"Wow," Beatrice says. "Imprisoned without trial."

"Concealment of birthdays is a major offence. Let the punishment fit the crime."

"Well, my legal counsel has advised me, so —"

Beatrice tells them her birthday. 

Diego is thinking about how he might like to be either an investigator or a lawyer. Ava is thinking about something else. 

"Bea, that is quite literally two days from now."

Shit , Diego thinks, and then glances at Beatrice to check that she hasn't yet developed a sense for when he swears in his head. 

"Indeed."

He and Ava aren't great planners or super decisive present buyers. They need more than two days. 

"Given that you are allegedly not a birthday person," Ava says, "we don't have to do any of the normal birthday stuff, if you don’t enjoy that. But we gotta celebrate somehow. Just, like a Beatrice day, that happens to correlate to you arriving on the planet, because you're amazing. Okay?"

Ava has well and truly lost her investigator stance, and is now settling for the foolproof method of staring at Beatrice and wanting something loudly until Beatrice folds.

"Okay," Beatrice agrees, because of course she does. 

In the end, Beatrice's pick is for them to drive up a hill just out of town and watch the sunset. 

It's definitely not something he would use his it's my birthday card on, not when he could ask for pizza or the beach instead, but it's nice. They eat food they bring with them and sit on the still-warm hood of Beatrice's car. 

"When I was twelve, I found a way onto the roof of my boarding school," Beatrice says, just as the light is starting to turn. "I used to go up there when I wanted to — well, it was peaceful. And the view from my place isn't that great for this sort of thing."

It's the first time he's heard Beatrice volunteer any information about her boarding school years beyond the fact that she fenced and brief mentions of some of the subjects she studied. 

She doesn't elaborate any further, and she doesn't seem to know what to do with herself now that she's said it. 

But Ava knows exactly what to do, and reaches around Diego to nudge Beatrice's shoulder. "So, you were a secret rebel, huh? I always suspected."

"It was technically out of bounds, so I suppose so."

"Wow, Bea. Diego, I don't think such a rule breaker is a very good role model for you. I think we should spend some more time with Lilith."

"Lilith is a rule breaker too," he supplies. He steals another olive from the jar and pops it into his mouth. "One time I saw Lilith move a wet paint sign."

Ava huffs. "And yet failed to mention it to me. That shirt was ruined, by the way."

"It was a bit funny."

"See what I have to put up with, Bea?" Ava says, throwing up her hands. "Betrayed. Sold out. After I feed him candy and let him stay up til midnight."

"You do?" 

Ava backtracks so fast that he laughs. "That was in the very early days. Early-early. We were still calibrating. Now, for example, Diego is in bed by nine, nine-thirty. Ish. I’m responsible."

"It was ten-thirty last week," he corrects, unhelpfully, just to be a brat.

"Well, it was a Saturday, and they were playing The Devil Wears Prada on TV, so I think we get a pass for that."

Diego is restless all through aikido, unable to keep his form, unable to follow all of Beatrice's instructions. 

She notices. Of course. 

While they're doing stretches, she gives him a look. It's one he recognises from when he trips on the playground or drops something and startles himself: you okay?

Sometimes, Ava still freaks out a bit when he falls off things, even though she’s usually the one who showed him how to climb them, but Beatrice is collected. When they're out somewhere, he's aware that she's aware of him, but she doesn't interfere unless he asks or obviously needs it. He kind of likes Ava's fussing (not that he'd ever say so) but he likes this too; this trust that Beatrice has in him that makes him feel capable. 

Diego shrugs a bit but nods, enough for her to know that they can talk about it afterwards. 

He jitters through the rest of the session, centering and listening as best he can. His mind keeps drifting, though, keeps slipping back.

After they're done, and Beatrice has released the other students back to their parents — has patiently listened and smiled at the ones who leap forward to give her an update about something in their lives — she turns to him, her face scrunched slightly in a frown. 

"Is something the matter?" she asks, her hand settling on his shoulder.

"He's worried over his solar system assignment," Ava says, appearing beside them, ruffling his hair. "I told him that it'll be fine." 

Standing between the two of them, he feels less unmoored than he did in science class. But only a little. "It's a big assignment! And I've barely got two weeks to build a whole model! And there's so much stuff to get and —"

"Wait, you've got two whole weeks?The way you were talking about it before, I thought this must've been due, like, Friday. Dude, due tomorrow, do tomorrow," Ava says reflexively. "Wait, I mean — not that. Work ethic and planning is the good stuff."

At Ava's fumbling, he manages a smile. "I'm going internalise all the bad stuff you tell me," he warns. "I'm in my formative years."

Beatrice taught him about that and he's been using it at every opportunity. I need chocolate, I'm in my formative years , he'd tried last week. It had worked on Ava, but in all likelihood they were going to get chocolate anyway. And he’d still had to eat vegetables at dinner afterwards.

"If you know the word internalise , I'd say we're doing fine on the education front," Ava replies. 

"Shannon's just done some models with her students," Beatrice tells him. "She's got leftover supplies at our apartment. I'm sure there would be plenty for you, if you'd like to start early?"

"Yes, please."

" Nerd and nerd ," Ava jokes. "You're both so lucky I'm around."

"Yes," Beatrice says, "we are."

Her sincerity knocks the humour right out of Ava for a moment, but Beatrice doesn't pause, just heads over to grab her things.

The idea of being able to get a jump on the project straight away soothes his nerves somewhat, and he's less frazzled as they wait for Beatrice to finish her paperwork and lock up. 

Diego's never actually been to Beatrice's apartment before; they usually hang out at Ava’s or go out somewhere. He knows that she lives with Shannon, and that she has since she graduated high school, but that’s about it. 

The drive over there is around twenty minutes. Ava helps Beatrice carry her stuff up the stairs — Ava insists, even though Beatrice must've carried it all down herself and she's definitely stronger than Ava. Or rather, Beatrice seems to know that Ava will insist, because she doesn't protest when Ava pointedly grabs one of Beatrice's bags out of the back of the car. 

Diego is completely overcome with curiosity as they make their way up the stairs. He hasn't thought much before about where Beatrice lives; in his head, she kind of exists around Ava and him and then is presumably at university or the dojo the rest of the time. And to be honest, he did kind of assume that all grownup apartments look more or less the same.

In fact, Beatrice's apartment turns out to be a little bigger and neater than Ava's flat. It's nice and well-lit, with quite a few plants dotted around. 

Even if it's his first visit here, it's very obvious that Ava’s a regular. 

"Look," she says, pointing at a shelf in the corner of the room. "The first time we tried to build that, it fully fell over because I forgot, like, the most important screw in the whole fu— freaking thing."

Beatrice lets him poke around, answering his questions about items he finds. It turns out that most of the little souvenirs and objects distributed throughout the main room belong to Shannon. Most of the books belong to Beatrice. 

"You should get a beanbag," he tells her. "Ava has a beanbag and it’s the best thing at her house."

"I will take that under advisement," Beatrice says, which historically is Beatrice’s way of not seeming like a pushover by agreeing instantly. 

Her phone beeps, and she slides it out of her pocket, reading the message. "Shannon says we can use anything in the red crate under her desk for your assignment."

Beatrice disappears into another room for a moment and returns with a box of supplies. They set up on the floor of the living room, selecting styrofoam balls of various sizes and picking out paints. 

"I would've loved to do this when I was your age," Ava tells him, as though she's not visibly enthusiastic about doing it now. "St Michael's didn't have anything good to build with, though, so I think I just flunked that unit."

Beatrice pauses in handing him another ball, her thoughtful gaze fixed on Ava — to his surprise, Ava doesn't squirm, like she often does when she's made a throwaway remark about their childhoods and someone pays too much attention to it. She just lets Beatrice consider her, watches her right back. 

"We can make one for you too, if you like," Beatrice says at last. 

Ava brightens, but still can't resist teasing. "Is it the same if it isn't graded, though?"

Beatrice's expression turns long-suffering. "If that's an essential part of the experience, Ava, I'm sure Shannon could mark it."

"Or you could. If our friendship wouldn't bias you too much."

"I can assure you, Ava, I would never give out a grade that was undeserved."

After a beat of silence, Diego takes the ball from Beatrice, since apparently he's not going to be given it. "I think this will be a good Jupiter," he says. 

Ava blinks. "Yup. For sure, dude."

Shannon arrives about twenty minutes later, trailed by her girlfriend Mary, who Diego hasn’t met before, but has heard about from both Beatrice and Ava. 

"Isn't this cute," Shannon says, hands on her hips, looking down at them. 

Diego and Ava both have no problem with being cute, and smile back at her, but Beatrice raises an eyebrow. 

Mary raises her eyebrow right back at Beatrice. "And yet when Shannon's making models for her students, you're, quote, not good at it ."

"I seem to remember you helping her out plenty," Beatrice replies. "And I'm not good at it. I'm just handing them things."

"Beatrice knows everything about space," Diego says, because it doesn't feel fair to characterise her contribution as handing them things when she's also told him all about the Mars Rovers and the moon landings.

Shannon nods. "Yeah, Beatrice wanted to be an astronaut when she was little."

Ava and Diego round on her.

"No way!" Ava says. "I wanted to be an astronaut too."

Mary grins. "You two in a rocketship. That'd be a headache for NASA."

"Because we'd be spectacular and show everyone else up?" Ava retorts, narrowing her eyes. 

Mary opens her mouth, but Shannon must recognise something in her expression, because she jumps in before Mary can reply.

"You'd both be great astronauts," Shannon says. "Are you two staying for dinner?"

"No."

"Yes."

"No way, dude."

"Yes, way. Super way."

It’s kind of hard to argue when he’s basically trying to hold a pushup position, but at least Ava is struggling just as much. She’s bent over backwards to get her hand on a green circle, the tips of her hair sweeping against the plastic mat. 

"No, and I —"

"Beatrice!" he hollers. She's in the kitchen, making a cup of tea, but surely she can spare a minute to defend his honour. 

"Ha! Mistake. Bea's gonna back me up."

He pauses. Considers the confidence in Ava’s voice. Evaluates the odds that she's right — about this, at least — and pivots. 

"Nevermind!" Diego amends. 

But it's too late. "What's wrong?" Beatrice asks, appearing before them.  

"In Twister, is it cheating to move your hand to another circle of the same colour, after you've already put your hand down?"

"I'm not familiar with the rules," Beatrice says. "I'll check."

At least Beatrice is crazy fast at reading rule books. His arms are starting to shake a little and the blood is rushing to his cheeks.  

Beatrice kneels down and picks up the thin manual. Absently, she reaches out and presses a hand to Ava's back.

"Arch up more. You'll balance your weight more effectively," she says. 

The second she takes her hand away, Ava slips and crashes to the floor.

"Forget the rule book!" Diego yells, flopping down to rest. "I win!"

A few months later, Shannon moves in with her girlfriend Mary. He hears about this at the same time he hears that Ava and Beatrice are going to find a place together, because one of the downsides of being ten is that adult plans happen around you and you only get read in after everything has been decided. 

On the other hand, he doesn’t really care about not being included, because they evidently didn’t need his help to arrive at the best possible outcome. 

"If he's going to be visiting or staying over, then I need your housemate on my approvals list," Mother Superion says. "That means a background check, Ava. We can't just let children leave here with anyone."

"One time, Sister Frances left me at the community centre on purpose, but whatever," Ava replies. "Beatrice is like a walking background check. She's a wicked good influence, I promise."

The two of them bring Beatrice over after aikido that week, and the second Mother Superion sees her, her face lights up. Well, as much as Mother Superion ever lights up, which is to say that it's minimal, but still perhaps more enthusiasm Diego's ever seen from her. 

Beatrice and Mother Superion both start speaking immediately, faster than he can keep track. After a second, he realises it's not only the speed, but the fact that they've switched languages. 

"Is that French?" he whispers to Ava.

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

"Can you understand it?" 

"Uh —"

But then Beatrice is switching back to English, turning to him. "Mother Superion was my headmistress at boarding school," she explains. 

"Beatrice was my best student."

"Obviously," Ava agrees, sounding a touch exasperated and completely fond. "Does this mean we get to skip the paperwork?"

Beatrice looks scandalised. "Of course not, Ava."

Mother Superion and Beatrice push through the forms with unparalleled efficiency while he and Ava stand there quietly, alternating between making faces at one another and pretending to be well-behaved. He suspects that both Mother Superion and Beatrice have noticed the game, but neither of them comments on it. 

As she’s walking them out of her office, Mother Superion says, "I’m glad to see you so well, Beatrice. I know you were uncertain when you decided to end your discernment, but you seem very happy."

"Thank you, Mother." 

"Wait, discernment ?" Ava yelps. "You were nearly a nun ?"

"Ava, I told you that I considered joining the church."

"Yeah, you said that you considered it. I didn’t realise that you were like — that you —" 

Mother Superion levels Ava with a hard stare and Ava swallows down whatever she was about to say. 

"Not that being a nun isn’t a, you know, worthwhile career choice, and all," Ava mumbles.

She’s silent as they walk back to Beatrice’s car. 

"You’re not going to go back and become a nun now, are you?" Diego asks. He wonders if this is the question that’s caught in Ava’s chest, or if it’s another question entirely. 

"No, I’m not," Beatrice promises. "That was — a path that I thought would be helpful to me. I thought it was necessary, at the time. But I am coming to understand my situation somewhat differently."

Most of what she says is a little opaque, but Diego gets the no , which is all that matters, and Ava is smiling a bit again, and that tells him that the rest was probably good too. 

He doesn't get to help with any of the moving, even though he wants to be useful, because he's at school and Ava maintains that it'll be too boring for him. 

He does get to visit the first weekend they're there, when he and Camila both come over for a board game night. 

It's not much bigger than Ava's old place, except there are two bedrooms. It's still within walking distance of St Michael’s and the bar where she works, and it's near enough Beatrice's school, too. 

Ava shows him around proudly, even more pleased than she was when she first left the orphanage and had her own space. He can see Ava’s things and Beatrice’s mixed in together; even the shelf they built badly once is nestled in the corner. 

It's kind of weird that his life is mostly the same, is still homework and the Sisters and going to bed by eight o'clock sharp on weeknights, and Ava's world has changed so much in the past year and a half. She's got a real life now, with a job and a best friend and a lease and everything. 

"You're, like, a proper adult," he says, poking at the shoe rack by the door. "Look at this." 

"Beatrice is an adult," she corrects, as though they aren't basically the same age. "That's her shoe rack." 

"Do you use it?" 

"Well, yeah. Beatrice doesn’t like mess all over the apartment and to be honest, it’s really cut down on the time I spend going, where the hell is my other shoe? " 

"See? You're an adult too." 

"Would an adult have Cocoa Puffs? Riddle me that, Diego." She tugs him over to the kitchen cupboard, yanking it open with a flourish. "Ta-da." 

"Can I have some?"

"Dinner will be ready in, like, ten minutes."

"That's something an adult would say." 

She scoffs, but he knows he’s got her. And he does: Ava cracks open the box and lets him steal a handful, then pours a few into her own mouth. 

"You still have to eat your pasta, though," she tells him.

Ava starts taking a few short classes at the community college. 

They do their homework together, sometimes, on Tuesdays after aikido, the three of them at the kitchen table: Diego trudging through his worksheets, Ava mostly doodling in the margins of her notes, and Beatrice typing briskly away on her laptop. One time, he'd looked at her screen, and recognised pretty much none of the words except for ‘the’. 

Unlike Diego, Ava isn't forced to take certain subjects because the teachers require it. Instead, she gets to pick what she wants to study. Mostly, she seems to choose based on interest in the material, rather than a particular desire for a specific qualification. 

And then also that course she signs up for about women's perspectives in historical fiction, which is maybe more about Beatrice's interest in the material, and Ava's interest in Beatrice. 

When he was younger and stayed over at Ava’s old place, they’d make a blanket fort in the living room, and he’d end up passing out on the couch with Ava asleep in the beanbag, or vice versa.

"Are you sure you’re too old for a blanket fort?" Ava wheedles. "How can you be too old for a blanket fort if I’m not too old for a blanket fort, and I’m older than you?"

Beatrice mutters something to her as she passes them on her way to the kitchen. He doesn’t catch it, but Ava makes an indignant sound. 

"I’ll have you know that I’m very mature," Ava retorts, leaning back and raising her voice to make sure Beatrice can still hear her. "Super mature." 

"I’m too old," Diego insists. "And I’m too tall for sleeping on beanbags. And couches." 

"You're barely half a couch long." 

"I'm taller than half a couch!"

"Ava, can you come here for a moment?" Beatrice calls, and Ava’s on her feet before she’s even finished speaking. 

He can just make out the quiet sounds of their voices, too shapeless for him to catch any of the words, until Ava goes "Really?" a bit too loudly. Then there’s more murmuring, and then Ava is back in front of him, seeming a little confused about how she got there. 

"Okay," she says, "new plan, Mr Too Old For Blanket Forts and Too Tall For Couches. When you're over, I’ll share with Beatrice, and you can sleep in my room." 

It’s a stupid thing to be sad about. But he is sad. It hits him suddenly, too. One moment, he’s enjoying the movie, and the next, his chest hurts. 

He doesn’t even understand why, at first. It’s just a scene of the main character looking at a photograph of himself as a baby. 

"I’m bored of this movie,” Diego announces, launching himself to his feet. "Let’s do something else.” 

He shouldn’t be surprised that they both look confused: the movie was his pick, they’re barely fifteen minutes in, and he’d been laughing a second ago. 

"Is something —”

"I’m hungry, actually. Can we make food?” 

"We can,” Ava agrees slowly. "If that’s what you want. But —”

He really couldn’t say how he goes from swearing that he’s completely fine to crying into Ava’s shoulder; it all slides together in a blur of frustration and sobs. 

It takes several minutes of gentle questioning before Ava and Beatrice are able to lead him to what’s making him upset: "I don’t know what I looked like as a baby.” He hadn’t even realised that he cared, but he does care, abruptly and a lot. "I don’t have any pictures.”

Ava keeps smoothing her hand over his hair, and it helps, and then makes it worse, because a new thought occurs to him. 

"You don’t have any, either,” he breathes out.

"No,” Ava replies. "That’s true. I don’t.” 

He turns, scrubbing at his eyes, and focuses on Beatrice. "What about you?” 

"My family posed for professional photographs once a year,” Beatrice says. "I’m not sure whether there are any others of me as a child.” 

He feels sad for all of them, then, not just himself. Ava and Beatrice are so great, are the best; it seems impossible that there can be no real records of their early lives. 

And he’s pretty great too. At least, Ava and Beatrice think so, and tell him so, and when the two of them agree on something, they’re always right. Except that they both think that salt and vinegar chips are good. But he can forgive them for that.  

"I know it isn’t the same, and it doesn’t really help,” Ava offers softly, after he’s calmed down a bit, "but there are lots of pictures of you now, and from the past couple of years. I’ve got loads of them; Beatrice has got loads of them. There’s no way to go back and take more of you when you were little, but there’s always going to be these ones, and all the next ones.” 

And maybe it does kind of help, actually. Maybe he doesn’t need the pictures so much as he needs to know that someone wants to take them and keep them, and even if he didn’t always have that, he does have that now.  

When they get back from the park — slightly sweaty and no better at frisbee than when they left — Camila and Beatrice are sitting at the kitchen table, Beatrice’s laptop set up in front of them. 

"Hi, Camila!" He waves, dashing past her to the kitchen to grab a drink; he and Ava forgot their water bottles, and he’s dying. Literally dying. He fills a glass and chugs the whole thing. 

"Hey, Cam," Ava grins. "How are the applications going?" 

He remembers Ava saying something about Beatrice helping Camila out, but the details are hazy. There seem to be a lot of forms involved in being an adult. He’s hoping to wriggle out of that somehow, when the time comes. 

"They were going well," Camila replies, "but unfortunately, Beatrice’s laptop decided to take a sabbatical." She points to the screen, which is a rather threatening shade of bright blue. Camila’s own laptop has been closed and set to the side. 

"Ah."

"Yes," Beatrice agrees. "It’s less than ideal, but Camila has very kindly agreed to take a look at it." 

He can mostly tell the difference now between Beatrice’s regular perfect posture and the rigidity that overtakes her when she’s uncomfortable or stressed; this is definitely, definitely the latter. 

"Well, Cam’s a genius with techy stuff," Ava declares. "She can fix anything fixable." 

"I have everything important saved to an external harddrive and the cloud," Beatrice says, so stiffly it’s as though her words have been starched and ironed. "Except for the restricted access loan pdfs, which can’t be associated with more than one device at a —" 

Ava’s hand settles in the back of Beatrice's neck, and she cuts herself off. Ava leans down and says something to her, too quietly for Diego to hear, but whatever it is seems to do the trick, because Beatrice unlocks a little. 

Camila catches his eye. He’s not sure what’s funny, but she looks amused, and it makes him smile back.  

Ava slides the spatula under the pancake and dumps neatly onto his plate. It’s four in the afternoon, so it’s not really breakfast for dinner so much as it is breakfast for a snack before he has to go back to St Michael’s in the evening, but he counts it. A pancake is a pancake, after all. 

"So, it turns out that he speaks German too! Which is cool, cos I got to practise a bit," Ava continues, with today’s subject being a guy she met at community college. 

"What does he look like?" Diego upends the syrup bottle over his pancakes and watches it deluge out, certain that Ava will let him get away with it and that Beatrice’s attention is on the email she’s writing. Still, sometimes she’s kind of psychic about this stuff, so he keeps his syrup serving semi-reasonable. He likes that Ava always pretends not to notice and that Beatrice always raises an eyebrow at him: likes being cared at from two different directions at once. 

"Uh. Tallish? Taller than Bea. Blonde. He’s got kind of an accent, like maybe British. Ish. Ha." 

"Is he from the same place as you?" Diego asks, leaning over the counter to talk directly to Beatrice, who’s seated at the table, typing away on her computer. 

Beatrice shakes her head. "I don’t imagine so. He and I are both from lots of places."

"Maybe you could make a list of the ones you’ve both been to," he suggests. "Or colour it on a map!"

For someone who enjoys both lists and maps, Beatrice doesn’t seem particularly enthused by this prospect, although she does smile at him. "That’s an interesting idea, Diego." 

Later, when Ava is in the bathroom washing syrup out of her hair — after how, Ava? and I’m a mystery and a marvel, I guess — he slips into the chair next to Beatrice. 

"Is Miguel not a good friend?" he asks.

"Pardon?" 

"You don’t like him. If you don’t like him, he can’t be that nice." He knows that Ava prefers to see the best in people, and Beatrice prefers to see them as they are.

Beatrice seems startled. "I’m sorry I gave you that impression, Diego. I am not well acquainted with Miguel. I am sure he will be a perfectly decent friend." 

"So, you’re going to be friends with him too?"

"I have enough friends," she answers. "I’m not like Ava. I can’t just — connect with people, the way she can. Everywhere she goes, people kind of gravitate to her, don’t they? And that’s good. But I prefer to have a smaller social circle, just with people I really care for." 

"Me too," he says, scuffing his feet over the floor. Then, "Can we still mark all the places you’ve been on a map? It’d be cool."

"Of course, if you’d like to." Beatrice closes down the email to her professor and pulls up a new tab. "Or we could do one of all the places you’d like to go one day."

Years ago, he found it impossible to imagine ever leaving the orphanage, ever having some kind of existence beyond it: St Michael’s swallowed the future. But since seeing Ava manage it, seeing her step out into the world and find it full of good things, the idea of one day is a lot more inviting.

"Both?"

It’s pretty cool that of all the dots they put up in the end, all the different cities she’s lived in, that Beatrice is in this particular apartment with him and Ava. 

He gets up too early. The sun hasn’t even really started to rise, but he's awake, fizzing with sudden energy. 

Diego knows the other two will still be asleep, so he's careful to be quiet as he makes his way down the hall. 

To his surprise, though, Beatrice is already in the kitchen, making tea. She seems sort of spaced out — or rather, the Beatrice equivalent, which is staring with absolute focus at nothing. 

She doesn't startle, exactly, when he enters the room, but she does shake out of her daze abruptly, her attention shifting to him.

"Diego? It's barely five. You’re not normally up yet."

That’s true. But it’s true of her too. Beatrice is a morning person, sure, but not a get-up-in-the-dark person. 

And she looks tired. 

He squints at her. " You’re not normally up yet.” 

She smiles at him, a little ruefully; it’s his new habit, to repeat statements back, to echo their words. Mostly, he does it to be silly, but this is different. 

"I'm not always the easiest sleeper," she says finally. 

"Do you mean, like, nightmares?"

She hesitates, stirs her tea, and then inclines her head. 

He knows she's only admitting it because he's talked about his own nightmares to her in the past, and Beatrice is unwaveringly fair like that. But he also knows she won't tell him anything more about her dream; she seems to have a strong sense of what he should and shouldn't have to think about, with the shoulds being school and going to the park and games and aikido and proper safety around hot stoves, and the should nots being the price of the new shoes Ava bought for him and why Beatrice has to leave the room on those rare occasions when her parents call. 

"Ava's good at helping with nightmares," he offers. 

Beatrice nods, but he supposes that if she'd told Ava about it, then she wouldn’t be in the kitchen alone. 

She pours him a cup of tea as well, and they sit at the table and drink it while he relays the plot of the novel he's been reading. He likes to be talked to when he's upset, and hopefully Beatrice does too. 

Diego’s only halfway through his mug when Ava walks in, pushing her hair away from her face and blinking sleepily. "Bea, you — oh, hey, you’re up too.” 

"Yup!” He glances between the two of them. He thinks he’s done pretty well at keeping Beatrice company and distracting her from her nightmare, but actually unpicking the hurt of it is more of an Ava job, just like how sometimes Ava things are more of a Beatrice job. "I’m tired again now, though, so I’m going back to bed.” 

He races off to Ava’s room before either of them have time to say anything, closing the door behind him and crawling under the covers. He desperately wants to go to the park, or the store, or go do something — it’s Saturday — but he forces himself to give them a full half an hour before he gets up again. He flicks through a comic of Ava’s and plays with one of the Lego figurines he keeps here and waits.

When he returns to the kitchen, they’ve made breakfast, and Beatrice does seem lighter. Before they even leave the apartment that morning, Ava manages to find about a hundred reasons to touch Beatrice’s shoulder, her hand, her arm, to look at her closely, but none of that is really new. 

"The icing is supposed to go on the biscuit, Ava."

"The biscuit was going to go into my mouth anyway. I’ve streamlined it. You should try it."

Beatrice doesn’t even glance up from the star-shaped biscuit she’s carefully smoothing blue icing onto with a knife, delicate and precise. "You know what I’m going to say." 

"I do. But one day, Beatrice, I’ll find a way to tempt you." There’s a pause that drags on until Ava reboots herself and turns to him. "Diego! My man. You’d eat straight icing, right?" 

She’s so certain, so doubtless, so totally sure of his support that the only possible course of action is to shake his head seriously. "It goes on the biscuits, Ava." 

"Okay, unacceptable." 

"Ha," Beatrice says. "See?"

"Diego, I think I’m falling behind in my plan to make you a menace. You’re too civilised. You’ve got table manners now and the other day I heard you use surreptitiously in a regular sentence."

"I learned that word from you, Ava," he points out. 

"Oh. Well, that doesn’t excuse it. We’ve gotta get up to more unruly scraps while you’re still young enough to get away with things. If you can’t cause trouble at ten, when can you?" 

"At twenty," Beatrice answers. "I see proof of that daily." 

"And yet," Ava replies happily, swirling her spoon through the bowl of icing, "you continue to choose to live with me." 

Judging by the look on Beatrice’s face, it’s not a particularly difficult choice for her. 

By the end of the afternoon, they have a box full of biscuits where it’s fairly clear which were decorated by who, but they’re all good, he thinks, and they’ll taste the same. Beatrice helps him wrap it, but he does the birthday card himself, and presents it to Joseph the next day at school. 

Between them, they eat way too many considering they have aikido in the afternoon and are going to have to be able to move without throwing up, but that’s part of the fun. 

Every morning, Beatrice does stretches on the tiny balcony that's attached to their apartment. Sometimes on Saturdays, if he's up early enough, he joins in. A lot of them are poses or exercises that he recognises from their warmups at aikido, or more complicated versions of them. He copies what he can and invents the rest. 

At some point, Beatrice gets Ava on board with it, suggesting that it might help with the back aches and stiffness she still sometimes gets. 

The balcony isn't really large enough for the three of them to stretch out, but they make it work, and he likes starting the day that way: all of them in the sun. 

There’s a week and a half where Beatrice drops off the map almost entirely. 

"Finals," Ava tells him. "She’s in their evil thrall. She comes back from the library to sleep for, like, four hours, and then she’s off again. It’s the worst."

Diego isn’t sure whether she means that finals are the worst, or Beatrice being gone is the worst, but it seems like it’s all tangled up together and there’s not much point in trying to extricate it.

Camila comes over to hang out with them on Friday, and they play one of the easier games in the apartment, because only Beatrice bothers with upholding the rules of the more complicated ones. Without her, they would certainly devolve into shameless cheating.

"Still going well with the new neighbour?" Ava asks, probably to distract from the fact that she’s losing horribly. 

"Jason’s nice. Chatty. Which is funny, because his girlfriend seems pretty quiet whenever I see her around. Oh, and he’s a bartender too! So, that’s cool."

"Uh oh, Diego, I’m being replaced."

Camila swats her and then places a Draw 4 card, making Ava groan.

"Replaced and killed? You’re terrible to me." 

"Yes, you’re suffering horribly," Camila agrees. She gestures around the apartment, which is surprisingly tidy, considering that Ava is its main resident at the moment. "What cruel God would make you live with your best friend in a nice apartment and spend Friday night with the two of the coolest people alive?" Camila grins at Diego and he beams back. "Look how terrible your life’s turned out. You’re just grumpy that you haven’t seen Beatrice."

"In, like, ages." 

"Yes, I got your texts." Camila pats Ava on the arm, sympathetic. "You know, Jason’s girlfriend has been snowed under with exam prep too. I’ve seen more of him the last two days than I have in the past month. I don’t think he knows what to do with himself." 

Diego starts laughing. 

Ava turns to him. "What? What’s funny? If you put down a Reverse card, Diego, I swear I will —" 

"You’re like Beatrice’s boyfriend," he says. 

" What? " 

"You’re chatty, she’s quiet. And now that she’s away studying, you’re all bummed out."

"Okay, firstly, it takes more than being chatty to be someone’s boyfriend, Diego. There’s not just one criteria," Ava informs him, although her tone is massively undercut by how flustered she seems. "And I have plenty to do without Beatrice here! It’s just less fun."

"I know there’s more to it than that! I was just kidding ."

And it was a good joke too, judging by the way Camila choked on her lemonade when he said it, and how her face is still in her hands, her shoulders shaking. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." Ava rolls her eyes. "This is karma, for the record," she adds, when Camila starts coughing, but Ava pats her on the back anyway.

Diego gets up and heads back into the kitchen in search of another snack. He rummages around the cupboard, shifting Beatrice’s packet of almonds to get to the good stuff behind it. 

Camila and Ava are still talking — quietly, so maybe he’s not meant to hear them. 

"She made an index for her study notes," Ava mumbles. "Like, a separate document, with all the keywords and page numbers and cross references and shit. Who does that? She’s insane." 

Last week, Ava had also called Lilith insane, but right now, it sounds like a completely different word with a completely different meaning. 

"Maybe a little," Camila agrees. "But you’re her boyfriend, apparently, so what does that say about you?" 

Judging by the small, affronted sound Camila makes, Diego is ninety percent sure that Ava has kicked her under the table. 

"Sure, gang up on me with the ten-year-old." Ava huffs. "And it says that I’ve got amazing taste. And that I’m objectively right. Lists are hot." 

"You never make lists," Camila reminds her cheerfully. 

"Well, I’m hot in other ways."

He settles on Ava’s favourite chips and pours them into a bowl so they can all share. Ava’s probably not actually upset about his joke, but just in case; better to buy her back with food. 

Besides, as funny as it was, he doesn’t think he was wrong. Ava would be a good boyfriend for Beatrice. Girlfriend. Whatever. 

The thought falls out of his mind as soon as he sits back down and realises that he does, in fact, have a Reverse card he can play. 

They’re sitting on the living room floor: just Beatrice and him, slowly traipsing through the horrific and endless geometry unit he’s been assigned by his meanest teacher yet. 

Ava is passed out on the couch nearby; Hans called in sick last night, and she had to stay late at the bar and work a double. Twenty minutes ago, after they got back from the store, she insisted that she wasn’t tired at all, but simply needed five minutes of being horizontal to recharge. 

He wishes that he was asleep instead of staring at stupid triangles. Acute angles are dumb, and unknown values are dumb, and protractors are dumb too.  

"It doesn't make any sense," he groans, dropping his face onto his workbook, feeling the cool scratch of the paper against his cheek. 

"It will make sense," Beatrice promises him, voice soft and sure. "Eventually, it'll come together for you. Don't worry."

He turns his head and cracks an eye open so he can see her. She looks exactly as he's expecting: endlessly patient, even though he can't fathom how he hasn't annoyed her by now. 

"Okay," he mumbles, because Beatrice is usually right about these things. He sighs. "So, the A side is —"

"Hold on," Beatrice interrupts. "Let's give it a minute. Have a break. You’ve only got three questions left."

"This is due tomorrow, and I'm —"

"You’ve been working very hard. It’s okay to take breaks."

" You don't take breaks," he points out. It's been ages (nine days) since he's seen her, and according to Ava, Beatrice was studying pretty much that whole time. "You were busy, for, like, three straight weeks." 

Beatrice is quiet for a moment. "That’s true," she says at last. She speaks slowly, choosing each word, laying it down like a stepping stone in front of herself. "I value my studies. For a long time, I valued my studies above everything, and so I never really learned how to do anything else. But my life is very different now, and I want to be able to balance it all. That’s a skill I have to teach myself, but I think it’s a very important one." 

"I think so too," he says, putting down his pencil to show that he’s listened, understood, that he’s taken it to heart.

They leave the maths alone and switch instead to the puzzle on the coffee table. All the puzzles at St Michael’s are missing dozens of pieces, so he’d never bothered with them, but Beatrice’s puzzles are in perfect condition, and he’s got pretty into doing them with her. This one has sat unfinished for a fortnight; Ava had offered to work on it with him, but it hadn’t felt right, so they’d played video games instead. 

They move from the corner pieces to the middle, making steady progress until the timer on Beatrice’s phone goes off. 

Beatrice is right; his homework feels much more manageable when he goes back to it with a clearer mind. He speeds through the final three problems, hardly needing any help.

Afterwards, they head into the kitchen to make dinner. 

"I’m glad you’re going to have more breaks now," he says, peeling potatoes and setting them down beside the cutting board, where Beatrice dices them into perfect, even cubes. "We missed you." 

There’s another one of those complicated, minute Beatrice expressions, like the flash of a fin under the flat surface of a lake, just the suggestion of something that only Ava ever seems to be able to catch. But then she smiles, and that’s one that’s familiar, now, and infinitely readable. "I missed you too." 

Later, once Ava’s woken up and they’ve eaten dinner, they finish the puzzle together: Diego grouping pieces by colour, Beatrice carefully aligning their edges, and Ava building little stacks out of them and knocking them down, and then somehow always finding the exact specific piece Beatrice is looking for. 

Mother Superion organises a community volunteer day to try to help manage some of the yard maintenance and repairs that are beyond St Michael’s allocated funding. 

He expects Ava and Beatrice to come, but is surprised by the small pack that shows up with them: Camila and Shannon and Mary and Miguel, and most unbelievably, Lilith. 

Mother Superion sets them to work, and Diego flits around gleefully between them, carrying buckets and tools and recounting instructions, thrilled to be surrounded by so many people he knows. 

They’ve been pulling weeds from the garden beds for about an hour and a half when Ava sits back on her heels, grumbling as she yanks off the button-up she had over her tank top. "I swear, Mother Superion picked the sunniest fucking day of the year for this," she complains. "I’m going to grab some water. Do you guys need anything?" 

They shake their heads, but Beatrice’s gaze follows Ava as she walks away, like maybe she meant to ask for something after all. 

"Good thing you didn’t become a nun, huh?" Mary says, and laughs as Beatrice glares at her and goes right back to pulling up weeds with a newfound dedication. 

Later, when Beatrice hefts a sack of gravel up onto her shoulder, Ava drops a flower pot on her foot, and Mary laughs at her too, so maybe Mary just laughs at everybody. 

He’s not the only kid in his class to think that Beatrice is awesome. After their session wraps, there’s almost always a small cluster of them gathered around her, wanting to ask her things, wanting to tell her things — sometimes related to aikido, but often not.

It’s kind of funny to him now that Beatrice is someone his peers see once a week, who teaches them and says goodbye, who is on the very periphery of their lives. He’s got so used to her presence right in the middle of his.

He doesn’t have to queue up to talk to her — he’s got all afternoon — so he heads off to find Ava. 

Despite being a good fifteen years younger than the parents who wait at the back of the room, Ava has done quite well making friends with them, not that Diego is surprised. 

"Dave, you’re crazy,” she’s saying, when Diego sidles up to her, dropping his head against her arm. 

He has no idea whose parent Dave is, but he gives him a tired smile anyway. 

"For real, Ava,” Dave replies. "The power on it is insane.” 

"Huh. And it makes that much of a difference?” Ava hands Diego his water bottle and he squeezes a stream of water directly into his mouth. 

"Massive,” Dave bobs his head enthusiastically. "I’d never go back.” 

Dave’s kid — one of the older students who Diego doesn’t know well — appears and starts dragging him to the parking lot. Dave waves at the two of them and lets himself be led away. 

"Pitch it to Beatrice. You’ll thank me!” he calls back. 

Diego turns to face Ava. "What were you talking about?”

"Vacuum cleaners.”

"Seriously? You’re that excited about a vacuum cleaner?” 

Behind Ava, he can see the last of Beatrice’s straggler students run off to her mother. He bets that they were discussing something cooler than home appliances. 

"Okay, firstly, do you clean the apartment? No.” Ava pokes him squarely in the centre of the forehead. "And secondly, I reserve the right to be excited about whatever I like. Life’s more interesting that way.” 

"What are you excited about?” Beatrice asks. She’s got her clipboard in her hands, pen poised against the paper. 

"Dave got this new vacuum cleaner. He says that it’s, like, fully life-changing.”

God help them both, Beatrice looks interested too. 

He rolls his eyes, but that doesn’t seem sufficient, so he rolls them again for good measure.

They’re letting Ava sleep in, because she stayed up late doing an assignment for community college, claiming that my brain works better at the last minute; urgency is the key to productivity. He has no idea who she was trying to convince, given that Beatrice had said absolutely nothing about Ava’s frantic typing, and he’d been playing Mario Kart on the old console that Ava bought off Miguel. 

