Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before we start… here’s a list of the music I listened to while writing. Feel free to listen as you read!

01 — What Can I Do — Renee Rapp

02 — Anti Hero - Acoustic Version — Taylor Swift

03 — Little Freak — Harry Styles

04 — Over — Maya Hawke

05 — Head And Heart On Fire — LEON

06 — Getting Older — Billie Eilish

07 — Ya’aburnee — Halsey

08 — mirrorball — Taylor Swift

09 — creep — mxmtoon

10 — Liability — Lorde

11 — Colorado — Renee Rapp

12 — Changing — The Brazen Youth

13 — lonely bitch — Bea Miller

14 — Talk Too Much — Renee Rapp

15 — Since I Was A Kid — Lennon Stella

16 — this is me trying — Taylor Swift

17 — I’m Fine — Ashe

18 — Nothing New (feat. Phoebe Bridgers) — Taylor Swift

19 — Secrets from a Girl (Who’s Seen it All) — Lorde

20 — Finally // beautiful stranger — Halsey

21 — Sleepover — Hayley Kiyoko

22 — Wildest Dreams — LEON

23 — Enchanted (Taylor’s Version) — Taylor Swift

24 — Walk Me Home — P!nk

25 — Generous Heart — Maya Hawke

26 — all my ghosts — Lizzy McAlpine

27 — A Little More — Alessia Cara

28 — Summer Child — Conan Gray

29 — Fix You — Coldplay

30 — Matilda — Harry Styles

31 — marjorie — Taylor Swift

32 — Swallowed in the Sea — Coldplay

33 — Count On Me — Ashe

34 — Satellite — Harry Styles

35 — Just Fucking Let Me Love You — Lowen

36 — i never wanna die — Bea Miller

37 — Trust Nobody — King Princess

38 — Lost Time — LEON

39 — willow — Taylor Swift

40 — blister in the sun — mxmtoon

41 — Crime (feat. Skott) — Grey

42 — Delicate — Taylor Swift

43 — Seventeen — LEON

44 — It’s Nice To Have A Friend — Taylor Swift

45 — Wishful Thinking — LEON

46 — Halley’s Comet — Billie Eilish

47 — peace — Taylor Swift

48 — pov — Ariana Grande

49 — The Way I Am — Ingrid Michaelson

50 — invisible string — Taylor Swift

51 — Grow as We Go (feat. Sara Bareilles) — Ben Platt

52 — Wildflowers — The Wailin’ Jennys

53 — come out and play — Billie Eilish

54 — Sweet Nothing — Taylor Swift

55 — Willow — Renee Rapp

56 — panorama — Hayley Kiyoko

Chapter Text

Most days Ava Silva wakes up fine.

The ache in her body is present, but manageable. With a little bit of pain medication she becomes operational, able to pass through her day with the itch of discomfort so familiar and consistent that she can oftentimes ignore it.

Today is not one of those days, though. She knows it the moment her alarm goes off.

Her eyes blink open to the cracked ceiling of her apartment. She feels paralyzed—even the thought of moving to turn off her alarm makes the tips of her fingers prick with pain. Everything in her body wants her to give in to the fatigue and return to the bliss of sleep, where the chronic pain leftover from her accident becomes distant, but she resists the urge to close her eyes again for just a moment.

She lifts her hand, feeling a borderline painful prickling up her arm as she reaches for her phone, turning off the alarm. It takes what little energy she has in her to text her coworker, Hans.

Ava: bad day. think you can handle things on your own?

Hans: rest up.

Always simple, always to the point. Ava likes that about Hans. He’s never judged her for her condition, never asked questions. He’s the most understanding person Ava has met thus far (besides her therapist), and he’s the only reason she’s been able to keep this job at Bar La Vasseur for just over a year now. Every other job she’d been able to acquire before this bartending gig always ended the same way—employers would blame it on her minimal education and poor upbringing, calling her ‘not the right fit,’ but Ava has always known her lost jobs are the result of her disability.

She closes her phone and sets it back on the bedside table, rolling into a more comfortable position. She grabs one of her pain pills from the bedside table and swallows it dry.

(She’d learned a long time ago that leaving open pills where she can reach them is necessary, especially on days where mobility is next to impossible.)

She’s out again before she can think too hard about the burning in her body.

—

Ava doesn’t learn about the new hire until the next day.

It’s Hans’ day off, so it should (theoretically) just be Ava in the building until the kitchen staff arrives an hour later. She goes through the motions of opening—she starts the drawer on the register, fills the ice bins, gives the bartop an extra wipe-down, and takes chairs off tables among other things. Once she’s set, she takes a seat on a stool, resting her body before she inevitably has to switch the open sign on and soldier through her day. 

(Her episode from yesterday isn’t entirely over, but is it ever, really?)

She’s got her forehead down on the bar with her arms splayed out when footsteps coming down the stairs from the storage space above startle her to attention.

Nobody should be here but her.

Ava pushes up off her stool immediately, grabbing the first heavy thing she can find and raising it above her head, facing the stairs with wide eyes.

The stranger freezes instantly, a hand still on the railing and a foot hovering past the bottom step. Brown eyes meet hers, appearing equally as startled. Soft, round features are contorted with seriousness, and delicate tan skin glows in the midday sunlight pouring in through the front windows. She’s dressed in a nice button-up and jeans, with brown hair pulled back tightly in a bun. 