"Do you want to go to the park?” Beatrice offers, once they’ve finished breakfast. It’s probably a smart idea, given that the apartment walls are somewhat thin and historically, he’s not much better than Ava at existing quietly. 

"Yep!” 

He runs back into Ava's room to change into his day clothes and pull on his sneakers, then skids back to the kitchen and fidgets in place while Beatrice writes a quick note to Ava. 

There’s still an unmistakable weekend earliness to the outside world: almost no one is around, except a few joggers, a baker opening his shop, and a woman pushing a crying baby in a stroller. 

Beatrice humours his desire to run to the park; it isn't a race, because Diego knows she could leave him in the dust if she actually tried, but he likes to go as fast as he can and have Beatrice keep pace. 

When they arrive, he immediately flings himself onto the monkey bars, and she settles on one of the swings, kicking back and forth idly in the air. He remembers when he and Ava first brought Beatrice to a park, and how she’d just stood there stiffly, uncertain about what to do. It blows his mind how long ago that was, and how different everything is now.   

Once he’s had enough of the monkey bars, they kick the soccer ball between them — after several months of gentle wheedling, Beatrice has reneged on her no ball sports rule. He’s been the one to teach her soccer; Ava could’ve helped, but she seemed to prefer alternating between taking pictures and heckling. 

"I’m hungry,” he says, after about half an hour. 

Beatrice flicks the ball up so he can header it back to her. "Again?”

"Yup. Ava says it’s cos I’m growing.” He’s also seen Ava use that excuse for herself, in an attempt to justify eating a whole pizza, but he thinks in his case, it’s actually true. "She says that I’m going to be a bottomless pit.”

"I’d imagine so.” 

He spins the ball around in his hands as they turn in the direction of the apartment and start the journey back. "If I’m a bottomless pit, I think I should get to eat whatever I want.”

"Is that how it works?” 

"Is that how it works if I ask nicely?” 

"That depends. What would you eat, if you could eat whatever you want?”

"Pizza, donuts, crisps, ice cream,” he lists. And then, to throw her a bone, "And a cucumber or something.” 

"I see.”

"That’s a no, isn’t it?” 

They make it halfway to the apartment without incident, but when it goes wrong, it goes wrong like this:

1) A teenager is riding his bike along the side of the road, cruising down the hill, when a car suddenly pulls out of a side street and spooks him. 

2) He veers wildly, jerking his handlebars, jumping the curb. 

3) It’s happening so fast that he doesn't even register the need to move, but Beatrice does. She grabs the back of his jacket and yanks, twisting her body to pull him out of the way as quickly as possible. 

She twists an inch too far. 

It's not like Beatrice to miscalculate something, even with less than a second to make a decision.  

Later, he'll think that maybe, possibly, for the first time since he's known her, Beatrice had panicked, a little. 

This leads to:

4) The cyclist doesn't slam into Beatrice directly, but he clips her, hard enough that they both go to the ground, even Beatrice, with her unshakeable balance. 

Fear lunges through him, swift and terrible. 

"Beatrice!" he yells, hurrying over, crouching down beside her.

The second it takes for her to open her eyes and ease herself into a sitting position seems to last forever. 

"Are you alright?” she asks immediately, gaze scanning over him. 

"I — yeah." He’s a bit dizzy, but the bike didn’t touch him at all. "Are you alright?” 

"Yes.” She pushes to her feet, slower than he would expect. "It’s okay. No harm done.” 

Beatrice is so good at being calm and level, no matter what, that he isn't sure whether she actually is alright. 

She’s still looking at him closely, brow wrinkled. "Diego,” she starts, setting her hands gently on his shoulders. 

But she’s interrupted by the teenager, who’s gathered his bike back up. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," he says. 

Once, when they were at the grocery store, the cashier had called Beatrice ma’am , and then blushed to his ears. Ava thought it was hilarious , although Diego didn’t get it. 

"It happens,” Beatrice assures him. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, no. Just a bit surprised. I'm really sorry." 

"Don’t worry about it.” 

The teenager hovers for a second, but eventually nods and hops back up onto his bike, pedalling off down the road. 

Diego watches him until he disappears around the corner, but Beatrice doesn’t; she watches Diego. He realises that he’s shaking. 

"How about we take a moment?” Beatrice suggests, carefully guiding him back onto the grass, far from the road. 

He goes with her automatically, lets himself be nudged into sitting. His breaths are coming faster and faster, swelling to fill up the whole of his chest, and somehow delivering no oxygen at all. 

His brain narrows down to a sharp point: to the feeling of Beatrice’s grip on his jacket being torn away, to watching her hit the ground. 

"Diego?”

He can hardly hear her. What if she’d hit her head? The bike had come out of nowhere. Somehow, he’s let himself forget that fundamental truth he’d learned as a very small child — that the bad things do come out of nowhere, they come fast, and they take the good things away. 

Beatrice’s voice, when she speaks next, is firm and direct; it’s a tone that’s familiar from aikido class, the one that’s for being given instructions that he should follow. She tells him to breathe slowly, to let the breaths be deep enough to push against the palm she has on the middle of his back, to focus on the feeling of the grass and the sound of the birds around them. 

It seems to take forever, but he stops feeling like he’s going to disappear. 

He doesn’t stop feeling like she’s going to disappear, though. He hurls himself at her in a hug that’s probably too tight, and she hugs him back until he lets go. 

"Want to head back, now?”

Diego nods. 

Beatrice helps him back to his feet and he keeps his grip on her fingers, even though he’s too old to need little kid stuff like holding hands. 

The second half of the journey to the apartment takes infinitely longer than the first half. He’s afraid of something else leaping out at them, or of suddenly being back there in that second it took for Beatrice to move after she hit the ground. 

Diego’s never really thought about it before, but whenever they’re walking anywhere, Beatrice always positions herself on the side of the footpath that’s closest to the road. He wonders whether Ava’s picked up on it. If she knows why Beatrice does it. 

Beatrice talks to him the whole time; it’s probably the most he’s ever heard her say at once. Ava can monologue with the best of them — even if sometimes halfway through a ramble, she gets a look like she wishes someone would stop her. Diego, on the right topic, can go on and on. But Beatrice is a concise speaker, direct, all of her sentences flowing towards a point. He’s never heard her make random, pointless observations before, but it’s comforting. It takes his mind off the sick twisting in his stomach that’s yet to go away.

Ava’s in the living room lacing up her sneakers when they get back. 

"Hey, I was gonna see if I could catch you guys and —” she starts, but stops immediately. Either he’s still shaking, or Beatrice and Ava are doing that thing where they have a silent conversation over the top of his head. Or both. 

"I think we forgot the soccer ball,” he says, for some reason. It seems abruptly important. "I think I dropped it.” 

The ball must’ve rolled away down the hill. He hadn’t noticed at the time. 

Beatrice recounts events to Ava very succinctly: this, then this, then this. 

Ava doesn’t seem to know who to reach for, and just pulls both of them in, an arm around each of them. She asks Beatrice basically the same questions that he did — is Beatrice okay, is she hurt anywhere, do they need to go to the hospital — and the same questions that Beatrice asked him — how he’s feeling, what he needs, whether he can breathe okay now. The similarity might be kind of funny if it were any other day.

The next few hours pass with careful ordinariness, except none of it feels ordinary. He’s still all jumbled up inside, better one moment and then worse again the next. 

They were supposed to go to the arcade in the afternoon, but he finds he doesn’t really want to anymore, even though he was excited for it yesterday. Beatrice and Ava both hesitate when he declines, like they’re unsure whether they should leave it or try to push a little. 

He’s starting to relax a bit by dinnertime, but then he sees Beatrice wince slightly as she reaches for a plate — so slightly, but he can tell he didn’t imagine it because Ava stiffens instinctively in response — and that kicks the anxiety off again. 

"You are hurt!” he accuses. 

"I’m a little bruised,” Beatrice says evenly. "But that’ll wear off in a couple of days.” 

"How do you know? How do you know it’s not — that you aren’t —”

"D?” Ava drags his attention over to her with a hand on his wrist. "It’s alright. I already checked, okay? I promise.”

He doesn’t know when she checked — probably not long after they got back, when Beatrice had gone to change into a shirt not covered in grass stains, and Ava followed after her for a minute, or maybe when he went to the bathroom — but Ava wouldn’t lie to him.

And normally, Beatrice wouldn’t either. 

"You told me you weren’t,” he mumbles, picking at a loose thread in the table cloth. 

Beatrice is all about telling the truth, which means that the reason she didn’t was because he was freaking out, which means that it’s his fault. This whole time, she’s been in pain, and he didn’t help her; she helped him instead, even though he’s fine , he didn’t even fall over and so —

"I didn’t feel it straight away,” Beatrice replies. She holds his gaze so he knows she means it. "I wasn’t trying to keep something important from you.”

Diego believes her. 

He’s glad, too, that Ava noticed something was wrong, when he didn’t. He’s often grateful that Ava has Beatrice, who makes sure that nothing bad happens to Ava when he’s not there, who remembers the Netflix password that Ava keeps forgetting, who stopped her from microwaving a spoon just to see, just for science reasons. But he’s also grateful that Beatrice has Ava. Because Ava is really good at taking care of people, and for as much as Beatrice exudes an aura of complete competence and total control, he thinks she needs to be taken care of sometimes too. 

Ava’s new favourite cap is one she stole from Beatrice. 

Not that he ever saw Beatrice wear it, but it was definitely hers to begin with. It’s got the name of her university embroidered on the back. 

And he knows it wasn’t a gift, because Beatrice is weird about gifts. Well, not weird. But things given by to him by Beatrice can be divided into two camps: the gifts she wraps (and stresses over, regarding the whole practice as some kind of test), and the stuff she doesn’t seem to count, that instead just appears in his vicinity without comment, like new coloured pencils or a scarf or lychees with the shells off because it takes him forever to peel them himself. 

An unwanted article of promotional merch doesn’t seem to fall into either category. Which means that Ava either borrowed it once and never returned it, or thieved it outright. He suspects the latter. 

After a few weeks of Ava wearing the cap constantly — when they’re outside in the sun, when they’re at the mall, when they’re at the apartment and she’s doing a bit she’s decided would be funnier with a hat on — he calls her out on it, just to tease. 

The two of them are on their way to pick up a pizza, and it’s already twilight, so the cap is definitely not necessary. 

"My class got a whole big lecture this week about not taking other people’s belongings,” he informs her, sing-song, stretching up to flick the brim. "Maybe you need to go back to school.” 

Her response is to take the cap off and jam it onto his head. "There,” she says. "Now you’re complicit. Go ahead and turn me in. They’ll find you an accessory after the fact.”

"Why don’t you just get your own hat?” 

"Because I want Beatrice’s,” she replies, as though I want is all the reasoning she needs. "Duh.” 

They pass a movie poster on their way through the neighbourhood, and Ava gets him to stand in front of it, cap on backwards, mimicking the pose of the actor and doing his best action hero expression. She snaps a picture on her phone.

The next time he’s over at their apartment, he sees a printed version of the picture on the wall. Over the past several months, a whole bunch of photographs have been taped up there, creating a patchwork of the people he knows and days he remembers. He can tell that Ava is always the one to stick them up, because there’s a charming haphazardness to their arrangement, and Beatrice is compulsive about aligning corners. 

While he’s looking at them, one of the older photographs unsticks and falls to the floor — a picture of him and Ava at a festival they went to more than a year ago; they’re both perched on the edge of a fountain, waving at the camera. 

On the back, in Beatrice’s precise handwriting, is the date and location of the festival.

He finds a new piece of tape and carefully sticks the picture back in its spot, next to one of Beatrice and Ava at Ava’s bar. 

"But how much taller am I?” 

Ava holds her thumb and finger about an inch apart. "I wanna guess, like, this much? It’s hard to know, dude, I see you so often. You’re just, like, Diego-sized.” 

"But I can reach the fourth shelf in the cupboard now!” 

"And I will move the alcohol accordingly.”

"I’m not going to take your alcohol , Ava.” He makes a face. One time, when he was very curious, Ava let him smell a few of them, and it was enough for him to wonder how she even has a job selling that stuff to people. Who would buy it? 

"Obviously,” she says. "But I promised Mother Superion that I would follow all her rules, and she’ll feel a disturbance in the force if I break one. The vodka must remain out of theoretical reach.”

"Whatever.”

" Whatever ,” she repeats, to be annoying. 

"But I’m more than an inch taller.” 

Ava considers him doubtfully. 

"I am!” he insists. 

The front door opens, and Diego rushes over to meet Beatrice.

Beatrice, entirely used to being accosted before she’s even inside the apartment, doesn’t so much as blink when he pops up in front of her. But she still turns pink when Ava kisses her cheek, even though Ava does that all the time too. 

"Ava’s wrong. I’m more than an inch taller, right?”

"Since when?” Beatrice asks. "Since I met you, definitely. Since last week, definitely not.” 

"How’s this, D,” Ava says. "Let’s keep track, yeah? We can, like, mark you off on the doorframe, and then check you against it whenever you want to know.”

"Ava, we’re renting.” 

"Oh yeah.”

"We’ve got a tape measure, if that would work?”

"Perfect,” Ava grins. 

Beatrice fishes the tape measure out of a drawer in the kitchen, and then they line him up against the wall and slide a book down on the top of his head to ensure the measurement is accurate. 

Next to the mark, Beatrice writes, 10yrs9mo. "There you go.” 

"We should measure you two as well!”

"Nope,” Ava tells him, rolling the tape measure back up. 

"But then you’d know exactly how much taller than you Beatrice actually is.” 

"Yup. And it’s more fun to argue about than to know.” 

He looks to Beatrice for support — she likes being certain about things, likes having specific figures — but she’s smiling at Ava in that way that means he’s going to have to resign himself to the mystery. 

Ava shakes him awake. "Up,” she says, voice much louder and sharper than he’s used to — it’s not an uh oh we’re late voice; it’s something else entirely. 

Her hand is on his shoulder, levering him upright. 

He blinks at her blearily; his head is ringing. "What’s —”

"Fire alarm,” she says. "You’re alright, but we gotta go. They’re evacuating the building.” 

Oh, right. It’s not his head ringing, it’s the whole room. He lets Ava shepherd him quickly out of his room and to the front door; Beatrice has got it open already. He crams his feet into his half-laced sneakers and lets her slip him into his coat, ushering him out into the hall as Ava locks up. 

The stairways are full of people, but Ava’s behind him with a tight grip on his shoulders and he’s got the wall on one side and Beatrice on the other, so nobody actually bumps or jostles him. He realises later that this was a deliberate effort to ensure he didn't get swept away in the chaos, but he doesn't remember them actually saying anything about it to each other. 

His brain is just starting to gear up when they pour out into the street. "Wait,” he says. "Is it actually on fire?” 

The thought places an uncomfortable pressure on his chest. He loves that apartment. It’s his favourite place in the world, apart from the beach. It’s better than the beach, even. It’s full of all the best things, and all the best memories, and —

"Probably not,” Ava assures him. "Usually, this kind of thing happens because someone left something in the toaster or the oven too long. But even if it is a real fire, it’ll still be okay, D. We’re out, so it’s fine.” 

The fire engines that squeal up to the building are enough to distract him for a moment. He can barely make them out through the crowd — being short sucks sometimes. 

Beatrice notices him straining on his tiptoes to get a proper look and lets him climb up for a piggyback so that he gets some extra height. He watches as the firemen in their gear rush inside, relaying what he can make out to Ava, who can also barely see. 

"Not a word,” Ava tells Beatrice, who probably wasn’t going to make a height joke in the first place, because she never does unless Ava starts it. 

There must be some kind of damage in the building, because they’re left waiting in the street for ages. Without any further excitement, and with Ava’s hand rubbing steadily over his back, he starts to get sleepy again. His chin drops onto Beatrice’s shoulder and his eyes close. 

He shouldn’t feel safe, not outside in the middle of the night with lights flashing and radios crackling, but he does. 

Chapter Text

Shannon. 

It’s not often that she leaves Beatrice alone somewhere and comes back to find her talking to a cute girl. The cute girl is accompanied by a child and has a basket full of capsicums, both of which raise questions, but still — good for Beatrice. 

Shannon doesn’t want to interrupt if Beatrice is being flirted with, but judging by the lack of total panic on Beatrice’s face, that’s not what’s happening here. Or if it is, Beatrice isn’t yet aware of it. 

Shannon makes her way over to the little group. "Hey," she says. "Who’s this?" 

Beatrice introduces them all, but in doing so, provides literally no information about how Shannon fits into her life. The cute girl, Ava, keeps looking between them, trying to puzzle it out, but Shannon can’t think of a casual way to work in the fact that they’re housemates and just housemates.

Diego is impossibly sweet; he gets such a deliberate, focused look as he talks to Shannon, nodding as he takes in what she says. Kids this age are mimics, reflecting back the behaviours they have directed at them, and so Shannon would be prepared to bet that he’s got an adult in his life who listens to him carefully, who makes an effort to show him that he’s being paid attention to. 

She tells him about how she met Beatrice, and can’t resist teasing a little, winding Beatrice up, if only because she seems unexpectedly comfortable around these people, and it’s nice to see her like this. 

Shannon watches that long-suffering expression creep across Beatrice’s face, most prevalent in her teenage years but never quite retired. She watches, too, the way Ava is caught by it, how she shines with amusement.

"I was an average-sized child for my age," Beatrice says, oblivious.

Shannon tries to remember whether that’s actually true. Maybe Beatrice wasn’t particularly small, and it’s the way she seemed that’s distorting Shannon’s memory, shrinking her in hindsight: all that remains in Shannon's mind now is the way Beatrice had been so quiet, so still, responding immediately to clear instructions but faltering at encouragement. Shannon’s worked with a lot of children over the years, and she’s never known another seven-year-old to get stress headaches. 

Her phone buzzes, pulling her out of the past. 

Lilith (5:07pm)
You have 5 minutes FYI. 

Ever short and to the point. 

"We’d better go. It was nice to meet you guys," Shannon says, and means it. She hopes to see them again. 

They speed through the self-checkout — Beatrice has a system for packing grocery bags that Shannon doesn’t interfere with — and head out to the parking lot. 

"So," Shannon starts, careful. "They seem nice."

They’re not far from the car; there isn’t time for any kind of real conversation. From here, Shannon can see Lilith in the driver’s seat, sunglasses on, fingers curling and uncurling around the wheel, looking every bit willing to make good on her promise to abandon them in the parking lot. 

Looking being the operative word. Shannon's known Lilith almost as long as she's known Beatrice. Lilith loves to make threats — it’s her preferred means of communication — but she only follows through if she's dealing with someone she doesn't like. 

"Yes, they are. Both of them." 

"That’s good." 

Beatrice nods. Shannon’s fairly sure that she’s not going to get any more out of her, that any further pushing will result in a retreat. But then, right before Beatrice opens the passenger side door, right before Shannon turns away from her —

"I’m glad I have him in my class," Beatrice says. 

Hans.

He watches, bemused, as Ava ruthlessly scrubs at the same spot on the bartop for nearly a full minute. He’s not sure what it’s done to offend her; as best as he can tell, it’s no stickier than anywhere else. 

"Ava," he says, after his own arm starts to ache in sympathy, "I think it's clean."

She straightens, drops the cloth. "Yeah. Yes." This is accompanied by a salute that would be unbearably lame if Hans attempted it himself, but is somehow cool when Ava does it. "Right you are, boss."

Hans realises quickly that stopping her was a mistake. Whatever excess energy she was burning through now has nowhere to go, and Ava starts shifting around aimlessly: tapping her fingers, bouncing on the balls of her feet, rearranging bottles, poking at the lime slices, and retying her apron. 

It's dizzying, just having her in his peripheral vision. 

Over the past few months, he's become quite accustomed to Ava's personal brand of enthusiasm. She approaches everything headfirst — all in, all the time — and leaps without glancing down. 

There are moments, too, when he catches a flash of something else in her, a sort of unnamed shiver. But he’s been a bartender long enough to know that when people want to talk, they’ll sit down in front of you, and there’s not much you can do to draw it out of them before they’re ready. 

"We have cola, right?" she asks. 

"Ava, you made that guy a rum and coke two minutes ago."

"Oh. Yeah. Yes, I did. But we have more? Like spares?"

Her gaze goes from him to the door to the floor to the sink to the door again. 

"The cola is on tap," Hans reminds her. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm peachy."

" Peachy ? I've never heard you say that before."

"Well, I have an extensive vocabulary, actually, Hans. I'm full of new and interesting words."

"Okay." 

"But since you asked, I invited a friend to come by tonight," Ava continues. She's got her hands on the empty cocktail shaker now, and is tossing it from hand to hand. "So. It's not the matter with me. But that's what is, you know. On my mind. As it were."

"As it were?"

"Yup."

"Is this Camila?"

He remembers her from a few weeks ago. Small. Cheery. Also a little bit scary, in some way he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

"A different friend," Ava says. "In fact, it's presumptuous to call her a friend. She's a person I know. We talk sometimes, and she gave me a lift once."

"Sounds like a friend to me."

Ava shrugs. 

"Well, you've made friends with about three hundred different bar patrons," Hans points out, hoping to smooth over the twinge of vulnerability that’s suddenly so recognisable in her. "And you've got a home field advantage. I'd say you're in a good position."

"Making friends with customers is different," Ava replies. She finally fumbles the cocktail shaker — he's surprised she managed this long without dropping it — and ducks to scoop it back up, sheepishly setting it in the sink. "I can do the bartender thing. The charming thing. That’s easy. But you can't just charm Beatrice."

Hans has yet to meet someone Ava can't charm, actually, but it doesn't seem like telling her so will be much help at this stage.

What he needs is a distraction. Something to stop her from spiralling. And to stop her from deciding that the extremely expensive top-shelf liquor needs to be juggled. 

"I could teach you how to make a ramos gin fizz," he says. Nobody ever orders one, but it’s complicated enough to keep Ava busy for a while. Plus, it's a slow night, and they've got time to mess around. "It's nice. Fancy. You can impress your friend with it."

"She doesn't drink."

"But you invited her to a bar ."

"Yeah."

"Right." That's not something he wants Ava to overthink at this minute. "Well, it'll still be good to learn."

He makes her gather the ingredients and lay them out on the counter, and then starts to walk her through the process. He’s not a bad teacher, if he does say so himself.

They're on step three when he loses her completely. 

The door opens, and just like she has the last seven times, Ava looks up, only this time, Hans knows that this must be the long-awaited Beatrice. Something about Ava just — shifts , ever so slightly. 

Hans turns, too, to see this girl. It’s probably deeply unsubtle, but it’s not like Ava’s going to notice — she’s too busy being deeply unsubtle in her own right. 

He's not sure what he was expecting. Maybe someone in a leather jacket with a neck tattoo. Or in a pantsuit with a briefcase. After all, who could possibly intimidate Ava? 

But this girl is neither of those things. Not that she's not intimidating — she has the kind of posture that Hans couldn't manage if he was strapped to a chair and she carries herself like an athlete — but she's also chosen to wear an oversized sweater to a bar, and her hands are folded behind her back. 

Ava waves at her and leans about as far over the counter as it's possible for her to do without her feet actually leaving the ground. 

"Beatrice, hey!" she chirps. 

Beatrice offers her a small smile; it’s a far more reserved greeting than the one Ava gave her. Hans worries, for a second, that Ava was right, that they’re not friends, and she’s setting herself up for disappointment. Except when he glances at Ava, she’s completely brightened up, less than unbothered by Beatrice’s aloof response — genuinely pleased, even. Perhaps she sees something he doesn’t. 

"Wanna have a seat?" Ava offers. "It's not really an authentic bar experience unless you've sat here and told me your troubles."

"My troubles?"

"Yeah. You know, your woes, and whatnot. Or just what you did with your day would be acceptable too."

"Alright." 

Ava beams at her, and Beatrice looks like she's maybe struggling to metabolise the strength of Ava's smile.

"Oh, this is Hans. He taught me everything I know about bartending, except the stuff I learned from YouTube. And from getting drunk. Hans, this is Beatrice." 

He and Beatrice nod at one another and exchange hellos before he steps back to pour a pint when he sees a regular walk through the door. 

For all that Ava has been vibrating over the prospect of this interaction, she settles into her conversation with Beatrice effortlessly. She's a natural with people when she's not even trying, and right now, it’s clear that she's trying very hard. 

Hans serves the handful of customers who come up for refills, trying to give Ava and her friend a bit of space. Last night, she managed to get a troop of college boys to rack up an insane tab without any of them breaking anything, starting a fight, or throwing up, so he figures he owes her one. More than one. 

He keeps half an eye on the two of them, just in case, although he does his best not to listen in. He does still overhear the occasional snippet, though, which proves educational. For example, while he already knows that vodka was invented in the ninth century, he learns that Ava thinks this is an extremely interesting fact that requires three follow up questions and unwavering focus. Which is interesting, because when he'd tried to teach her about the history of spirits and liqueurs, he’d just been met with, wow, Hans, you're a real gin-ius . It wasn't even her best pun, but it had derailed the lesson completely. 

And he’s officially revising his initial assessment of Beatrice; she’s definitely not as collected as he first thought. In fact, she strikes him as the kind of person who might pace in an agitated fashion. This striking happens when Ava reaches over and touches her wrist, and while Beatrice has no visible reaction, she nevertheless seems in dire need of the opportunity to walk around the building a few times before coming back and trying again. 

Later, as Beatrice is getting ready to head out, Ava says something. That same vulnerable energy flickering briefly through her again, but Beatrice nods, and the two of them switch phones. Meaning that, despite the many — many, many, many — attempts that have been made over the past few months, Beatrice is the first person to leave this bar with Ava’s number. 

Maybe someday, if she comes back, he’ll tell her that. 

Beatrice places Ava’s phone down on the counter and accepts her own back from Ava before raising her hand in a farewell and disappearing out the door. 

Ava scoops up her phone immediately, then looks at the screen and laughs. 

"What?" he asks, unable to help himself. 

"She, like, actually filled it in. The extra info stuff. The stuff nobody does. She's got here — occupation: aikido instructor slash university student ."

"Huh."

"What a dork," Ava grins. 

Hans thinks Ava's being something of a hypocrite — spending this long staring gleefully at a page of contact information seems pretty dorky to him — but he decides to give her this one. On the house. 

Camila.

Camila suggests Pictionary because it's fun, it's good for a group of four, but also a little bit to have the opportunity to say to Ava and Beatrice, wow, you two are really on the same wavelength. And then wait and see what happens. 

Except for two people who really, really are on the same wavelength, Ava and Beatrice are an absolutely shocking Pictionary team. They're going to lose by what might be the largest margin Camila has ever seen. To Camila and Yasmine, no less, who are both average players on a good day. 

It's clear that Beatrice's brain simply doesn't work in the way the game requires. She's efficient, but she doesn't like to rush, even when there’s a time limit, and she tends to try to accurately depict things rather than just evoke them. She also doesn't appear to be comfortable making guesses about things before she's sure, meaning they don't really score many more points when Ava's the one with the pencil. 

Both of them are good sports about it, of course. Ava, because she's a good sport about everything, and Camila's pretty sure she's just happy to be here. And Beatrice, because as far as Camila can tell, she's never actually competing against other people, only her expectations for herself. This means that Beatrice spends the time between rounds going back over the rule book, as though she might somehow be able to unlock how to excel at this through a pamphlet. 

"Bea, the instructions are the same in Hungarian," Ava points out, snagging the manual from Beatrice and slipping it back into the box. She bumps their shoulders together. "Besides, don’t throw off our streak now. We’ve got to be the most impressive losers of all time. I bet we’ve set some kind of record." 

The corner of Beatrice’s mouth turns up. "I’ll contact the appropriate authorities." 

"Please do. I’d like to be the official world best at something." 

Camila is currently the world best at not mentioning how close they’re sitting, or the fact that Ava drank from Beatrice’s glass before and Beatrice definitely noticed but didn’t seem to mind.

Tom.

Tom has always liked the school’s open house afternoons. They’re a nice opportunity for the kids to show off their desks and classrooms and feel important. What Tom doesn’t like is the school’s tendency to brand the event as a day for students to bring their families. He’s more than aware that not every student in his class has parents or siblings; accordingly, in Tom’s class, they’ve been referring to it as a ‘bring your people’ day. 

He’s made a point of emphasising that his students can invite along friends or guardians or anyone important in their lives, keeping his comments as general and as broad as possible so that Diego won’t feel singled out. 

To be honest, Tom’s not sure that Diego’s actually going to come. Technically, the event isn’t mandatory — it’s outside of school hours — but attendance is encouraged. Still, he certainly wouldn’t blame Diego for wanting to skip it. 

The classroom is mostly full when Diego shows up, alongside a girl who can’t be more than twenty at most. Tom is willing to bet that this is the Ava who’s featured in several of Diego’s journaling assignments. Tom’s not clear on exactly how she factors into Diego’s life — whether they’re somehow related by blood or circumstance — but Diego’s writing about his time with her is a hundred times brighter and more cheerful than anything else he turns in. 

Diego’s a good kid. Thoughtful, patient, generous with his peers. But it’s hard to get more than a few sentences out of him on a good day. It’s kind of a surprise, then, to see him chattering away animatedly to Ava as they enter the room. A good surprise. 

Tom watches as Diego gives her a little tour, shining with a pleased, relaxed energy that only tapers into his usual shyness when they reach the artwork that Tom’s put up on the walls, neatly labelled with the kids’ names. 

He’s close enough to hear her compliment different aspects of the picture and ask him questions about the choices he made. 

Slowly, Diego warms up until he's narrating the whole painting process back to Ava, beaming as she nods thoughtfully. 

"— and then I thought it should be taller, so that's why he's standing on top of the house."

"To make him more intimidating?"

"Yeah. But also so that I could put the sun right between his horns."

"Smart. Plus, it looks like the monster's got a halo. I'm sure Bea could crack out some of her thematic analysis stuff about that. She'd really dig this."

"We get to take these with us. Maybe — maybe I could show her on the weekend," Diego suggests tentatively. 

Tom had a hard enough time getting Diego to even agree to it being put on the walls with his classmates' work. He's glad that Diego has Ava — has this other person too, this Bea — who he's willing to share things with. 

"She'd love that! You’re a way better drawer than either of us, dude. Maybe we need a masterclass," Ava says. "We keep losing to Camila and Yasmine at Pictionary."

"What? You lost?"

"Oh, massively."

"We should play on Saturday. At aikido, Beatrice says the key to success is discipline and practice. That should work for Pictionary too." 

Ava pats his shoulder gently. "I think maybe board games are just for having fun." 

"Practice is fun!"

"Bea taught you that too, huh?" 

"Yup," he smiles. 

Tom gets waved over by Jason's dad, and heads off to deal with that — the man is obnoxious, but Tom pastes on a veneer of professional friendliness — and misses the end of the conversation. 

Ava comes up to him later, while Diego's off talking to Joseph. 

"Hi," she says. "I'm Ava. Diego's friend."

From what Tom's pieced together, friend seems like a somewhat inaccurate term, but he's not sure if there's a better one. 

He shakes her hand, introduces himself. 

"Diego's a great student," he tells her. "He works very hard."

Ava grins proudly. "Yeah. He's awesome." She's quiet for a second, then says, "I was just wondering if there's, you know, like, anything I'm supposed to be doing, outside of school. To help him. I check his homework and stuff — not the maths, ha — but yeah. It's not like I had — well, I'm kind of flying blind, example-wise, but I'd really like to give him his best shot."

"Well, whatever you're doing is working," Tom assures her. "He's a friendly, happy kid. We're trying to work a bit on his confidence, but that'll come. Honestly, the most important thing for children at this age isn't the homework or any of that. It's feeling supported and safe and loved."

Ava swallows, nods, a sudden distance slipping across her face, as though someone's just called her name from far away. But then she turns upbeat again: on purpose, he thinks. "Glad it's not the maths," she replies. 

Tom's about to say something else — anything to try to comfort this teenager who suddenly, abruptly, seems very young to him, very small for whatever she's taken on alone — but Diego reappears at her side, tugging on her hand, and the moment passes. 

Matt.

When the lady walks in, he takes her for the type to grab her stuff and be out of the pharmacy in less than five minutes. She’s got that professional, efficient vibe. Like, he doesn’t know any chill people who wear ironed slacks. 

But then she ends up lingering in the cold medicine section for ages , until he finally takes pity on her, abandoning his post behind the counter and walking over. 

"Do you need any help?" he asks. 

"What would you recommend if someone has the flu, and you wanted them to get better?" the lady says. 

"Um. As opposed to if you wanted them to get worse?" he jokes. It doesn’t land. He thinks of another chick who comes in here sometimes, the one who makes a lot of dumb puns — she would’ve laughed. Last week, she’d swung by for some kind of ache-relieving heat gel, and they’d managed a couple of good one-liners about back pain. 

But this lady does not seem to be in a laughing mood. "I did some reading online, but reviews are varied." 

"Uh. Yeah. This stuff here is usually good. And this, if they’re coughing a lot. Plus aspirin can help with a fever." He hands her a few different products, and she inspects them closely before putting them into her basket. 

Normally, when people take this long to decide about random basic shit, it’s because they’re too embarrassed to go grab the condoms or rash creams that they actually need. But he’s pretty sure this lady is just, like, affording a level of consideration to flu medicine that he would reserve for defusing a bomb. 

"I’ll be at the register when you’re ready," he says. She’s probably going to need some more time. 

Aleida. 

Aleida's job mostly involves making sure people don't touch expensive, ancient objects, so she's always aware when a child wanders into her wing of the museum. 

Usually, small boys are among the most likely to try to poke the suits of armour they have on display here, but this one has his hands folded very deliberately behind his back. Perhaps copying one of the young women with him, who has her hands behind her back in just the same way. The other woman alternates between gesturing wildly and jamming her hands in her pockets, but seems more intent on entertaining her friends than actually looking at the artwork. 

Aleida's hall is basically empty, so she lets herself keep an eye on the trio as they make their way from exhibit to exhibit. 

"Hey, Bea, which author would be good with a lance?" the smaller woman says, when they’ve all come to a stop in front of a diorama about tournaments. 

"Which?"

"Proust."

The other woman frowns. "That's not how you pronounce Proust."

"I'm sure he'd give me a pass to make my jousting joke. He'd probably think it was funny."

"Proust was actually not known for his sense of humour, Ava." 

The one who must be Ava tips her head, considering, then covers the boy's ears. He squirms for a second, but seems to resign himself to this quickly, as though it isn't the first time it's happened. "Was he the one where they closed the brothels in Paris for his funeral? Or am I thinking of someone else?" 

"That was Victor Hugo."

"Oh. Nevermind."

She releases the boy, who about-faces, staring up at her, betrayed at his exclusion. 

"What was it?" he pries instantly. "I can know."

"We were talking about Victor Hugo's funeral."

The boy regards them both with suspicion. "No, you weren't. That's boring and you would've let me listen if it was just boring stuff." 

"Maybe I was telling Bea my credit card number."

"You don't know your credit card off by heart," he reminds her. "We have to get your wallet every time we order pizza online."

The two of them continue to squabble happily while the other one stands there, watching them both, a small smile on her face. 

In the end, the little boy touches none of the exhibits, and the two women only touch one another — gentle, fleeting hands on shoulders and waists — and they file out of the hall again without incident. 

Roger.

Beatrice’s room is identical to the other three guest bedrooms; there’s nothing remaining to suggest a child ever lived in it. Roger airs it out, changes the sheets, and ensures that it’s ready for her arrival.   

His employers are still away — a dinner across the other side of town — when her taxi pulls into the courtyard. Roger goes out to greet her, shaking her hand with as much warmth as he can. It’s good to see Beatrice again, even if he wishes that she would stop coming back. 

It’s nothing against her personally, of course. Roger likes Beatrice very much. But it’s impossible not to notice the crumpling effect her parents have on her, even if over the years, she’s become much better at not showing it.  

Given that his employers are unlikely to return for several hours, Roger and Beatrice have a meal together — just in the kitchen, no formality or laid places. She asks about his grandchildren and he asks about her studies and her friends, all the things he knows she won’t get to discuss openly later. 

"I’ve been spending a lot of time with some new friends, actually," she says. 

They’ve finished their sandwiches and are onto some Oreos that Beatrice brought with her, which is a novel concept in and of itself. They don’t really seem like something she would actually buy, but it’s evidently not the first time she’s eaten them — there’s a practised ritual to it, a multi-step disassembling of the biscuit that makes him think maybe someone showed her how to do it. 

Also, the series of smiley faces scrawled over the packet in marker don’t exactly scream Beatrice. 

"Oh?"

"Yes. Ava and Diego. Diego’s one of my students in my aikido class and Ava is — she looks after him, sometimes. They’re both very lovely."

Beatrice is typically quite reserved, but he learns a great deal about Diego with very little required in the way of leading questions or prompting. Apparently, Diego is going through a mediaeval history phase — not dissimilar to Beatrice herself at that age — and likes planes and Legos and aikido and the Ninja Turtles and is getting much better at swimming, so much so that, soon, they’ll be able to take him to the beach. 

She tells him far less about her other new friend. Roger isn’t sure if this is because of some lingering fear that so much as mentioning a girl’s name will be enough to bring her parents into the room, or because Beatrice simply doesn’t know how to talk about Ava. He suspects it’s some combination of both. He also suspects that Beatrice doesn’t realise that she’s given away so much without meaning to: in her easy use of the word we ; in the stories that involve deviations from Beatrice’s long-standing and meticulously upheld routines; in the lightness he’s never seen from her. 

All of it fills him with a deep desire to gather her bags back up and call her another cab. To get her to just leave , to go home, to hold onto whatever she’s managed to build for herself, safely far away. 

But it’s not his place, and Beatrice has never been one to run from anything, even if it hurts her. 

Beatrice’s phone buzzes three times in quick succession. 

"You should get that," he says, because Beatrice is too polite. 

She smiles as she reads the messages and as she replies, and it’s a nice moment, until they both hear the car in the driveway. Beatrice doesn’t change anything about the way she sits or breathes, but he can feel it nonetheless; the process of closing off and smoothing down that is necessary in this kind of house. 

Camila. 

"I shouldn’t text her again, right?" Ava says. 

They’re lying on the couch, watching Why Women Kill . In theory. In practice, Ava is more focused on her phone, even if Camila can tell she’s trying valiantly to stay present. 

"Would this be a very relaxed, very chill seventh text?" Camila asks.

"Eighth." 

"Hm."

Ava adjusts her position on the couch again . Camila’s starting to wonder if she should try to drag her out for a run or something to burn off some of her energy, seeing as even Lucy Liu causing drama in the 1980s isn’t cutting it as a distraction.

But then, only Beatrice has ever had any luck convincing Ava to go running, although Camila can’t tell whether that should be attributed to Ava’s general weakness for Beatrice or the specific weakness she appears to have for Beatrice in workout gear. 

"I just," Ava starts, then stops, then sighs. "I don’t know how to help . I don’t know how to deal with parents." 

"You don’t have to be able to fix it for her," Camila says, reaching across to squeeze her hand. She’s learned that touch is a necessary component of comforting Ava. "It’s okay to ask her what she needs and let her tell you." 

"I tried, but I’m worried she, like, won’t tell me. That she’ll just power through and act like it’s fine even when it’s not." 

And that’s not a baseless concern. Beatrice does seem to shut herself away when she’s dealing with something, as though in an effort to contain the blast radius of whatever impact she’s suffered. But Camila’s also spent a fair bit of time around her and Ava over the past few months, and she’s seen Beatrice’s efforts to accept everything Ava gives her, to give it all back, even when she seems utterly unfamiliar with at least half the ways Ava shows affection. 

"Just keep trying to support her," Camila says, even though she’s not sure there’s anything that’s capable of stopping Ava from trying, at this point. "And she’ll keep trying back. And eventually, you’ll meet in the middle." 

So, Ava sends her eighth text, and they unpause their episode, and push on for half an hour, until Ava’s phone starts to ring. 

Camila doesn’t need anything but Ava’s reaction to be certain that it’s Beatrice calling; Ava’s about the least subtle person on the planet. 

"I’m going to go next door and water my plants," Camila says, standing up. "Don’t hit play without me." 

Ava shoots her a grateful smile. "You’re the best." 

Camila just barely catches Ava’s hey, Bea, before she closes the door behind her. 

Roger. 

He's worked in houses full of raised voices. He grew up in a house full of raised voices. 

This house is not one of those houses. 

His employers are polite and softly-spoken — charming, even, if caught in the right light. But Roger has always thought that the things best hidden by people are often revealed, in some way, by their children, and Beatrice is no exception: the coldness her parents never demonstrate in public is legible in her careful behaviour around them. 

An age ago, when Beatrice was only small, and impressive in every way it is possible for a child to be impressive, he recalls them being gentler with her. But there was a brittle quality to that gentleness that meant he wasn’t surprised when it fell away — all gone, in less than a day. 

He stands in the corner of the dining room now as they eat, and speak that specific language they share, sentences balanced like equations. 

"And you always spoke so highly of your school, Beatrice." 

"Yes."

"Yes, it’s a very quality education. Well, Dr Bryant is having some problems with her daughter, and I said I would put in a good word for her with the administration."

Beatrice shifts in place. "What sort of problems?" 

"Don’t be obtuse, Beatrice. She’s — well. She’ll grow out of it, but there’s no reason for the child to suffer without firm guidance. And they’ve got a new headmistress, these days. As I understand it, she’s more traditional than the previous woman, which can only improve the environment."

"Mother Superion was an excellent headmistress." 

"And yet failed to instil much of what we hoped she’d instil in you." 

Beatrice looks at her mother for a long moment. There’s a familiar expression on her face, one Roger has seen a thousand times; Beatrice is trying to find something, reaching out for something. 

He knows that she isn’t going to find it. 

And Beatrice knows it too. 

She stands, sets her napkin down. "Excuse me," she says, but offers no excuse — just leaves the room without another word.

Later, she seeks him out while he’s tidying the study.

"I’m leaving tonight," she says. 

He can tell that some other conversation must’ve happened with her parents in the meantime; she seems more unsettled than she did at dinner, but she evidently hasn’t lost her resolve. 

"Good." 

"Yes. I think so."

She thanks him — more thanks than he thinks he might deserve; there are things he regrets, things he didn’t stop — and they shake hands. 

He waits with her in the driveway until the taxi arrives; it’s dark, and they can only see the headlights. 

Beatrice looks slightly hollowed, worn thin, but it’s not like watching her head back to boarding school — she’s got people, where she’s going. Shannon and Mary and Lilith and those new friends of hers, the ones she glows about. 

"Goodbye, Roger," she says, before sliding into the back of the cab. 

He waves until the car turns the corner. She’s never left early before; he’s proud of her for doing it.

Hopefully, soon, she does go to the beach. He thinks Beatrice could use some sun. 

Mary.

Most of the time, Shannon and Beatrice have the comfortable, equal relationship of old friends. But every now and then, things shift, and it becomes glaringly apparent that Shannon knew Beatrice as a child, and that some echo of that dynamic will probably linger forever, hidden under the surface. 

It’s been three days since Beatrice came back from her trip to England, and Mary is getting an increasingly accurate picture of what the two of them must’ve been like a decade ago. 

"I’m not hovering," Shannon says, like she can hear Mary’s thoughts. Or maybe she can just feel Mary watching her. 

"Damn right you’re not," Mary replies, even though that’s patently untrue. They’re supposed to be going out today, but Shannon keeps putting off leaving. Mary doesn’t mind. If Shannon needs to stay here and ask Beatrice whether she wants a cup of tea every hour for the rest of the afternoon, then that’s what they’ll do. 

Shannon sighs. "I’m just —"

"Hovering."

Mary’s giving the both of them until tomorrow; then, she’s going to escort Beatrice to her gym and get her to beat the living shit out of a sandbag. 

"A bit." 

It’s a split of worry and guilt, Mary thinks. Even if Beatrice has told Shannon a hundred times that there was nothing she could’ve done to keep Beatrice from being sent away as a child — a seventeen-year-old isn’t much more powerful than a thirteen-year-old, in the scheme of things — Shannon might not ever fully let go of the belief that she was supposed to protect Beatrice somehow. 

And so Shannon makes her tea, and Beatrice lets Shannon make her tea, and it’s how they help each other quietly. 

"You —" Mary starts, but the doorbell rings, interrupting them. 

Mary can’t say she’s entirely surprised when she opens the door to find Ava standing there. 

"Hi," Ava says. 

"Hi."

She looks tentative, and Mary is struck by a vivid memory of Ava’s early visits. She recalls being expected, unbelievably, to buy Ava’s I was just in the area on more than one occasion — and being expected not to comment when Beatrice did buy it. By now, Ava’s long since got over any attempts to be chill, which Mary is grateful for. 

"I thought I’d see if Bea is up for doing something with Diego and me." 

"Come on in," Shannon says, letting her through, regarding her with that assessing expression that Mary associates with Shannon writing lesson plans. 

They watch as Ava disappears down the hall, and Mary feels Shannon relax a little next to her. 

"So. Still want to go out?" Shannon asks, winding her arm through Mary’s. 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah. She’ll be okay." 

And Mary knows she will — because Beatrice goes with Ava when Ava comes by with the lamest excuses and when she comes by with no excuse or plan or reason at all, because nothing brightens Beatrice up like Ava and that kid — but it’s another thing altogether for Shannon to decide she’s happy to step away. 

Mary wonders if Ava’s realised that Shannon trusts her. And if she appreciates what that means. 

Hans.

They’re in that lull between the post-lunch crowd and the pre-dinner crowd, and instead of using their time to do inventory or wipe down surfaces, they’re drinking beer and coming up with bar names. 

"Oh, oh, okay, a bar for STEM people," Ava goes. "Call that lager-ithmic. "

"You’re un-beer-able ."

"You stole that one from Beatrice." 

"Borrowed." He can’t remember the specific circumstances under which Ava had been called that the last time Beatrice was here, but he’s one hundred percent certain that it was justified. What he does remember is how pleased Beatrice had seemed with herself and how delighted Ava had been. 

"I have a meme about plagiarism that feels appropriate for this. Cam sent it to me," Ava says, fishing her phone out of her pocket and flicking it on. 

She’s got a new lock screen: a selfie, with Diego holding the phone, and Ava and Beatrice crouched beside him. 

"Cute," he says. 

Ava beams at him. "We’re a very photogenic bunch," she jokes.

Ava likes to update her wallpapers regularly; this picture is the latest in a long line of similar shots. Hans remembers the first time Beatrice had popped up in one of them, and how she’d still looked slightly awkward about being in a photograph. That awkwardness seems to have melted away over the past few months; in this picture, she’s light and happy, with Diego’s elbow propped against her shoulder, and Ava turning just slightly in her direction, not quite looking at the camera. 

Lilith. 

She's so used to seeing Ava help Beatrice pack up after a class that it takes her nearly a full minute to realise that it's Thursday. Diego isn't in the Thursday class, which means Ava has zero fucking excuse to be in Lilith's dojo. 

Lilith glares at Ava from where she's doing her paperwork at the front desk. Ava doesn't even notice. In fact, she’s pretty sure that neither of them have even realised she’s still here.  

Typical. 

"— and I heard from one of the guys at the bar that they're doing this lantern thing down by the pier tonight, so I thought we could do that after, if you're down? No pressure, obviously. I know you've got an early lecture tomorrow."

Someone should tell Ava that memorising another person's class schedule by osmosis is desperately tragic. Maybe Lilith will take the time to be that person. As a public service. 

"Of course, if you want to," Beatrice says. Which is also a bit tragic, but Beatrice was socialised in a conservative fishbowl, so she gets a pass for her lack of game.

Not for her lack of taste, though. 

"Speaking of things I want," Ava continues, and Lilith rolls her eyes into infinity. But also starts filling in her paperwork a little faster, just in case, God forbid, Ava has actually worked up the courage to discuss her ridiculous crush. "You said we couldn't do aikido at my place because I don't have safety mats."

"That was months ago." 

"Yep. And how convenient of me to remember while we’re surrounded by safety mats."

"You'd like me to teach you how to do a throw? Now ?"

"Or you could throw me," Ava shrugs. "I don't mind. I just want to try it."

Lilith isn't about to comprise on the quality of her record-keeping. She's meticulous. She is. 

But the idea of Beatrice and Ava sparring as a way to get close without it having to mean anything is somehow worse than them talking about their fucking feelings, and Lilith does not want to be around for it. 

She lets herself write a tiny bit faster. 

"Alright," Beatrice agrees. 

Lilith remembers when Beatrice wouldn't get within a square mile of a girl she might even theoretically, eventually, possibly like. Is this progress, then? Or has Beatrice just completed the requisite mental gymnastics necessary to convince herself that she isn't attracted to Ava?

She can hear Beatrice explaining the throw to Ava. Her window for escape is closing. Lilith speeds through the next form. 

"So, I put my hands here?"

"Yes. And I put mine here, like this, see?"

"Oh. I mean, yep. Seems — um. Solid."

Lilith wants to smack her face into the desk. 

Okay, she wants to smack Ava's face against the desk. She won't; she owes too many favours to Beatrice. 

Lilith hears the familiar sound of a body hitting the mat. She looks up instinctively, and regrets it. 

Beatrice has got Ava pinned to the floor. 

There's a beat of silence. 

It drags on and fucking on. 

"I really see why people are into this," Ava says at last, disgustingly breathless. "I mean, like, why they like it. Sports."

"I told you that Lilith teaches adult classes."

Lilith should leave quietly. She should. She's just signed her last form, and slipping out the door unnoticed is now officially an option. 

But she can't resist the opportunity that’s been so neatly laid before her. 

"I don’t think Ava would enjoy that nearly as much," Lilith says loudly, and they both startle. 

Beatrice leaps to her feet, not quite as graceful as usual. 

Ava just drops both her hands onto her face and holds them there, blocking out the world, exhibiting absolutely no interest in getting up. "Hi, Lilith," she calls out, her voice still slightly strangled. 

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Beatrice demands, the muscles in her jaw cinching tight. "She wanted a demonstration. I demonstrated."

Sometimes, Lilith wonders if there's truly no upper limit to what Beatrice can successfully repress. Or if one of these days, Ava is going to manage to hit the right button in the right way, and all of Beatrice's carefully constructed internal architecture is going to collapse irreparably. 

Probably the latter. 

Lilith just hopes that when that day comes, she's too far away to see or hear anything. 

"Just don't demonstrate in front of me," she says. 

She makes something of a show of filing her paperwork and gathering her things.

Ava and Beatrice just watch her. Ava doesn't even have the decency to stay embarrassed. If anything, she looks kind of annoyed with Lilith, and maybe not just because she interrupted her full body contact with Beatrice. 

And. Well. Ava's an idiot, and no one's arguing that, but maybe Lilith should've been a bit less direct. While Beatrice seems to be settling into herself more as of late, she’s still liable to spook easily. And as much as she's inclined to cause trouble for Ava — and she's very inclined — she doesn't want to set Beatrice back. Not after everything. Not when it would take so little to undo so much. 

"Enjoy your night," she grumbles, nodding at them before heading out the door. 

And please remember that the dojo’s windows face the street , Lilith would add, if she weren't convinced that they're going to be standing a minimum of six feet away from each other for the next hour or so. 

Odette. 

She watches Jake race all over the playground equipment, moving like something’s chasing him. Probably, in his head, something is chasing him — a dragon, or Darth Vader, or whatever he’s into this week. 

Odette is a decent aunt. Or, at least, she likes to think she is. But Jake’s interests change so quickly that it’s difficult to keep track when she only sees him every month or so.

At the very least, she’s tuned in enough to see Jake barrel straight into the side of an older boy who’s just got off the monkey bars. The older boy goes stumbling, and Jake bounces off him, landing on the plastic mulch. 

Jake takes two deep breaths and his face tightens — a look she knows means that he’s deciding whether or not he’s going to cry. 

Odette leaps to her feet and starts to make her way over. In her periphery, she can see two other young women are also paying close attention to the interaction, although they haven’t moved to interfere.

And interference proves unnecessary, anyway. Before Odette reaches them, the older boy has helped Jake to his feet and said something that makes Jake perk right up; an effect that only slightly bigger, slightly cooler children can have on five-year-olds. 

The older boy gives Jake a smile and a high five, then jogs over to the two women sitting under the tree. Odette’s not sure if one is his sister or his aunt or his nanny, but they’re evidently a bit more relaxed than Odette is about this whole babysitting thing. Also, they’ve remembered to bring snacks, with Odette fucking forgot. She watches one of the women hand the boy a sandwich as he drops down beside them. 

Jake clocks the food and immediately pivots to her. "Odie! I’m hungry!" he calls, skidding over to her, clutching her knees. 

"Me too!" she says. "Let’s go find a cafe." 

Which actually works out great, because they’ve been out here for kind of a while, and maybe she was supposed to put sunscreen on Jake. It’s mostly overcast, but she can make out a bottle of sunscreen by the sandwich people, and now she’s not sure. 

But Jake can’t get burned in a cafe, and Odette can load him up with sugar and then return him to her brother — vibrating, undoubtedly, but uninjured. Ta da. 

"Bye!" Jake yells out to the older boy as they’re leaving, even though they barely spoke. 

Somehow, over the shrieking noises of the other kids on the playground, the older boy hears, and twists around to face them, waving back. 

Marco.

Marco’s playing on his phone behind the counter. Who the fuck cares? It's a slow day. If his supervisor has a problem with it, Marco will just remind him of the time he —

The door opens, and he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Quickly. Customer service is the priority, after all. Especially when the customers are two hot girls. 

And a kid? Little brother, he guesses.

"Hi," one of the hot girls says to Marco, flashing him a smile. "We're just going to have a look around, if that's alright."

"Let me know if you need anything," Marco replies. Like my number, he thinks, just in case the universe is listening, and it's his lucky day. 

The other hot girl gives him a cordial nod of acknowledgement, but no smile. Is it bad that he's kind of more into that than the friendliness? 

He watches as the three of them peruse the frames on display around the shop. 

"Ava, for real," the boy says quietly, after less than a minute. "We don't have to."

Marco waits to see which hot girl replies. It's the one who spoke to him. 

"Um, we do. We definitely, definitely do." She has her hands on her hips. It's the kind of pose that suggests absolutely no budging or negotiating. 

The other hot girl nods. "It's important to commemorate accomplishments," she tells him. "Especially ones you worked hard for."

"It's not even like I can put it on my wall."

"We'll put it on my wall," Ava replies. "And every time someone comes over and sees it, I can brag about how —"

The little boy presses his hands to his face. "No! That's embarrassing."

"We can hang it in the cupboard or under the sink, if you'd prefer," Ava offers, patting his shoulder. "But this is the first certificate you've ever had! It's important."

"You don't have anything of yours hanging up," the boy points out. "That's a doubling standard."

"Double standard. And it's not. I don't have anything to hang." 

"What about your high school diploma?" the other girl asks. 

"Oh. Um. I guess they must've printed one. But it never really made it to me, you know? Sister Frances played pretty fast and loose with a lot of my paperwork."

"And didn't you have to get a licence to work at the bar?"

"Well, yeah, Bea, but that's hardly a certificate. It’s just, like, a permission slip, basically." She turns to the boy. "Okay, D, how’s this? I promise that when I have something as cool as an aikido certificate, I’ll frame it. No double standards."

The boy deflates for a second, then perks right back up. He grabs the sleeve of the scarier hot girl and tugs her over to the corner of the room.  

"No! Stay over there!" he hollers at Ava. 

She holds up both her hands in surrender, looking amused and fond, her gaze on the two of them as the little boy slips a piece of paper out of his school bag and hands the girl a pen, animatedly explaining something to her. 

When the boy glances up and sees Ava still watching, he makes a shooing motion with his hands. 

Ava sighs and heads over to the counter. "Hey. Marco?" 

For a brief second, he's confused, but then he remembers that he's wearing a name tag, and doesn't just live in a universe where beautiful women magically know his name. "Hi. What can I do for you today?"

"We're wanting to get a certificate framed."

"If you pick out the frame you like, and give me the certificate, I can put it together for you, if you want. It takes about five minutes."

"Perfect. We'll pick one. I just need to give those two a minute. For secret reasons, apparently."

Marco has never been as pleased to have anyone leave him out of anything as she seems to be about this. 

"So, Marco," she continues, with such cheerful easiness that he almost forgets they’ve never met before. "You enjoy working here?"

"It's alright." It's fun enough when he gets to eavesdrop on people, but he can't very well tell that to the girl he was just eavesdropping on. 

"That's good," she says. "I don't think I could've gone into the framing business. I'm a bit clumsy. Which is why I'm getting a professional to do the framing in this case."

"I'm not a professional," he blurts. He's paid minimum wage and he only got this job because his cousin is friends with the shift manager. "Wait, I mean —"

But Ava just laughs. 

"We're done!" the little boy calls out. "And we have to go; we have to come back another day."

"And leave Marco hanging?"

"Yep!" The boy races over to Ava and presses a piece of paper into her hands. "Beatrice says she can do an actual version on the computer. So we can do that, and then get them both framed!"

He can't see what's on the paper, but either Ava is the world's slowest reader, or she's just staring at it.

"No," she tells him finally. "I don't want a computer version. I want this version."

"Ava," the other girl says, the one who must be Beatrice, "it's no trouble, I can —"

"Nope! This is perfect. You can pry it out of my cold dead hands."

"I'm not going to try to take anything out of your hands."

"Well, in that case —" Ava reaches out and tangles her fingers with Beatrice's. "I've got you with the fine print. Good luck escaping now."

Beatrice doesn’t seem like she’s super interested in trying to escape anyway, and he feels whatever chance he was imagining having with either of them rapidly shrinking into nothing.   

"Now you have an aikido certificate too," the boy announces, smiling. "Which means it has to go on your wall."

"So you got me with the fine print. Very clever." 

It takes them all another few minutes to pick their frames, and then Marco is handed the certificates. 

He goes into the back and sets up, popping the backs off the frames.

The first certificate, with the kid's name on it, is for exemplary attendance and effort, and completing one year of aikido training. He'd framed one just like it a few days ago for another boy. 

The second certificate, he can safely say, is unlike any other he's been asked to frame. For one thing, it's written in biro on the back of a piece of old homework. 

FOR EXCELLENCE IN GETTING DIEGO TO AIKIDO ON TIME EVERY WEEK AND EXEMPLARY ASSISTANCE IN ROLLING MATS it reads, in very neat, precise script. 

There’s a large seal featuring some sort of lion-dragon combo in the corner that’s obviously the kid’s addition, and it’s been signed by both Diego and Beatrice. 

In Marco’s opinion, it’s kind of crappy, and she should hold out for that computer version. But Ava obviously likes something about this one, despite the fact that it looks aggressively homemade — or perhaps because of that — and so he positions it behind the glass and fits the frame. 

Javier.

They share an eight a.m. lecture, and some free time afterwards, so they usually head to the library to revise together. Javier isn’t sure if they’re friends, exactly — Beatrice is not an easy one to read — but he likes to think they know each other reasonably well, even if they rarely talk about their personal lives. 

For example, he knows that Beatrice is a neat and tidy person, that all of her belongings are pristine and her papers are organised. That she uses a twelve-point font and double spacing on all her essays, and that she always zips the zip on her backpack the whole way. 

So, he’s kind of surprised when she pulls out her laptop and there’s a sticker on it. 

They’re sitting in the same study room as normal, and that’s the same laptop she usually has, except now there’s a graphic of Donatello, posed mid-kick, pasted to the back of it. 

"Are you a Ninja Turtles fan?" Javier blurts, before he can stop himself, because the idea is so patently ridiculous that he has to have more information. 

Beatrice blinks, fingers pausing mid-keystroke. "Excuse me?"

"The sticker. On your laptop."

"Oh. I’ve not really watched it. But a child I know turned ten recently and got some stickers for his birthday. The placement of these stickers has been somewhat agonised over for the past few weeks."  

"But you got one," he says.

"Yes."

"That’s quite the honour." 

"I think so." 

And she must think so, to have not peeled it off or covered it up. To allow her laptop, which she uses every day, to be selected for a sticker in the first place, when surely the kid could’ve been directed to any number of alternatives. 

"Well, it’s cool. I’m more of a Michelangelo guy myself."

"Is that the orange one?" 

"Yes."

"I still fail to see what an artist from the Renaissance has to do with crime-fighting turtles, but I suppose the program subscribes to its own logic," Beatrice says, and that sounds a lot more like her. "I think the Michelangelo one ended up on the refrigerator." 

"I should get a Michelangelo sticker for my refrigerator," Javier muses. "Or do you think that would put off girls? Would they think I was immature? Like, would you date someone with Michelangelo on their fridge? Not me, obviously, but I mean hypothetically. You’re a girl."

Beatrice has passed from baffled and into some other sort of response he can’t identify. Whoops. Maybe he should’ve taken the whole starting to discuss their personal lives thing a little slower. 

"I am," Beatrice says. Then, hurriedly, "I mean that I’m a girl, not that I’m dating someone who —" She stops, reorients. "I think you’d perhaps be better off getting a different opinion. I’m not sure that I can offer relevant insight."

He bobs his head, relieved at least that she doesn’t seem to think he’s massively overstepped. But perhaps they’re not yet the kind of study buddies who can discuss dating, which means his curiosity about the girl he’s seen walk Beatrice to a few lectures — the very pretty girl who he’s dead sure doesn’t actually go to their university, even if she was wearing one of their university’s hoodies on Thursday morning — might have to wait a bit longer. 

Martine. 

Martine is absolutely never going clothes shopping with a ten-year-old. Ever. 

She's only here to find some new pants for a party tonight. It’s a serious task, given the pants have to be cute enough for Nisha to notice, but not so cute that it seems like Martine is trying to get Nisha to notice. Which, of course, she is. But still.

The store is small, and only has three other customers, who were also lured in by the thirty percent off sign out front, and are currently locked in ongoing negotiations around the purchase of a single shirt. These negotiations have been long and detailed enough for Martine to learn all of their names: Diego, Ava, and Beatrice, with Diego being the one to put Martine off ever doing chores with a child in tow. 

Not that he doesn't seem sweet. He does. Martine has no experience with kids, but she’s confident that they're not usually so polite and earnest. 

But every shirt he tries on is too scratchy or too tight or too close to his neck or doesn't even make it back to the changing room, because it's a weird colour or has too many buttons.

Ava and Beatrice both appear to be unbothered by this. 

"What's bad about this one?" Beatrice asks him, after he comes back from the changing stall, shaking his head. 

"The collar."

She's asked him this each time he discards one, as though maybe she can compile a taxonomy of qualities that will lead them to, finally, an acceptable shirt. 

Ava, on the other hand, seems to sense that this is going to be a numbers game; she helps him pick out a few new ones at random. "You're doing awesome," she tells him. "New clothes can suck."

"What if we never find one?"

"Then we'll have to dress you in a cloak instead and send you to live with the wizards," Ava says. "Or we could come back another day or go to a different store, but only if we're considering drastic measures." She ruffles his hair. "Go try these ones. When you get tired, we'll bully Beatrice into going for pizza."

"Or you could ask me nicely."

"But I won't."

Diego disappears back to the changing rooms; the other two keep browsing, waiting for his verdicts. 

Martine flips through another few pairs of pants. All of them are imperfect or somehow disappointing, insufficient to — well, to have whatever effect she’s hoping to have on Nisha. 

"Maybe I should get a new boob shirt for work," Ava says, conversationally. 

In her peripheral vision, Martine catches Beatrice freeze. "A what ?"

She’s only two racks of clothes away from them, so it’s not like Martine can not listen. Plus, this seems like it’s going to be funny. 

"Like, for the bar. For tips. Come on, like when you come visit me at work, you know — the —" Ava makes a gesture that Martine takes to mean low-cut.  

Beatrice flushes and pins her gaze intently on the sweater that’s hanging in front of her, as though she’s very seriously considering buying it, and the ugly green and yellow polka dots require all of her attention. "No, I don't know," she replies finally, pink-cheeked. 

You fucking liar, Martine thinks. 

Also, that is the effect she wants to have on Nisha. She needs to find pants as good as this alleged boob shirt. 

"Bea, how about —"

"This one the tag hurts my neck," Diego announces, dashing back over to them and holding the offending item aloft. 

Martine can practically feel the relief wash over Beatrice as she's provided with a foolproof topic change. 

And that’s too bad, because Martine would've loved to hear what Ava was going to say next. 

"Do you think cutting the tag off would be enough to help?" Beatrice asks him. 

He considers this. "Yes. I think so."

"And other than the tag, it's a good shirt?" Ava checks.

"Yeah. I like the colour. It's like that — from the —" He frowns, losing the end of his sentence. 

But Ava nods in understanding. "Oh, yeah. I know what you mean. Like the — Bea, you —"

"Yes, I remember."

Martine has no idea what the fuck they're all talking about, which is a good reminder that she's not supposed to be listening. 

Without any kind of obvious decision being made — and yet with such fluidity that it can't be a coincidence — Beatrice leads Diego off to a display of weird novelty belt buckles while Ava heads up to the cash register. 

Once she's paid, she bounds back over to the other two, throwing an arm around each of them. 

"It wasn't expensive, was it?" Diego asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I couldn’t do the thirty percent in my head." 

"Nope! Not expensive," Ava promises him. She reaches out for one of the belt buckles. Martine can't see which one. "We should get this for Mother Superion."

"She wouldn't find that funny," Beatrice replies. 

"But I would find it funny, Bea."

Amanda. 

Amanda isn't surprised that she loses. It's Lilith, for Christ's sake. Amanda’s just lucky that she performed solidly and didn’t totally humiliate herself. 

Damien is waiting by the edge of the mat for her. 

"You did great, babe," he says, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her soundly. "You look so good out there."

She basks in his compliments for a moment before she's distracted by the sight of Lilith talking to a small child. Amanda wonders what her duty of care is, re: saving him. Should she go over there?

But there's another adult with the boy — a girl, probably about Amanda's age, who's also willingly standing within thirty feet of Lilith. Go figure. Maybe Lilith’s made some new friends. 

Lilith says something that Amanda can't make out, but it makes the other girl glare at her, and that's familiar, at least. She remembers training with Lilith years ago, and how Beatrice was the only one who really seemed to get her, who wasn't put off by her aloofness. 

Speaking of: Beatrice steps onto the mat. She looks good, controlled, her weight well-balanced. Amanda already knows she's going to win. Because it's Beatrice. 

"Is that the one you used to have a crush on?" Damien whispers in her ear. 

"Uh huh."

They've barely seen each other since they were eighteen and trained at the same dojo for a few short months. She'd never actually tried to shoot her shot with Beatrice — Amanda had been almost sure that Beatrice was gay, but equally sure that Beatrice wasn't ready to deal with that. Accordingly, Amanda had left well enough alone, even if she did still let herself stare sometimes when Beatrice was doing pushups. 

"I can see it," Damien says. "She's got a stoic sort of vibe. Unapproachable."

"She was actually really nice," Amanda tells him. "Just kind of — shut off. I don't think I ever really got to know her."

It's another part of her life, endlessly far away, whole years and girls and boys ago; now, with Damien pressed against her, it feels like another Amanda entirely who used to pretend to forget things so she could borrow them from Beatrice. Beatrice, who was beyond oblivious, and just thought Amanda was a bit scattered. 

Beatrice dominates in her round, obviously, although she does take a hit that makes Amanda wince in sympathy. 

When she walks off the mat, she heads in Lilith's direction. Or Amanda thinks it's Lilith's direction, but then Beatrice is intercepted by the other girl and the small boy, both of them clamouring for her attention, and Amanda realises that she was heading towards them after all. The girl's arms wind around Beatrice, skimming over her neck and shoulders with gentle, intimate familiarity. And Beatrice allows herself to receive the affection, doesn't flinch away from the touch or put space between them. 

It's not like they were ever proper friends, but Amands still lets herself be proud of Beatrice, in that moment. The quiet interaction is warm and sweet and closer to PDA than the Beatrice Amanda knew would have ever dreamed of getting. 

Plus, that girl is super hot. So, like. Go Beatrice. 

When the girlfriend finally releases her, the kid hugs Beatrice as well, and they stay in a little triangle formation together for a long moment before turning to watch the next round. 

"You’re right," Damien says. "Not so unapproachable." 

The kid stands in front of Beatrice's girlfriend, leaning back against her, but he keeps turning to Beatrice to comment on things. Amanda watches as Beatrice leans down slightly to talk to him, making a series of animated gestures that Amanda recognises as Beatrice explaining takedown manoeuvres. The boy nods. The girlfriend says something that makes them all laugh, including Beatrice; Amanda’s never seen her laugh before, and it’s nice. 

She’s not quite sure what's going on there, not sure how the kid factors into things, but they seem happy. And so she’s happy for them. 

Also Lilith looks deeply fed-up with the entire display, and that certainly doesn't hurt. 

Chapter Text

Sam.

It’s Sam’s third day working at the grocery store, and to be honest, he’s completely terrible at it. The cash register hates him, he keeps forgetting to offer people a catalogue, and he almost forgot to card the guy who bought beers. 

It’s also insanely boring. The only thing keeping him entertained is making up what jobs people might have, based on the outfits they’re wearing. Leather jacket? Race car driver. Khakis? Wildlife photographer. Extremely boring tee shirt? A spy, deep undercover. 

The next shoppers to come through Sam’s checkout aisle are two women and a kid. One of the women is wearing a white button-up and slacks, so he guesses that she’s something fancy, like a lawyer. The other woman is wearing shorts and a brightly-coloured shirt over what he’s pretty sure is a pair of swimmers. She can be a lifeguard, he decides. 

"Hi," the lifeguard one says, and Sam realises that he totally forgot to speak. 

"Oh, hi! Hello. Sorry." 

They all smile at him, which is promising, and wait patiently while he waves each item in front of the reader and double-checks the prices on everything. Seeing as they haven’t yelled at him, vaped in his face, or started tapping their feet, they’re officially his favourite customers of the day. 

The time it takes Sam to scan their groceries apparently just exceeds the capacity of the lifeguard to resist the display of chocolate bars, because she tosses one onto the conveyor belt, right at the last second. 

Or perhaps it was actually calculated, because by the time the lawyer gives the lifeguard a look , Sam has already zapped the barcode and added the chocolate bar to the small pile. 

He hesitates — hopefully they won’t ask him to put the chocolate back, he has no idea how to remove it from their total — but the lawyer remains silent, slipping her wallet out of her back pocket and returning her attention to him. 

"Will — will that be savings or credit, ma’am?" he asks her. 

It’s impossible to miss the way the lifeguard suddenly gleams, a smile lighting up her face as she turns to her friend. 

Sam has said the wrong thing somehow — obviously, he has. He can feel himself blush, horribly, brightly. He probably wasn’t supposed to call her ma’am. Probably that was stupid and too formal but it was reflex ; she just seems so — so — 

He opens his mouth to apologise, but the lawyer just lets out a very small breath and says, "Savings, please." 

Once the card has cleared, he goes to pack their groceries into the reusable bag they’ve brought with them, but the lawyer waves him off politely. 

"Oh, that’s alright," she says. "I can do that." 

"She has a system," the lifeguard supplies. "It’s very intricate." 

The boy nods his head seriously. "It’s so nothing gets squished."

"Well — that sounds good then. Yes. Okay." 

They’re right: the system does seem intricate, but even so, the lawyer gets everything neatly into the bag in less than thirty seconds. Sam is kind of desperate for her to teach him how he did it. 

He prints them a receipt and they thank him, which is nice. 

As they head towards the exit, he hears the lifeguard say, "Excuse me, ma’am , let me get the door for you, ma’am ." Then: "Wait, do you still like me? You have to answer that."

But then they’re out into the parking lot and he only hears the boy giggling, not the lawyer’s answer. 

A minute later, Sam realises he forgot to offer them a catalogue. 

He sighs. 

Shannon. 

Mary’s already asleep, her forehead pressed to Shannon’s shoulder. And Shannon should probably close her eyes too, except she can hear extremely faint sounds coming from the kitchen, even though it’s almost midnight. 

She gets out of bed and follows the noise. 

Beatrice is standing at the stove, posture rigid, carefully tending to a pot: three stirs clockwise, three stirs anticlockwise, three figure eights. 

"Beatrice?"

"Hmm?"

"It's kind of late to be making soup," Shannon says softly. And it is. For Beatrice, anyway. 

"I suppose," Beatrice replies. 

Shannon leans against the counter next to her. Waits. Beatrice, for all that she doesn't talk about things, doesn't actually hate to talk about things. She just needs space and patience. 

From here, Shannon can see the fleck of blue paint on Beatrice’s neck — the colour Diego had chosen for Neptune. She’s not sure how it got there. 

"Do you ever feel," Beatrice begins. Then refocuses on stirring the pot for a long moment. "Do you ever feel ill-equipped?" 

"For what?" 

"For —" Beatrice gestures, somewhat helplessly. "For the things that are important to you. It seems to me that we aren’t really given any warning. Or any chance to practise or prepare, when it really counts." 

"You mean when it comes to having people in your life?" Having isn’t an entirely accurate verb for what they're discussing, Shannon suspects, but it’s the only one she’s willing to spring on Beatrice in the middle of the night. 

"Yes." 

"It’s scary," Shannon agrees. "But I think — it’s not that you get no practice, it’s that it’s all practice. All of it, all the time. And none of it’s a test. You just keep doing your best, and eventually, your best gets better." 

"I don’t consider myself to be an impatient person. But I would prefer my best to be better now." 

Shannon laughs a little. "Of course. I think your best is pretty excellent already, though. And I know they do too, for the record." 

She has a photo on her phone of the three of them working on their solar system project: Beatrice and Ava and Diego on the living room floor, all with looks of fierce concentration, arranging tiny planets around a tiny sun. 

Natalie.

She and Josh have been at IKEA for just over an hour, which doesn’t sound like long, but is apparently long enough for her to start reconsidering this whole living together thing. 

Firstly, for a guy who thinks that towels only need to be washed every three weeks, he’s shockingly picky about towel racks. 

Secondly, he keeps sighing, as if she’s dragged him here against his will, even though he’s the one who suggested they make this trip. 

And thirdly, worst of all, they’ve been stuck trailing another couple all morning. Every time Natalie thinks she’s escaped them, that she and Josh are free, they pop up again, because IKEA is a fucking labyrinth, and Natalie can’t just tolerate her boyfriend in peace. Nope, she’s ten feet away from what feels like the version of the shopping experience she’d imagined having, wanted to have, and absolutely isn’t getting. 

She’s kind of hoping the facade will crack and they’ll start fighting in the home office section, but they don’t. 

"Bea, you could get all your school stuff in this thing! Look! Enough little slots to organise your pens by colour. And you could put your protractor here. See?"

The girl is holding up a desk organiser very triumphantly. As far as Natalie can tell, she’s that keen on just about everything here — a level of enjoyment that Natalie is really only able to drum up for the meatballs. 

"I don’t need a protractor for school," the other one replies. 

"But you have one! Your recreational protractor. And it would fit here so nicely." 

"We’re here for a lamp. For you. "

"I think we should both get a treat. It wouldn’t be in the spirit of IKEA for me to get this cool giraffe lamp and for you to leave here with only a draining rack."

"It’s a good draining rack, Ava."

Would it be weird for Natalie to ask them which one they picked? The one who isn’t clutching the giraffe lamp seems like she has good taste. Classy. Like, Natalie is wearing a hoodie, but this girl is in an outfit that has obviously been ironed, even though it’s ten a.m. on a Sunday.

Giraffe Lamp Girl — Ava? — steps closer to her girlfriend. "And obviously I support you having any and all draining racks that you desire. But it’s so practical. I’m talking about a treat. An indulgence , Bea. At least equal to or better than this." She holds aloft her lamp as though it’s a prized artefact. 

Josh jolts her out of her eavesdropping by grabbing her hand and pointing at a nearby office chair. "Check it out, babe. It’s just like that ugly one your dad has!"

He’s not wrong. Natalie still rolls her eyes and hauls him away. 

The next time they catch up to the couple is in the bed section, and Josh makes a sex joke way too loudly, considering the girls are only a dozen steps away and his voice absolutely carries. 

But the lamp girl laughs, and Josh looks pleased, and right, Natalie remembers that she finds him funny, that she finds his smile charming. 

Her sense of charity fades when the lamp girl throws herself down onto bed shaped like a spaceship, and Josh gets this expression like maybe if she gets a spaceship bed, he should get one too.

As if he’d even fit on it. He’s got giant long legs that practically hang off a normal mattress. 

"Diego would’ve loved this, like, three years ago," the lamp girl says to her girlfriend. "He’d think he’s too old for it now."

"Isn’t he?" 

"Nope. He’s tiny. Miniature. Infant."

"I see." 

"We should bring him here after school."

"You want to come here twice in one day?"

"It’s my new favourite place. Plus, dinner will cost, like, three dollars. Boom. Budgeting. "

Natalie is trying to figure out if they’re older than she took them for and if not, how old the lamp girl must’ve been when she had a kid — a teenager, definitely — before she remembers that her resolution this year was to be less nosey. 