Ava keeps her weapon—a full glass bottle of Vodka—raised above her head. She adjusts her grip on the bottle to show she means business, despite the fact that this woman looks like she might be able to gracefully and efficiently take Ava out in one sweep. Quickly and with as much sternness as she can muster, Ava asks in German, “ Who are you? Why are you in my bar? ”

“ You must be Ava,” The woman replies in English, her accent catching Ava off-guard. Ava hesitates before lowering the bottle into a less threatening position at her side. “I was sorry to miss meeting you yesterday on account of you calling out sick. I’m Beatrice.”

“What?” Ava fully sets the bottle down on the bar, her eyebrows scrunched together. “Hans didn’t tell me shit. Asshole. Are you training or something?”

“Not quite,” Beatrice stands with her back straight, watching Ava go to turn on the open sign and unlock the front door. “I’m your new manager.”

Ava stops and turns around with squinted eyes, her hand still on the door handle, “ What? ”

“There’s no need to feel concerned, I’m highly qualified. Your prior manager received a promotion with the owners and I applied to cover this position. Surely you must have known,” Beatrice misinterprets Ava’s shocked expression by miles. 

In truth, she’s mostly just confused because this woman is beautiful and there’s no way she’s much older than Ava, if at all. The thought of taking orders from someone who is essentially her peer makes her skin crawl. Plus, if the bun on her head is anything to go by, Beatrice won’t be nearly as lax about Ava’s call-outs.

Ava gets her thoughts together long enough to respond, “Right. Yeah, I knew.”

“Excellent. I’m taking the next few days to get a feel for how things have been running around here, so don’t mind me monitoring your performance. Run things how you normally would, and we’ll adjust from there.”

Great. Ava smiles politely, despite the building urge to groan and complain to Hans.

She runs things on her own throughout the course of the day, extremely aware of Beatrice’s eyes on her from the table she’s set up her laptop and a stack of paperwork on. It’s strange, because their last manager did most work remotely or locked herself away upstairs, and she certainly never showed up before opening.

Things feel weird all day, especially as the hours drag on and her body begins to give out. She has to push herself until the last moment, straining her muscles with every chair that she lifts atop a table and every push and pull with the mop. The extra pain pill she’d popped in the bathroom on her break is the only thing that keeps her from collapsing.

Beatrice had migrated upstairs at some point during Ava’s closing cleaning tasks. Ava glances hesitantly at the stairs as she grabs her coat, unsure if she should check in. She counts down from thirty before she decides to clock out and leave for the night without saying goodbye.

She pulls out her phone as she locks the door behind her.

Ava: thanks for the heads-up, btw.

Hans: oh, yeah. new manager started yesterday. you won’t like her.

Ava: smart ass.

Hans liked a message from Ava: “smart ass.”

Ava rolls her eyes, tucking her phone back in her pocket and wrapping her arms around herself as she walks, pain spiking up her legs with every step.

—

She’s late the next day, because of course she is.

Why should her power stay on all throughout the night? She certainly doesn’t need it to charge her phone so it doesn’t die and cause her to miss her alarm. Certainly. 

Hans is already there when she arrives, moving around behind the bar with ease and muscle-memory, despite the crowd. It’s the weekend, which means all hands on deck. Beatrice is seated at the same table from yesterday, and Ava avoids her icy glare as she quickly ties on her apron and clocks in.

“ Sorry, ” Ava says in German to Hans. “ Lost power and missed my alarm. ”

“ No worries, ” He responds. “ Beware the boss-lady’s impending wrath. ”

“ I can feel her mentally strangling me from here, ” Ava chances a look over in Beatrice’s direction, finding that she’s still being glared at. She quickly looks away. “ I don’t think I’ll make it through this shift alive. ”

“ Are you feeling well, at least? ” He asks, gentle concern in his tone.

“ Better than two days ago, for sure. Thank you, ” Ava smiles.

The two of them get lost in making drinks not long after that, gliding around one another easily over the busyness of the day. Ava gets so lost in it that she forgets about everything else. At least… until they’re closed and it’s just her, Hans, and their new manager.

Ava is wiping down the bar while Hans restocks for the morning when Beatrice approaches the counter.

“Ava, a word?”

Ava knows that tone. She deflects, “I’ve always been rather fond of bodacious. It glides off the tongue quite nicely.”

Not even a smile. Yikes. Ava is fucked, for sure.

Beatrice ignores her, “You were late today.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ava sighs. “My power went out and my alarm never went off. It won’t happen again.”

Beatrice stares at her like she doesn’t quite believe it. Ava doesn’t blame her, really. So far of the three days Beatrice has been here, Ava has called out one day and was late another. It’s not the best introduction to her work ethic and character, for sure…

“I swear,” Ava adds when all she gets is silence, not really adding any substance but trying to convince Beatrice anyway.

“ Performance check-ins will happen at the end of the week, ” Beatrice announces in German to both of them instead of acknowledging Ava’s plea for forgiveness. “ Keep that in mind. ” She returns to her table, shuffling through more paperwork. Ava locks eyes with Hans across the way, trying to pour every last ounce of her annoyance into it. He looks back at her apologetically.

Ava finishes the rest of her work quietly, wondering on her walk home if Beatrice is secretly chained to Bar La Vasseur, or if she’s just always going to be the first one in and the last one out the door.

—

By the end of the week, Ava has gotten used to Beatrice’s presence. She’s even started thinking about that table she sits at every day as Beatrice’s table instead of table five. Her presence—while annoying and micromanage-y—becomes familiar and expected. 

They’re finishing up the last bit of cleaning when Beatrice looks up from her table, a clipboard in hand. Ava’s anxiety spikes.

“ Hans, you’re up first for your performance report. Do you mind taking a seat for a moment? ” Beatrice calls in German, gaining his attention. 

He empties the dustpan in his hand before sitting down across from her. Ava pretends not to pay attention, but she hears every word in the silence of their closed bar, “ I’ve been quite impressed by your work ethic. You know the menu in and out, customers love your drinks and attitude, and you work quite efficiently. I don’t have much to say beyond keep up the good work, and I know you’ll adapt well to the changes I’ll be implementing in the next few weeks. ”

It’s dismissive but polite. Hans thanks her before returning to work. Ava pretends to be entranced by her work to avoid the hot seat as long as possible, but it doesn’t last more than a few moments, “Ava, could you come here?”

Ava tucks her rag into her apron and approaches slowly, placing her hands on the back of the seat across from Beatrice but not actually sitting down as an act of quiet defiance. She isn’t sure why she feels defensive already, aside from the fact that Beatrice’s smile she’d been wearing for Hans has evaporated into a thin, emotionless line.

“So far, I am… unimpressed.”

Oh. Ouch.

“Not only have you been late and missed work, but your behavior with customers is unacceptable. Your knowledge of the menu is lacking, you haven’t pushed a single special, and you’re messy with your drink-making.”

“Cool. Okay,” Ava can’t stop the fiery tone she begins to take on, anger bubbling in her chest. She can hear her therapist in the back of her mind saying something about maintaining self-awareness and focusing on her breathing, but it gets drowned out almost immediately by Ava’s subconscious shouting job loss incoming, defend yourself!

So, of course she explodes.

Ava ticks her points off on her fingers for dramatic effect, “I was sick. My alarm didn’t go off. Customers like to be talked to and treated like human beings. It’s actually why they keep coming back, believe it or not. Oh! And I know the menu.”

She doesn’t have an excuse for her messy drink-making or her lack of pushing specials. Repeating the same sentence about specials posted on the wall right behind her feels redundant, and she simply can’t move her wrists the same way as Hans when it comes to mixing drinks. It all tastes the same, and that’s all that matters.

When Beatrice doesn’t immediately respond, Ava adds, “Maybe you shouldn’t base my performance in this job off a single week, especially considering you don’t know a thing about me beyond my name and my position in this bar.”

Ava feels some semblance of satisfaction at the way Beatrice stares at her for a solid five seconds, her jaw clenching and unclenching. Finally, she takes a breath and clicks her pen twice in her hand, “...A week is the perfect amount of time for this kind of observance. I am merely trying to help you excel in your job. This is how we can begin improvement for Bar La Vasseur. ”

“I’m not feeling very encouraged right now,” Ava says coldly. “May I continue my subpar attempt to clean the bar? I assume that was another comment on your checklist of everything I’m bad at.” 

Ava doesn’t wait for Beatrice to respond, she just turns around and goes back to work. 

—

Ava’s therapist would call her contributions to that conversation ‘unapologetically unconstructive.’ Ava hears it in her head well before she enters her therapist’s office, so she opts not to bring it up at all. She already knows she was a dick, so why bother talking about it?

Still, it doesn’t stop her therapist from noticing that something is off. Ava tries to throw her off the scent with talk of her most recent episode, throwing in details about the maintenance problems in her building and how ‘upsetting those disturbances to her routine have been.’ But Ava has never been a good actress, and she leaves knowing that her next session will likely involve a little more pushing.

She’s been seeing her therapist—Suzanne—since shortly after she moved here.

Her decision to start therapy was something that she (surprisingly) came to on her own. Most of her childhood was spent in an orphanage in Andalucia, Spain, where she was put after a car accident took her mother and left her practically paralyzed from the neck down. The nerve damage she sustained from her injuries took years to (physically and emotionally) recover from, and it eventually became obvious that maybe she never fully would.

She’d gone from frequent visits with counselors and late night talks with her roommate to having nothing and no one, and as much as the newness was exciting, it was also overwhelming. Arriving in Switzerland and starting a life here only a few short months after aging out of the orphanage was a bit of a shock to the system, even if she’d spent her whole life dreaming of traveling outside of Spain. She had needed something— anything —that could connect her to the routine she’d lived with for all that time.

(It was Suzanne who suggested she attend the support group she runs for other individuals suffering from chronic pain, but more on that later…)

Still, even though her sessions with her therapist aren’t required like her counseling was in the orphanage, she continues to lie and deflect as much as possible.

(At this point, she knows what her therapist will say anyway—she’s used the word ‘unapologetic’ to describe Ava about a million times—so she’s learned what subjects to avoid to prevent herself from hearing things she doesn’t want to hear. It’s extremely counter-productive, but… acknowledging that is the first step to true self-enlightenment and healing? That’s what she tells herself, anyway.)

After therapy, she spends the rest of her two days off simultaneously resting and dreading seeing Beatrice in the wake of her outburst. 

Beatrice is already at her table when she goes into work next. They don’t acknowledge each other, but Ava swears she feels Beatrice’s eyes on her more than once.

Beatrice makes no move to apologize. Neither does Ava.

She doesn’t change a thing about the way she works, either, which she thought would earn at least a glare. But Beatrice says nothing, and only does some sort of pursed-lipped smile whenever they lock eyes.

She texts Hans during the slower mid-point of her shift.

Ava: beatrice is weirdly quiet… it’s unsettling.

Hans: in the wake of performance reports? i’m shocked.

Ava: she’s just so… emotionless. should i be worse at my job to set her off?

Hans: only if you have a death wish.

Ava snorts and tucks her phone back into her apron, glancing over at Beatrice just in time to catch her staring. She looks annoyed, which is more emotion than Ava has seen out of her all day. Ava simply gives her a brighter-than-sun smile and diverts her attention to a man approaching the bar for a drink.