"Let’s go get food," she says to Josh, strong-arming him away from his temptation (the spaceship bed) and hers (learning random information about strangers). 

Lilith.

"— so Bea and I are gonna get a place together," Ava concludes happily, moving her little figurine four places and handing Camila literally all of her money, because Camila now owns both blue hotels. "Which is cool, right?" 

It’s actually fucking ridiculous, but no one at the table will say so. Even Lilith, because Shannon, Mary, and Camila are all glaring at her, like she can’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut. Which she can , thank you very much. 

If Ava and Beatrice want to escalate their bullshit, that’s their business. As long as Lilith is never expected to set foot inside their apartment, then Lilith will continue her reluctant detente with Ava. No matter what Shannon says, it is a detente unless Lilith actually hits Ava. Threatening her doesn’t count. 

And — fine. Lilith can admit that Ava’s not the worst person out there. She’s too energetic and too annoying and has such a bad sense of humour that Lilith has taken to just walking away if she so much as starts to look vaguely amused, but Ava’s not as irresponsible as Lilith first took her for. She shows up for the kid, and she shows up for Beatrice. And so Lilith has begrudgingly afforded Ava a spot on the list of people she’ll actually spend time around. Only if her company is diluted by the presence of others, of course; Lilith’s not going to do anything crazy, like hang out with her one-on-one. 

"That is very cool," Camila replies, adding Ava’s cash to the small mountain already piled up in front of her. 

Ava takes two fifties from Beatrice’s stash — utterly blatant in her cheating, utterly unbothered by it. "It’s a loan, Bea. I’ll pay you back." 

"I’m sure."

"Anyway, it’ll suck that we won’t be neighbours anymore," Ava says to Camila, "but I can come visit. And you can come over to our place whenever." 

Somehow, Shannon must actually see the words just make sure you knock form in Lilith’s mind, because she nudges Mary, who kicks Lilith under the table. 

"Are you staying in the area?" Shannon asks smoothly. 

"Everything’s here, like Bea’s uni and St Michael’s, so we’re gonna try." 

"I talked to the landlord about keeping our apartment, but he wants to turn it into an AirBnB," Beatrice adds, with no small amount of judgement in her voice. 

Lilith has already heard Beatrice’s lecture about rental policies and tenant protection. Ava has, too. At least they were all in the car together at the time, which meant that Lilith wasn’t subjected to that look Ava gets on her face when Beatrice really starts in on a tangent about something. 

"It’s a shit market," Mary agrees. "You’ve got to know someone."

There’s a general grumbling of agreement. 

Lilith sighs. "I know someone," she admits. If her mother could see Lilith now, offering something without getting anything in return — not even a signed agreement preventing Ava from practically sitting in Beatrice’s lap when they do movie nights — she’d disown her. "Neil from my Thursday class is going back to the States, so he needs someone to take over his lease. His street is close to the kid. And your stupid bar." 

All of them turn to her. 

She shrugs, uncomfortable, then bails, going back to the kitchen to pour herself another drink. At least Mary keeps good gin here. 

Because no good deed goes unpunished, Ava follows after her, smiling entirely too much like someone who thinks Lilith is being nice to her, and not enough like someone who appreciates that Lilith was only trying to avoid having to listen to Ava complain. 

"You could really set that up?" Ava asks. 

"Yes." 

Neil has never said no to Lilith. But then, that’s a power she has over most people. It’s probably something to do with being tall and hot and smart and accomplished. 

"That would be very, very awesome of you." 

"Mm." 

Ava, with unprecedented audacity, takes the bottle of gin right out of Lilith’s hands. 

"What are you —"

"Hush. You’ll like it," she says, grabbing a few other things from the cupboard and carefully pouring it all into the cup. 

Lilith allows this, even if only because Ava’s confidence in her bartending could stand to be taken down a peg — Beatrice has been brainwashed by Ava’s self-imposed dress code; there’s no way her drinks are that good, if you’re not distracted by the low-cut tops — and Lilith is giving herself a freebie to be a bit mean. 

Ava finishes mixing her elaborate nonsense and hands the cup back to Lilith, watching her expectantly. 

Lilith takes a sip. 

It’s really fucking excellent, and she’s not fast enough to stop pleasant surprise from showing on her face. 

"Ha!" Ava crows, smacking her hand against the countertop. "You like it. And you like me." 

"I don’t like you ," Lilith bites back. "I like Beatrice. And Diego."

Beatrice is always going to be a sister to her, in the way that Lilith understands sisters: as people whose stupidity you tolerate because a part of you is contingent on their presence in your life; people who understand you, sometimes too much. And Diego — well, one time, he’d let her trick Ava into leaning against wet paint, and she’d returned the favour by letting him tell her about underground turtles, so that’s something. 

But Ava is undeterred. "They’re my favourite people, so you liking them means that I like you. Too bad." 

Lilith takes another sip of her drink. It doesn’t miraculously drop in quality, and Ava remains regrettably gleeful. "I could squash you."

"I know." 

Lilith hates how certain Ava seems that she won’t. 

Camila.

This time next week, Camila will have a new neighbour. It’s a strange thought. For so long, Ava has only been a wall away. 

Even with help from Beatrice, Camila, and Diego, it’s taking Ava a while to pack up her stuff. Not because she has much in the way of material possessions, but because every second item requires being fiddled with or admired or disassembled and reassembled again. 

Considering the level of efficiency with which Beatrice manages to complete virtually every task, Camila half expects Ava’s approach to get on her nerves. 

But Beatrice is sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching Ava animatedly relate the origins of a weird little statue made of macaroni that she owns — bought from a guy at a flea market who also sold cabbages — and her expression could not accurately be described as impatient.  

Wherever Ava goes and whatever she does, people seem drawn to her. And Camila gets it; she remembers that immediate impulse to befriend Ava as soon as they met, a pull towards her wide grin and silly jokes and genuine interest in the world. 

But there’s something very different about the effect Ava has on Beatrice. Beatrice, who is quiet, who conducts herself as though expecting something precious to be taken from her at any given moment, who is so controlled and even and deliberate — who leans towards Ava easily, who laughs at the dumbest jokes Camila has ever heard, who seems to have tilted the course of her whole life just to be closer. 

Not that either of them acknowledge it. 

Camila is trying to let them figure themselves out, of course. Even if she’d made that resolution months ago, with the assumption that she wouldn’t have to wait this long. 

She notices a binder sitting on the kitchen counter, and holds it up. "When does this come into it?" 

"It might not," Beatrice says, still surprisingly relaxed. "The moving truck comes Monday morning. So, we agreed that we’re packing Ava’s way until three p.m. on Sunday afternoon. And if we don’t have everything done by then, we’re switching, and doing it my way instead." 

Camila isn’t sure whether Ava’s undying impulse to impress Beatrice will win out, and she’ll hustle to meet the deadline, or if she’ll procrastinate just to see Beatrice take charge of things. 

"Beatrice’s way is when the binder gets cracked out," Ava informs her, with a certain amount of anticipation. 

Or maybe it’s slightly less family-friendly than anticipation , but Camila’s choosing not to pry too deeply into that. 

She leaves them to it and goes into the kitchen to sit with Diego, who’s been given the extremely important job of fitting as much non-breakable cookware into the same box as possible. 

"Why does Ava have two of these?" he asks, holding up the colanders, one in each hand. 

She’s pretty sure the real reason is that once, last year, Ava had gone with Beatrice to a homegoods store, and had impulse-bought the second colander under the impression that it would be a sophisticated and responsible-seeming item to acquire. But Ava told her that in confidence, after tequila. "For different kinds of pasta?" Camila suggests. 

"Huh." 

She helps him with Ava’s spatulas and the novelty ladle she has that looks like the Loch Ness Monster. 

After a few minutes of silence, Diego says, "It’s weird to think Ava will live somewhere else." His voice is a bit softer than normal. 

"I was just thinking the same thing," she assures him. "You guys had a pretty awesome time here together, huh?" 

He nods. He seems a little unsettled, a little sad, even though earlier today he’d been so excited about the bubble wrap and the idea of Ava and Beatrice being in the same place. Maybe seeing the apartment looking so bare has started to hit home the fact that things are changing. 

"Their new place will have all the same stuff," Camila reminds him gently. "And you’ll get to do all the same things." 

"I know that in my head of heads," Diego replies, rocking up on his toes and then back down again. "But the rest of my brain is being weird about it." 

"Do you mean your heart of hearts ?" 

"No, like, when you understand something, but you also —" He freezes. "Is head of heads not a thing?" 

Camila shrugs. "I mean, I’ve never heard it, but —" 

"Ava!" Diego darts around the kitchen counter and skids to a stop in front of Ava, glaring her down in what is, admittedly, a pretty decent imitation of Beatrice’s no nonsense expression. 

Ava is looking back at him with such overstated innocence that Camila knows she overheard their conversation. 

"Why didn’t you tell me that isn’t a thing?" Diego demands. 

"Well, you were five or six when you first said it, and it was really cute." Ava shrugs. "Plus, I thought it was a good expression! It fills a gap in the market. I wasn’t gonna stop you from being an innovator."  

"What if I’d said it at school ?" He presses his hands to his cheeks, squishes them under his palms. "What else isn’t real?"

"Um," Ava says. 

Diego flops back onto the couch with a level of drama he must think befitting the situation at hand. Camila almost laughs; partly because it’s funny, that this is the end of the world, but also because she’s seen Ava do the exact same thing in the past. 

Glen. 

He’s really got the hang of this whole FaceTime thing now. Of course, it helps that Evie’s the one to initiate the call, but still: he can click answer, angle the camera correctly, and even add a filter, if he feels like it. 

"How are the new neighbours?" Evie asks him. 

He’d confessed to her last month that he was afraid they’d be too noisy: a whole cluster of young women had been moving up and down the halls all day, carrying boxes, chatting happily. 

"They’re lovely," he says. "Nothing to worry about. It’s just two of them, and they’re mostly very quiet."

"That’s great! Have you spoken to them?"

He shrugs. He’s not the best at meeting new people, and it’s been harder since Mallory died — she was always the one who wanted to befriend the entire world, who’d strike up a conversation with the nearest stranger if they stood still too long. "A little. They helped me fix that door hinge."

Actually, one of them had helped, and the other had held a spare screwdriver and joked around. In fairness, the screwdriver does lend itself to a lot of timeless material. 

"That was lovely of them," Evie replies, smiling. "Hopefully you end up liking them more than the last guys." 

Glen can’t quite tell whether she’s teasing him or not. He feels that his resentment towards his previous neighbours was perfectly proportionate to the percentage of time they played loud, lyricless music after midnight. 

"They have a boy who stays with them sometimes," he adds, lest she start making thinly veiled suggestions about him socialising more. "Small. I think he must be a relative, but I’m not sure of which one." 

"Gay people exist, Grandpa. And they have kids." 

Glen knows . It’s not as if he and Mallory didn’t have friends who remained conspicuously unmarried and entirely enamoured with their roommates. And there was quite often a child in the mix, from a previous marriage, or an adolescent who’d found themselves in need of a home. 

"I don’t think he’s their son," he replies. "And not because — I just — they’re just very young ."  

Evie looks long-suffering. "There are lots of kinds of families now." Then, evidently deciding she doesn’t want to pursue this any further: "What did the doctor say about your cough?" 

Miguel. 

It takes him nine full weeks to realise that the Beatrice who Ava constantly talks about — the Beatrice who she lives with, has as her phone background, texts in classes when she’s supposed to be paying attention and gets back texts saying shouldn’t you be paying attention? ; the Beatrice who drops her off at campus sometimes in the morning, whose clothes Ava definitely steals; the Beatrice who, according to Ava, once kicked her in her sleep but was very apologetic about it — is not actually Ava’s girlfriend. 

And yes, okay, Ava only ever refers to Beatrice by her name, not as my girlfriend , or my partner , but Miguel thought he was picking up context clues. Like, really direct, very clear context clues. 

He only even finds out because Luis is doing a headcount for his movie night. 

They’re sitting in the courtyard after their lecture has wrapped up, lazing about as if they’re not people with assignments they’re supposed to be doing. But it’s not like Miguel would be working on his paper even if he was at the library, and Ava’s the same; they both need something to be pressing to be able to start. 

"Okay," Luis says, shaking the last of the chip dust out of the packet and directly into his mouth. He chokes a little, but soldiers on. "So, we’ve got me, Sarah, Ro, Miguel, Ava, and — wait, Ava, was your girlfriend in or out?"

Ava stares at him. "What?"

"You said she might have to work, remember?"

Miguel definitely remembers. Ava had complained at some length about someone named Lilith — who she referred to as her arch enemy but with a certain degree of fondness that suggested this was an affectionate title more than anything — going on a trip, and Beatrice covering her classes. The specific complaint had mostly centred on how this threw off Ava’s TV-watching schedule, because apparently certain shows are only fun if Beatrice is reading in the same room, making dry comments every now and then.

"I don’t have a girlfriend," Ava says slowly. 

Luis frowns. "Oh. Did you guys break up?" 

But that can’t be right; Miguel is pretty sure that if Ava and Beatrice had broken up, then Ava would be absolutely insufferable until they got back together. And she’s just been normal. 

"Beatrice and I aren’t dating," Ava explains. She shifts a bit in place, but it’s not the kind of wriggling around he’s come to associate with Ava’s irrepressible enthusiasm or desire to get up and move . "We’re best friends." 

He and Luis glance at each other in complete confusion. It’s nice to know that Miguel isn’t the only one who’s baffled by this development. 

Except Ava catches the exchange and whips around to face Miguel. " You thought we were dating too? Miguel. You’ve met Beatrice." 

He has met Beatrice, it’s true. Only briefly, but it was definitely an interaction. The memory is a little blurry, because Miguel was slightly drunk at the time — Beatrice had come to pick Ava up from a party. He recalls her having a vibe that could only be described as business casual, that Ava introduced them with a vague wave of her hand before burying her face in Beatrice’s neck and mumbling something about going to bed, and that while Beatrice was nothing but polite to him, he’d felt an overwhelming impulse to clarify that his interest in Ava is utterly, totally platonic, and also confess to the time he stole some gummy worms from the store when he was five.

"Uh. Yeah," he says.

Ava makes a gesture that he takes to mean so, duh , but the situation is not so, duh. 

"I thought —'' he starts. But now Ava’s expression has changed into something that he can’t read, something unfamiliar could almost be amusement or might be melancholy and it’s suddenly feeling very risky to continue. 

Luis bails him out. "Well, girlfriend or not," Luis says, "is she coming to my movie night? And if yes, is she vegetarian?" 

Mary. 

Mary's specialty is neck and shoulder pain, so she's not the best choice of physiotherapist to work with Ava, even if it is just for maintenance. 

"But you're unspeakably cool," Ava counters. "And I'm sure you're great at everything. Plus, if I pay you, then you can tip it back to me at the bar, and then I’ll pay you again, and together, we can fix the economy."

"No," Mary says, firmly, before Ava can get on a roll. "I'm getting you an appointment with Dan. He's excellent, and he has the right experience and training for what you need."

Ava huffs, but Mary knows she's not going to argue any further. 

"He's got a terrible sense of humour," Mary adds, to warm her up a bit. "So, I'm sure you two will get along just fine."

Dan's a good guy, and a good physio. Smart, straightforward, optimistic, and with the kind of confidence that helps people believe they’re going to make progress. 

Believing is only a percentage of what it takes, of course, but that belief helps them put the effort in, push through the pain, and persist, even when their condition drags on for months or years. 

Mary's prediction turns out to be true, for the first four sessions: Ava and Dan get along great. 

Ava seems worn out but still relatively peppy when she finishes up with him, and the two of them usually chat at the front desk until Dan's next client arrives. Mary — who is a complete professional, but also does sometimes have five spare minutes — joins in every now and then. 

Dan describes Ava as a great laugh and a hard worker. Sometimes, it seems like people are surprised by how much effort Ava puts into things, how much grit she has. To Mary, it's always been obvious: that given the opportunity and a little support, Ava will try and try and try. 

It helps that Dan and Ava have a lot in common — Dan also speaks a handful of languages, enjoys eating too much greasy food, and wants to travel. 

But then Ava has her fifth session, and it turns out that, in fact, they have too much in common, actually. 

What happens is this: Ava’s appointment gets bumped from the morning to the afternoon. This isn’t a problem, in itself, because Beatrice doesn’t have class, so she can pick up Diego from St Michael’s. 

The problem is that Beatrice and Diego also come to pick up Ava. 

Mary, Dan, and Ava are talking in the lobby when they arrive. Mary’s four o’clock is late — not unusual — and so she’s got time to say hi. 

She sees them through the windows as they make their way up the street. Diego is talking intensely about something, and doesn’t stop even when Beatrice holds the door open for him; he walks under her arm, still mostly turned to face her as he emphasises his final point.

"— and he said it’s super fast. We should go someday!" 

"We'll see," Beatrice replies.

Diego eyes her, but Beatrice can be inscrutable when she wants to be. After a second, he gives up, and turns to Ava instead. 

"Where are we going?" Ava asks. "Or, like, maybe going?"

"Conversation for the car," Beatrice says, shooting her a look that Mary isn’t even going to try to parse. "Hi, Mary."

"Hi."

"Hi," Dan says, with the tilt of a question to it. 

"Oh, ha. Right. Guys, this is Dan; Dan, this is Diego and Beatrice."

Diego regards Dan carefully. He's always like that with new adults, from what Mary can tell: guarded, assessing, quiet. Not fearful, just reserved. 

But Beatrice offers Dan a small smile — more than she'll typically give a stranger. Mary supposes that since Dan helps Ava, he's ahead of the starting line in Beatrice's books. 

"Good afternoon," Beatrice says. 

"Great to meet you," Dan replies, waving at them. His eyes drag over Beatrice for a beat too long, a degree too intensely. 

If Beatrice notices, she's chosen to ignore it, but Ava definitely notices, and definitely does not choose to ignore it. Or perhaps is incapable of making that choice. 

Mary watches her mouth tighten and a small frown set in, and wonders if Dan's aware that he's absolutely haemorrhaging brownie points as he has the nerve to ask Beatrice a question about her aikido. 

It doesn't surprise Mary that Ava's told Dan all about Beatrice and Diego — you've got to talk about something during the session, and Ava has a few predictable topics of choice. 

"I’ve always wanted to work more with kids," Dan says. 

"That's great," Ava replies, flatly, her arms folding across her chest. She seems about a second away from actively stepping in front of Beatrice to block Dan’s eyeline.  

Mary just barely contains herself from elbowing Ava in the side and telling her to get it together. 

She's been patient with their holding pattern. If Beatrice isn't ready, or Ava isn't ready, or they're each convinced the other isn't — some cocktail of all of the above, most likely — then Mary can endure another few months of whatever they think they're doing now. But she will not suffer any kind of nonsense. And Ava surely has better things to do with her time than glare at men who have literally zero chance with Beatrice. At least Beatrice's teeth-gritted distaste for Miguel — damningly unsubtle and something Mary will absolutely bring up once Ava and Beatrice have sorted their shit out — has some sort of theoretical foundation. Ava could be into Miguel. It's just vastly obvious that she isn't . 

Beatrice spares a quick, confused glance at Ava. "Yes, it’s — it’s very rewarding."

"I’d love to hear more about it." It’s hard to say whether it’s Dan’s easy grin or the way he leans slightly closer to Beatrice that is the line in the sand for Ava. 

"I’m sure you would, but we’re in a rush," Ava declares. She takes Beatrice’s hand and drops an arm around Diego’s shoulders, ushering them back towards the exit. "Great sesh, Dan! See you next time." 

Mary hears Diego’s slightly baffled, wait, why are we in a rush? before the door closes behind them.

"So," Dan starts.

"I’m not getting into it," Mary says. 

Lilith.

Lilith has never in her life purchased anything from a thrift shop. They're only here to make a donation, which is a task they can usually complete in under two minutes. Except Beatrice — usually the most reliably ruthless ally in any kind of errand, the only one whose efficiency rivals Lilith's — has got distracted. 

By the ugliest shirt Lilith has seen, no less. It's blue and yellow, stamped with garish graphics of pineapples, fireworks, and a Pokemon that Lilith, regrettably, does recognise and could name. 

But she won't, on principle. 

"There are less undignified ways to destroy my opinion of you," Lilith points out, moving to take the hanger out of Beatrice’s hands and return it safely to the rack. Honestly, it’s a testament to how good a friend she is that she’s even willing to touch it.  

Beatrice gives her a look. One of these days, she's actually going to roll her eyes, and then Ava's going to want to have some sort of party to mark the occasion. 

"Not for me," Beatrice says. "Obviously."

And yes, obviously. The shirt is the exact kind of monstrosity that Ava would fall over herself for, because she has no sense of either shame or style, and thinks "it's hilarious" is a desirable quality in an outfit. 

"We can both forget ever seeing it," Lilith offers. It's not as if Ava has a birthday coming up or any other kind of occasion that merits a gift. 

Not that Lilith keeps track of that sort of thing, and even if she did, she'd be sure to get Ava something deeply impersonal, like a bottle of that pinot grigio she doesn’t like, to remind her that they're only friends-in-law. Which is barely more than acquaintances.

"I'm going to buy it," Beatrice decides. 

Lilith sighs. Ava is going to insist on constantly wearing this shirt in public and will be standing right next to Beatrice when she does. 

But judging by Beatrice's pleased expression, she's probably aware of both these facts, only she considers them pros rather than cons. 

They head up the counter. The shirt is only three dollars, although in Lilith's opinion, the true cost is incalculable. 

Not two days later, Ava is wearing the shirt when she brings Diego to aikido. 

She's paired it with bright pink shorts, so the overall effect is, in a word, ridiculous. Especially when she stands next to Beatrice and Diego, who are both dressed in sensible white uniforms. In fact, her outfit is so ridiculous that her ridiculousness spills onto them by association. 

Admittedly, it causes Lilith no small amount of amusement to imagine Beatrice's parents' reaction if they were to witness this: to see the daughter they so diligently, carefully smothered, hanging out with a bisexual idiot in a Bulbasaur shirt and a ten-year-old boy  whose current dream career is watching baby turtles hatch. Lilith had not wanted to be the one to explain that you can't get paid for that, so she'd left it be. Seemed like an Ava problem. 

Dave.

Dave’s pretty new to this whole step-parenting thing. He thinks it’s going well — he loves Mikey, and Mikey seems pretty pleased to have him around, and it turns out that Dave likes Saturday morning cartoons now almost as much as he did when he was Mikey’s age. 

But it can be a little lonely. Well, maybe lonely isn’t the right word for it; Brianne is the best wife ever, and she’s completely supportive of him. It’s just — it’d be nice to have some dad friends. Friends he made himself, who he can talk to about Mikey and school holidays and ask how to toggle the parental controls on an iPad. 

When he offers to start taking Mikey to aikido, it’s mostly because of how thrilled Mikey is, but also a tiny bit because he’s hoping that chaperoning an extra-curricular will give him an opportunity to meet other parents. 

Embarrassingly enough, though, when they get there, Dave finds himself incapable of actually starting a conversation with anyone. Once he’s comfortable, he’s off to the races, chatty as anything, but he’s not great at initiating stuff. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to work up the nerve, in the end. Someone comes up to him.

The girl is so young that he takes her for one of the instructors at first — she’s talking to Mikey’s teacher and a couple of the kids, and seems perfectly at home, even if she is flaunting the dress code. 

But then she makes her way over to the waiting area, and other parents all say hi to her, and Dave realises she’s one of them, in some sort of way.

She introduces herself to him while the kids are doing their warmups. "Hi! I’m Ava."

"Dave." 

"You’re new, right?" 

"Yeah, Mikey’s just started this week." He points Mikey out in the cluster of children. "He got converted by a friend."

Ava laughs. "That does seem to be how it happens." 

Considering the near twenty-year age difference between them, Ava turns out to be surprisingly easy to talk to. Her sense of humour isn’t far from his own, and she’s got a whole lot of beer and whiskey recommendations that he’s keen to try. 

She’s not a dad friend, exactly, but maybe she’s the exact kind of friend he needs: someone else who is just a little bit on the outside, who only has a few days a week with a kid they’re trying to be present for, who is figuring out the muddy waters beyond the traditional scripts of what family is. 

Javier. 

Beatrice doesn’t cram like anyone else he knows. She doesn’t chug energy drinks, she doesn’t have crying breaks, and she doesn’t fall asleep on her books. Instead, she’s got folders full of systematically organised notes, flash cards, index cards, and a spreadsheet that tracks something, although he hasn’t quite figured out what. 

The worst part is that Beatrice is so diligent throughout the whole semester that she probably doesn’t even need to be hunkered down at library with the rest of them, but he doesn’t think anyone could convince her of that. 

"Garretson tends towards a —" Beatrice stops, and blinks at her screen. It’s the first indication he’s seen that maybe the constant effort and lack of sleep is weighing on her even the slightest, and it makes him feel a tiny bit better about how his brain is spinning like an empty reel. "Apologies. So, from Garretson’s perspective, Erikson and McCarthy presuppose certain structuralist —" 

Beatrice’s phone buzzes on the desk, lighting up. She glances over at it, her hand twitching away from her keyboard, but she refocuses before she can reach for it. 

"The initial reading of the —"

"Just check the message, Beatrice," Javier says. 

"We’re nearly done with the summary." 

"What a great reason to reward ourselves with the opportunity to reply to some texts, then," he replies. He pulls out his own phone; Beatrice has never struck him as particularly susceptible to peer pressure, but it’s worth a shot. 

Unbelievably, his tactic works. Maybe it’s just the fact that Beatrice isn’t willing to fight him on this or move on with the review without him, but either way, results are results: Beatrice picks up her phone.

And laughs. 

"Good meme?" he asks. 

Sometimes, Ava sends screenshots and jokes while they’re working, and usually, Beatrice shows him the ones she thinks he’ll like. Beatrice doesn’t seem to have fully grasped how memes work, though, on account of being terminally offline; she makes the ones she sends back to Ava. He’d tried to explain that there are websites full of them, but Beatrice seems to enjoy crafting them, regarding each format like a puzzle, picking it apart and then reverse engineering her own version. Besides, she’d told him once, I want it to be funny for Ava, specifically. 

"No," Beatrice replies. "She just texted me something that Diego said." 

Her amusement turns precarious, for a second, like it’s on the verge of becoming something else, before she folds whatever that was away. 

Given that she’s been primarily imprisoned in a study room with him for the past week, Javier guesses it might’ve been a while since she saw either of them properly.

"Would — would you be amenable to a ten minute break?" she asks. "I’d like to make a brief call."

"I would be amenable to an infinite break. Go for it." 

He drops his head onto his textbook and closes his eyes, listening as Beatrice leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind her. 

Ryan.

He sits himself down in front of the pretty bartender. 

"Hi there," he says, throwing on his best and most charming grin. He’s hot, she’s hot, and it’s a Friday night: the world is overflowing with possibility. 

The bartender smiles right back at him. "Hi! What can I get you?

"What do you think I'll like?"

"Well, I've been teaching myself a bunch of super weird cocktails in my off hours this week, so maybe I can interest you in one of those?"

"You don't have better things to do in your off hours?"

He's not necessarily angling for the mention of a boyfriend or lack thereof, but if that's what happens to shake out from this line of questioning, then — well, it'll have been productive, won't it?

"Usually I do," the bartender replies, looking a little put out.  

It's not the most helpful or specific thing she could have said. Maybe she did have a boyfriend, but they broke up? Or he's been inattentive lately? Regardless, it sounds like there might be an opening for a guy with a six-pack and good hair. 

"I'm game to try one," he says. "Maybe one of the less weird ones. I'm Ryan, by the way."

"Ava." 

"So, Ava," he starts, as she grabs him a tall glass and gets to work. "Do you enjoy being a bartender?"

"I love it. I get to meet, like, infinite people and make infinite friends."

"I think we’d be great friends."

"Sure, Ryan." 

He watches her toss the cocktail shaker in the air and catch it, and he’d like to say that she’s trying to impress him, except the move seems to be more for her own entertainment than his. 

Ava pours the contents of the shaker into the glass, and grabs a cherry to add as a garnish. 

"And what time do you finish up here tonight?" 

She glances up and fumbles the cherry; it drops into the liquid with a small splash. 

Bingo.

He flicks his hair back in a way he knows is irresistible. "Cos I’m —"

Ava sets his drink down in front of him and starts moving around the end of the bar. And, okay, forward . But he’s into that. Why wait, right? 

Only she passes straight by him and throws herself instead at a girl who’s just walked through the door, hugging her tightly, kissing her cheek one-two-three times. 

"You're done! No more finals!" Ava exclaims. 

"Yes," the other girl replies. Her tone is much more reserved. "Until next semester, I suppose."

"Gross. Don't even remind me that this is a recurring thing."

"I mean, eventually, I'll graduate."

"But until then, finals and me will have beef." There's a pause, during which Ava does not manage to unwind her arms from around the girl's neck. "Wow, is it killing you not to say finals and I ? I feel like it's killing you."

The girl’s hands squeeze Ava’s waist. "I think I’ll live." 

Ryan huffs. He and Ava were in the middle of a conversation. And since when are bartenders even allowed to ditch their posts like that, while they’re on the clock? Sure, there are only three other patrons in the bar, all of whom have full glasses, but that’s not the point. 

"Isn't that kind of unprofessional?" he mutters to the other bartender on duty, jerking his head in the direction of Ava and her friend.

The bartender just laughs, shrugs. "If you want to go try to peel her away from Beatrice, be my guest."

Based on how close Ava is standing, and the way she hasn't stopped touching the other girl since she arrived, that might prove to be something of a fool's errand. 

Ryan sighs. He’ll never understand women, and why they’re so clingy with each other. 

A few minutes later, Ava slides back behind the bar. "Sorry about that," she says. "That's my friend. I haven't seen her in forever ."

Ava’s already putting together another drink — one without any actual alcohol, he notes — and the second she’s done, she’s off again, carrying it over to a table in the corner, where the other girl sits, a book open in front of her. 

Who comes to a bar just to drink soda and read a novel? 

At least Ava doesn’t seem as weird as her friend. She’s bubbly and bright, and the fact that she’s very touchy with random girls bodes well for how touchy she might be with him, if he plays his cards right. 

"So," Ryan tries, once Ava’s returned, again . "I was wondering if you’d like to — Ava?"

She’s staring at the corner booth, even though the only thing that’s happened is her friend glancing up and then back down, turning a page of her book. "Hm?" 

"Ava, do you want to take off early?" the other bartender asks. "It’s slow. I don’t mind. Go hang out with Beatrice."

"For real? You’re the best." She grins at him widely, undoing her apron at lightning speed, tossing it onto a hook up on the wall. "See you tomorrow!"

In less than thirty seconds, she and her friend are gone from the bar, and Ryan’s golden opportunity has vanished. 

"Do you mind?" he says, irritably. 

The other bartender raises an eyebrow at him. "It’s not like you were going to get anywhere," he replies, shrugging. 

Ryan scoffs. He has more game than anyone he knows, and a higher body count than any of his friends. He’s wearing a tailored shirt, for fuck’s sake. If it hadn’t been, like, years since Ava had seen her friend, or whatever, he totally could’ve held her attention longer than half a minute. 

Camila.

Camila's kind of surprised to run into Beatrice in this part of town. It's fairly out of her way. 

Beatrice hasn't seen her yet — she's standing on the corner, checking her phone — so Camila jogs over to make sure they don't miss each other. 

Camila's just completed her only task for the afternoon, and maybe Beatrice could use some company wherever she's going. It's not often that the two of them get to hang out one-on-one; it’ll be nice. 

"Beatrice! Hey!"

Beatrice startles. "Camila. Good afternoon." She looks kind of — well, not guilty, per se, but definitely a little bit like she's been caught out. 

"What brings you here?" Camila asks cheerfully, deciding to move on from whatever that is. Beatrice isn't super keen on sharing, even under the best of circumstances. "I had to pick up this scarf I bought on Marketplace — check it out! Cute, right?"

"It’s lovely," Beatrice agrees. "I'm just here for — errands. Tasks, and such."

Whatever mildly unsettled expression Beatrice had on before has transitioned into real discomfort, and Camila reaches out, concerned. 

"Are you okay?" she asks. 

"Sorry," Beatrice says. She takes a breath. "I just — was not expecting to encounter anyone I knew."

"Here to buy drugs?" Camila jokes, hoping to get a smile out of her, at least. She doesn’t. 

Beatrice eyes Camila for a long moment, visibly weighing something up in her head. "I haven't really told anyone yet," she begins quietly, "but a few weeks ago, I started seeing someone —"

" What? " Camila shrieks. 

Because there's no way, right? Like, there's literally no way. Not with — and — and how she — and Ava —

Does Ava know? She mustn't. Otherwise Camila would've had to pick her up and —

Well, okay, she can't actually think of anything that might comfort Ava in that situation, but apparently she's going to have to start brainstorming. 

"I mean like a therapist, Camila," Beatrice says dryly. "Seeing someone about how to better manage some of my — issues. Regarding — regarding my sexuality." 

Oh. Duh. That makes a lot more sense. 

Beatrice must misinterpret Camila’s half-second delay in answering as something else, because she pushes on, slightly agitated: "I like who I am. And I’m not —" She stops, takes a breath, restarts. "But I still seize up. Or find myself going places I don’t want to go." 

"I get it," Camila says, because it’s not as if she left the foster system unscathed, without her own things that set her on edge or funnel her into some claustrophobic mental space. "I mean, not exactly; my stuff’s different. But I get that thinking something and letting yourself actually feel it are different." 

"Yes."

"It’s great that you’re talking to someone about it," Camila says, encouraging. "That’s a major step." 

But Beatrice shakes her head. "I have not found it to be helpful. The therapist is very well reviewed, and extremely qualified, but I find it difficult to — to relax around him. Enough to discuss things."

"Maybe you guys just don't vibe, and you can try someone different? I'm sure that's pretty common. There are a lot of other options."

Beatrice gives her a small smile. "I know. I'm not one to give up on something after a failed attempt. Especially when it's very important to me."

"Right. Yes. Of course."

"I appreciate that you — I just mean to say, don't worry. I'm," Beatrice pauses, chooses her words deliberately, "highly motivated."

Yes, Camila can imagine that she might be. 

Camila desperately wants to ask whether anything in particular made her resolve to go for it, but she doesn't. 

Partly, because the answer is easy and obvious and Beatrice isn't ready to say it. 

And partly because, as much as watching Ava and Beatrice dance around each other for more than a year has driven Camila at least a little bit insane, this isn't just about Ava-and-Beatrice. It's about Beatrice herself. 

Camila squeezes Beatrice's forearm. Then decides that, really, Beatrice seems like she could use a hug. And Camila gives pretty awesome hugs. 

"Thank you for telling me," she murmurs. 

Beatrice tightens her hold just slightly before she lets go. "Thank you for being there for me to tell."

There’s a quiet moment: Camila thinks about meeting Beatrice, about Ava standing between them, all smiles, so pleased to have people she could introduce to one another. 

"Are you free for lunch?" 

"I am," Beatrice says, and she must surely be mentally shuffling a few things around, because Camila’s never known her to have random blocks of unscheduled time. 

"There’s a really good tapas place around here. Come on." 

Camila loops her arm through Beatrice’s and they head off down the street, chatting away aimlessly: the new students in Beatrice’s class; the apartment Camila might be moving into; the B+ that Diego got on his maths test; Ava’s newest terrible Netflix show obsession. 

"Does Ava know about you going to therapy?" Camila asks gently. Because Camila would obviously never breathe a word, not if Beatrice didn’t want her to, but it’d be nice to know that Beatrice isn’t attempting to do all this alone. 

But it’s been a long time since Beatrice has done something alone, really, at least in the way Camila thinks she might’ve once done everything alone. And so she’s not surprised when Beatrice nods. 

"Of course," Beatrice says. 

Chapter Text

Miguel. 

He finds Ava sitting in the shade under a large tree. She’s slumped back against the trunk, arms folded over her chest, legs stretched out in front of her. 

He drops down beside her — leaving a gap, because they’re both kind of gross and sweaty from the last few hours of manual labour — and follows her gaze. She’s watching Beatrice and Diego across the courtyard, where they seem to be embroiled in some kind of debate. If Miguel had to guess, he’d say it’s round two of the can I climb the trellis? negotiations that Diego has already lost once. 

Ava seems content to rest in silence, but Miguel’s been waiting patiently for his opportunity to tease her, and he’s absolutely not going to let it slide. 

"How’s your foot?" he asks, all innocence. Okay, maybe half, one-third, one-quarter innocence. 

Ava elbows him in the ribs — more gently than he deserves. And she’s smirking, so he knows that he’s not really bothering her. "Sore," she says. "But fine. The flowerpot wasn’t that heavy." 

He grins. He’s not going to let her live this down for a while, and he suspects that Mary won’t either. "And how’s your pride?" 

"Just fine," she tells him. "It may surprise you to hear this, Miguel, but today was not the first time something like that has happened to me." 

"Maybe you should do a better job keeping Beatrice away from the fifty-pound bags of gravel, then."

"Unfortunately, she can look hot doing anything," Ava complains, plucking a piece of grass from the dirt and tearing it in half, then in half again. "I’ll never be safe." 

"Tough break, Silva."

"It’s rough."

"Yup. But I’m told that God never gives us more than we can handle," he says. 

It’s the sort of mildly sacreligious joke that would normally go down well with Ava, but he doesn’t get a response. 

In fact, she’s frowning, attention fixed on where Beatrice has successfully distracted Diego from the trellis, redirecting him by showing him how to plant one of the new baby saplings in the ground. They’re kneeled down together, on opposite sides of the plant, and Diego’s head is tilted in careful concentration while Beatrice explains what they’re doing. 

"Ava? Are you —"

"Do you think he does, though, sometimes?" Ava blurts. 

"Huh?"

"God. Like, I don't believe in any of it, but — but say that I did." She squirms nervously, twisting the material of her shirt in her hands. "Do you think that sometimes God, or the universe, or whatever, really does send you more than you can handle?"

And they’re obviously not talking about Ava's inability to be chill about Beatrice's biceps anymore, but he has no idea how this got away from him. 

Apparently Ava doesn’t either, judging by the humourless way she laughs, how she waves a hand vaguely. 

"Sorry," she says. "I feel a bit weird. Maybe I have heatstroke." 

And that would be easy to turn into a joke, and probably Ava even wants him to, but he won’t. "What do you mean?"

She draws her knees up to her chest and winds her arms around them, as though it’s important to be as small as possible for this. "I just — for a long time, I didn’t have anything in my life go well. Like, at all. And that’s — I get it. Luck of the draw, right? You keep rolling." She shrugs. Sharply. "But this last while, it’s like things can’t seem to stop going well. I have Diego and Beatrice and my friends, and the bar, and college, and it's all working out for me right now."

"Sounds like maybe you earned a break. And you're getting it," he replies.

She puffs out a breath. "And how long does the break last?"

"Ava —"

"I have, like, everything I've ever wanted. Do you know how crazy that is? What if I fuck it up?"

"You won't fuck it up," Miguel assures her. "You might fuck up, every now and then, but you're not going to fuck it up. Your life, I mean. You know that it's going well because of you, right, Ava? Because you're great, and people love you?"

She fidgets, then cracks a deliberate smile. "I am pretty spectacular."

"Yeah. And besides, not that it's really the point, or whatever, but you don't have everything you ever wanted, actually." It’s likely not the best approach to take, but Miguel’s not a licensed therapist. Solve the most obvious problem in front of you: that’s his motto. 

"You and I both know that the odds of a Jurassic Park ever —"

"Not that," he says, rolling his eyes. "I mean Beatrice. And your — well. That whole thing. Pretty sure you wouldn't be dropping flower pots if you'd sorted that out."

"Nah, I still would be," Ava declares, with so much exasperated confidence that he doesn't question it. "But you make a good point, I guess. I just — sometimes it's like I can feel this whole awesome future hinging around me. And if I drop the ball, it all goes away."

"It wouldn't," he promises. "If you dropped the ball, Beatrice would pick it up. Or I'd pick it up. Or one of your other friends would."

Ava nods. "I know that. In my head of heads." It’s an odd expression, but Ava's full of odd expressions. 

"And I can prove it to you. Sort of," Miguel says, because right at that moment, Beatrice is past them. She’s holding a watering can, making her way towards the garden tap, and looking over at them far less than she would look over at Ava in any other context. 

He hopes that one day, once she and Ava are together for real, she starts to like him a bit more, because he really likes her. 

"Hey, Beatrice!" he hollers. 

She stops, turns to them. "Yes?"

"What would you do if Ava blew up your apartment?" Arguably the most substantial dropping of the ball it is possible for one person to achieve. 

Beatrice’s eyebrow arches up. "We don't have the necessary materials at our apartment for an explosion. The most she could manage is a reasonably-sized oil fire."

"Just say she blew it up. The whole thing. Everything in it."

"Is this one of those riddles?"

According to Ava, Diego has been going through something of a trick question phase lately, so perhaps Beatrice is right to be wary. 

"It's not a riddle," he promises. 

"Well, I suppose we'd have to get a new apartment, wouldn't we?" she says. "And new things. Although Ava tells me her Loch Ness monster ladle is irreplaceable."

"Just because you can buy another one online doesn't mean it's the same," Ava insists. 

"And we'd also have to make sure you didn't go to prison for arson or insurance fraud or whatever inspired you," Beatrice lists off. 

Ava grins. "Are you saying you’d have to get me off on charges of — wait, that I’d have to get off on — okay, give me a second, I’m nearly there —" 

"That’s what she said," Beatrice supplies, in a tone so dry that it takes Miguel a beat to process that she’s being playful. 

Ava experiences no such delay: she glows brilliantly, all at once. "Oh my god. I’m such a good influence on you. Twelve years of Catholic education can’t touch this," she declares, preening.

Miguel can think of about six comments in response to that , but even though Ava would certainly find them hilarious, he doesn’t think Beatrice would. 

Bianca. 

Two girls dressed in athletic gear join the line next to Bianca. Clearly, she’s not the only one who had the idea to get a reward from the bakery after an early morning workout. 

It’s kind of chilly, but Bianca’s still warm from her jog around the park, so it doesn’t bother her. She zips her jacket up a little more and breathes in deeply, her heart rate almost fully settled.

"This place is really good. You’ll like it," the taller of the two girls says to her friend. 

It is really good, and unfortunately, half the town knows it; the queue is out the door today, and sometimes, it stretches around the block. 

"You come here without me ?" 

"Only very occasionally, when I run this route."

"Wow. I see how it is." 

"You don’t like to come running. Last time, you said you would rather be thrown into a jet engine than do that hill again." 

"I love that you can quote me from memory," the shorter one sighs happily. "Just don’t forget the in-text reference. Ya know, APA-styles, or whatever." 

"I don’t use APA." 

"Oh, right. Explain to me the difference between MLA, Chicago, and APA again?" 

"You don’t care about the difference. Your last bibliography was a string of URLs."

"I didn’t say I cared, I said I wanted you to explain it to me. And I did pretty good on that assignment, for your information." 

"Because your argument was excellent. Not because you reference well." 

The line moves up, but Bianca is still a good ten minutes from even getting in the door. She fishes her earphones out of her pocket and plugs them back into her ears. Ten minutes would be a long time to listen to the quiet chatter behind her, which she’s beginning to suspect is flirting, even if absolutely none of what’s been said has ever been used as flirting before, in possibly all of history. 

Thea.

Thea’s never had Ava in her chair before. She knows that Juliette really liked her, called Ava a dream , even if she is apparently a bit wriggly, which is not ideal when cutting hair. But Juliette’s on maternity leave, and most of her clients have fallen to Thea. 

"Thea! Juliette tells me you’re the woman to see about a haircut that makes me look amazing," Ava says, as soon as she’s through the door of the studio, not minding in the least that there are three other people in here who all look over at her with interest. 

"That’s me," Thea agrees. 

Talking to Ava is easy. Thea is perfectly happy to give someone a trim in stilted silence, of course, but she loves to learn about people and their lives, and share in return, and the chance to have a good chat is a real perk of her job. 

"— my friend Hans. I said that he should get a fish, but he’s still afraid he’ll kill it, so I think that’s on the backburner for a bit," Ava is saying. 

"My son has a fish," Thea replies. "It doesn’t do anything, but he likes it." Thea’s replaced it twice, both times by pretending the fish went on vacation to the ocean and came back that evening, which she’s almost certain is awful parenting. She should definitely just explain death to him, but — he fucking loves that fish. 

"I’ll tell Hans. Maybe I can peer pressure him into it. All the cool kids have fish." 

At the chair beside them, Marion is tidying up Roland’s messy, floppy hair, asking him about his new job. Thea likes Roland, too. He’s a sweet young man; he makes his appointments regularly and always asks after Marion’s grandchildren and buys a chocolate bar whenever they’re doing a fundraiser. 

He’s also quite taken with Ava, if the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes glancing over at her is any indication. 

Thea, admittedly, is the slightest bit addicted to matchmaking. She can't help it. She loves love; she wants people to be happy; she is eternally fascinated by the ways in which some people fit together and others don’t. 

When Roland finishes up and is led over to the counter to pay, Thea nudges Ava. "I can introduce you guys, if you like." For the low, low price of a wedding invitation if it all works out.

But Ava flushes and shakes her head. "No, thanks. I’m not really — I’m —"

"Not looking to get into a relationship?" Thea guesses. 

For some reason, that makes Ava laugh. "No, I’m just done looking," she says. 

Hans.

There are literally four customers in the bar. All of them are regulars, all of them are drinking beers, all of them are watching the game on the crappy TV in the corner. 

Accordingly, Hans and Ava have been spending the last half an hour taking turns using a spoon to catapult a bottle cap into a pint glass. Or, they're trying to. They have a ridiculously low success rate.

"Are you busy later?" he asks, lining up his next shot. So far, he's zero for nine. 

But Ava's zero for ten, so technically, he's winning. 

"Well, Bea's off with Shannon having a Newsroom marathon, so my plans are to leave dishes in the sink for three hours, just to see what it feels like."

When he releases the spoon, the bottle cap flies in a dismal little arc, falling far short of the pint glass. 

"Didn't you used to live by yourself?" he replies. "You must've left dishes around all the time then."

Ava scoffs, shakes her head. "Being lazy isn't the same as getting away with something, Hans."

Sometimes he wishes he could watch the inside of Ava's mind like a Rube Goldberg machine, just to see the weird mechanisms by which she manages to make sense of the world. 

Or maybe her reasoning is better left a mystery, and he should change the subject. 

"Beatrice doesn't strike me as someone who binges television," he says. 

The restless, slightly disgusting feeling Hans gets after a few unproductive days seems to set in for Beatrice after about thirty minutes or less of inactivity. Surely extended periods on the couch would drive her very slightly insane. 

Ava grins. "She's not, unless you know how to finagle it. She'll binge something with me if I'm sick, and other than that, there are about three actresses who can get her to sit through more than two consecutive episodes of a show. But I'm not telling you which ones because I worked hard for that information."

Hans has less than zero need to know, but now that Ava's holding back, he's nagged by an unfortunate curiosity. "One of whom is in The Newsroom ?" That narrows it down. He can Google it later. 

"Shannon takes a different approach," Ava supplies. "See, one summer in, like, high school, Bea got pretty sick, and she was stuck inside and everything, and Shannon was going through an I want to be a journalist phase, and — you get the picture. Perfect storm. Anyway, they made rewatching some of it an annual tradition, so Shannon’s grandfathered in, basically."

"Ah."

"Which is cheating, if you ask me."

"Of course."

"And because it’s a historical, sacred, closely guarded occasion —"

"Got left out, huh?" 

"Mary and I are not invited," Ava agrees. She flips the spoon in her hand and picks up the bottle cap. "I’m going to get it, this time. I swear." 

Hans could poke at the fact that Ava's just put herself in the same box as Mary — who is, from what he understands, Shannon's very serious, live-in girlfriend — but he decides to take the high road.

"Well, if you're happy to ditch your dish plan, I was gonna get pizza and rent The Meg ."

"That sounds way better," Ava says, bumping her shoulder to his appreciatively. "To be honest, I think maybe leaving stuff in the sink might annoy me now too. Like Bea's changed my brain chemistry or something."

She ducks down slightly to angle her next shot, tongue between her teeth. 

Then she lets the spoon go, and miraculously, the bottle cap goes into the pint glass. 

"Ha! Fucking got it," Ava crows, slamming her hand victoriously on the counter. 

Ollie.

Ollie is going to be so fucking late. 

He’d turned on his Switch for literally five minutes, but then some Narnia shit had happened, and five minutes in Zelda time had turned out to be more than an hour in real life time. Which is fully unfair, but whatever. 

He pedals faster, careening down the hill, letting gravity help him out. Ally already thinks he’s a disorganised idiot — there’s no way "our names are too similar" is the actual reason she won’t date him — and showing up after the first quarter of the game isn’t going to improve things, re: proving he’s not a disorganised idiot. 

And now he’s thinking about Ally, and about —

Ollie doesn’t see the car, he just reacts to the car, yanking his handlebars hard to the right, losing control of his bike almost completely. 

He gets about a second to realise there two people now directly in his path, and he’s not slowing down, and Christ, he’s going to hit a fucking kid —

He squeezes the brake, but it’s not as responsive as it should be, because he never fixes it like he tells himself he will. 

In the end, it’s over in one sharp, horrible wince: the woman moves the kid, and he manages to veer an extra inch: enough to avoid hitting her head-on; not enough to avoid hitting her.

They both go down hard. 

His mother likes to say that he acts as though he’s invincible, that one day, he’s going to get a nasty shock, and really hurt himself. 

Today is not that day. He skins both his palms, but he mostly lands in the grass, all limbs unbroken, feeling remaining in all extremities. 

Fuck yes. 

Unless he’s killed someone, which — well, fingers crossed that he hasn’t. 

Ollie turns, but the woman he hit is sitting up, and honestly, maybe he did more damage to the kid after all. The boy looks horrified , and seems much younger crouched down like that; he reminds Ollie of his little sister, and how sometimes her eyes shine and her whole body shudders before she cries. 

Ollie gathers up his bike, which also seems fine, and inches over to the woman and the boy. Close up, he can see that she’s not old enough to be his mother. Sister, maybe? 

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Ollie stutters out.

"It happens," the woman replies, more kindly than he deserves. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, no. Just a bit surprised." His brain is a bit scrambled, trying to deal with too much too fast, but that’ll wear off. "I'm really sorry." And he is. Especially because the kid seems like he’s about to throw up.

By now, the woman’s attention isn’t even really on Ollie anyway; she’s pulled the boy closer, scanning his face. Ollie can see that he’s shaking, clinging to her sleeves so tightly that his fingers are whitening.

"Don’t worry about it," the woman says, without looking over.

Ollie takes that as a dismissal. He’s just in the way, at this point; the child is probably terrified of him, and the woman doesn’t need him to call her an ambulance, so he should go. 

He jumps back on his bike and cycles the rest of the way more slowly, unable to stop himself from glancing back at them half a dozen times before they’re out of sight.

Ollie feels like he should be more spooked by the fact that he nearly got hit by a car, or could’ve really hurt that lady, but the image that stays in his mind of the boy: his small hands, refusing to let go. 

Matt.  

It’s a surprise to see Ava walk into the store — she was here just the other day to pick up the heat gel she uses, and there’s no way she could’ve run out already. 

"Hey," Matt grins, happy as always to see her. His shift has been unspeakably dull so far, and trading a couple of puns with Ava could really turn it around. 

But Ava's answering smile is far weaker than normal, far thinner, and she’s holding herself weirdly too, without any of her usual boundless momentum. 

He observes her as she moves up and down the aisles; she doesn’t even seem like she’s actually clocking anything that’s in front of her, not the labels or the prices. 

It’s another minute before he cracks. "Are you alright?" he asks, even though it's not technically his business, unless she's in the kind of pain that can be cured by over-the-counter pills. 

"Um. Not sure," Ava says. Her voice sounds a little fractured, like each word has been dropped from a great height. "I'm looking for stuff for bruises. And just general — um. Impact injuries."

"Did — are you hurt? Did something —"

They're not friends, exactly, but they have seen each other semi-regularly for almost two years at this point, and Matt would like to believe that Ava might feel safe around him. 

"Not me," she says. "Beatrice."

Matt admittedly, doesn’t really get Beatrice. She’s nothing at all like Ava, but she’s nice to him, and he hopes nothing bad has happened to her. 

"Is she okay?" 

Ava shrugs, helplessly. "She got into an accident. And I'm here, because she's home with our friend, because he's freaking out and I didn't want to take her away from him, but also I really don't want to be away from her either, and I don't know if I should've pushed harder for her to go to the hospital, and now I'm kind of freaking out in front of the essential oils."

She draws in a quick, sharp breath. And then another. 

Matt ducks around the counter and crosses the distance between them, although he makes sure not to get too close. 

"What do you, um, need?" he asks. He has no idea what to do when people cry. And Ava’s not crying, but there seems to be imminent danger of her starting. 

"I need to not be vividly picturing my — sorry. I'll be cool in a second. I'm just. Ya know." She makes a spinning gesture with her hand. 

"Do you want to sit down?" 

"I’ll be fine." 

Ava really doesn’t look fine, but he’s not sure how to help. He’s used to people telling him about their incredibly specific medical issues, or random details about their lives that they don’t have anyone else to talk to about. He’s far less used to whatever this is. 

Matt pulls out his phone and searches panic attack help how?

"I’m not having a panic attack," Ava says, evidently able to see the screen from where she’s standing. She winds her arms around her ribs, holding herself in place. "I’m just dizzy." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Uh huh."

"Maybe you should take some deep breaths anyway." 

He watches carefully as Ava does: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. 

"Should we get that stuff for the bruises?" he asks, once it seems like she’s calmed down a bit, and is starting to look a little awkward about her unexpected vulnerability. 

He helps her gather a range of items into a basket — it’s probably overkill, but maybe overkill is what Ava needs. 

Shannon.

The comet is supposed to pass over a little after one o'clock in the morning, but they've come early, just in case. 

Shannon thought more people would drive up here to get a good view of it, but it's only the five of them and a couple of families and college kids dotted around the hilltop. 

They’ve set out picnic blankets and electric lanterns and a truly ridiculous amount of snacks; it’s not the first time they’ve done this. She’s come here with Mary and Beatrice for at least one eclipse, and another night when Saturn was supposed to be particularly easy to see. 

It’s the first time they’ve brought anyone else along, though. 

While Mary and Ava work on mixing together hot chocolate — Ava, applying her bartending skills, and Mary, ever-so-slightly distrustful of Ava pouring hot liquids around in the semi-dark — Shannon, Beatrice, and Diego head off to the small lookout nearby. 

From here, their town is barely visible, just a cluster of a few persistent lights. Shannon’s always loved seeing places from far away, trying to fit the versions together in her head: small and large at once; both encompassing and distant without actually changing. 

"Where are we normally?" Diego asks, standing on his toes to peer over the railing. He’s got a blanket wrapped around himself like a cloak. 

"Over there. We’ll come here again in the daytime, one day; it’s easier to see it," Beatrice explains, pointing out the general area of their neighbourhood to him. 

He bobs his head, giving up on trying to see anything he recognises and instead leaning back into Beatrice. 

Shannon’s not sure Diego’s ever stayed up this late in his life. Even on New Year’s, he’d passed out on the beanbag in Ava and Beatrice’s living room; they’d got him up again at five minutes to midnight. 

After a full minute of silence, Beatrice prompts him quietly. "Diego?"

"I'm awake," he promises, with genuine confidence, even though his eyes are currently closed, and his whole body is slumped. 

Beatrice wraps an arm around him to keep him steady. 

"Should we go back to Ava and Mary? We can sit down," she offers gently. 

He shakes his head. "I'll fall asleep."

"We'll wake you up for the comet."

"It'll be too fast. It'll be gone before I open my eyes," he insists, adamant. 

"Alright," she agrees, tugging up the blanket where it’s slipping off his shoulders. 

Shannon watches the two of them for another moment. It's kind of amazing that Beatrice — who was barely on the receiving end of casual comfort her entire childhood, who used to tap out of hugs at around the three second mark — has taught herself to do things like hold him and fix his clothes and smooth his hair. 

Or maybe she didn't teach herself, exactly. Maybe it was some combination of Ava and Diego guiding and Beatrice wanting so badly to learn. 

She's infinitely less tentative than she used to be, with Ava and Diego both. Shannon can’t even remember the last time that Beatrice stiffened up at Ava hanging off her, or froze in uncertainty when Diego grabbed her hand. 

Eventually, Shannon thinks, Beatrice will be ready for all of it. Probably sooner than even she realises. 

"I’m going to go check on the hot chocolate," Shannon says.

She makes her way back to Ava and Mary, who are discussing the hypothetical situation in which Ava would be allowed to drive Mary’s Jeep; this seems to largely involve Ava going, okay, but what if, and Mary letting her finish describing some elaborate scenario before saying, still no. 

"He's this close to being asleep on his feet," Shannon reports. 

"We tried to get him to have a nap before we came, but he was too excited," Ava replies, wrestling with a packet of marshmallows that refuses to open. "He's been really hype for this. Ever since that solar system project, he’s been so keen on space shit." 

Mary snatches the packet off Ava and opens it. 

"Hey!"

"That was fucking painful to watch," Mary says, without apology. And then: "How’s he doing, otherwise?" 

"Okay, mostly. He's been — he's stuck a bit closer to her," Ava says softly. "I think it’s just — I mean, you know." 

And Shannon does know, knows too that it's not only Diego. 

She'd gone to pick up Beatrice for a workout on Wednesday; Beatrice had been wearing a tank top, and part of the dark bruise on her side was just barely visible. Ava had been staring at her, and not in the usual way she stares at Beatrice when she wears anything even remotely revealing. It was an anxious watching, like Beatrice might disappear. 

"It’s only been a week," Shannon reminds her. 

"Yeah. I just wish I could vanish every bad thing from his life," Ava replies, voice small. Then she cracks a smile. "I suppose he’d grow up to be a brat then, hey?"

Mary pats Ava’s shoulder. "And we’ve got enough brats around." 

"Yeah, but I’m kind of used to Lilith, at this point," Ava jokes back. "Alright, I think I’m on delivery duty. Doesn’t look like those two are coming back, and this’ll get cold." 

She gathers up three mugs and heads to the lookout.

Shannon can just barely keep track of her in the dark until she reaches the other two, but once Ava tucks herself into Beatrice’s side, the three of them become one smudged shape against the dark sky. 

"Time fucking flies," Mary observes, winding an arm around Shannon’s waist and kissing her temple. "I can’t believe that the last time we were here was before Ava and Diego." 

"Has it really been that long?"

"Mmhmm. We brought your cousin’s telescope here two years ago, just before Beatrice’s semester started."

And yes, Shannon remembers, although Diego’s young enough that she suspects he’s probably already forgetting it: what it was like for Beatrice to be a stranger, for her and Ava to live apart, for him not to have the both of them standing together beside him. 

Luis. 

He’s managed to stagger out to the back deck, in the hopes of getting some fresh air. And the air is fresh, but it’s not clearing his head at all. He’s still so drunk that he feels like his thoughts are a little to the left of his brain. 

To be honest, Luis isn’t even completely sure whose house this is. They’d started at Sarah’s place, and then they’d gone to a bar, and they’d run into some guys from the university there, and —

Well, after that, it gets blurry.  

A car pulls onto the street in front of Luis; he’s slightly mesmerised and slightly pained by the headlights. Then the door opens, and he recognises the person who gets out. 

"Miguel!" Luis hollers, waving enthusiastically. "Have you come to join us?"

Miguel laughs, jogging over to him, standing on the lawn just below him and looking up. "I’ve come to collect you, actually."  

"Oh. Did I call you?" Luis doesn’t remember that, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. 

Miguel’s grin widens. "You called Ava."

"Huh." He doesn’t remember that, either.

"But they've got Diego tonight."

"Whoops."

"So, she called me. And here I am."

"You’re the best."

"I know," Miguel says. "Is there anyone else who needs a ride?" 

Luis shakes his head. "Sarah and Ro went home from the bar." 

Miguel helps him down the stairs that lead off the deck and wraps Luis’s arm around his shoulders so that he can walk him to the car. He pours Luis into the passenger’s seat and then hands him a bottle of water that was stashed in the divider. 

"Drink that," Miguel advises. 

If it takes Luis four tries to do his seatbelt, then that’s between him and God. 

He completely zones out for a good ten minutes; it’s only when they go over a speed bump that he jolts back to some kind of awareness. 

"I shouldn’t have called Ava," he mumbles. 

"She didn’t mind."

"Yeah. But also Ava can’t drive anyway," Luis mumbles, letting his head rest against the window. He probably called her because her name starts with A, and so she’s at the very top of his contacts. Plus, Ava always bails him out when he’s in a bind. She’s eternally helpful and kind of ridiculously crafty. 

"She’s learning," Miguel tells him. "Beatrice is teaching her, apparently." 

"Oh. How’s that going?" 

"I think Ava’s more excited about learning to drive than she is about actually driving, so it might take a while." 

Luis almost laughs — that sounds about right — but then Miguel makes a turn and all of Luis’ energy goes to not throwing up. 

Lilith.

There’s a suspiciously loud clang from the kitchen, followed by an even more suspicious flurry of swear words.

Beatrice and Lilith are in Beatrice’s room so Lilith can rant about their boss in private, and Ava and Diego are making dinner. Or a mess. 

"I’m going to go see what that was," Beatrice says. "One moment." 

Lilith can tell her already what that was: Ava failing to accomplish an extremely basic task. Something Lilith is now well familiar with, given the frequency with which she is subjected to it: Ava failing to change gears without burning the clutch; Ava failing to just let it drop when Lilith is being bad-day snarky instead of just regular snarky; Ava failing to do anything about the fact that Beatrice is obviously in love with her except look far too pleased with herself, thus carrying this charade well into its second year. 

All of this is extremely trying on Lilith’s patience. She has two possible actionable plans so far: introducing Beatrice to that woman in Lilith’s class who always drools over her from afar, or buying Ava a one-way ticket to the Swiss Alps, since she’s apparently so excited to go there one day. But these ideas are not without their problems. Beatrice would probably just tell the woman all about Ava and Diego, and even Lilith has to admit that Ava could figure out how trains or planes work well enough to get herself home in less than a day. 

And then there’s the fact that Diego’s whole life is nestled at the centre of this disaster, which is a far stronger deterrent than Shannon’s disapproval. 

Diego is — well, he’s the least annoying child Lilith’s ever met. Which is remarkable, considering the amount of time he spends around Ava, who models annoying behaviours relentlessly. 

As though she’s summoned him somehow, Diego appears in the doorway. "I have something to show you," he declares. 

It seems Lilith isn’t going to get an update on the kitchen situation, but that’s fine, because she doesn’t care. 

Diego crosses over to her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tape measure, unwinding it. 

He holds it up to her. "Look," he says. 

After a beat, Lilith realises she’s supposed to take it from him and inspect it more closely. 

"I’m a hundred and thirty-two centimetres now, which means I grew a whole centimetre in the last month."  

Lilith knows that she’s supposed to ply him with follow-up questions, but frankly, that’s much easier when he’s trying to tell her about turtles or Pokemons. Then she can just say, which do you think would win in a fight? and that’s her job done. But height is a fact . "Is that above or below average for someone your age?" Lilith asks, finally.

Diego shrugs. "I’m the shortest in my class, but Beatrice said that I’m in the normal range. And Ava said boys grow more when they’re older."

"That’s true." Lilith didn’t really pay much attention to the boys around her growing up, but given that those boys seem to be adult-sized now, they must’ve stretched at some point. 

"Were you always super tall?" Diego asks. 

"Yes." 

"Even as a baby?"

"I suppose." Presumably, in the basement of her mother’s house, there is a book with such information about a young Lilith, recorded by some diligent nanny. But Lilith avoids thinking about that time; childhood didn’t suit her — she hated being dressed and shepherded around by other people, told what to say and where to stand and when to leave.

Diego bobs his head. "That’s cool."

There’s a pause.

Last week, at the bar — which Lilith only goes to because it’s on her way home from the dojo, and Ava gives her discounted drinks, in a laughable, doomed attempt to gain favour — Ava had gone on a ramble about an article she’d read on the importance of complimenting things children can control, like effort and behaviour, rather than things they can’t control, like physical characteristics. This had involved the example of, like, I’d say to Lilith, wow, great job making that pervy guy cry, instead of, you know, sick cheekbones, or something. Lilith had done a great job sending that lecherous cretin running for the hills, but there was no reason for Ava to think Lilith was ever going to agree with her about anything. If I ever value your perspective enough to appreciate a compliment from you, I’ll let you know , she’d said. It had felt like winning until Ava replied, you were scarier before I knew you liked fruity cocktails. 

It was a ridiculous night, and Lilith chooses not to acknowledge it. She can like strawberry daiquiris and be scary, and she’s done more than enough to prove that.  

Still, on the small, small chance that Ava is right about child development, Lilith chooses her next words carefully. "It’s a — good idea to keep track of your height," she tells him. And then, per Ava’s next step, add specificity: "That will be useful later." 

Diego beams . And then promptly ruins Lilith’s brief sense of accomplishment by adding, "It was actually Ava’s idea!"

Wilma.

She pops by the library to pick up a book to read with her grandson. He’s getting old enough now to follow along for more than a few pages, and Wilma is excited to share all her favourite stories with him. 

She’s just leaving the children’s section — clutching five different titles; she couldn’t choose — when she catches sight of Beatrice. 

It’s not the first time she’s run into one of her students out in the wild. It’s not even the first time she’s run into one of her students at this particular library. 

Beatrice is the best in Wilma’s class. Perhaps not the most eager to contribute to group discussions, but certainly the most insightful, when her hand does go up. Her papers — invariably turned in at least twenty-four hours prior to the due date — are a delight to read, and Wilma’s yet to find so much as a typo in any of them. 

But Wilma has studied and taught for long enough to know that academic pursuits are not the be all and end all. She herself was a self-serious and overly anxious scholar, even through her doctoral program; Wilma wanted to be the best, to be gifted and excellent and peerless, and as a result, she’d allowed her research to consume her. It was only once she started working with undergraduates that she finally got some perspective and came to appreciate learning as an expansion of the mind and soul, rather than a test of worth. 

So, students like Beatrice worry her, almost as much as the ones who are obviously on the brink of total nervous collapse. Silent waters often conceal loneliness, especially in young people, especially at that delicate age when they’re first venturing into the world for themselves. They can end up closing up on themselves, closing away. 

But Wilma’s pleased to see that Beatrice does not, after all, seem to need much worrying about. She looks relaxed and happy, holding hands with another girl, about her age. They’re talking quietly, both of them smiling. 

"Morning, Beatrice," Wilma says cheerfully, because she’s going to pass them regardless, and better not to put Beatrice in the awkward position of trying to decide whether she’s supposed to acknowledge or politely ignore her. 

Beatrice glances up at Wilma’s use of her name, and her posture immediately shifts — just the slightest amount, as there’s only so straight that it’s possible to stand — and she drops the other girl’s hand, instinctively. 

But then she takes it again, deliberately, less than a second later. 

"Good morning, Professor," Beatrice replies, nodding at her. 

"Excellent work on your exam, by the way. Not that you heard it from me." 

Beatrice accepts the praise with borderline stoicism — "Thank you, Professor." — but the other girl seems as pleased as if Wilma’s compliment had been directed at her. 

With a small wave to the both of them, Wilma continues on her way, only to be distracted by a new display of mystery novels. She’s still nearby when a young boy walks up to the pair of them. 

"Who was that?" he asks. 

"One of Bea's teachers."

"I forget you have teachers too," the boy says. "That's so weird."

Nisha.

"Ugh," she says, flopping down on the barstool.

"Is that more of a tequila ugh or a vodka ugh ?" Ava asks, already grabbing a shot glass. 

"Let’s start with vodka."

Nisha likes this bar. It’s not far from her new apartment, meaning that getting home isn’t a hassle, and Ava’s pretty cool.

"So," Ava says. "Is your boss being a fuckface again?"

"Girl problems, this time, actually."

Martine is — well. Nisha’s not sure whether she’ll ever actually understand Martine. 

"Ah." Ava bobs her head wisely. "Girls. For sure." 

Nisha squints at her. "I mean — sorry if this is presumptive, but —" She gestures at Ava’s, like, whole outfit. Her shirt is clashy, tied off at her midriff, and she’s wearing a little rainbow thread bracelet. It's not exactly the straightest getup Nisha’s ever seen. "You seem like you’d understand." 

"You think my Bulbasaur shirt gives me girl problems?" Ava jokes. "Cos it doesn’t. I’m killing it. I don’t have girl problems." 

Hans must overhear from where he’s standing a few feet away, because he starts laughing, setting down the glass he’s drying and turning to look at Ava. 

"I don’t!" Ava doubles down. "I have a girl situation. That I’m working on."

Hans drapes the dish towel over his shoulder and grins at Nisha. "Ask her how long she’s been working on it." 

"Nisha, I believe we were talking about you ," Ava interrupts, pointedly. "Lay it on us. What’s going on?"

Nisha takes a sip of her vodka raspberry, sighs, drops her head into her hands, and recounts the entire mess to Ava, who listens carefully, alternating between offering her alcohol, water, and sympathetic facial expressions. 

"So," Nisha says, once she feels a little better, and things are a bit hazy around the edges. "Advice?" 

"I guess it depends. Are you, like, all in? Cos I think you’ve gotta know that first. I reckon everything else goes from there." 

It’s probably the most serious she’s ever heard Ava sound, and she desperately wants to ask more questions. Are you all in with your girl situation? Why? How did you know? How will I know? Aren’t you terrified? Aren’t you so, so scared that she won’t love you back? 

"Ava, stop giving the customers existential crises," Hans scolds, sliding Nisha a shot of tequila. 

"Sorry. Too much? If you’re not there yet, I’ve got some wicked good pick-up lines I can teach you. Ranging from very sexual to mostly cute." 

Camila. 

They call about once a week. Yasmine has finally got her WiFi fixed, so this time, her video stream is much clearer, thankfully. 

Camila listens as Yasmine gives her a rundown of the past few days: more sightseeing, more studying, more neck cricks from too long spent in the library. 

"Only a few more weeks until you’re back," Camila says happily, "getting neck cricks in the libraries here!"

Camila’s very glad that Yasmine took the leap and went on exchange, but it’ll be nice to have her home again. 

Once they burn through Camila’s recent activities — her first attempt at knitting has resulted in a totally lumpy, oddly square-shaped sock, and her upstairs neighbour continues to play ABBA too loudly in the middle of the night — Yasmine asks, "And how are the others going?" 

"Well, Mary and Shannon are doing great. They’re planning a trip out to see Shannon’s parents soon. And Diego has got really into Percy Jackson. " 

"And Ava and Beatrice?"

"We’re kind of in a deep, patient breathing era." Camila’s mostly learned to roll with it. There are moments of acute frustration, of course, and sometimes she is tempted to spill a drink on Beatrice right before she leaves their apartment, just to see if anything shakes out from that, but overall, she’s being utterly mature and not at all meddlesome. 

"And your plan to lock them in a —"

"I was never actually going to do that," Camila defends. "It was just a hypothetical." 

Glen.

It’s their first fire alarm in a while. 

Outside is cold and unforgivingly windy, but Glen had the good sense to grab a heavy coat and a dressing gown, so he’s well and truly insulated. 

Coincidentally, he’s ended up not far from his neighbours, and isn’t that a funny thought: that all of them might’ve unknowingly shuffled into their usual arrangement. 

Glen sees Ava and Beatrice more often than the two young men who lived in the apartment before them. They help him with his groceries, sometimes, and once, when his television broke, he and Ava took it apart with a screwdriver. Not only had Ava managed to fix it, but it was a surprisingly fun afternoon; Ava is easy to talk to, even if sometimes she blurts out words or phrases he has no hope of understanding. Beatrice is quieter, but no less kind, and he’s always got along well with quiet people, being one himself. 

Diego’s with them tonight — draped over Beatrice’s back, fast asleep, his head slumped against her shoulder. It reminds Glen of when his own boys were young, when they’d pass out in the car and he’d have to carry them to bed; when they’d only pretend to pass out, and he’d carry them anyway, because he wanted to be more gentle with them than his own father had been with him. 

Glen makes his way over to them. "Have you heard anything?" he asks. 

"Doug on six left his vape on the stove, apparently," Ava says. "That’s the inside scoop." 

"Ava charmed a fire-fighter," Beatrice explains. "And we promised not to name names."

She doesn’t sound particularly bothered, though; none of them like Doug. 

"It’s Glen. We can tell Glen. 4B/4C solidarity." 

Beatrice shifts slightly, adjusting to keep Diego balanced, and Ava reaches out to brush away a strand of hair that’s fallen across her face. 

"Does the little fella need another coat?" Glen inquires. "I’m plenty warm already." 

He sees them hesitate, but he’s more robust than he might seem, thank you, and he shrugs out of his extra layer before they can protest. 

"You’re the best," Ava says, sincere as always. 

He wonders, sometimes, whether she actually reminds him of Mallory — Mallory had that same genuine tone, that easy energy, that instant smile — or if it’s a trick of the light, caused by the way Beatrice looks at Ava, and how much it reminds Glen of the way he used to feel. 

"Hopefully we’re allowed back inside soon," he says.

"And hopefully Doug gives up vaping. Sorry, yes, not that we’re naming names. But come on." 

Colin. 

The gym is right by campus, which is mad convenient, and there are a handful of super lovely girls who lift there on Wednesday mornings. They’ve let him join their rotation for the past two weeks, and he’s really hoping he’ll kind of be allowed to stick around. 

Today, only Beatrice and Ilana are in the weights room, because apparently Peggy has an exam of some kind. He likes Peggy, but it’s also nice with just the three of them. Ilana is funny and an open book, for the most part, and though Beatrice is a little harder to read, he thinks they both like him. Beatrice even seems to get a dumb joke he makes about Ben 10 , even though he would’ve bet his life that she’s the literal opposite of the target audience for that show. That’s surprise number one for the day. 

Surprise number two comes when they’re gathering up their things after they wrap up, and he sees Beatrice check out the girl who’s standing in the lobby, chatting to the receptionist. 

In Beatrice’s defence, the girl is very check-out-able, and Colin means that respectfully. 

"You should go say hi to her," Colin blurts. 

Beatrice glances over at him. "Sorry?"

"That girl. You could — I mean, if you like her, you could go say hi." By the end of the sentence, he’s starting to lose confidence in his impulsive idea. Firstly, it’s none of his business; it’s not even as if he knows for sure that Beatrice is queer. Secondly, the girl isn’t wearing workout gear, and she hasn’t actually gone past the lobby — there’s every chance that she’s here to, like, meet her boyfriend or something, and Colin would be setting Beatrice up to fail. 

Beatrice doesn’t seem to be cross with him for overstepping, at least. "Colin," she starts, "that’s —"

"I think it’s a brilliant idea," Ilana interrupts, looking perhaps disproportionately enthused by the prospect. "I think you should go up to that totally random girl and shoot your shot."

Beatrice’s mouth tightens. "Lana, you’re —"

"Beatrice is actually famous around here for her excellent game," Ilana continues, headless of Beatrice’s interruption. "She’s kind of my role model. She can get any girl like that ." Ilana snaps her fingers. 

"You’re ridiculous," Beatrice says. 

"Don’t let her fool you. She’s very modest," Ilana tells him. "But she has this effect on women. Seriously. If Beatrice goes down there, then that girl will be all over her in less than thirty seconds."

Beatrice has a silent staring contest with Ilana for a moment, then turns to Colin. "Lana is under the impression that she’s being funny. The girl over there is my friend, Ava."

"Oh." Colin can feel his ears going red. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to — to overstep." 

"It’s fine."

"That would’ve been a really hilarious prank, and you ruined it," Ilana complains. "He would’ve thought you had superpowers."

"I have aspirations other than convincing eighteen-year-olds I have superpowers." 

"Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you do. Get out of here." Ilana shoves at Beatrice’s shoulders, pushing her in the direction of the lobby. 

The girl — Ava — lights up as soon as she sees Beatrice coming, waving goodbye to the receptionist before darting over to Beatrice, hugging her, running her hands down Beatrice’s arms before linking their fingers together, dragging Beatrice towards the door. 

"See? Less than thirty seconds," Ilana says. 

Mary. 

As Mary understands it, Elena isn't one to announce her visits. She just sort of — shows up. 

According to Shannon, she was something of a whirlwind when they were teenagers, always doing everything, never sitting still. 

She could make an entrance, Shannon once said, and apparently Elena still can: she knocks on the door of their apartment, a handbag draped over one arm, and a baby held in the other. 

"Elena, please tell me that’s your baby," Shannon says, reflexively, looking a little alarmed. 

Ah, yes. Mary remembers. This is the Elena who stole a boat one summer, then threw a party on the boat, and then talked the owner out of pressing charges. The Elena who has been asked to never return to the Louvre, who has eight outstanding parking tickets in Germany, who had to leave Brisbane for undisclosed reasons. 