At the end of the day as Ava is clocking out, Beatrice finally says her first words of the day to Ava, “Good work. Less time on your phone, tomorrow, please.”

Ava only has the energy to force a smile before letting the door close behind her.

—

A week passes with few further incidents. Her therapist hears all about a few tourists that have been in every night bothering their regulars, but Ava avoids any attempt to steer her towards any difficult subjects.

She doesn’t attempt to stir the pot any further with Beatrice either, despite all of the many jokes she makes about it to Hans. She nearly thinks Beatrice might be warming up to her, at least until she comes in after a day off and can immediately see the gossip in Hans’ eyes, ready to spill at any moment.

He waits until Beatrice gets up from her table and heads upstairs, then immediately turns to her, “ I should tell you, Beatrice was asking about you yesterday. ”

“ Asking about me? ” Ava raises her eyebrows, taking a sip from her water and leaning back against the bar. “ In what way? ”

“ She asked if you ‘flirt with everyone’ or if you’re ‘just like that.’ I told her you’ve never flirted with me, so how should I know? ” Hans shrugs, but Ava knows he must have given a bit of an attitude to Beatrice in the moment. She tries to imagine what Beatrice’s face must have looked like in response to Hans’ sass, but she can’t find it in her to enjoy it at the moment.

“ Flirting? She thinks I’m flirting with her? ”

“ No, not with her. With customers. Well, maybe with her, too. She wasn’t incredibly specific about it, and she walked away after it was clear I didn’t want to entertain her attempt to find an avenue to reign you in with. ”

Ava pretends to be offended, “ Do you think I need to be ‘reigned in,’ Hans? ”

“ I wouldn’t dream of trying, Ava, ” He bows his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. It’s this moment that Beatrice returns from upstairs, witnessing Ava take the rag from her waist and hit him with it. The two of them laugh together like children, earning raised eyebrows from Beatrice as she takes her seat.

Ava calls to her, “ This isn’t what my flirting looks like, for the record. Don’t worry, boss. ” Hans can’t seem to help the snort he lets out, which only makes Ava laugh a little harder than she already was. Beatrice has the decency to blush, if the pretty rose color that fills her tan cheeks is anything to go by.

“ You’re going to get yourself fired, one of these days, ” Hans says quietly to her as they get back to work, but it’s clear he’s very much amused. Ava just shrugs her shoulders and pours another whiskey for one of their regulars, smiling a wide, unapologetic smile and carrying on with her shift.

By the time the day is over, everything aches beyond the usual threshold of what she’s accustomed to. She pushes through, but she can tell by Hans’ worried looks that he’s noticed the depletion of her mobility. He refuses to let her put up chairs, instead telling her to focus on splitting tips while he finishes cleaning up for the night.

She can only smile gratefully and grab the tip jar, letting the crunched-up bills spill over the bar as she begins to sort them. She pulls a stool up, feeling her legs prickling with pain the way they always do at the end of a shift as her body starts to anticipate her impending collapse into bed.

“I should have known Hans would say something to you.”

“ Jesus, ” Ava startles, placing a hand over her heart and turning to meet Beatrice’s gaze as she comes up beside Ava. “And yeah, obviously.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” She glances away as she says it, then locks eyes with Ava once more. Ava wonders if that means she’s nervous or just lying.

“That’s… so weird, because it sounded to me like you basically asked Hans if i sleep with customers for extra tips,” Ava returns her gaze to the tips, smoothing her hands over a particularly crumpled bill. She applies more pressure despite the pain, if only so the shaking of her hands is less obvious.

“I wasn’t–”

“Which I don’t, by the way. But I could understand why you’d think that, on account of me being a hot, young bartender who also happens to be polite to customers even when they make sleazy comments about my appearance and try to buy me drinks while I’m working.” Ava shrugs, trying to feign indifference despite the ache of discomfort both in her bones and in the knowledge that her boss, a fellow woman, essentially slut-shamed her for not outwardly expressing her distaste for many of the men (who double as paying customers) that try for her attention.

“I…” Beatrice hesitates, and the shame in her voice makes Ava turn her head to look at her again. “I didn’t… think about it. Like that.”

Ava waits a solid few moments, expecting something more… apologetic. But it’s clear that Beatrice isn’t going to say anything else, so naturally, Ava’s anger mixed with the extra bit of pain in her bones causes her to lash out further, “I’m sorry that you find me to be such a difficult employee to reign in.”

Beatrice sighs, “I really am trying to find a way for us to work together, you know.”

“Right, yeah. I totally feel that,” Ava says, her tone laced in pure sarcasm. Beatrice only sighs again and walks away, returning to her table.

Once she and Hans have clocked out, he holds the door open for her and waves goodnight to Beatrice. Ava doesn’t miss the icy look in his eyes as he does so, and she once again feels grateful to have him as a coworker and friend.

“ ‘Night, Hans, ” She smiles, her walk taking on more of a limp as she turns in the direction of her apartment.

He stops her, “ Ava, wait. Let me drive you home? ”

“ I’m a big girl, I can handle it, ” Ava dismisses him as she always does. “ Thank you, though. ”

“ Alright, well. Be safe. And don’t let her get to your head. ”

Ava rolls her eyes, “ Since when have I ever let anyone do that? ”

“ I know, ” He shakes his head. “ I’m only saying. ”

As soon as she turns around, her smile drops and she sulks the entire walk home. Ava has never been bothered by an authority figure in her life, even one with perfect bone structure and pretty brown eyes. And she certainly doesn’t have any plans to start now.

Chapter Text

Ava has trouble sleeping.

As a result, she starts her day early—like, before-the-sun early. She only finds the energy because the alternative is to go back to sleep and risk slipping back into her nightmare.

(It’s the one she always has. The one that’s just a memory being replayed. The one that happened so long ago but feels like it just happened yesterday. The one that reminds her of all she’s lost.)

She beats Hans to work, and surprisingly Beatrice, too. She had been starting to feel convinced that Beatrice straight up moved in and was sleeping on the couch upstairs. Ever since they met, she’s sure there hasn’t been a single day that she’s come in and Beatrice wasn’t already here, and she’s never seen her leave either. It makes Beatrice feel a little more human to her, knowing that she has a life outside of this place.

She takes down the chairs first, if only to prove to herself that she can do it. Hans shows up just as she’s starting the drawer on the register. She smiles brightly in greeting, hoping that every trace of her rough night is hidden behind it.

“ You’re early, ” Hans says, tying his apron around his waist and resting his forearms on the bar to look at her. “ Did you sleep okay? ”

Ava glances at the time, “ I was antsy to get in. And yeah, totally. I slept great, ” She absolutely lies.

“ I would have taken down the chairs, ” He says, clearly not believing her. She pretends not to notice the concern he’s barely concealing, busying herself with double-checking that everything is stocked up.

Beatrice shows up a few minutes later just as the two of them finish up their opening tasks. Ava just so happens to be on her phone on account of the bar not opening for another ten minutes, but she makes no move to put it away. Hans does the same.

“ Good afternoon, ” Ava shoots her a fake smile, then looks back at her phone. Beatrice sighs and hums something of a response.

“ Antagonizing as always, I see, ” Hans says quietly to her, smirking over his phone.

“ Whatever do you mean? I’m a goddamn delight, Hans, ” Ava shoves him jokingly from the stool she’s resting on. He pretends to be hurt before going to switch on the open sign and unlock the front door. Ava carefully pushes herself up, greeting the first few people to stroll in with her signature smile.

Her drinks are messier today than they typically are. Hans notices, subtly encouraging her to do some of the other tasks such as restocking, sweeping the front, or taking food orders. Ava feels guilty that he spends a good portion of the day making drinks on his own, but it keeps Beatrice from getting on her back and for that she’s grateful. They’re nowhere near incredibly busy even as it gets later into the evening, which makes Ava feel the tiniest bit better about it.

The first real issue of the night doesn’t occur until much later. Ava is crouched behind the bar, digging through cabinets as she looks for more of their most popular flavor of schnapps, when a voice calls her name from above.

“Ava!” It’s deep, slurred, and familiar.

Ava inhales sharply, freezing for several seconds as a wave of anxiety passes through her. Maybe her mind is playing tricks on her? Suzanne had mentioned something in one of her sessions about how sometimes PTSD from one trauma can trigger memories of traumas that are entirely unrelated. She continues digging through the cabinet for schnapps, telling herself his voice is only in her head, that it’s only a trauma response to the nightmare she’d had.

A hand slaps roughly against the bar as she finds the schnapps, and she’s struck with reality as she rises to her feet, “There she is! Ava!”

Long, dark hair and a cleanly shaved beard greet her, eyes hazed with drunkenness and unashamedly passing over as much of Ava’s body as he can see over the bar. Ava glances towards Hans at the opposite end of the bar, but he hasn’t noticed a thing over the music and the customers he’s chatting with.

“Adriel,” Ava says, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She stays back against the shelves of liquor, as far from the bar as she can be. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was new management,” He smiles an icy, creepy smile that adds to the dread building in the pit of her stomach. “I thought I would come say hi, see how my favorite bartender is doing.”

“I see,” Ava looks at Hans again, but he’s still distracted. Her eyes flick over to Beatrice next out of pure desperation. She’s already watching the interaction closely, and as they lock eyes Ava can see the question in them. She can only hope that Beatrice sees the plea for help even though it’s concealed behind the pleasant expression she’s maintaining to keep him from lashing out. She thinks she sees something change in Beatrice’s expression before she slowly gets up from her table.

“You still remember my usual, right? Why don’t you pour something for yourself, too. Have a drink with me,” Adriel pats the bar in front of him. “Let me see you, beautiful.”

It’s now that Hans glances over, doing a double-take when he realizes who Ava is talking to. He immediately ends his conversation, taking several quick steps to move in front of Ava protectively. She releases the death grip she’d unknowingly had on the shelf behind her, momentarily letting her expression slip into pure panic as Hans’ body shields her completely.

“Adriel. You’re trespassing,” Hans says in English, knowing full-well that this man doesn’t speak German. His tone is full of warning as he reaches for the bar’s landline, “Don’t make me call the police.”

Adriel only lets the distaste for Hans’ interruption show on his face for a moment before he covers it up with another grin, “I was only saying hello to the lady.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Hans says. Ava can see his shoulders tense, and can feel him gearing up for a fight. She despises both the anxiety that’s hovering around her and the chronic ache in her bones that makes her feel too weak to do anything to help.

Adriel slams his fist down on the counter, rattling the glasses of every patron within his proximity. Ava flinches as he growls, “Well, Hans, nobody makes a drink quite like your gorgeous coworker. Where’s your new manager? Surely he’ll consider lifting the ban.”

“ She certainly won’t,” Beatrice appears beside Adriel, settling a glare on him that’s much sharper and colder than anything Ava has seen from her thus far. “Allow me to walk you to the door, sir. You’re making my employees uncomfortable.”

He barely turns his head to look at her, scoffing, “Excuse me?”