Elena grins widely. "Imagine if I said no." She laughs. "Yeah, this is Leo." 

Leo is adorable, Mary will give him that. He looks to be about a year old, and his face is mostly cheeks. He watches Mary with dark, slow-blinking eyes, his mouth open. Curious, or sleepy? She can’t tell. 

She glances over at Shannon, who still seems to be processing everything. 

Elena appears to arrive at the same conclusion, because she gets down to the business of introductions without Shannon’s help. "You must be Mary."

"That’s me. Would you like to come in?" 

It’s not as if they don’t have plans — Ava and Beatrice are going to be here soon; they’re all supposed to be drinking wine and repainting the study — but they can’t exactly turn Elena away. 

Elena nods and sweeps through the hall as though this isn’t her first-ever time at their apartment, as though she lives here herself. "Do you have soda? Coffee? Oh — Shannon, have you still got that amazing green tea you loved?"

That green tea has always been Beatrice’s, but they’ve still got some anyway, and Shannon doesn’t point out Elena’s mistake.

"I’ll make you some," Shannon says. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished. We’ve been walking around all day."

Apparently, Elena’s in town on business, but although she monologues for almost ten consecutive minutes, Mary’s unable to pin down what exactly she does . They hear about a recent interaction with a cab driver — "Can you believe that? He drove Ellen Pompeo . Or someone who really looked like her!" — and about the jacket she bought at a boutique that Shannon has to go to. 

Elena has a slightly dizzying effect. Not a bad one. She’s fun. But probably best experienced with alcohol and on a full night’s sleep, neither of which Mary has had. 

She wonders if Leo finds the chatter soothing; he certainly seems relaxed enough, wiggling around a little, but mostly content to just rest on Elena’s hip. 

There’s a knock on the door. 

"That’ll be Ava and Beatrice," Mary says, ducking away to fetch them. 

If there’s anyone who can keep up with someone who’s a bit full-time, it’s Ava. She takes genuine delight in all kinds, and doesn’t seem to have a threshold at which talking turns into too much talking. Unlike Mary, Shannon, and Beatrice, whose friendship is at least partially cemented in a shared sense of exactly how much socialising a person should be expected to withstand. 

When she opens the door, Ava is mid-gesture, possibly mid-punchline. "And then he — Hey, Mary!"  

"Hi. Change of plans," Mary informs them. "Elena’s here." 

Beatrice’s expression transitions from confused to mildly wary, which Ava notices, if the way she reaches out for Beatrice is any indication.

"Well," Beatrice says. With the hand not clutching a bottle of wine, she nudges Ava ever-so-slightly in front of her. 

Ava smiles at her, head tilting. "Am I being sacrificed, Bea?"

"Yes." 

"Okay." 

They make their way back to the kitchen. Elena interrupts herself mid-word to squeal at the sight of them. 

"Oh my god, Beatrice? What the fuck, you’re, like, a grownup now! How did that happen?" 

Mary finds great amusement in people posing Beatrice rhetorical questions. There's always the tiniest, briefest, tenth of a second before the context clues fully process, when it seems like Beatrice might actually offer a genuine answer. 

"Nice to see you again," Beatrice says. "This is my — friend, Ava." 

Something Mary has always admired about Ava is how effortlessly she can adjust to what different people need. If left alone with someone quiet, she coaxes them out, or builds a comfortable silence they can relax in. If paired with someone chatty, she becomes an engaged audience, nodding and gasping at all the right intervals.

Elena’s stories present many opportunities to gasp, and Ava delivers. The rest of them drink their tea and do their best to keep up. 

"So, we were heading to Naples, right? And this is — okay, actually, this is kind of a both hands story. It’s very visual. Do you want to hold Leo for a sec?" Elena asks. 

Ava smiles. "Yeah! Totally." 

Elena passes her the baby and Ava accepts him in an easy, practised hold. Leo immediately lunges out a tiny fist to grab onto Ava's hair, tugging it with satisfaction, summoning more force than Mary would’ve predicted as he yanks down. Ava winces, then gently uncurls his fingers and draws his attention to her necklace instead — a string of colourful beads that Leo is instantly taken with. 

"You're kind of a pro at that," Elena observes. "Took me ages not to freak the fuck out about dropping him. But then I did drop him and it was, like, fine, so I got over it. Oh, I dropped him on a mattress , Shannon. Don’t give me that look." 

Ava shrugs, shifts her weight so that Leo jostles lightly; he giggles. "I grew up with lots of kids around."

"Ugh, envy . I’ve got no siblings. Well, one sister, but she’s much older than me and kind of a bitch. So, not counting it." 

Elena’s story does, in fact, turn out to require two hands — Mary wishes some of the details had been left out, but at least Leo is well and truly too young to understand any of it. 

"— and Beatrice! How’s that boyfriend of yours?" 

Beatrice frowns. "What boyfriend?"

"That hot guy who used to follow you around on the estate. That was you, right?" 

"No," Beatrice says. "I’m gay."

"Oh. You know, that does make a lot of sense." Elena glances around, takes in the fact that everyone else has gone silent. "Did you guys not know?" 

"We knew," Shannon assures her. 

It’s just that none of them, not even Ava, it seems, have ever heard Beatrice casually inform a near-stranger of that fact. Beatrice came out to Mary indirectly, through a series of implications that Mary mostly had to put together herself. And Shannon found out because of a thirty-second phone call before Beatrice was shipped off to boarding school. And Ava — well, Mary doesn’t have the details on that. Maybe Beatrice told her or maybe Ava tallied up enough of Beatrice’s blushes to figure it out on her own. 

"Okay, weird vibe in here right now," Elena announces. "Anyway." 

Over the next hour, Leo gets passed from Ava to Shannon, then Shannon to Mary, then back to Elena, who feeds him a piece of banana. Mary likes babies just fine, has a cordial respect for them and appreciates their enjoyment of the world. She and Shannon probably won’t ever have one — they might foster, one day, but it’s important to both of them that they take in an older child — but it’s nice, all the same. 

"Your turn, Beatrice!" Elena declares, once the last of the banana is gone. 

"Oh, I couldn't," Beatrice says. "But thank you."

"Are you sure? He’s a chronically chill baby. And he most likely won’t puke on you, or anything." 

But Beatrice shakes her head. "It’s quite alright. He seems very comfortable where he is."

Later, when Elena goes to move her car to avoid another ticket, she gives Leo to Ava again. 

"Are you sure you don’t want to hold him?" Ava asks Beatrice, once it’s just the four of them. "You don’t have to, but it’s fun." 

"Ava, I've never held a baby before. I don't even know how." 

"It's not hard," Ava promises. "I can show you, if you like."

Mary watches Beatrice hesitate, knows that she doesn't usually like to try something new unless she's had the proper time to prepare, to assess the situation and warm herself up to it. 

But Ava is looking at her hopefully, obviously excited to get to teach her this, and Beatrice folds in less than four seconds. 

"Okay," she agrees tentatively. 

"Yay!" Ava grins, bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm. Leo makes a small, happy sound in response. "Okay, so — like this, right? With your arm like — yeah, like that. He can hold his own head up but you probably want a hand behind him because babies do sometimes throw themselves backwards."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"They get a kick out of it," Ava tells her. "It's, like, whoosh . They don't think you can actually drop them. And you wouldn't! Obviously. You've got lightning reflexes. But yeah."

Beatrice is entirely rigid as she holds Leo, perhaps a little too tightly. He seems much more uncertain than he did with Ava, picking up on Beatrice’s lack of confidence. 

"You’re doing great," Ava says. "Just — don’t forget to breathe. I swear he won’t die." She puts her hand over the one Beatrice has on Leo’s shoulders, like a failsafe. It’s entirely for Beatrice’s benefit — they all know that it’s going to be fine — and it works; Beatrice exhales, and her body language starts to relax somewhat. 

"I think I do better with eight and up," Beatrice decides, after a moment. "Ideally in a formalised, educational setting." 

"You spend, like, every second day with Diego in a very informal setting." 

"But that’s Diego. And he’s eight and up, technically." 

"Yeah. He’s the perfect age." 

"And soon, he’ll be a teenager," Mary points out. Because she can. 

Ava’s expression turns briefly terrified before she shrugs it away. "He'll still be Diego," she replies. 

"He'll be taller than you," Beatrice says.

"He wouldn't hurt me like that."

Mary grins. "In three years or less, I guarantee it."

"I'll get you a step stool, when the time comes," Beatrice promises, smiling. She bumps her shoulder against Ava’s, apparently unwilling to lift one hand off Leo, even for a second, even to touch Ava. 

"Oh, you're mean today." Ava, predictably, sounds delighted. "That's why Leo hates you so much. Babies can sense bad vibes."

Leo has dropped his little head against Beatrice's collarbone, his hand gripping the collar of her sweater. 

"See?" Ava says. "He’s horrified and disgusted." 

In less than three minutes, Leo falls asleep. He drools all over Beatrice, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

Mary’s just glad that Camila and Lilith aren’t here to witness this; there’s absolutely no way she’d be able to restrain both of them. But then, maybe it wouldn’t be disastrous if she didn’t; maybe you guys are so cute or go be disgusting over each other somewhere else wouldn’t throw everything off kilter or set them back or make them freeze. Maybe, maybe , they’re almost out of the delicate part now. 

Chapter Text

Friederich’s gelato shop is Diego’s absolute favourite of all the ones he’s tried, which is really saying something, because he’s tried a lot . Scientists and doctors might say too much, but as far as Diego’s concerned, it’s none of their business. 

Normally, Friday gelato is a three-person mission, but Beatrice is stuck having to cover a class last-minute, so it’s just Ava and him today. 

"Hi," Friederich greets, waving at them as soon as they push open the door. 

"Hi!" 

Friederich is the best. He gives Diego samples of all sorts of different flavours, even though Diego almost always ends up going for either chocolate or mango, and he has a cool cap like a train conductor. 

Diego’s pretty sure that between the cap and the fact that Friederich’s job involves inventing new flavours of gelato, Friederich is kind of Ava’s role model. 

Friederich spins his metal scoop like he’s a cowboy with a pistol. "And what will you be having today?" he asks.

Ava does a quick scan of the specials written on the signboard. "Does the house have any particular recommendations?" 

She never gets the same flavour twice — the exact opposite of Beatrice, who is even more consistent than Diego, and goes for matcha every time. Ava loves to make fun of her for that, as if convincing Beatrice to try some of hers doesn’t seem to be the highlight of Ava’s gelato experience. Variety is the spice of life, live a little, embrace chaos , Ava likes to say, which then leads to the inevitable answer of I already have you around, Ava, surely that’s enough chaos , and then to Ava’s arm looping through Beatrice’s: well, embrace me then . 

"For our more discerning customers, I can suggest the biscotti and pistachio. Exquisite vintage," Friederich says, affecting a posh accent that makes Ava and Diego laugh. 

"Sold."

"And for the young lad?"

"Chocolate, please."

"A classic for a reason."

Friederich levers the gelato out of the tubs, managing to cram an impressive amount into each of their paper cups. "You must tell your girlfriend that I’ve tweaked my matcha recipe," he says. "She will have to let me know what she thinks next time." 

Diego’s brain is zeroed in on the prospect of creamy, delicious gelato, and Ava’s must be too, because a whole second goes by where she doesn’t answer. 

"We’ll tell her," Diego promises for the both of them. 

Friederich is right to want Beatrice’s review; if anyone is going to appreciate the difference of a tiny variation, it’ll be Beatrice, who notices everything.

"Excellent." Friederich grins. He bobs his head to the music playing over the store’s speakers as he rings them up, then hands them what is probably more than the average number of napkins, in case history repeats itself. 

Diego maintains that the entire incident-that-shall-not-be-spoken-of was Ava’s fault, and Ava maintains that it was the basketball’s fault, and Beatrice maintains that it was nobody’s fault, but basketballs aren’t allowed in the store anymore. 

They head over to their usual table in the corner. A million years ago, he and Ava used to just sit at any random table, but Beatrice always picks out corner booths; now, even without her here, they gravitate to the same spot. 

Diego is so focused on his gelato that at first, he doesn’t realise Ava’s being kind of quiet. Eventually, though, when no comment is made about how the new flavour rates, or the funny calendar cartoon of the day that’s by her elbow, he frowns. 

"What’s up?" he asks, tapping his shoe lightly against hers. 

Ava squirms a bit, stalling as she swoops her tiny wooden spoon through her gelato. "Um, D, what Friederich said before —"

"Chocolate is a classic for a reason," he defends immediately. "And pistachios are the worst." 

"Not that." 

She goes silent again, but he doesn’t mind. It’s much easier to be patient when he’s got a mouthful of ice cream. 

"It’s just — Friederich called Bea my girlfriend, and — you know that Bea and I aren’t together like that, right?" 

He blinks at her. "Yeah. Duh." 

"Cool, cool." A speck of melted gelato drips from Ava’s spoon and onto the table. "Wait, why duh ?" 

"What?"

"You said yeah, duh ." 

"Oh. I overheard Lilith say to Camila that you’d be gross if you got together. And you’re not gross. So." 

Ava huffs out a laugh. "Of course she said that." Then, more seriously: "And I’d tell you, if there were any, like, big life changes." 

"Okay." 

"And we won’t — wouldn’t be gross. Just for the record." 

Lilith came across as pretty confident about it, but he’s got gelato to eat, so he nods and lets it slide. 

"I’ve decided that I’m going to write a book," Diego announces, in the middle of dinner. He’d meant to tell them earlier, but then he totally forgot, so now is as good a time as any. 

Both Beatrice and Ava seem slightly surprised — maybe because he’s never shown any interest in writing before, or maybe because it’s a complete topic change from the ibis that’s getting territorial over Ava’s favourite bench at the park. 

"That’s great! What about?" Ava asks. 

"I haven’t decided yet." Once he actually sits down to do it, he imagines all those sorts of details will come pretty naturally. If books were hard to write, there wouldn’t be so many of them. "It’s going to have dragons, though. Or demons."

"Something for the characters to fight. Smart." 

"Or they could make friends with the dragon," he points out. "And then ride it."

"There you go. Fight, then befriend. Act one, act two."

"How many acts do I need?"

"Typically three," Beatrice supplies. "But it’s largely up to your discretion."

"I’ll probably put in an extra dragon, then," he decides. "That should give me lots to write about." 

"Maybe even four or five dragons," Ava suggests. "Just really go crazy with it."

Ava is a big proponent of the more-is-better philosophy: more silly jokes, more silly shirts, more friends, more sleepovers, more hugs. 

Beatrice, on the other hand, believes that things should be had in moderation: exercise balanced with rest, reading balanced with thinking, vegetables balanced with protein balanced with carbs. 

At least, that’s what they both say they think. But he knows it’s more smudged than that — that Ava has learned when to hold back and Beatrice has learned when to let go. 

Three days later, when he goes over to their apartment after school, they present him with a fancy notebook with a beautiful leather cover. It looks exactly like the kind a real writer might have — like it might be found in a mysterious hidden library, filled with secrets. Diego loves it. 

"For your novel," Ava explains. "We got you a normal pen, though, because I think a quill would be a real bitch to use, to be honest." 

"It’s beautiful," he says. And it is. 

But Diego already knows he won’t be able to actually write in it. A notebook like this needs the exact perfect thing written in it, and he doesn’t know what the exact perfect thing is. He has a hard enough time deciding where stickers should go; he can’t see himself being able to commit to a single sentence worthy of this. 

"The cover comes off," Beatrice explains, like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. "It’s just a regular notebook."

She shifts the cover slightly and he sees that she’s right; inside, it’s the same brand of notebook that Ava uses for her college work. 

"Which is also handy for if you want to write a sequel," Ava says. "We can put a new notebook inside and boom, you’re off again." 

"Thank you!" 

The good thing about Beatrice and Ava standing close together is that it makes it easy to hug them both at the same time.

Whoever decided that dancing should be on the phys ed curriculum obviously hated ten-year-olds. Maybe they were attacked by a group of ten-year-olds once, and swore they’d get their revenge. Or maybe they were born evil. Both options seem equally likely. 

Diego has his phys ed last on a Friday, which is normally awesome, because it means he ends the week playing capture the flag or soccer. Today was a betrayal of mammoth proportions, and he might never recover. 

He complains almost the whole walk from school to the apartment, which is maybe a little whiny of him, but he figures he’s earned it, after tripping over his own feet and being forced to awkwardly hold hands with eight different people. 

"It’s the worst ," he tells Ava. "And I’m the worst at it. Do you know how bad that is? I’m the most embarrassing person at the most embarrassing thing." 

Ava makes a sympathetic face. "Yikes. At least it’s only for a few weeks, though, right? Then you’ll be onto a new unit."

" Weeks , Ava. That’s forever. I fell over . And everyone saw."

It’s not like Ava doesn’t fall over — more often than he does, really — but Ava can laugh it off. And while Diego doesn’t mind accidentally doing dumb stuff around Ava or Beatrice, it’s another thing entirely to do something dumb in front of his whole class. Laughing it off is simply not an option.  

"Do you think Mother Superion would write me a sick note to get out of it?"

Ava pats him on the shoulder. "Not in a million years, bud." 

Diego groans. 

"Maybe we can help you practise, though? I missed that unit — I can only do cool dancing. But Beatrice was made to do all that fancy shit when she was growing up. She could totally teach both of us if we ask nicely." 

He doesn’t want to practise, or ever dance again for as long as he lives. 

He also doesn’t want to fall over in public for a second time, though, so he nods.

An hour later, when Beatrice gets back from university, they push the couch and beanbag to the side and clear an area in the living room. 

"I used to really hate dancing too," Beatrice admits, after he sighs tragically at the prospect of trying again. 

"You did?"

Even now, it’s rare for Beatrice to mention her childhood; he hardly knows anything about what she was like at his age, and it’s impossible to picture — he can’t imagine Beatrice as being any different than she is. 

But that’s not true, really, is it? Beatrice is very Beatrice, but she’s still changed so much since he met her. 

"Every second of it," she says. "I didn’t like having to be that close to people I didn’t know, and I always felt like everyone was looking at me and waiting for me to mess it up."

The only thing he’s ever seen Beatrice actually mess up is hot chocolate, and that’s because they have differing opinions about how much chocolate powder is required. 

" Did you ever mess up?" he asks. 

"Lots. But it was okay," she promises. "And it got easier once I stopped thinking of it as a performance and started thinking of it more as a pattern. It’s like aikido that way. They’re just different kinds of movement."

Diego stands on one side of Beatrice and Ava stands on the other and together they slowly step through the footwork for the dance he has to do for class. It’s much less stressful without his teacher and his classmates there. 

Plus, he’s better than Ava at it, so that doesn’t hurt. 

They run it through a bunch of times, until it feels like it’s slid from the front of his mind to the back, and he doesn’t have to whisper-count or struggle to remember what comes next. 

"There you go," Beatrice says. "You’ve got it." 

He preens, pleased with himself, and flops onto the couch. That’s more than enough learning for one day, especially now that he’s good at it. 

It leaves him watching Ava struggle, until eventually Beatrice adjusts her approach, and switches around so Ava is in front of her. She sets Ava’s hands on her shoulders. 

"Just like a mirror," Beatrice tells her.

Ava improves almost suspiciously quickly, her smile bright as she moves when Beatrice moves. 

It’s kind of pretty, actually; the patterns Beatrice was talking about are easier to see from the outside. They’re not particularly smooth, but both of them are laughing, and he supposes that being smooth isn’t the point. 

"Why did you have to learn dancing?" he asks. 

"My mother wanted me to," Beatrice says. "She felt it would — she was hoping it would make me more — well, it was important to her, so I went. I haven’t done this kind of dancing in a long time."

"How long?"

"Years and years." Another step, another step, another step: a new pattern. "It’s nice to try it again."

Ava spins herself in a twirl that is definitely not part of the dance, but Beatrice goes along with it anyway before gently pulling her back in. 

The next morning, Camila and Lilith come over, and they hook Camila’s Switch up to the TV. 

Diego likes playing against Lilith. In part, it’s because he always beats her, no matter the game, but it’s also because he enjoys the increasingly vicious commentary she keeps up against her avatar, criticising it as though she’s not the one in charge of piloting it around.

"Doing some rearranging?" Lilith asks, as soon as she walks in the door. 

Diego is confused for a moment, then remembers that they never returned the couch to its usual spot. The extra space had presented an opportunity for inside camping, and he’d dragged his pillow and blanket out here. Ava had still stayed in Beatrice’s room, though, in case he wanted to go back to a real bed in the middle of the night.

"We were practising dancing. For my school," Diego explains, getting out of the way as Lilith and Beatrice carry the couch closer to the television again. 

"Aw, cute," Camila says. 

"Did you have to take dance classes like Beatrice when you were a kid?" he asks Lilith. He knows that she and Beatrice grew up together, and they did aikido together, so it makes sense. 

"Sure. It was pretty lame, so it was kind of a relief when we got kicked out —"

"You got kicked out?" Diego repeats, incredulous. " Beatrice got kicked out?"

Lilith’s eyes gleam, and she opens her mouth, but Beatrice cuts her off before she can. "No. You’re not telling him that story." 

"I want to hear the story," Diego insists. 

He tries on his absolute best and most foolproof please expression, which has only got more effective on Beatrice over the years. More effective than it is on Ava, even. 

But today’s not his day, and Beatrice holds firm, shaking her head. 

"Fine," Lilith grumbles.

"Hey, Lilith? For unrelated reasons to what I’m sure is an excellent story, can you come with me for a sec?" Ava says, with such an air of casualness that actually casual people could never achieve it. 

Lilith, for probably the first time in the history of ever, does what Ava asks. 

Camila holds out another two seconds before saying, "I should probably also help with the unrelated thing."

The three of them disappear down the hall, and Beatrice sighs. 

Beatrice washes, Ava dries, and Diego stacks. It’s a good system, even if it keeps Diego too far away from the soapy bubbles to do anything interesting, like start some sort of detergent war. 

"And, like, a reboot ?" Ava complains. The spatula she’s holding is definitely dry now, but Ava’s using it for emphasis, waving it through the air. "It’s barely been a hot minute since it ended."

"I thought you said it was a bad show," Beatrice replies. 

"I mean, yeah . It’s terrible. But it’s fun -terrible. And you just know this is going to be, like, upmarket terrible. They’re going to try and class it up and it’s going to be a nightmare."

Seeing as he’s got nothing left to put away, Diego grabs the spare tea towel and takes a dripping plate from the drying rack. Ava’s on a roll, and their assembly line is unlikely to recover until she’s run out of steam. 

"You could not watch it," Beatrice proposes. 

"Well, I have to give it one episode. To know how annoyed I’m supposed to be."

"Naturally."

"Then I’m going to think strongly worded thoughts." 

"Of course," Beatrice says, handing the next plate directly to Diego, bypassing Ava and her spatula completely. 

"And, like, would it kill them to come up with a new idea instead? New ideas are everywhere! They should talk to Diego. How’s the novel going, bud?"

"Great," he tells them. "I’ve got five pages so far."

"See? Diego could write a new show for them. He’s all over it."

Beatrice must know somehow that Ava’s tangent is over, because the next plate goes to her, and Ava dries it without comment, handing her spatula to Diego. 

He does take the opportunity to poke her with it, but it would be a crime if he didn’t. 

"I learned this at school," Diego tells them, drawing up the different sections of the page with meticulous care. His handwriting has improved a lot lately and he doesn't want to show off, but he kind of does. 

"Oh, I remember MASH," Ava says. "It's, like, which boy band member you marry, or whatever. I think I got a Jonas brother once, but he's off the market now."

"That must be upsetting for you," Beatrice responds dryly. 

Ava grins and Diego gets the sudden sense that Beatrice has unintentionally set Ava up for something, so he swoops in quickly before they can get derailed. 

"We’re not playing it that way," he says. "That's a boring way. This way tells you what car you'll have and what you'll get famous for and how you'll die."

"That's rather morbid."

"Don't you remember being his age? We were all morbid little shits back then."

"Language."

"Don't worry," he assures them both. "They're all cool ways to die."

Diego does Ava's chart first. She gets: drive a purple Lamborghini, become the best in the world at eating chillies, and die in a helicopter crash. 

"That's good. You can just avoid helicopters," he advises.

"Which will be tough, what with my wall-to-wall helicopter flying schedule, but I guess I’ll manage."

He does Beatrice's chart next. They all peer down at his notebook as he counts up the rings of her spiral and circles her result.  

"I suppose a submarine explosion is interesting," she concedes. "And infinitely preferable to some of the other options."

"Aw, Bea, you don’t want to be eaten alive by scorpions?"

Beatrice grimaces. 

Diego agrees; that does sound like a pretty nasty way to go. Fortunately, it’s not his fate either, according to the MASH gods. "I got the same as you when Joseph did mine," he informs Beatrice happily. "We can share the submarine." 

"Well, now me and my helicopter feel left out," Ava laments. "I want to be on the submarine too."

"The submarine explodes, Ava."

"So? I bet all of us scoping out blobfish and giant prawns would be super fun up until we get tragically vaporised."

It does seem mean to leave Ava out, even though she’s kind of claustrophobic and used to skip the angler fish scene in Finding Nemo when she was a kid — a fact he’s sworn to secrecy about. 

Diego turns to Beatrice. "Can submarines fit three people?" he asks.

"Depending on the size, submarines can have between one and a hundred passengers, on average," Beatrice says. "So, yes, technically, the three of us can go in the same submarine. Even though it explodes. And is imaginary."

"That’s all I wanted to hear." Ava nods, satisfied. 

"We can even bring along Ava’s Jonas brother," Beatrice adds, and he can tell that it’s meant to be funny, but he still has no idea who the Jonas brothers are and it’s feeling too late to ask. 

"I’m happy with just us," Ava replies. "Nick missed his shot."

There’s a sudden, sharp knocking on the apartment door — too sharp to be Beatrice forgetting her keys, and also Beatrice doesn’t forget her keys, ever.

Ava springs up to answer the door, and he wriggles over to the other end of the couch to see who it is; as far as he knows, they’re not expecting anyone.

"Oh. Hey?" Ava says, surprise evident in her voice. 

Lilith stands in the doorway, dressed more formally than he’s ever seen her. 

"Are you alright?" Ava asks. It’s a fair enough question; Lilith looks agitated, her body shifting and rebalancing with every breath, her hands clenched to fists at her sides. 

"I’m terrific, Ava, as I always am after lunch with my mother. I need to see Beatrice." 

"She’s just downstairs checking the mail. She’ll be back soon. Do you wanna come in?" 

Lilith takes one, two steps into the entryway. He’s used to Lilith’s general biteyness: how she rolls her eyes at Ava and the way she tips her chin up haughtily and the disapproval she radiates when characters in films make bad decisions. He’s also familiar with Lilith when she’s around people she actually doesn’t like; the glare he saw her give that guy who was rude to Camila at a restaurant could’ve levelled cities, a seismic event that put the glares she gives Ava to shame. 

This is definitely more like the second kind of Lilith, which is probably why Ava hesitates before she goes, "So, you and your —" 

"Being a bartender doesn’t qualify you to therapize me," Lilith snaps, folding her arms across her chest. 

Ava doesn’t wince, doesn’t even react at all. "Okay. Let’s wait for Bea."

Lilith’s gaze sweeps over the apartment and finally settles on him. He smiles at her, a little tentatively, and she nods once, then reapplies herself fully to glaring at Ava, maybe just for something to do. 

The ensuing silence drags on forever, but then at last the door opens again, and Beatrice steps through, reading the backs of the letters in her hands. 

She takes one look at Lilith — at her set shoulders, her tight mouth, the clench of her jaw —  and says, "Do you want to go to the dojo?" 

Lilith nods once, sharply. "I’m parked downstairs." And then she’s storming back out of the apartment, although she leaves behind the faint feeling of her restlessness, a static in the air. 

"Alright, then," Ava mutters. "Is she —"

"She’ll be okay," Beatrice promises. "She just needs an outlet." 

Beatrice, ever the master of timeliness and efficiency, manages to get ready to leave in all of a minute: she places the letters neatly on the counter, grabs her kit bag from the closet, takes her car keys from the bowl, kisses Ava’s cheek and waves at Diego before disappearing after Lilith. 

The door closes behind Beatrice, but Ava doesn’t move. She just stands there in place, staring at nothing, like she’s forgotten what she’s supposed to do next. 

"Ava, you’re being weird," he says. 

She scoffs. "I’m not being weird." 

She shakes herself out of it and comes back to sit with him on the couch, but he still watches her sceptically for a moment. 

It’s almost three hours before Lilith and Beatrice return, both of them sweaty and tired, but at least Lilith no longer seems like she’s going to turn into a ball of spikes. She follows Beatrice inside but doesn’t set her bag down. 

"I was short with you before," Lilith offers, grudgingly, to Ava.

Ava nods. "Yup." 

"That was — I suppose —"

Ava bounces on her toes, grinning widely. "Two words. You can do it." 

Lilith grits her teeth. "I apologise."

"Awesome. I would’ve also accepted, Ava, you’re beautiful and amazing and my life is better for having you in it or Ava, you’re the funniest person this side of the equator , for future reference."

"For future reference, I will never say either of those things."

"And Bea probably never thought she’d get pulled into a Shrekathon, but I have a way of changing hearts and minds."

Diego’s been going to aikido for almost two years when Mira joins. 

She’s nice and funny and best of all, she’s reading Percy Jackson , which gives them loads to talk about. 

She’s also completely intimidated by Beatrice, and clams up whenever she’s nearby. 

On one hand, it’s pretty funny, but on the other hand, Diego does kind of get it. He remembers when he first started, and Beatrice was this cool, quiet grownup who could move like a superhero. 

And okay, she’s still cool, and still quiet, and can still move like a superhero, but she’s Beatrice .

Way back when, seeing Beatrice outside of class gave him a sort of upside-down feeling, as though different parts of his life were glitching into one another. Now, he still gets that feeling, but it’s slipped into its own inversion: the Beatrice he’s used to is the one at the apartment, the one who helps him figure out spellings and cuts off itchy tags and tells him not to climb the bookcase and reads content guides for shows they’re going to watch, even though they’re only PG. 

Class is still the same as it’s always been, of course. Beatrice is meticulous about treating all her students equally, but Diego finds this more comforting than being singled out — it’s so Beatrice, and Ava and Beatrice being exactly as they are settles him like nothing else. 

"She’s not scary," he promises Mira. "She’s really nice." 

"I’m not scared of her ," Mira insists, rolling her eyes, as if she hadn’t immediately sat up straighter when Beatrice glanced over at them while they did their stretches. 

Ava spends most of the week complaining about the fact that she’s got an exam scheduled on a Saturday, which she insists is a violation of human rights, and the Geneva Convention, and is just plain mean. But he knows that Ava’s actually studied pretty hard for it — when he comes over after school, the table is littered with printouts and textbooks and a stack of post-its covered in formulas. He thinks that she probably cares about this class more than she’d admit. 

On Friday night, he and Beatrice quiz Ava, and then they all watch a movie, because Ava’s brain has allegedly reached saturation, and no new information is allowed in. 

"Isn’t a movie new information?" he points out. 

"It doesn’t count. It’s different."

"How’s it different?"

"I don’t think someone who was too full to finish his dinner but not too full for dessert is in a position to be asking these kinds of questions," Ava points out.

After lunch on Saturday, Beatrice drives them to Ava’s campus. Diego’s only been once, and that was to a completely different part of the college, so it’s kind of cool to get to see where Ava goes. 

They pile out of the car and make their way over to the exam hall, where dozens of students are huddled together, skimming over their notes one last time. 

Ava, now that she’s here, is actually pretty relaxed. "Alright," she says decisively. "I’m going to crush it. And then we can get pizza to celebrate." 

She holds her hands out to both of them; Diego’s high five reflexes are faster than Beatrice’s, but not by much. In fairness to Beatrice, most of the time when Ava reaches out like that, she wants Beatrice to hold her hand, not slap it, so Beatrice has to figure out what Ava’s after first. 

"You should have tests more often, if we get pizza out of it," he tells Ava. 

"Okay, first, ew. No." Ava wrinkles her nose in disgust. "And second, it’s not as if you don’t get enough pizza."

"I need more pizza. We used to have pizza all the time," he says, sighing with the exact correct amount of drama. 

He doesn’t miss that time when Ava first left St Michael’s, when everything was so different, but probably it wouldn’t kill them to go back to a diet of mostly instant noodles, fish fingers, and cordial. Well, if his nutrition unit at school is to be believed, it would, but still.

"How terrible for you that Bea and I know how to cook." 

He nods solemnly. "It’s the worst."

"And yet, you survive," Beatrice says. 

"Just barely."

Ava checks the time on her phone. "I’d better go." 

Ava salutes both of them, swearing to fight hard and bravely and return alive, and then sets off to sit her paper. They watch her go, because Ava always looks back, whenever she leaves, and when she does look back, they can both wave at her. 

Diego and Beatrice, who have no Saturday exams hanging over their heads, go to the museum. He’s up to the part of his novel where a whole bunch of knights are having a battle, and he wants to scope out the armour in person again. 

They’re in the first room of the exhibit when someone calls out his name, and he twists around.

Mira bounds over to him, grinning. "Hi!" she says. "Oh. Hi, Beatrice."

"Hello, Mira," Beatrice says. "Are you here with your parents?" 

He’s not sure why she asks — Mira obviously isn’t. There are no adults accompanying her at all. 

"Nah." Mira shrugs. She’s much more relaxed around Beatrice now, which is nice. "My sister’s around somewhere, though."

Diego’s going to guess Mira’s sister is the one hurrying towards them. Her hair is thick and dark, and as curly as Mira’s. 

"Mira, please don’t just disappear," she says. 

"Sorry! But I saw my friend. This is Diego. From aikido. I’ve told you about him, remember? And this is Beatrice! She teaches us." 

"Hi," Mira’s sister says. "I’m Lucia." 

He watches Lucia’s eyes dart between him and Beatrice. It’s a hesitation he’s familiar with: she’s trying to figure out how he and Beatrice are connected, how they fit. He hopes that she doesn’t ask — he hates having to explain. He hates that there’s no word for it, hates it more than he used to.

"Nice to meet you both," Lucia says, smiling. "I’m Mira’s sister. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your class."

They end up walking through the rest of the exhibit with Mira and Lucia. He hasn’t ever hung out with Mira outside of aikido, but it’s really fun, and she has great ideas for his knight battle scene. It’s cool, too, that her sister is Beatrice’s age, and that they’ve obviously got lots to talk about. 

Diego and Ava go to collect the pizza while Beatrice deals with an apparently frantic email from a member of her assignment group.

"What did you and Bea get up to?" Ava asks. She’s buzzy with energy; her exam went well, and she’s got no more for the rest of the semester. 

"We went to the museum. And Mira was there!"

Ava grins, bumping her arm against his. "Oh, awesome!"

"And I met her big sister, Lucia."

"Is she going to join aikido too?"

"No, she’s a grownup," Diego clarifies.

"Was she nice?"

"Yup! She mostly talked to Beatrice, though, so I don’t know much about her."

He tells Ava about the new ideas for his story that he got from Mira and the museum, and once he gets to his plans to trap the characters in a maze, he remembers the question he was supposed to ask Beatrice earlier. Probably Ava will know too, though. 

"Is labyrinth one of those words with two meanings?"

Ava considers it for a beat. "Uh. Not as far as I know?"

"So how can a labyrinth be a person?"

"What do you mean?"

"I heard Lucia tell Beatrice that she’s a labyrinth. But I don’t think that makes a lot of sense." 

Ava’s expression changes, shifting into something he can’t really read. "Well, a labyrinth is really intricate and complicated," she explains, her mouth twisting. "If you’re saying a person is a labyrinth, then I guess you’re saying they’re like that. Like complex." 

"Oh. Isn’t that kind of mean, then?" Stuff that gets called complex at school is always a headache. 

"I think Lucia probably meant it to be nice." Ava frowns, shoving her hands into her pockets. "She probably meant it to be a compliment. Like, that Beatrice is a really interesting person." 

"Well, she is interesting."

"She’s the best," Ava agrees. 

With his question answered, he changes the topic, but Ava seems distracted. Distracted enough that he’s the one who has to stop outside the pizza place, because Ava accidentally walks right by it. 

When they arrive for his next aikido class, Mira and Lucia are already there, chatting to Beatrice. 

They turn when Ava and Diego walk in, and all three of them smile. He hugs Beatrice quickly — class hasn’t started, so she’s not his teacher yet — and waves hello at the others. 

"Ava, this is Mira and Lucia," Beatrice introduces. 

Ava’s gaze flicks from Mira to Lucia to Beatrice to Lucia again. "Nice to meet you guys."  

"You must be the housemate and best friend," Lucia surmises. 

"Yup," Ava says. "That’s me." 

He thinks her voice sounds slightly different, and Beatrice evidently agrees, because she glances at her sidelong, brow furrowing. She reaches out and sets a hand lightly on Ava’s back, and Ava softens, but doesn’t relax all the way. 

Lucia either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind that Ava’s being weird. "I was just saying to Beatrice that she should teach adult classes. I’d really love to learn, and she’s such a great instructor." 

"Actually, we do offer adult classes. I teach them." 

Lilith’s ability to sneak up on people silently is unerring, and as usual, everyone except Beatrice jumps. 

"She does," Ava attests, beaming at Lilith. "And Lilith’s a great teacher too." 

"Oh, do you take her class?" Lucia asks. 

Lilith makes a derisive noise. "Ava couldn’t handle my class." He expects Ava to protest, but she doesn’t, doesn’t seem bothered in the least. "If you’d like, you can sit in on one now. We’re about to start." 

Lilith leads Lucia away, outlining the advantages of this kind of conditioning with the level of polite professionalism she’s only capable of drumming up for people she doesn’t know. 

"She’s really tall," Mira murmurs, breaking the quiet that follows. 

Ava laughs. "She sure is." 

After class, while they’re waiting for Beatrice to finish talking to her boss, Lilith strides up and stops right in front of Ava. 

"I’m not being supportive, just so we’re clear," she says flatly. "But this is getting fucking ridiculous, and if it drags on any longer I will kill you both. And I’d actually miss Beatrice. Get it sorted." 

Diego’s long since learned that Lilith likes to issue a lot of threats but he’s never seen her follow through on one, so he’s not too worried. Plus, Ava and Beatrice are great at getting stuff done when they work together, so they can definitely manage whatever Lilith thinks they need to do. 

Diego is, for the most part, really good at not getting sick. He's world class at it. 

But even he doesn't manage to dodge the vicious cold that sweeps through St Michael's. He avoids it valiantly for the first two weeks by washing his hands frequently and backing away from anyone who sniffles, but eventually it catches up to him.  