Beatrice purses her lips, seeming to get the sense that words won’t make much of an impact in this conversation. She turns to Hans, saying decisively and with no remorse, “Please call the police, Hans.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Adriel’s hand shoots over the bar quickly as Hans reaches for the phone, grabbing his wrist forcefully to stop him. In an instant, Beatrice’s hand is on Adriel’s arm. She’s much smaller than him, but her fingers wrap around and in one quick motion she’s got him off the stool, with one arm pinned behind his back in a rather painful position. He flails his other arm and calls out in pain as she shoves him towards the door, “Get out of my bar. I won’t ask again.”

“Bitch!” He calls back to her once she’s let him go, but he seems to know better than to try anything. He looks back at Ava, shoots her a devilish grin, then storms out.

Hans immediately turns to her, “ Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t see him come in. ”

“ I’m fine, thanks, ” Ava says quickly, feeling the panic start to boil over in her chest now that Adriel is gone. She starts heading for the stairs, trying to keep her cool, “ I’ll just be a minute. ”

She doesn’t make it far past the top of the stairs before her legs give out and the panic takes over. She falls to her knees, unable to breathe, pressing her chest against her thighs and resting her forehead in her arms. Tears tumble uncontrollably down her cheeks as a silent sob wracks through her body.

She sees flashes of the first few times he came into the bar. Her old manager’s voice is in her head, telling her ‘that’s just how men are’ and ‘at least he’s tipping well’ and ‘can’t you just ignore it?’ She feels the echoes of his hands touching her in places they shouldn’t have been. She’s reminded that it took three incidents before her manager finally did anything about it.

Her mind is a clusterfuck of emotion, her chest aches from lack of air, and her muscles are so tense that she isn’t entirely sure if she can get up. It takes her several more minutes to stop crying, but even once her breathing is under control she can’t convince her limbs to move. She presses her forehead into the wooden floor, letting the coolness of it calm her down as she works on building the energy to get herself upright.

Light footsteps on the stairs alert her that she’s about to no longer be alone. She wipes furiously at her cheeks, trying to clean her face but knowing full well that she’s probably just smearing her makeup around more. The footsteps stop the moment Ava comes into view, curled into herself on the floor.

“...Ava?” Beatrice asks, a gentleness in her voice that feels different. It’s soft and comforting, and Ava relaxes the tiniest bit. “What can I do for you?”

“Um…” Ava sniffles, pressing her hands to her thighs and releasing a shaky breath. She looks up at the bathroom, then back down at herself, “Um… could you help me up?”

“Of course,” Beatrice is quick to move the rest of the way up the stairs. She crouches beside Ava, but she doesn’t immediately touch her, “...May I?”

The request for consent makes the tears return to Ava’s eyes. She can only nod and reach out, letting Beatrice wrap an arm around her to help her into a standing position. Ava clings to Beatrice for what feels like an eternity, letting the increase in blood flow aid her in regaining the feeling in her limbs.

“I’m okay,” Ava says when she’s sure she won’t immediately collapse if she lets go. “Thank you.” Beatrice hesitantly releases her, bringing her hands to rest in front of her and standing there awkwardly. Ava takes a few slow steps towards the bathroom, feeling Beatrice watching her. She misinterprets the look in her eyes, “I’m sorry. I’ll be down in a minute to get back to work.”

“ Don’t apologize,” Beatrice says quickly, her tone stern once more. “Take your time.” Ava smiles weakly and heads into the bathroom. She hears Beatrice go back downstairs after the door closes.

She barely looks at herself as she runs her hands under cold water, letting it pool up until there’s enough to splash over her face. She rinses and repeats until her fingers start to wrinkle from the water, the coldness helping her ground herself. 

As she finally lifts her head, she watches droplets of water as they smooth their way along her skin and fall back into the sink, then locks eyes with herself. They’re bloodshot, but by some grace of some greater being her face isn’t puffy or red. The bags under her eyes—previously buried under at least three layers of concealer—pop out in the fluorescent lighting. She feels like she’s looking at a stranger the longer she stands there.

The sudden thought that Beatrice’d had her back is almost as grounding as the cold water.

She had seen through Ava’s (usually deceiving) fake smile, understanding her silent plea for help. She’d stormed over, so much smaller and somehow so much more powerful. The fury in her eyes had been unmistakable as she realized this must have occurred before. There was no questioning or consideration that maybe Ava was being dramatic or that Adriel deserved a chance. There was only Beatrice’s refusal and her ninja moves the moment Adriel became physically hostile.

(If Ava had stayed behind only a few seconds longer, she would have seen that Beatrice even stayed by the door, watching until Adriel was out of sight.)

She can’t explain how or why all of this calms her as she takes several slow, deep breaths and dries her hands and face. As she heads downstairs, she feels both Hans and Beatrice looking at her as she moves back behind the bar, but she doesn’t acknowledge either of them. Instead, she throws herself back into work and politely smiles at a customer waiting to order some drinks.

Later, as Ava turns around from locking the front door, she’s startled to find Hans watching her. She stops in place, smiling nervously, “ What? ”

“ Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I can finish up here. ”

“ That’s ridiculous, ” Ava takes her rag from her waist and starts wiping down tables, avoiding his gaze until he gets the point. “ I’m here. I’ll work. It’s fine. ”

“ I think Hans is right, Ava. You’ve had a long day, ” Beatrice adds, watching the two of them from her table.

Ava moves onto the next table, scrubbing it just as intently, “ I know my limits. I’m fine. I appreciate you both for caring, but can you just drop it? ”

“ ...Only if you let me drive you home tonight, ” Hans argues.