He’s over-hot and touchy all of Thursday, and by Thursday evening, he feels awful. Awful- awful. His head is thick and fuzzy and he spends half the night coughing, loudly enough that Raoul throws a pillow at him.

It's probably Raoul who dobs him into the Sisters. Or maybe they can tell by looking at him. Either way, he's plucked out of the dining room at breakfast time and taken to Mother Superion's office. 

"I'm fine," he tells her, mostly managing to keep the scratch out of his voice. 

Her raised eyebrow doesn't suggest she believes him. 

The thermometer doesn't believe him either. 

"I'm not sick. I can go to school."

"You're not going to school," she says firmly. 

"I —" The rest of his sentence gets crushed into a coughing fit, but he pushes through. "I want to go to school."

He really, really doesn't. But today's Friday, and if Mother Superion decides he's not going to class, then there's no way she's letting him go to Ava and Beatrice's tonight. 

"Diego, please sit down."

He does. Well, he kind of slumps into the chair, dizziness taking over the second he unlocks his knees, but at least he doesn't fall on his face. 

"I can go," he repeats. 

"I don't often have to persuade children to stay back from school," she replies. 

Diego shrugs. 

Mother Superion gives him a minute, but when he stays silent, she speaks again. "Would this have anything to do with Ava and Beatrice?"

Diego doesn't know anyone who's capable of lying to Mother Superion — even Ava chooses to just neatly avoid questions she doesn't want to answer. 

He's left with no choice, then, except to nod miserably. 

"If I send you to school, the school will send you right back again," Mother Superion tells him.

He sags lower in his chair, his feet brushing the ground. His thoughts feel like sandpaper, grating harshly against his brain, and his nose is running, and his chest aches, and now, worst of all, he's going to have to stay at St Michael's all weekend. 

Diego gets sent back to bed, but he’s not even had time to get comfortable before Mother Superion comes to see him again. 

"I spoke to Ava," she says. "I —"

"But I might be better by tonight!" From what he’s seen of the other kids, the cold takes them down pretty hard, but they’re alright again in a day or two. He can sleep really hard and drink lots of water and maybe chuck a quick prayer to Saint Raphael. 

Mother Superion leans on her cane and gives him a look, her eyebrow climbing and the corners of her mouth twisting tightly.

"Sorry for interrupting," he mumbles. 

"I didn’t call her to cancel," Mother Superion explains. "She said that she can come by and get you now, seeing as you won’t be at school." 

He perks up. "Really?"

"Yes. Do you need help packing your things?"

Diego shakes his head. He’s sick, but not too sick to shove a tee shirt into a backpack. "Thank you, Mother Superion." 

She doesn’t smile, but she does nod, and with Mother Superion that’s sometimes almost the same thing. And she brings him down to the lobby and waits with him, even though she must be busy, even though she has more important things to do with her time. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes for Ava to arrive — time slouches oddly in his brain, itchy and hot — but it can’t be more than fifteen minutes. 

But then she is there, moving a little too fast as always, clattering in. She wraps an arm around him and he folds into her side, relaxing, zoning out as she talks to Mother Superion. 

"Check in tonight, and if you have to take him to a doctor —"

"I’ll call," Ava agrees. 

"Take care, both of you," Mother Superion says. 

Ava scoops up his backpack and herds him gently out to the car. "Being sick fucking sucks," she says. 

"Yeah." It doesn’t suck nearly as much now as it did an hour ago, though. 

He’s still not allowed to sit in the passenger seat — he’s got to crack 145 cm, and he’s still disappointingly far off — but he does get the passenger seat job of picking the music, if he wants to. Ava hands him her phone, but looking at the screen while they drive makes him feel worse, so they leave the music off.

The trip back to the apartment is fuzzy, although he thinks Ava points out a dog to him when they’re stopped at a light, and she says hi to Glen in the parking lot. 

As soon as they get in the door, he flops onto the couch. Ava gets him a blanket and a pillow and he curls himself up tightly in a cosy ball. It doesn’t stop him from shivering, but it’s comforting. 

"Bea had to go to an appointment," Ava says. "So it's just us for a while. She’ll be back soon, though."

They put on some cartoons, but Diego falls asleep before they even finish one whole episode. 

The day passes in a blurry sequence of brief awake moments: being subjected to the despicable strawberry flavoured paracetamol syrup because the pills are twelve and up, Diego, and I don’t want to poison you ; the faint sound of the lecture that Beatrice is streaming on her laptop; a hand on his forehead; half of a Kim Possible before his eyes slip closed again; drinking something hot that he can’t taste; borrowing a sweater because he’s still cold, even under all the blankets. 

It’s late — well and truly dark — when a cough catches him on the fuzzy edge of consciousness, and he wakes up. 

The first thing he notices is that the bedroom door is open. Diego vaguely remembers coming in here at some point to escape the sun, but he’s not sure whether he forgot to close the door or if Ava and Beatrice left it open on purpose so they could hear if he needed them. 

He feels a bit better now; some of the thick strangeness is gone from his head. He levers himself upright and takes a few sips of the glass of water on the bedside table. 

From here, Diego can’t see into the living room, but he can hear the television playing one of those terrible, late-night soap operas — he recognises the music, even if the volume is too low for him to really make out the words. Something must be happening, though, because there’s a sigh that’s definitely a Beatrice sigh.  

"I don’t understand," she says.  

"What’s not to understand?" Ava replies. "He’s in love with her, so he’s pretending to be his own twin brother to ask her how she feels about him. And because it’s a soap opera, she won’t realise it’s the same guy."

"I’ve grasped the conceit, Ava. It’s just ridiculous."

He’s glad that they’re still up. He wasn’t hungry all day, but he is now, and he’d really like to eat something. 

Diego scrubs his eyes and pushes out of bed, making his way down the hall. 

The two of them are on the couch, lit up by the television: Ava’s legs are slung over Beatrice’s lap, and her head is resting on Beatrice’s shoulder.

"Are you saying that if I dressed up as my own sister, you wouldn’t be impressed by my craftiness and ingenuity?" Ava teases. 

"To what end? You already know how I feel about you. And I think it’s more troubling than ingenious."

"Well, obviously all these people badly need therapy," Ava jokes, then freezes. "Wait, go back to —"

Beatrice catches sight of him first as he steps into the room, and she nudges Ava, who quiets. "Is your cough any better?" Beatrice asks. 

He shrugs. "A bit." 

They get up and he’s shuffled into the kitchen to suffer through more of the paracetamol syrup. The tea that Beatrice makes him washes away the wretched aftertaste, at least. 

The three of them head back to the couch, after that, and Diego settles in between them, clutching a sandwich. He’s not usually supposed to eat food up here — a law founded on Ava’s spaghetti spilling, not his, thank you very much — but evidently he’s sick enough to get an exemption.

Ava kills the soap opera, even though he kind of wants to find out about this twin thing, and puts on Lilo and Stitch instead. He hasn’t seen it in a while, and it’s still as cool as he remembers. 

As the characters surf through the curling waves, Diego remembers another night, an age ago — back when Ava was less sure of herself and Beatrice was someone he barely knew.  

"I’m really glad it’s now," he tells them, suddenly sleepy again, his head falling onto a shoulder; he isn’t sure whose. 

"You’re in a really good mood," Diego says, as they walk towards the dojo. 

Ava flashes him a grin. "I’m always in a good mood."

That’s mostly true, except for sometimes. Like when they went to the market last month and the pierogi stand Ava likes wasn’t there. But then they’d got poffertjes instead, so it all worked out anyway. 

"But you’re in an extra good mood," he presses.  

"Well, life’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?"

He squints at her, trying to figure out if anything is different. Maybe it’s because she got a 97 on that exam, or maybe it’s because she finally figured out how to fix the oven timer. More likely, it’s because Beatrice has been in an extra good mood too, and Ava is always delighted by that. 

They bump into Lilith at the store. It's kind of disorienting, to be honest. Like, he knows that Lilith eats food, obviously, and doesn't just subsist off of coffee and making fun of Ava, but seeing Lilith doing normal, boring things might always be a little strange to him.

"Hello," she greets evenly. 

Lilith’s basket is full of sensible foods like hummus and salmon, with a bottle of wine tucked alongside, while their own basket is clearly something of a battleground, depicting a silent power struggle between things they probably should eat (Beatrice’s influence), things they want to try (Ava’s influence), and things that have chocolate in them (Diego’s influence). 

"Good morning!" Ava chirps. "Fancy seeing you here."  

Ava’s cheerfulness seems to read like a challenge to Lilith, who raises an eyebrow, and taps the base of her throat in the place where Ava has a band aid plastered haphazardly across her skin. "Careless, were we?" 

"Ava burned her neck with a hair straightener," Diego informs her. He’d asked as soon as she’d come to pick him up from school yesterday; it’s not unusual for Ava to end up with bruises or a cut somewhere on her body, and they almost always have interesting stories attached to them. This one is boring, though. And Ava’s hair isn’t even that straight, so it really wasn’t a worthwhile trade-off. 

Lilith nods shrewdly. "Of course. Hair straighteners are such a hazard."

"Yup," Ava agrees. 

"I wasn’t aware that you owned one."

"I borrowed it." 

"I see. Concealer aisle six, by the way, if you’re running out of band aids." 

Diego has an approximate sense of what concealer is, but absolutely no idea how that might be connected to Ava getting singed by a hair straightener, or why it makes Ava glare at Lilith. 

"Shut up," Ava mutters. 

Lilith smirks and turns to Beatrice, who fidgets with their packet of almonds and says absolutely nothing, her cheeks starting to turn pink as she holds Lilith’s gaze. 

"Well, as delightful as this has been," Lilith drawls, "I’ve got other things to do and subtler people to see."

Diego has long since accepted that he’ll only ever understand about half of what Lilith is talking about. She speaks an invisible language, one that ruffles both Ava and Beatrice but has no effect on him whatsoever. 

Ava scoffs. "Subtler than — you’re a — you should —" 

Lilith waits politely for Ava’s comeback, only walking away with a pleased air when it becomes apparent that Ava’s got nothing. 

"I’m gonna get her back for that somehow," Ava says. "Eventually."

Diego wonders what his chances are of sneaking something else tasty into the basket while they’re both distracted. Probably only medium, but he’s still going to take a shot. 

As soon as they get back to the apartment, Diego makes a beeline for Ava’s room; he accidentally left his favourite pen here on the weekend, and he’s determined to put it back in his bag now , because he’ll almost certainly forget later. 

He finds the pen easily — it’s perched on the side of Ava’s desk, right where he left it, abandoning his efforts to write about a dark prophecy because he couldn’t think of anything interesting to prophesize — but pauses before he leaves. 

Ava’s bed is made. 

Specifically, Ava’s bed is made the way Diego makes it. Ava tends to tug the covers in a generous approximation of straightness and slap the pillow down on top of them. Diego is much more careful, and goes on autopilot, tucking everything in the way they’re taught to at St Michael’s. 

And it’s not just the way Diego makes it, it’s the way Diego made it — it doesn’t look like the bed has been touched since he was here last. 

He hopes that Ava hasn’t been falling asleep in front of her shows on the couch again, because if she does that too often, her back starts to act up. 

Taking the laces out of his shoes had seemed like a terrific idea at the time. The characters in the book he’s reading used their shoelaces to rig a trap, and Diego had been sure it would be easy enough to replicate. It was not , and he’s honestly beginning to wonder if the author made all that stuff up. 

Worse, he now has to re-lace his sneakers before they can go out — a sort of fiddly nightmare the likes of which Diego has never previously encountered. At least it does get him out of helping Ava search for her sunglasses, which knowing Ava, could be literally anywhere from the cereal box to the bookshelf. 

He half-listens as Beatrice and Ava retrace Ava’s steps from the other day, trying to puzzle out where the sunglasses might be. 

"But you had them when you got back from class, yes?" Beatrice says. They’re in the kitchen now, which is probably a good call, given that finding snacks accounts for about forty percent of Ava’s routine activities. 

"Yep! I remember specifically, because I was still wearing them when you gave me a heart attack," Ava says. 

"I did not give you a heart attack ."

"You did! Who starts a conversation about car insurance with we need to talk ?"

"We did need to talk. Proper car insurance is very important," Beatrice insists.   

"On the plus side, that rollercoaster was probably the only way to make insurance forms seem comparatively awesome, and — oh , I know where they are." 

Ava skids off down the hall.

Beatrice comes and sits opposite him. "How’s the lacing going?" she asks. 

"It was much easier to get them out." He keeps having to start over, so much so that he’s about ready to admit that, okay, maybe he does need help, even if he’d declared very confidently that he wouldn’t. 

Beatrice picks up his other sneaker and starts to thread the laces through slowly enough that he can copy her, although she doesn’t say anything about it. 

"Got ‘em!" Ava announces, reappearing with her sunglasses clutched triumphantly in her hand. "They were with the forms. Ha." 

It’s never taken so long to get to Mary and Shannon’s place before. He swears they end up at every. Single. Red. Light. 

"We don’t get this many stops when Beatrice drives," he says, tugging his seatbelt out and letting it zip back on again. 

Ava twists around to stick her tongue out at him. "The driver doesn’t control the traffic, smarty pants."

"Ava, the light’s changing," Beatrice points out, and Ava faces the front again. 

"See?" Diego says, sing-song. "The lights change when Beatrice is watching them. They don’t like you." 

"The lights will learn to love me. I’m very lovable." 

They get stuck waiting three more times. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him — he likes being in the car, likes listening to music and pointing at things out the window and watching the windscreen wipers — but he wants to meet Shannon and Mary’s new dog. 

When they finally arrive, he’s faster to get out of the car than both of them, hurtling up the stairs and knocking on the door. 

"Hey, kid," Mary says. 

"Hi, Mary," he replies, trying not to be too obvious as he peers past her, hoping the dog will have followed her.

Mary opens the door wider. "He’s in the backyard with Shannon."

"Thank you!"

As promised, the dog is in the backyard. He’s big and shaggy, with an enormous, heavy head. Diego adores him immediately. 

"We got him from the shelter," Shannon explains. "His old owners couldn’t take care of him anymore." 

"What’s his name?"

"Beetle." 

He wonders if there’s a funny story about why the dog’s old owners called him that, but Diego supposes that they’ll never know. 

By the time Ava and Beatrice make it out to the backyard — he probably should’ve helped them with the food and drinks they brought, whoops — Diego is sitting on the grass with Beetle’s giant head in his lap, scratching behind his ears. 

"You should get a dog," Diego calls out, as soon as Ava and Beatrice are within earshot. 

Mary laughs. "Well, that took all of two minutes."

"Our apartment is too small for a dog," Ava explains. 

"But one day? When you have a bigger place?" He supposes that he can play with Beetle in the meantime. 

Ava and Beatrice look at each other, and he waits, waits, waits, Beetle’s warm breaths tickling his knee.

"Maybe one day," Beatrice says, at last. 

"And we could name him Shadow! Or Sword! Or — I’ll make a list. There are lots of good ones."

Ava is waiting for him outside the gates at his school. She’s smiling down at her phone, but switches it off and puts it away as soon as he skids into her periphery. 

"Can we paint our fingernails?" he asks, already walking off down the footpath: class is over, and he is not sticking around.

Ava hurries to match his stride, throws an arm around his shoulders. "Totally. Between us, I’m sure we can figure it out."

"Joseph’s sister had hers painted a whole bunch of different colours. It was really cool." 

They pick out three different colours at the pharmacy they pass on the way back to Ava and Beatrice’s apartment. Ava also grabs a bottle of nail polish remover, citing a lack of confidence in their fine motor skills. 

This lack of confidence proves to be well-founded.

They set up on the living room floor and rock-paper-scissors to see who goes first. Ava wins, and so Diego is the guinea pig, watching as Ava does her very best, which turns out to be mostly a shambles. 

"Sorta looks like we just dipped your fingers in it, hey?" Ava mutters. She’s not wrong; the green and blue paint covers his nails, nail beds, and part of the skin of his finger on either side. 

"It’s alright," he says. Being encouraging is important. "It was our first go." 

"Lucky I’m a bartender and not a manicurist, I guess."

The front door opens then and Beatrice slips inside. "That fajita truck you like is back," she says, holding up a plastic bag. 

Ava leaps to her feet and somehow manages to turn relieving Beatrice of the bag into a hug as well, without ever pausing in the middle. "Ugh, I love fajitas." She says something else, too, but only to Beatrice; he doesn’t hear it. 

"Hey, Diego," Beatrice greets, smiling at him as Ava takes the bag to the kitchen. "What are you two doing?"

He holds up his hand with a grimace and her expression becomes deliberately impassive. "Painting our nails." 

"I see."

"It’s terrible," he says, his voice quiet so that Ava won’t be offended, although she definitely knows. "Can you fix it?" 

"I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, but I can try, if you like." 

Beatrice sits down opposite him, legs crossed. 

She pours a little of the polish remover onto a paper towel and slowly rubs away the disaster he and Ava made of his left hand, and then picks up the polish to make a start on his right. 

Beatrice’s concentration face isn’t that different to her regular face, only with a slight extra tension around her eyes.  

Unsurprisingly, Beatrice’s attempt is much more accurate. The polish ends up on his nails, instead of around them, and the smooth strokes of the brush all go the same way. 

At some point, Ava comes back, settling down so she can watch, her knee brushing against Beatrice’s. It’s the closest that Beatrice’s precision comes to faltering.

"You won’t be able to touch anything for a while," she advises him, screwing the lid back onto the polish. "It’ll smear." 

"What about my left?" 

"There will still be traces of acetone on your nails. We’d better wait, or the next coat won’t go on properly."

"Do me," Ava says, holding out her own hands, "in the meantime." 

Diego switches it out with her, although Ava manages to figure out a way to sit much closer to Beatrice than he did. 

Diego hops up to go to the kitchen sink to run his hand under the water, hoping that it’ll rinse the chemicals off faster. He can’t exactly scrub his fingers clean, what with his other hand held aloft as it dries, so he just keeps it under the steady trickle and waits. 

He’s tall enough now that he can still see them over the counter, can see Ava as she laughs and leans forward. Beatrice lets their foreheads bump together gently, and Ava lingers there for a moment before she stretches up and kisses the top of Beatrice’s head. 

"You’ll make me slip," Beatrice warns, but it’s not a real warning, because her voice is soft with a smile at the edge of it.

"Then you’d have to do it again. How awful for me." 

"Quite." Then, when Ava wriggles slightly: "Don’t move your hand."

"I’m thinking up so many amazing jokes right now," Ava says, gleeful. "I’ll tell you later." 

"I appreciate your restraint." 

"Ha, now I’ve thought of another one." 

He’s not unaccustomed to Ava and Beatrice being weird for a day or two. It’s almost routine at this point; every few months, for no discernible reason at all, something tilts and rearranges itself invisibly.   

The first time it had happened, after Beatrice went to visit her parents, he’d freaked out, but it’s been long enough now that he knows that it doesn’t mean anything bad. 

But usually, their weirdness is directed at each other. Today, it’s directed at him. 

They don’t do or say anything differently — they’re all heading to the park, as promised — but he can feel it all the same. 

When they arrive, the basketball court at the park is blessedly vacant. 

Diego makes a few semi-decent shots; one goes in, one bounces off the rim, and the other clatters against the backboard. He tosses the ball to Ava next, who is at least as good as he is, and will probably beat him. 

Except she doesn’t. 

She misses three separate shots, each by an increasingly embarrassing margin. She misjudges her last one so badly that the ball sails under the backboard, and she has to jog after it. 

"It’s a miracle Nike hasn’t signed me yet," Ava quips, as soon as she gets back, and passes the ball to Beatrice. 

Beatrice actually manages to get the ball through the hoop like normal, but it’s still different . Ava doesn’t try to steal the ball from her or give her some goofy, over-the-top compliment. 

So, when the ball is passed to him, he snags it out of the air and plants it firmly on the ground, giving them his best stern look, hands on his hips. 

"What’s going on?" he asks. 

They glance at each other, silent but not silent, until Ava nods and takes a breath, smiling at him. It’s not a forced smile, just a slightly anxious one. But then Beatrice’s shoulder bumps against hers and she settles. 

"So, Beatrice and I — we’re — okay, so you know what dating is?" She rolls her eyes. "Sorry. Obviously, you know, you’re smart — wow, I should’ve practised this, ha —" She pauses, then restarts. "Beatrice is my girlfriend. And I’m Beatrice’s girlfriend." Having stuck the landing on that, she grabs Beatrice’s hand, as though to punctuate what she’s said, even though he’s seen them hold hands a thousand times, and it serves as no punctuation at all. 

They’re both watching him closely, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. Hopefully now that Ava’s told him, she’ll go back to being able to actually shoot a basket. 

"We can talk about it, if you want to," Beatrice adds.

Ava nods her head quickly. "Yes! Yup. It’s okay to have feelings about it. Or to be upset, or —"

"Why would it upset me?" he asks, picking up the ball again and bouncing it across to Ava. 

She bounces the ball back to him. "We read some articles. It's, like, change can be disruptive, I guess?" 

"Oh. I didn’t think about that." The only other girlfriends he knows are Shannon and Mary, and they’re not that different from Ava and Beatrice, except that they have a cooler car.  "What’s going to change?" 

"Well —" Ava starts, then stops. "Stuff?" 

"Are you still going to live in the same apartment?"

"Yes," Beatrice says. 

"And I’ll still get to stay over sometimes?"

"Of course, D." 

"And we’ll keep going to places all together?"

"Definitely." 

Diego shrugs. "Doesn’t seem like a lot of change to me." 

Diego is right: their lives are almost exactly the same. But there is some sort of quiet shift, a relaxing, like something that was kept in parentheses before has been released and written plainly. 

He’s still not allowed to stay up any later on Friday night, though. Maybe some changes wouldn’t have killed them. 

Chapter Text

Miguel.

They’ve been in the car for three hours, which according to Ava, makes this the longest road trip she’s ever been on. So far, they’ve burned through three packets of chips, one packet of sour gummy worms, and a burger and a milkshake each. 

This whole trip is turning out to be a hard lesson in the fact that Miguel really can’t play in the same league as Ava when it comes to junk food consumption.

"Stop offering me snacks. I’ll die," he warns. 

"Stop taking them then."

"I’m serious. I’ll throw up all over you."

Ava shrugs, popping another gummy into her mouth with an air of overstated innocence. "I would’ve thought royalty would be made of tougher stuff, Miguel." 

Since he told Ava a few weeks ago that he’s Miguel Salvius, as in Jillian Salvius , the jokes have been coming pretty thick and fast. 

"I’m not royalty."

"Uh huh. Sure, you aren’t. The same way Bea isn’t royalty."

"Beatrice also isn’t royalty." He thinks. He’s pretty sure. Mostly sure?  

Ava hums. "No, she definitely is. Between the two of you, I’m surrounded on all sides. And one of these days, it’s gonna turn out that Diego’s a lost prince, or something. And a long lost relative will show up, and he’ll have to go rule a random —"

"Isn’t this the plot of The Princess Diaries ?"

"Miguel, this is very obviously completely different from The Princess Diaries ." Ava wriggles around in her seat, rearranging herself again. Extended drives do not seem to agree with her impulse towards constant motion. "For one thing, we don’t have a cat. And for another, who would even get the make-over? Bea and I are both hot already, and Diego is adorable." 

"Well, when you put it like that, it all falls apart," Miguel says dryly. 

He takes the next left, which leads them up the winding drive towards his mother’s property. It’s the manor Miguel grew up in: somewhat bleakly modern, but surrounded by endless grounds that he used to run through on his better days, when he was doing well enough to go outside. 

"Holy shit," Ava murmurs, watching the trees flicker by, and the house rising into view. "Be honest. Did you have a walk-in wardrobe?" 

"Yeah." 

It’s not until they’re held up at the gate, waiting for the security guard to clear them, that Ava starts to get nervous, her regular squirminess shifting into a more anxious kind of fidgeting. 

It’s a shame that Beatrice has classes today. If she were here, she could just do that thing she does, where she looks at Ava or touches her shoulder and the frequency that Ava’s vibrating on changes into something softer. 

But Miguel is not Beatrice, and all he can do is give Ava a reassuring smile and hope for the best. "She’s not scary," he says. "I promise." 

Ava scoffs. "I’m not scared."

"Right." 

"I’m starstruck, if anything. Because your mum is super cool." 

"She is."

"And a genius." 

Ava’s not usually one to get intimidated by people — Miguel won’t leave himself unattended with Lilith, for example, but Ava seems to make a sport of it — and it’s not super like her to suddenly freeze up this way. "Are you alright?" he asks. 

Ava makes a noncommittal noise, dragging her seatbelt out and letting it slither back into place again.

The gate whirs to life and the guard waves them through, and Miguel’s attention shifts back to the road for a moment. Maybe he needed to be facing away for Ava to speak, because once he turns, she says, "I’ve, like, never met anyone’s parents before." 

Miguel knew that, on some level. On more than one occasion, Ava’s alluded to the variety of extensive ass-kicking that would take place if she met Beatrice’s mother and father, but that’s the most he’s ever heard her talk about parents. 

It still does kind of break his heart to hear it, though. 

"I’ve never brought a friend to meet my mum before," he replies. "We’ll call this a practice round. And if we fuck it up horribly, we can put you sunglasses and a fake moustache and try again." 

Ava cracks a smile at that. "I do look great in a fake moustache."

They make their way up the path to the front door, where his mother is already waiting. He’d told her a lot about Ava, over the time they’ve been friends. Partly because he likes to update her on his life, and partly because he saw how it relaxed her, to hear about the people around him. She’d been so nervous when he left home, as though it were only her careful attention that kept him in remission, kept him safe. 

"Hey, Mum," Miguel says, leaning down to hug her as soon as she’s close enough. It’s always still the tiniest bit strange that she’s smaller than him; she towered all through his childhood, and towers even now. 

"Hello, darling." She cups his cheeks briefly, checking him over, and it nearly makes him laugh — because she does this every time; because he watched Ava do almost the exact same thing to Diego the other day, after he fell down face-first in an incident involving some untied shoelaces and a sudden flash of stubbornness. "And you must be Ava!"

"That’s me," Ava grins, bouncing up on her toes. Already, her nervousness has faded, outshone by excitement at the prospect of someone new to meet and charm. 

And Ava, because she’s Ava, does charm his mother, in about ten seconds flat. 

They take Ava on a tour of the whole place: Miguel showing off the incredibly sneaky hideyholes he favoured as a kid and Jillian allowing a peek into her lab.

The lab captivates Ava more than he thought it would, although perhaps he should’ve expected her to be entranced by a space bristling with machines and the potential for all sorts of havoc. 

There’s the welding gear, which promises the joys of contained fires and melting things, and the racks of neatly inventoried chemicals, ripe for the mixing. His mother is unusual, in the breadth of her scientific exploration — she sprawls beyond her specialty; a transdisciplinary scholar, forever certain the answers lie at the intersection of things. 

Miguel’s inclined to share this belief. Ava, for example, is best understood through her intersections: with Diego, with Beatrice, with everything she loves in the world. 

Ava’s got about a million questions for Jillian, and keeps referring to articles Miguel didn’t even realise his mother was in. Is he a bad son? Should he have a Google alert on her? But, to be fair, if he read every single article, he’d have no time to do other important things, like learn the chords to Mambo No. 5. Which he has done, successfully, by the way. Even if he keeps fucking up the lyrics. 

"— for a more consistent result," Jillian is saying, while Ava nods along. 

"That’s incredible," Ava replies.

Miguel has no idea what’s incredible. He’s lost track of the conversation. But Ava is visibly delighted, and now he really regrets not bringing Beatrice along too. He’s pretty sure that he and Beatrice are friends now, that she likes him, but it probably wouldn’t hurt his general standing with her if he could give her a chance to see Ava like this. 

Jillian tips her head. "What are you studying, Ava?" she asks.

"Oh, just, like, all sorts of stuff, at the moment." Ava stuffs her hands into her pockets and shrugs, so casual that he knows she’s not being casual at all. "But I’ve been thinking of, um, getting more serious with it, and everything. I took some biology classes last semester and I found it really interesting." 

What Miguel remembers about that biology class is explaining Punnett squares to Diego, and then getting lost in combining whole swathes of creatures. Does a shark crossed with a minotaur still have a fin? Would crossing a dragon with a mouse result in a very large mouse, a very small dragon, or a disappointingly medium-sized creature? Ava evidently took slightly more away from the lectures than he did, though. 

"Well, if you choose to get your credits, various departments at ArqTech host paid internships," Jillian informs her. "I’d encourage you to apply." 

Before Ava can respond, Jillian’s phone rings, and she glances at the screen.

"I’m sorry," she tells them. "I really must take this." 

She steps out of the room, leaving Miguel and Ava alone. 

"I didn’t realise you were thinking so much about all this stuff," Miguel says. 

"Yeah, kinda." Ava bumps her shoulder to his. "Like, I love being a bartender, and I’m awesome at it, obviously."

"Obviously." 

"But it would be cool to try other things too, one day." She pauses. "And I want to find a job where the hours aren’t, you know, wildly incompatible with school schedules." 

"Don’t most schools finish at two in the morning these days?" 

"Ha ha." 

Cara. 

Fucking Owen. 

Stupid, idiot, asshole, selfish Owen. 

Hot, regrettably still longed-for Owen. 

Ugh. 

What kind of reason is I just don’t know if I can envision everything with you for breaking up with someone, anyway? Who even says shit like that? 

It’s day four of her horrible, no good, very bad mood, and today, she’s treating it the exact same way she did yesterday: by going to the cafe on the corner and ordering something that’s mostly sugar with a splash of coffee. 

After Cara pays, she heads over to the little waiting area, leaning back against the wall. She glares at the floor. She glares at the ceiling. 

Everything is terrible. 

With no regard for this terribleness, someone nearby laughs — a girl in cutoffs and the kind of shirt that could only be described as appropriate attire for a Wiggles concert. 

"So?" the girl says to her companion. She’s smiling. Beaming, really.

Sure. Of course this girl can beam. It’s probably pretty easy to be that happy when you have a hot, dark-haired girl with perfect posture holding your hand and gazing at you indulgently. A girl who can evidently envision things with you, or whatever. 

Cara, who has always liked the press on a bruise, watches the two of them. 

"I don’t understand," the one with perfect posture says. 

"What’s to understand? It’s from Twitter."

A small sigh. "But why are you a worm, in this scenario?" 

"I just am." 

"What kind of worm?" 

The smiley girl leans closer. "Does it matter what kind?" 

"Ava, why would you preface this by saying it’s a very serious question if you don’t want me to take it seriously?" 

"Because I thought it would be funny. And it is a serious question, thank you very much." 

The one with perfect posture is either doubling down or teasing now: "It’s not just a bridge we can cross if this eventuality ever arises?"

"Sorry, we absolutely have to cross it now," Ava insists. 

It doesn’t look like they’re going to, though. They’re seemingly content entertaining one another with this constant back-and-forth while they wait for their orders. The dark-haired girl even makes something of a concession to her perfect posture when the other one tilts into her side; she lets go of her hand, wrapping an arm around her instead. 

"Cara!" the barista calls, setting down a drink on the counter. "Pickup for Cara!"

Cara slopes off to grab her caffeine-syrup monstrosity, leaving before she can find out the answer to would you still love me if I was a worm?  

Who cares about worms, though, Cara thinks. She just wants someone to love her that obviously and easily while she’s a person. 

Joseph.

Lars slumps against the fence, sinking all the way down onto the grass. "I’m going to die," he groans. 

"You’re not going to die," Joseph says. 

He and Diego kneel down across from him, and Joseph shoots Diego a somewhat panicked look — he’s awful at comforting people. 

Diego’s much better at it, thankfully. He shuffles forward and pats Lars on the back in that very particular way he does: three pats, and then a beat, and then three more. 

"It’s okay," Diego promises him.

Lars just groans again. 

"It’s an easy mistake to make," Joseph says. "It’s, like, you’re so used to saying mum all the time that it just sort of comes out of your mouth by accident." 

"I don’t care about that ," Lars mumbles. "I care that everyone heard . I’m going to get so much shit for this." 

Joseph shakes his head. "No, it’s fine. We’ve all done it at least once. I mean, I’ve definitely done it." There: solidarity. Maybe Joseph isn’t so crappy at this whole comforting thing after all. "And Diego’s done it too! Haven’t you, Diego?"

For a moment, Diego doesn’t answer. His hand stills on Lars’ back, and then he pulls away completely, curling in on himself a little.  

"Everyone does it," Diego echoes dutifully. "It’s like Joseph says, right? You guys are just — used to it." 

He gives Lars a smile that isn’t like any of his usual smiles, and suddenly, Joseph feels awful.

Because of course Diego never gets mixed up. He never says yes, Mum or no, Mum or in a minute, Mum. He has no one to say it to. 

Joseph is the worst best friend in the world. Alive today, and in all of history. 

He wants to say sorry, but Lars hasn't noticed anything, and Diego would hate for him to draw attention to it. 

Eventually, they manage to calm Lars down, but Diego’s even quieter than usual all afternoon, and by the time school wraps up, Joseph has rehearsed and scrapped about seventeen different apologies. 

"Hey, um, Diego?" Joseph catches up to him as they’re following their other friends out of the classroom. "At lunch, I didn’t mean —"

"It’s cool," Diego interrupts quickly. "I knew what you meant." 

They spill out of the building and onto the grounds. From here, Joseph can see his mum waiting for him by the gate, which means that Diego must be able to see her, too. And if today was a Tuesday or a Friday, Diego wouldn't care; he'd wave goodbye to Joseph and run off to Ava, who's never late. But it's Wednesday, and that means Diego walks back to St Michael's with one of the Sisters and a couple of other kids.

Diego turns away from the fence, but not towards Joseph, not really. He’s angled a little to the left of him, and Joseph, out of kindness, doesn’t try to meet his eyes. 

"It was dumb of me to say," Joseph tells him. "It wasn’t nice of me. I’m really sorry." 

"It’s okay. I’ve gotta go, though, so —"

But Joseph misses the rest of Diego’s sentence, because he thinks he catches another familiar face at the fence — someone else, standing next to his mother. 

"Is that Beatrice?" Joseph asks, craning up to get a better view. 

Diego shakes his head without even checking. "No, it’s Wednesday." 

"I’m pretty sure that’s Beatrice." 

Diego sighs, but twists around to follow Joseph’s line of sight. And Joseph was mostly certain before, but he really knows it must be Beatrice for how Diego reacts. All the heaviness on him suddenly folds into something else, and he smiles for the first time since this morning.

Then they’re off — the dawdling ends, and they wriggle their way through the flood of other kids with purpose, only pausing because Joseph nearly trips over a ball. 

Once the two of them are spat out of the traffic bottleneck at the gate, it’s only a few more quick steps until they’re in front of Beatrice and his mum. 

When Joseph was little, he used to cling to his mother the second he saw her. She’d scoop him up in a tight hug and take his backpack, slinging it over her own shoulder before setting him down again, and they’d hold hands the whole way home. 

But he’s getting bigger now, and he’s starting to feel more awkward about it. A lot of the older students don’t hug their parents at all, and Joseph doesn’t want to be the last one to grow out of something.

Diego has absolutely none of these hesitations; he hurls into Beatrice without a blink. Beatrice doesn’t blink either — she just hugs him back.

"You’re here!" Diego exclaims, mid-hug. 

"I am." Beatrice pats his back, and Joseph counts along, one-two-three. "Hello, Joseph."

"Hi, Beatrice." 

He realises, abruptly, that he’s technically known Beatrice longer than Diego has, even though Diego knows her much better. But there was a time — a time that now seems bizarre in hindsight — where Beatrice was his teacher and Diego was his friend, and the two of them had no knowledge of each other, and went through the world entirely separately. 

Diego pulls away from Beatrice and says hello to Joseph’s mother, too, giving her a wave and his most polite how are you . 

Then Diego’s attention switches back to Beatrice, and he pokes at the same mystery that Joseph is wondering over: "It’s Wednesday," Diego says. "It’s not one of our days."

"Well, I thought we could go and try to find a present for Ava’s birthday. We can’t do that when Ava’s with us," Beatrice explains.  

"Obviously," Diego agrees, very sensibly. "But are we allowed to just go?" 

"I arranged it with Mother Superion," she assures him. "She said it was alright, this once. I told her it was special circumstances." 

Diego tugs on the straps of his backpack, as though he needs to get a sudden jolt of enthusiasm out of his body. "We should come up with more special circumstances!"

Diego is full of restless, skippy energy for the next minute, and when he hugs Joseph goodbye, he doesn’t feel sad or faraway. 

Joseph watches as Diego and Beatrice head off down the street; in the growing distance, Diego is all gestures and exclamations, relaying something to Beatrice with what appears to be a lot of detail and emphasis. It's as if his quietness from earlier wasn't really quietness, but a piling up of unspoken things — things that have a place to go, now. 

"Ready?" Joseph's mum asks him, turning to start their own walk home. 

"Yeah." 

He reaches out and grabs her hand as they leave, and she glances at him, surprised. He hasn’t done that in a long while, and they’re still where any of his friends could see. But he doesn’t mind; having a mum who loves him seems like a pretty stupid thing to be embarrassed about, sometimes. 

Colin. 

There's a totally cool stall at the pop-up market that does all these awesome, unique stickers, and Colin is obsessed with it. 

Colin fucking loves stickers. All colours, all kinds: he puts them on his school books, his fridge, his prosthesis, his car. He'd like to get tattoos, too, but he's afraid of needles. Something he's still hoping he'll grow out of one day.

He’s debating between three different options — Colin wants to buy all of them, Colin’s wallet wants him to exercise some restraint for once — when he hears a voice he recognises. 

Colin whips around, and sure enough, that’s Beatrice at the stall diagonally across from him, the one that sells funky hats. 

He puts the sticker he’s holding back down on the bench. "I’m coming back," he promises Bianca, shooting her a double thumbs up. 

She laughs. "Okay," she says, undoubtedly very confident that he will come back, because Colin is the definition of a regular customer. 

He darts off, swerving around a dude with a pram. It’s only when he’s closer that he sees the little boy standing next to Beatrice, his hands curled up by his eyes like binoculars as he laughs about something and she smiles down at him. 

"Hi," Colin grins at Beatrice, waving. Then, taking a guess, "You must be Diego!"

Diego drops his hands from his face and regards Colin with far more suspicion than Colin’s expecting. "How do you know my name?"

Ah. Colin probably should’ve started by, like, introducing himself. Whoops. At least Diego’s got his stranger danger reflexes down. Not that he would’ve expected Beatrice to skimp in the safety department. 

"This is my friend Colin," Beatrice supplies. "We lift weights together sometimes." 

Colin’s never heard Beatrice refer to him as her friend before, and he can’t help but be a bit stoked. Maybe she’s just trying to reassure Diego, but it still counts. 