“ It’s out of your way. Don’t worry about it, ” Ava says despite how welcoming the idea of not having to trudge her way home sounds. The aftermath of earlier has left her feeling too dependent, too weak. She doesn’t want charity. She spent her whole life until she turned eighteen having to rely on other people’s charity—she’s done.

“ You live in the square, right? ” Beatrice asks. “ I live a street over. Why don’t we walk together instead? ”

Ava doesn’t ask how Beatrice knows that. Maybe Beatrice has seen her around town on the rare occasion she’s not in this bar. Or, more likely, maybe she’s just gleaned it from some paperwork Ava filled out when she was hired.

She feels herself rearing up to decline, but something stops her, “ ...Yeah, okay. ”

Ava’s complacence seems to satiate both of them, and she’s left to finish out her work for the day in peace. She’s fully expecting Beatrice to get wrapped up in her paperwork and stay behind for god knows how long anyway, so it’s likely she’ll end up walking home on her own. And then things can just feel… normal. Absolutely normal.

Except… there Beatrice is when Hans and Ava are clocking out, standing by the door with her coat on. She’s waiting on Ava. It’s a cold day in hell, for sure.

Ava tucks her hands into her pockets and purses her lips, stepping out ahead of Beatrice when Hans holds the door open for the two of them. Hans says goodnight and tells them to get home safe, and then it’s just Beatrice and Ava walking side by side towards the town square.

“So…” Ava says after an entire minute of unbearable silence. “You were cool earlier. Thanks.”

“I was glad to help,” Beatrice says with a small nod, always so serious. Ava notices that even now in the quiet of the night she’s alert and focused, watching the path ahead of them.

“It was so dope, you just, like–” Ava does a karate chop in the air, then another, adding sound effects with her mouth. “You’re a total badass.” Beatrice rolls her eyes. “I’m serious!”

“You deserve to feel safe in your place of work,” Beatrice says, a hardness forming in her voice. “I don’t know much about the situation, but I know that both you and Hans were afraid, and that’s enough for me.”

Ava hates talking about what happened.

She had no choice but to talk about it in therapy. Suzanne had known right away that something was wrong when she canceled two appointments in a row in the weeks following the first occurrence. Even when she’d finally found the words, she couldn’t get through a single sentence without breaking down in Suzanne’s office.

It took weeks for Ava to stop flinching every time someone got a little too close to her.

Talking about it takes a lot of energy, and the few times she’s had to she’s been inebriated in some way, aside from her sessions with Suzanne. Beatrice hasn’t asked for Ava to lay out the details for her, but for some reason Ava feels like she should at least try to, “He, uh… he was banned earlier this year for… well, he… he…” 

Ava can’t say it. That same mental block in her brain keeps her from being able to use the word assault. She lifts her chin as tears of frustration begin to prick the edges of her eyes, willing them back.

Beatrice spares her from having to try further, “You don’t have to tell me, Ava.”

Ava nods slowly, clearing her throat, “Well… anyway, he’s been showing up every once in a while, even after the ban. Just to try his luck, I guess.”

“I don’t really get the feeling he’s been told ‘no’ very many times in his life,” Beatrice scoffs. “But I certainly won’t put up with it. Not when it concerns the safety of my employees.”

“I appreciate that more than you know,” Ava says sincerely. It’s quiet for a few more moments before the urge to lighten the mood takes over and she adds, “I wish I’d known you could take down a guy twice your size when I was being so mean to you.”

“Oh, yeah? Would you have acted differently?” Beatrice raises her eyebrows, looking entirely unconvinced.

Ava shrugs, “Probably not.”

“Right,” Beatrice nods. “I’m not… completely innocent either, I suppose.”

It’s the closest thing Ava has gotten to an apology. She can’t find it in her to feel mad about it at this current moment. The only thing she’s feeling is relief, and the comfort that comes with knowing that even if they don’t get along on most things, Beatrice has her back.

“Woah. Are we bonding?” Ava gestures between them, overexaggerating her disbelief. “We are. We’re bonding.”

Beatrice chuckles. Like full-on, out-loud, doesn’t-try-to-hide-it chuckles. Ava smiles, feeling warmth in her chest.

They slow to a stop outside of Ava’s building, Ava turning to fully face Beatrice, “Thanks for walking me home.”

Beatrice returns her smile, “You’re welcome.”

Ava’s smile widens and she turns around, heading into her apartment for the night.

—

The next several days are good for Ava. Really good.

They have their downsides, of course. Her mobility is spotty at best, but Hans is an angel (as always) and does his best to help her when he can. No further incidents occur at the bar, and Beatrice has even started smiling at her on occasion.

But, naturally, just when things are starting to look up, Ava trips and stumbles right back down once more.

Almost a week after the incident with Adriel, Ava wakes up in such intense pain that her entire system feels like it’s been shocked. It takes her thirty minutes to muster the ability to reach for her phone, and the pain is so bad that her message to Hans is extremely brief and vague.

Ava: bad day. help?

Hans: don’t worry, rest up.

Ava sighs in relief and tucks her phone under her pillow. She pops more pain medication than she probably should and is back under the protection of sleep before she can even really process just how fatigued and in pain she really is.

Every once in a while, her bad day stretches on into several. This time around, it takes nearly five days and an emergency visit from her physical therapist before she’s able to do more than get herself to the bathroom. They’re unsure what triggered this episode, but the suspicion is that she’s pushing herself too hard at work (a common occurrence with Ava, it seems) and her body is too tired to fight it like it usually does.