"Oh." Diego nods in understanding. Then, to Colin: "Can you lift as much as Beatrice? Could you lift Ava? That’s how you have to measure it." 

"That's how Ava measures it," Beatrice mutters. 

"Um," Colin says. Diego is looking at him expectantly, but Colin has no idea how much Ava weighs. So. The path forward is unclear. He decides to pivot. "Are you guys enjoying the markets?" 

Diego recounts a few things they've seen, glancing up at Beatrice every so often as though to double-check what he's saying, or in a silent request for her to explain something or fill in a blank, which she does. 

In this moment, Beatrice is a slightly different version of herself than the one he’s used to. It’s not that Beatrice is ever scary — even if, okay, he was intimidated in the beginning — but Colin has always considered her to be quite reserved, everything about her lined up and tucked away. Now, though, it seems strange that he ever thought of Beatrice like that: as someone mostly closed. 

"Have you seen anything cool here?" Diego asks. "We’re on a present quest." 

"Oh, nice. Well, um, I’ve just been to Bianca’s stall," Colin says, gesturing back across the small street. "She’s got some really cool dragon stickers right now. Beatrice told me you like dragons, yeah?" 

Diego shines then, very pleased, and at first Colin assumes it’s because of the dragons, but then Diego nudges a little closer to Beatrice, and Colin’s understanding shifts. 

"I do," Diego says, happily. "They’re my favourite." He gives Colin a wide smile. 

Colin gets the feeling that possibly nothing could’ve got him in Diego’s good books faster than mentioning that Beatrice talks about him. "Mine too, dude. Can’t go wrong with a dragon." 

Camila. 

They're sitting on cushions on Camila's floor, facing one another. Diego’s holding his notebook, and Camila’s holding an extra pillow. To help with the stress. 

"— and then the rain turned into a torrent, and Bartholomew was swept away," Diego finishes, with a flourish of a hand gesture that is clearly meant to evoke said sweeping away. He snaps his notebook shut. 

"But she can't swim!" 

Diego nods. "Beatrice said it’s called a cliffhanger." 

"I’m terrible with cliffhangers," Camila admits. "I always start the next chapter or skip to the next episode immediately." 

"I haven’t written the next chapter yet." Diego taps the cover of his notebook thoughtfully. "I guess I could tell you, if you can keep it a secret."  

He glances across the room, over to where Beatrice is locked in an intense debate with Lilith, and Ava is watching, throwing in occasional comments that seem solely intended to wind Lilith tighter. Camila is more than used to Lilith and Beatrice’s brand of recreational arguing: always in level voices, always over something pointlessly complicated, always when both are struck by the exact right mood. They’re all far too focused to overhear anything. 

Camila mimes zipping her lips. "I'm a vault," she promises. 

"A vault?"

"Like a safe. But bigger." 

Diego considers this. "I like that. I'm going to put one in the next chapter." 

"So, how does Bartholomew escape?" Camila asks.

"If Camila gets to know, I get to know!" Ava calls out, and maybe Camila was wrong about them being mostly out of earshot, because they're all turning towards him now. 

Diego shakes his head, clamming up. "Nope!" He preens under the attention, under Ava's excitement. 

"Aw, not even a clue?" Ava drops onto the floor beside him, poking his arm. "For your number one fans?"

It's forever interesting how Ava and Beatrice hype him up in different ways: Ava asks him questions like an interviewer at a press conference and points out her favourite parts on every page; Beatrice praises his ideas and vocabulary, and puts his notebook on the shelf with her favourite novels when he leaves it at their apartment for safe keeping. 

"You can't have more than one number one fan," Diego points out, grinning.

"Who told you that? That's obviously a lie, D."

Diego pokes her arm in return. "Because it's number one. " 

"Oh, I see how it is. Well, if you're going to be like that about it —"

"No tickling!" Diego shrieks, preemptively scuttling away from Ava and towards Beatrice and Lilith, taking cover between them. 

Ava holds up her hands in surrender, but Diego only sticks his tongue out at her, apparently having decided to commit to his new location. 

"Does Bartholomew even have to get rescued?" Lilith chimes in. "Couldn't she become a sea monster or something?" She pauses, then course-corrects: "Or — whatever you want to do with it." 

"I do love sea monsters," Diego agrees, and Lilith doesn't smile, but something about her sharpens victoriously. 

Which is a definite tune change from earlier, when Lilith lost at three different video games. Try as she might, Camila has yet to find a single game that Lilith isn't terrible at, even when Camila sets it on easy. She wondered, at first, whether Lilith was just letting Diego win in some sort of dislocated display of affection, but it's become apparent over the months that Lilith is really just that bad. 

The fact that she stays later after aikido on Tuesdays to read Diego's new chapter is one of those dislocated displays of affection, though. It's sweet, even if Camila's offended that it means Lilith usually gets to read it before her.  

Luis . 

Therese seems kind of nervous. He wraps his arm around her and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

"It’ll be super relaxed," Luis swears. "They're all really easy to get along with."

She nods, and they make their way up the stairs and into Miguel’s house. It’s already busy, although not overcrowded, which is exactly what he was hoping for. He doesn’t want to throw Therese in the deep end. He’s prepped her with brief explanations of who everyone is and how he met them, but it’s probably a lot to take in all at once. 

"Alright, I need faces to names," Therese murmurs, glancing around.

Luis nods, and starts pointing out his friends, without much of an attempt at subtlety. "That's Ricci, with the red sweater. And that’s her boyfriend Winston, holding the jug. That's Miguel — you know Miguel. And Sarah is beside him. And that's Ava and Beatrice."

Therese frowns. "And they’re the ones who — who aren’t dating, right?" The frown is justified: Ava is sitting on the counter, and has pulled Beatrice back to rest against her, letting her loop her arms around Beatrice's neck. They’re chatting to Miguel and Sarah, neither of whom appears the slightest bit fazed by the display; it’s very on-brand for Ava, who never lets the opportunity of Beatrice being within touching distance go to waste. 

"Right," Luis nods. "It’s a whole thing. Like, they aren’t. But they are. Except don’t mention anything about it, because they aren’t." 

"Huh?"

"Yeah." 

They make their way into the kitchen and Luis gets a drink for Therese first, and then himself — it’s his first time being a boyfriend, but he thinks he’s doing alright at it so far — and introduces her to the rest of the group. He’s given Ava and Miguel firm instructions to be chill, which he’s half-sure they’ll abide by. 

It goes smoothly, just like he thought it would — in no time, they’re pulled easily into the conversation, as if he and Therese have been there all along. 

"Oh, I found a whole bunch of my old Nerf guns when I was at my mum’s place last week," Miguel says. "D’you reckon Diego would be interested?"

"I see how it is," Ava grumbles. "The cute kid gets first dibs, over me, your beloved friend, who could also really go for a Nerf gun." 

"So, that’s a yes?"

"You know it."

"Wanna come round on Friday? We can have a shootout."

"Totally," Ava agrees, but Beatrice starts to shake her head, and Ava goes, "Oh, right. We’re at Mary and Shannon’s. Are you free Saturday?"

As the schedule haggling continues, Therese leans over to Luis and whispers, "Who’s Diego?" 

Which is a great and very reasonable question. Luis definitely should've figured out how to answer it before they came here. 

"Well," Luis starts. In truth, it’s not an arrangement that he’s ever really had clearly explained to him. It's just — how it's always been. He learned it from Ava never being available on Friday nights, from her ever-changing lock screen photograph with its ever-constant elements, from watching Diego cheat at frisbee by pleading his way into a piggyback from Beatrice so that he has the highest possible vantage point. "He’s like Ava’s brother. They grew up together. But he’s not her brother. But he is."

Therese tilts her head. "Like how those two aren’t dating, but they are?" 

"Exactly." 

Later, in the car on the way home, she says, "Your friends are complicated. Like, very cool. But very complicated." 

Luis thinks that his friends are actually pretty simple: that the complicated stuff is just a sheen over the surface that stops them from having to consider how simple it really is. But it’s never been his place to say anything about it, beyond a few smirks levelled at Ava and some jokes with Miguel, and so he doesn’t. 

Besides, they’re getting there. 

Shannon.

She’s always been a light sleeper, prone to waking up a few times a night, and the effect is magnified when she’s somewhere different. 

Tonight, different is their backyard: Diego has been desperate to go camping, and sleeping out under the stars behind Shannon and Mary’s house is their trial attempt at the whole experience. 

Beside her, Mary is still out, eyes closed. She tends to frown in her sleep, which Shannon finds charming; or perhaps what she finds charming is the way the frown clears when Mary wakes up, how she sees Shannon and her expression changes, first thing. 

Shannon slips out of their makeshift bed and stands, stretching her arm, working through a couple of nerve glides. Sometimes, when the weather changes too much too quickly, her old shoulder injury still twinges. It’s not too bad, anymore, but it’s better to get ahead of these things. 

From here, she can see the banked remains of the small fire they’d had in the pit, and the arrangement of the others, strewn out across the lawn. 

Diego, Ava, and Beatrice are lined up on a collection of mats. Ava has curled around Beatrice, and the way the two of them are pressed close makes Shannon sure they’ve slept like this before, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Together, Ava and Beatrice have made an art out of avoiding change, or rather, of changing everything except that last little thing that makes it impossible to go back. 

Diego’s head pops up from his nest of blankets. In the moonlight, Shannon can see him blink, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. He catches sight of her and squirms free, scooping up his water bottle from the ground nearby before weaving his way over to her. 

He’s wearing a hoodie that he inherited from Ava recently — it features a graphic of a turtle in a judge’s wig, with the word TORTLE printed below. Shannon’s not sure he actually gets it, but he wears it all the time now anyway. 

"You’re awake, too," he says — softly, so he won’t wake everyone else.

"Yep. Thought I'd check out the stars for a bit."

They sit down together in two of the chairs by the firepit and tip their heads up to look at the sky. 

"How are you liking camping so far?" Shannon asks. 

"It’s cool," he whispers back. "Definitely marshmallows are the best part." 

Only Shannon, Ava, and Diego eat marshmallows — Beatrice is bothered by the texture and Mary finds them too sweet — but between the three of them, they’d managed to finish off a whole packet. Shannon had about three marshmallows total, so most of the credit has to be split between Ava and Diego’s industrious efforts. 

"Marshmallows are the best part," Shannon confirms. 

Diego’s attention drifts back to the stars for a moment, and then over to their campsite: the inflatable mattresses and the sleeping bags and the heaps of pillows — almost every single pillow from their house.

His expression shifts, and she can’t quite read him anymore.

"Everything okay?" 

At Diego’s age, if asked anything about how she was feeling, Beatrice had a variety of responses. She’d inform Shannon, stony-faced, that she was fine, that it didn’t matter, or just change the topic completely. Occasionally, when she did open up, it was almost always accompanied by a preface: this is ridiculous, but —

It’s a habit that stuck through her adolescence, a sense that emotions could only be discussed after having gained distance from them, after positioning them as inconsequential or unimportant. 

Shannon doesn’t really hear Beatrice talk like that anymore. Maybe it’s growing up and growing into herself, and being away from her parents. Maybe it’s Ava’s influence, and how she wants to put every one of Beatrice’s feelings under light and examine it and take it seriously. Or maybe it was a conscious choice, out of fear that Diego might pick it up, might start to speak and think in the same way. 

"Yeah," Diego says. "It’s just nice, isn’t it? It’s really nice."

"It is," Shannon replies. 

There’s a beat, and then Diego admits, "I wanted to try it because of what you said. You said that camping trips were your favourite thing when you were a kid."

Actually, what Shannon said was that family camping trips were her favourite, but this omission, it seems, has been made deliberately: Diego is watching her very carefully, now, his fingers tugging at his hoodie sleeve. 

"Is this like the ones you remember?" he asks. 

"Well, my brother used to snore like a tractor," Shannon answers, and Diego’s nose crinkles in amusement. "But other than that, they were exactly like this." 

Diego nods, satisfied, and the two of them sit there a little longer, until Diego yawns, and then he’s off again, saying goodnight to Shannon before disappearing back into his nest, wriggling a bit closer to Ava before going still. 

Glen. 

He and Ava go to the print shop together once every few weeks. He gets sent a lot of pictures of his grandchildren, but having the photographs on his tablet screen isn't the same as a real, genuine photo album, and Ava always has more to add to that picture wall of theirs. 

They wait for a nice day when Ava's free, and they walk together. Glen moves slowly, but Ava never seems to mind. She's always racing or dawdling, that one — trying to get somewhere important or deciding that where she's standing in any given instant is the most important place after all. 

"— and we're going to see if we can get a whole weekend, and take him camping properly," Ava says. "It'll depend on Mother Superion, though. And work. I'm always scheduled on weekends."

"I've got equipment you can borrow," Glen offers. "It's a bit old, but it's tough stuff. It'll get the job done." 

Mallory was big on hiking. God knows how many mountains he followed her up. After a while, Glen took to it, too, but he'll never know whether it was hiking he loved or the way it felt to hike together. They went on a few long treks, after their youngest moved out. He even kept going after she died, noticing all the bugs and looking at all the horizons for the both of them. 

Eventually, the kids worried too much about him having a fall, and he had to give it up. But he still goes to stand in the shallow part of the woods, sometimes — to feel all his old luck. Even if most of it has gone now, he still had it, way back when. 

Or maybe it isn't gone. Maybe it's not one of those things that disappears. Maybe it just changes states, or passes on to someone else. 

Next door has a lot of that same luck now, and it's nice to live beside — to occasionally hear Ava's loudest laughs through the wall, or Diego's indignant screech over something-or-other, or the front door open and close at six a.m., when only Glen and Beatrice are awake. 

"Thanks! That'd be so awesome!"

They pass the bakery that they'll stop at on the way back — Glen will eat what he likes, cholesterol be damned; the time for skipping mid-morning desserts is long over — and then they're at the little print shop. 

It's small and poky, downsized for the modern age, but it has that comforting inky smell. 

And the boy at the counter who's obviously got a soft spot for Ava, but has developed enough of Ava's pictures of Beatrice and Ava with Beatrice to lose that hopeful quality he had at the start. 

Lucia.

Mira is always a handful, but she’s especially a handful when she’s excited. And nothing makes Mira more excited than swords and the opportunity to run in places clearly labelled no running . As a result, the museum is her absolute favourite place in the world. 

It’s not uncommon to lose track of Mira at the museum, on account of said running, and the fact that Lucia can’t really predict which sword or mace or helmet will next pinch her attention. It’s still mildly panic-inducing every time, though. 

Lucia clears the exhibition hall and — taking the gamble that Mira might’ve gone back to stare longingly at that jade dagger again, as if she can wish it into her hands — returns to the previous room.

She’s wrong about the dagger, in the end, but she does find Mira, talking to two strangers.

"Mira, please don’t just disappear," Lucia begs, before she can get distracted by anything else, like the young woman Mira is chatting to, who is certainly the definition of distracting. 

"Sorry!" Mira has mastered the art of an apology that is all sincerity and no meaning: she really is sorry, and she will do it again immediately, at the first chance she gets. "But I saw my friend. This is Diego. From aikido. I’ve told you about him, remember? And this is Beatrice! She teaches us." 

Lucia does remember Diego. Mira sends Lucia a rambling email at least once a week — her concession to carrier pigeons not being a viable option — and Diego’s name has popped up a dozen times there, and in general conversation. He seems like a sweet kid, from what she’s heard.  

Beatrice has been mentioned, too, in only the most reverent of terms. Perhaps most significantly, despite how laissez-faire Mira can be about grammar, Beatrice has earned herself a capital letter each time Mira writes about her — an honour afforded to very few. 

What doesn’t come through in emails or Mira’s energetic tirades about blocks and kicks is that Beatrice is gorgeous. 

"Hi," Lucia says. "I’m Lucia. Nice to meet you both. I’m Mira’s sister. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your class."

Diego has shuffled ever-so-slightly closer to Beatrice’s side at Lucia’s appearance, which is not unfamiliar to Lucia — it’s similar to the kind of move Mira pulls when she’s confronted with an adult she’s afraid might be boring or ask her to do a chore. 

Lucia doesn't have much to help her guess at the relationship between Beatrice and Diego. They don’t resemble one another enough to look like siblings in the least, although she supposes there’s more to looking like siblings than physical resemblance; Lucia recognises herself and Mira in the way Diego glances up at Beatrice, waiting for her to reply on their behalf. 

Beatrice reaches out a hand. Her grip is firm but careful, like she’s put thought into exactly how this is supposed to be done. 

Lucia’s always had a weakness for careful people, for teasing their edges. 

In the end, Lucia doesn’t even have to do anything — Mira is her unknowing wingman, pleading to stick with Diego, who nods in immediate agreement. 

Lucia walks beside Beatrice while the kids scurry ahead of them; thankfully, Diego seems extremely resistant to running inside, which reins in Mira, even if only for now. 

It’s hardly a date-like atmosphere — keeping at least one eye on a ten-year-old has a certain impact on the vibe — but Lucia’s determined to make the most of it. She doesn’t like to waste opportunities, especially opportunities with girls like Beatrice. 

Beatrice is an expert at keeping the conversation off herself, redirecting to Lucia or the kids, but Lucia still manages to squeeze in a few of the usual questions, and gets interesting answers. Many of these answers also include passing references to someone named Ava , and around the sixth or seventh mention, Lucia nudges Beatrice for more information. 

"So, this Ava," Lucia says. "She’s your girlfriend?"

Beatrice ducks her head. Her hands are tucked away in her pockets; everything about her is so contained, and Lucia wonders what she’s like uncontained. If there’s anyone who knows. If Ava does. "Isn’t that quite a direct question?" 

"I’m quite a direct person," Lucia shrugs. "But I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn’t." There’s a pause. "No, she’s not my girlfriend." 

Lucia's familiar with that kind of pause — with relationships that require such a pause, that necessitate a beat of silence before anything else, unable to be articulated only with words. "Ah."

"Ah?"

"I have a friend like that. Who’s not my girlfriend, either." 

Yves: beautiful, terrible, always turning away and then turning towards Lucia again.  

Lucia has decided to give up trying to find out what’s holding Yves back, and she doesn’t know what’s holding Beatrice and Ava back either. It’s not really her business. 

But maybe Lucia can make a case for herself as someone to hang around in the meantime. 

Lilith.

She leaves them to it, at first. 

It is, admittedly, a little funny how quickly and obviously Ava’s mood tanks as soon as she notices the hot woman hitting on Beatrice. 

Lilith could step in, of course, but she won’t. Ava’s due for some karmic punishment — just last week, Lilith was forced to watch while Ava got Beatrice’s keys out of her pocket because both of Beatrice’s hands were full, and Ava chose to do that rather than take one of Beatrice’s bags.

Lilith hangs back as Beatrice introduces the newcomers to Ava, who does less than a passable impression of her usual self. 

Beatrice notices this, of course, and reaches out, but for once, this garners little in the way of a pathetically thrilled reaction from Ava. 

It’s then that Lilith considers that, maybe , this isn’t the same display of idiocy that Beatrice was prone to in the early stages of Ava's friendship with that blond boy. 

Beatrice just seems confused by Ava's stiltedness, because of course she is, because Beatrice is never going to look at Lucia as anything other than a friendly acquaintance. But Lilith can see what Ava sees: that her relationship is one without labels or rules or clear definition, and whenever there are people interested in disrupting it, Ava has nothing to tell them.

Ava has always been one to hang on tightly, shamelessly, to what she’s got, and it’s almost unsettling to witness her feel like she’s fumbling her grip. 

None of this is Lilith’s problem, of course — she’s free to ignore all this nonsense. And she’s going to. She will.

Except there’s the very real risk that this will drag down Ava’s general level of positivity to such an extent that she no longer feels inclined to give Lilith free drinks. Which, despite her lack of care for whatever juvenile displays of romantic incompetence Ava and Beatrice are engaged in at any given time, would affect Lilith’s quality of life.  

So, Lilith — begrudgingly — swoops in and manoeuvres Lucia away to join her own class. Which already contains one other would-be suitor for Beatrice who Lilith is keeping out of the mix. Now she's got a set.

It’s not that Ava’s in any way the superior choice — Lilith still can’t stand her, and it’s been almost two years — but better the devil you know. And better the devil who makes Beatrice happy, or whatever. 

After class, Lilith threatens Ava lightly, but it’s more out of habit than anything; she’s not the one needing sense knocked into them this time. 

So, while Diego and Ava are distracted by one of his invented clapping games — that Lilith is far better than Ava at, for the record — Lilith waylays Beatrice, pulling her aside. 

Beatrice keeps glancing over at Ava, worry twisting at the corner of her mouth.

"Stop freaking out," Lilith scolds. "It’s not rocket science. Just tell her you’re not planning to ride off into the sunset with Lucia. Or ride Lucia, period. And she’ll be fine." 

Beatrice sputters, and Lilith genuinely isn’t sure which part of her speech caused it, which is how she knows it was a good speech. "What — I — Lucia? "

"Mm."

Beatrice hesitates, but it seems to be more out of puzzlement than anything else. When she speaks, it's as if it's not really hard to say at all: "But she must know that I don't want anyone else."

Lilith would be willing to bet that Ava does know that, somewhere deep in her brain — what’s that expression Diego made up? — but Ava’s not the best at using her brain. Especially when it comes to Beatrice. "You still have to tell her. She’s never going to bring it up, because she's not going to push you." 

Beatrice breathes out, and her head tips down, maybe because she’s aware that Lilith can read her more easily than she’d like. Lilith doesn’t feel bad about it, though; Beatrice understands her just as well. It’s fucking annoying, but they deal. And sometimes it’s not so bad, having someone who was made at the same time as you, in the same place, who was impaled on the same long spike. 

"It doesn’t have to be everything," Lilith points out, more gently. "Just give her something, or she’s going to be even more unbearable than she already is."

Beatrice nods once, and when she glances over at Ava again she smiles in that reflexive way that means that Ava was already looking. 

Lilith swears to herself that this is the absolute last time she gets even close to being involved in any of this. 

It won’t be, but pretending it is makes her feel less like a fucking pushover. 

Javier. 

They've never done a virtual study session before. But, to be fair, Beatrice has never really missed class before, either. Like, ever. 

The text she'd sent him had barely clarified things, although that's true of most of Beatrice's texts, which are often so considered that they’re almost opaque. She'd informed him — politely, and with perfect grammar — that she wouldn't be able to make their lecture, or their post-lecture catch-up, and asked whether he'd still like to review the new material over call.

"Are you alright?" he asks, as soon as Beatrice picks up and her face appears on his laptop screen. 

She looks okay, he thinks. At least, she looks normal. Stressed, perhaps, but that’s standard for her, and she's definitely at her apartment — he can see a sliver of her bookshelf behind her, and half of the poster that was almost certainly Ava's decorating choice.

"I'm fine," Beatrice tells him. She's speaking very quietly, and he has to jab the volume key on his laptop a few times to actually be able to hear her properly. "Thank you for being flexible about this." 

"Sure," Javier says. "Anytime." 

Javier has questions — questions stemming mostly from friendly concern, although perhaps also a little from general nosiness, because Javier's not a saint — but he's learned that Beatrice doesn't like to be pushed for information. She reacts to prying like someone who's had secrets stolen from her before.

They get started on their chapter summaries and proceed as they always do. Every so often, though, her gaze flicks to something past her screen, and she frowns. 

After about twenty minutes of this, she says, "Sorry, can you excuse me for a moment?" and then disappears out of view of the camera entirely.

She really is only gone for a moment, but when she comes back, she seems distracted still, and it's just slightly too unusual to ignore. 

"Do you want to reschedule?" he offers. "I don't mind. Really. If something's come up." 

"No, it's —" Beatrice pauses. "Diego's sick. He’s home with us today, but Ava got called in to cover an hour for someone at work, so it's just the him and me here for a bit." 

Javier himself flounders when left to supervise children — he doesn't know what they're allowed to eat, or how high they're allowed to climb up things, or which books aren't going to scar them emotionally. But these are things that Beatrice does know, or has put a lot of effort into finding out and remembering. 

It's odd, then, to see Beatrice so thrown off by this, when she usually seems so familiar with it all. 

"He's sleeping," Beatrice continues. "I've been checking on him, but I'm not really sure how much he should sleep. Or if I should get him up to drink something. Or — well." 

"He doesn't get sick a lot?" Javier guesses. 

Beatrice shakes her head. "He gets colds and headaches every so often, but I've nothing like this." She sighs. "I've done my research. And I — I understand. That it's normal. Children get sick." 

"They do," Javier agrees. "They get better, too. Pretty quickly, if memory serves."

Beatrice hums. She twirls her pen around her fingers, something he only catches her doing if he glances her way during exams. "Yes."

"Well, what did your parents do for you when you were little?" he asks. Beatrice seems to do best when she's got a task in front of her, something to tick off a list. 

Beatrice's expression doesn't cloud, exactly, but there's something abruptly telescopic about the moment, as though she's become far away without moving at all. "We kept separate. I wouldn't have wanted them to get sick as well." The pen twirls again. "It seemed very straightforward back then. But it's harder than I realised. To watch. Or — I find it hard, I mean." 

Javier hasn't really had much cause to consider that, but he imagines that it must be: other problems, Beatrice and Ava can solve for Diego, or help him through, or pull him out of the path of, but this is painful and ordinary and unavoidable, and it can only be waited out. 

"I remember that I just liked knowing my mum or dad or sister was there," Javier says, when Beatrice runs aground, apparently having nothing more to go off. "Just, like, then I didn't have to worry about anything. Even if I still felt like crap. Because they were there."

He can tell it won't be enough for Beatrice, who probably won’t settle until Diego’s better. But maybe it might steady her, for a minute, or at least until Ava gets back. And then Ava will know what to say or do or give to orient her again. 

Evie.

Her trip home has been non-stop — she’s been to about a hundred coffee catch-ups over the last few days — but she’s finally got a chance to go visit her grandpa. 

She makes the familiar trek to his building, where he’s lived since they sold the old house, back when Evie was still in high school. 

She knocks on the door of his apartment, and gets no answer. She’s about half an hour early, sure, but she thought he’d be home. 

It doesn’t seem like he is, though, so she resigns herself to chilling in the hallway for a bit. It’s a pretty good hallway, all things considered.  

About five minutes later, the elevator doors open, and a girl steps out holding a bag of groceries, her attention on her phone. She makes it all the way to the door of 4C before she spots Evie. 

"Are you alright?" she asks, which is probably a fair question to ask someone just lurking in the corridor. 

"Oh, yeah! Totally. Just waiting for my grandpa." Evie gestures to 4B.

"Right! You must be Evie," the girl says. "He has tons of pictures of all you guys." 

That’s her grandpa, alright: chronic documentor of everything, but family especially. "Yep. Are you Ava?" There’s the possibility that she’s Beatrice, but given the passing descriptions that her grandpa has provided over the past year or so, she finds it unlikely. 

Ava nods, beams. "That’s me."

Evie’s heard quite a bit about Ava — she’s helped her grandpa fix his television, showed him how to install an adblocker, and got him into overly complicated mocktails — so it’s slightly jarring to see her in person for the first time, and not just as a character in another story about her grandpa’s neighbours, who he insists aren’t dating. Even though every single piece of information he shares makes it sound like they’re dating. 

"I’m pretty sure that Glen’s at his knitting club, by the way," Ava adds. "Sorry."

"Oh. Right."

Ava switches her groceries to her other hand and unlocks her door. "Do you want to come sit inside while you wait?"

"Sure. Thanks." 

Evie follows Ava into her apartment. It’s cute. Much better than what the previous guys did with it, from the one time Evie did actually stop to say hi to the old tenants. 

Ava offers her a drink, and leads her to the kitchen. 

From where Evie’s standing, she can make out a vast array of photographs stuck to the wall behind Ava. Most of them feature a little boy; he looks really happy in all of them, except one, where he’s frowning fiercely, although seemingly on purpose. Someone has written Lilith face in black marker over the top of the picture. 

On the kitchen table is a book that Evie recognises, having torn through it once and then again a few months ago. "Oh, I loved that one," she says, pointing to it. "Are you enjoying it?" 

Ava smiles. "That’s my girlfriend’s, actually," she says. "I haven’t read it. But I’m told that it’s very good." 

Evie replies to her like a normal person, but her brain sticks on the word girlfriend. 

Told you so, she thinks. 

Incredible that her grandpa didn’t figure this out in more than a year of living next to them, when Evie has managed to solve the case in under fifteen minutes. 

Lilith.

A lot of unfortunate things have happened to Lilith in her life — Patricia Trousdale left their boarding school before Lilith could properly exact revenge upon her; she wasn’t allowed to bring that sword back through airport security and couldn’t find a good way to ship it; and she still hasn’t managed to beat Camila’s stupid little chef game. 

But this, surely, is the worst of all.

It’s not the first time she’s accidentally bumped into Ava at a bar. Usually, when it happens, Ava follows Lilith around like a baby duckling with a bad sense of humour, and Lilith sometimes allows it, when the bartender on duty is more susceptible to smiles and wide eyes than deadpan glares. 

It’s also not the first time she’s bumped into Ava at a bar with Beatrice in tow, although that’s far more rare, and also involves suffering through Ava’s smugness at having persuaded Beatrice to try something new. 

However, this is definitely the first time she’s seen the two of them standing in a corner, no longer dancing, and watched as Ava reaches up and tugs Beatrice down at the same time that she presses up. It’s not desperately cautious or agonisingly gentle: it’s not new . 

Huh. 

It’s dark, and they’re out of the way, and as far as kisses go, it’s fairly tame. Well, mostly tame. On the generally tamer end of things. 

But that doesn’t mean Lilith isn’t going to bully them for it. She’s more than earned it, after the soap opera she’s suffered through. 

It’s not that hard to sneak up on them. A second after they’ve pulled away from each other, she swoops in, clapping a hand onto Beatrice’s shoulder and feeling her startle. 

Lilith hasn’t been able to sneak up on Beatrice since they were very, very young, and it’s satisfying to have the power returned to her now, however briefly. Maybe Ava does have some uses. Limited ones. 

"Well," Lilith drawls. "I’m sure this has ruined everyone’s evening."

For a glorious second, both of them are entirely taken aback, and it’s not worth all the idiocy it took them to get here, but it’s pretty fucking entertaining. 

Ava recovers first. "My evening’s still going great, actually," she replies, swiping at her smudged lip gloss with the back of her hand. 

Beatrice still seems stuck between mortified and defiant, and Lilith watches her waver: waits for her to strike a flint, knows that she can. 

"Mine too," Beatrice says. 

"So." Lilith looks between them. Not that there’s much between. They’re standing disgustingly close. But that’s not exactly unusual. "I’m sure I can put the pieces together myself, and we can all avoid having a heartfelt conversation about this." 

Lilith still holds Beatrice’s gaze for a beat longer. Beatrice can take from Lilith’s expression what she will. Hopefully nothing, but if there’s some vague sense that Lilith is at least glad that they’re done dancing around one another ridiculously, then Lilith can live with that. 

"Done," Ava agrees. "Feel free to go away so that we can get back to — wait. Actually, you have to promise not to tell Camila. I want to tell her."

"I don’t tell Camila things," Lilith bites back.

Lilith should’ve left instead of coming over. Then she could’ve sent them a vague and ominous text message and let them sweat a bit. 

"We both know you do. So, promise," Ava demands. 

Lilith scoffs. "As if I care enough to gossip about you." 

Ava raises an eyebrow, not letting up. If she’s aiming to be intimidating, it isn’t working. 

But it’s not worth the hassle of arguing about it. "Fine. I won’t tell Camila anything." 

"Great. Now you can go away."

Beatrice nudges her, never immune to the stranglehold of the manners they were brought up with. " Ava ."

"Fine. But I’m making out with you whether she’s around or not, so I’m actually not being rude, because I think Lilith would really prefer to not be here for —" 

Lilith turns and leaves, not at all doubting Ava’s willingness to follow through on her threat. 

Hans.

Pretty much as soon as Hans steps behind the bar, Ava starts unknotting her apron, her fingers fumbling so quickly that it takes her three tries to disentangle herself. 

"Someone’s in a rush," he says. Normally, Ava sticks around for a little while to chat if they haven’t been on the same shift, but tonight’s not one of those nights, evidently. 

She grins at him, her body a relentless shifting of energy. "Yep!"

"Got plans?"

"I," she says grandly, "have a date . With Beatrice." 

With Beatrice is kind of redundant, like saying dark night or hot fire . Of course, it’s with Beatrice. That’s never the question. The question is: "Does Beatrice know it’s a date?" 

Ava rolls her eyes at him, then pauses. "I guess that’s fair," she concedes. It most definitely is fair, considering that Beatrice and Ava have gone on dates that aren’t dates for the entire time he’s known them. "And yes, she does, actually ." 

Hans blinks. "Wait, for real? Like, for real-for real?" 

"Hans, it may shock you to learn this, but I have mad game," Ava informs him. She’s brimming with something brighter than usual, different to any other way he’s ever seen her. "I’m a genius. I’m a god. I —" 

"I was there while you tried to come up with your perfect first text to send her, don’t forget that," Hans warns. 

The reminder of the thirteen minutes Ava once spent writing, deleting, and ignoring all of Hans’ extremely reasonable suggestions — an embarrassing episode by anyone’s standards — does nothing to slow her roll now.

"That was a great first text," Ava replies. "And look where I am now! Just two years and about eighteen hundred simple steps later." 

It’s quite the concept to reckon with: that after everything, they’ve finally managed it. He has about a hundred follow-ups, but Ava seems to remember that she was supposed to be rushing. She slings an arm around him in the world’s fastest hug, and then she’s grabbing her bag and darting for the door. 

"I’m hearing more about this next shift!" he calls after her. 

Another redundant statement: nothing stops Ava talking about Beatrice at any chance she gets. 

Shannon.  

Ava glances over at Diego, but he’s entirely distracted by Beetle. 

"Hey," Ava says. "Can we talk to you guys a sec?" 

They’re all just standing there talking anyway, but Shannon appreciates that it’s Ava’s attempt at a segue, and that she also looks more than a little nervous. 

In the end — maybe because of that nervousness, maybe because Beatrice has known them longer, maybe because part of the thrill is Beatrice being able to say it — Beatrice is the one who does the talking. 

Shannon wonders, briefly, whether she should pretend to be totally surprised. Mary would probably find it funny. Lilith certainly would, if she were here. 

Instead, she hugs both of them, tells them that she’s proud of them, and feels the way Beatrice’s fingers curl slightly tighter against her back at the words. 

This time, she doesn’t ask for details — confession is certainly enough work for one day, and Ava and Beatrice clearly have more they want to say. 

"We haven’t told Diego yet," Ava admits. "Still, like, figuring out how to do that. If anyone has any hot tips."  

Most stuff seems to bounce right off Ava without a problem; she’s happy to roll with the punches, to try her luck and shrug it off if something doesn’t work out. Only things concerning Diego, Beatrice, and having to say the alphabet backwards really manage to stress her out. 

"There’s a lot of somewhat troubling literature on the subject," Beatrice adds. 

Shannon can only imagine what kinds of key words they’ve had to plug in to result in something even vaguely relating to their highly specific situation. 

She tries to come up with something to say that might help even though they’re very obviously not going to relax about it. They love him too much not to worry about every tiny thing that might tilt or shift his little world. 

Mary beats her to it. 

"There’s troubling literature on every subject," Mary informs them. "But given that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him, I’m pretty sure he’ll walk off a bit of an adjustment just fine."

Mary.  

"If you spill anything —"

"I have literally nothing spillable with me," Ava promises. She crosses her heart, actually, with an air of extreme seriousness that offers Mary no comfort whatsoever. 

"Fine. Don’t hit anything, either."

Ava pokes her arm. "I do have a licence, you know. And I didn’t even wear a low-cut top to get it." 

Mary rolls her eyes, but hands her the keys. Normally, the only person she lets drive her jeep is Shannon, and once, Beatrice. And that was only because it was a semi-emergency. One that Mary never got the full details of, but definitely involved Lilith and something being set on fire. Mary’s curiosity does not outweigh her desire for plausible deniability. 

Ava starts the engine. 

"Easy."

"I’m going easy. Don’t worry. Beatrice taught me how to drive and she’s, like, the most risk-averse driver to ever live." 

Rather, Mary imagines, Beatrice is a driving instructor highly invested in her only student not taking risks; Mary has seen Beatrice make some slightly more creative driving choices in the past. 

"Mm."

They’re out of town, driving down backroads and scenic paths — Mary’s compromise for switching over and letting Ava behind the wheel. 

Once they’re underway, curling around the base of a hill, Mary starts to unwind. And consider her ulterior motive for this trip. 

"So, you and Beatrice," Mary starts. 

"Oh my god," Ava says. But she doesn’t look away from the road, even though it’s straight, which means that Mary has sufficiently impressed upon her the non-negotiable rules of the jeep. Good. "Is this a shovel talk?" 

"Ava, why would I threaten you while you’re driving my car?" 

Ava shrugs. "It was just a guess!"

"I’m not giving you a shovel talk," Mary grumbles. "I’d be about two years late, anyhow." 

"And it’s not like you could make any threats that Lilith hasn’t already."

"Oh, I could," Mary assures her. "I’m just not going to."  

"Thanks?" 

"The idea of a shovel talk is ridiculous, anyway." Mary checks the mirror on her side, just in case. "Firstly, if you have to tell someone you’d hurt them, then you haven’t intimidated them properly —"

Ava laughs. 

And this, what she’s brought Ava out here to say, to emphasise to her one-on-one, separate from everything else — "And secondly, I know we were Beatrice’s friends first, but we love you too, kid. Everyone’s got your back as well." 

She turns towards Ava: Ava, whose mouth curls up, who blinks rapidly, who clings to the steering wheel twice as hard.

"Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have said that while I was driving. Now I’m going to cry." Ava delivers this like a joke, but she does still ease her foot off the accelerator. 

"If you crash my jeep, I’ll love you a lot less." It’s not really true, and she doesn’t put much effort into making it sound true, either. 

They wend their way around the base of a hill; the one they watched that comet from, months ago. The best part of this road is that it seems to curve forever, so much so that the dizziness just starts to set in, and then all of a sudden it straightens out, and heads off somewhere new. 

"I have kind of always wanted a shovel talk, though," Ava admits, her voice a little scratchy. "I watched too many TV shows as a kid."

"You still watch too many TV shows." 

"I watch the right amount, thank you. Come on, Mary, this is my only chance ever for a shovel talk. I mean, I could ask Shannon, but —" 

"Fine. If you hurt Beatrice, I’ll kill you," Mary says flatly. "Happy?"

"Yeah," Ava replies. "Pretty fucking happy."