When she finally makes it back into work, Hans is so excited to see her that he gives her a hug. He’s gentle, which she appreciates, and she laughs into his shoulder. He lets go of her and smiles, “ Good to see you. You’re feeling better? ”

“ I’m standing here, aren’t I? ” Ava does a small, cautious twirl. Her smile wavers, “ I’m sorry I was out for so long. ”

“ What’s that? I sometimes have trouble hearing unnecessary apologies, ” Ava rolls her eyes as he turns away from her with a wave of his hand. “ But really, don’t worry. It’s been slow around here anyway, you would have been bored out of your mind. ”

Ava shoves him playfully before the two of them throw themselves into their opening tasks. Ava is so ready for the rest of her week to return to normal. She’s even excited to see Beatrice, in a surprising turn of events. The thought has her smiling more than usual, because she really thinks they’re on the verge of building a decent relationship, and–

“Ava.”

Oh.

That tone… reminds Ava of performance reports.

She turns slowly, seeing Beatrice at the bottom of the stairs. Any kindness she’d begun to display towards Ava is absent. Ava feels a spike of anxiety in her chest as she takes in the thin line of disapproval on Beatrice’s lips, “May I have a word with you? Upstairs?”

Ava glances at Hans, who makes a small gesture that conveys he isn’t sure what’s wrong. With a gulp, she turns and follows Beatrice, clinging to the railing to keep herself stable. Five days off her feet has left her a little wobbly and out-of-practice.

They stop in the middle of the room. Beatrice turns to face Ava with that thin line of her lips beginning to turn downwards into more of an actual frown. Ava’s nerves spike, “Hi. Hans told you he was covering for me, right? I was sick.”

“He did,” Beatrice says, her chin rising a little higher in the air.

“So… why are you looking at me like you don’t believe me?” Ava sees Beatrice’s jaw clench, and she knows, “Right. Because you don’t.”

“You were perfectly fine the night before, and then you were suddenly out for five days,” Beatrice is cold, colder than she was even when she was insulting Ava’s work ethic. “A little bit of an explanation is in order, don’t you agree?”

Ava knows her disability is invisible, that she’s always hiding it with a smile. She knows that Hans is the only person she’s told (beyond her doctors and those in her group therapy), and the only other place it’s plastered for anyone to see is somewhere in the paperwork she filled out when she took this job. But that doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt to be accused of faking it.

“I was sick,” Ava hardens too, her defensiveness taking over. Her anxiety is starting to pass over her inner threshold, so this time around she doesn’t ignore her therapist’s voice in the back of her mind walking her through a breathing exercise.

Beatrice stares at her for an excruciating moment of silence, her face completely neutral. Finally, she tilts her head, “Company policy states that when an employee is out for two or more days, they must provide a doctor’s note or risk termination. Where’s yours?”

“You won’t fire me,” Ava calls Beatrice’s bluff, unable to stop her eye roll even though she’s sure it doesn’t help her case at all. She could very easily get a doctor’s note from her physical therapist and she is well aware of that, but it doesn’t stop her from crossing her arms and taking a step back, keeping that information to herself.

Beatrice pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes for a moment, letting out a short breath. There’s a little more softness as she asks, “Is this about that man from the other night? I understand if it upset you more than you initially thought, but if you’re going to take five days off, a little bit more of a heads-up is in order. It’s not fair to Hans–”

“That’s not it. And Hans said he was fine,” Ava gestures behind her as if Hans is standing right there. “I was sick. I don’t know what more to tell you.”

She feels angry. She thinks that if Beatrice continues looking at her like she’s a problem, she might break something.

Finally, Beatrice lets out a heavy sigh, “Fine. Don’t tell me. Just… get back to work, Ava.”

Ava stares at her, the hurt absolutely showing on her face as her eyebrows crinkle and her lips turn downward into a deep frown. If Beatrice feels guilty at all, it doesn’t show. 

Ava is tired. Tired of trying to convince Beatrice that she’s a good employee, that she’s not a liar, that she’s not just lazy. So, she turns on her heels and storms down the stairs, and for the rest of her shift she pretends that she can’t feel Beatrice’s watchful glare on her.

—

Later that evening as she’s getting into bed, she gets a text from Hans.

Hans: what happened? i didn’t want to ask in front of the boss lady, but you seemed upset.

Ava: oh, you know. i’m just lazy and don’t shine a light to your work ethic.

Hans: that’s ridiculous. you’re the best thing that’s happened to this bar in a while. i had some real shitty coworkers before you, ava.

Hans: and don’t say shit about how you have to call out occasionally. that isn’t your fault, and it doesn’t make you unreliable or lazy.

Ava: you’re being too nice to me, hans. it’s unacceptable.

Hans: well, i WAS just about to mention that your singing is pitchy and i could really go without it.

Ava: aw :) you always know just what to say.

—

Ava just… doesn’t understand.

Beatrice takes care of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named without question, but when Ava calls out sick she gets accused of faking it? For what? So she can lay around her apartment all day and lose out on earning rent money? What exactly does Beatrice think she was doing, anyway? Ava loves this town from the bottom of her heart, but it isn’t like there’s a whole lot to do around here, and her only friend was covering for her at work.

She’s getting obsessive and she’s completely aware of it. A few days of the two of them brushing by one another coldly and being extremely curt in conversation is all it takes for Ava’s curiosity and anger to fester. So naturally, the next step would be to internet stalk Beatrice until she can dig up something she can use.

Ava goes upstairs under the guise of grabbing another few bottles of a rum they’re running low on while Beatrice looks too knee-deep in paperwork to notice. Before she grabs the alcohol though, she stops by the desk to look for something that might have Beatrice’s last name on it.

Beatrice’s signature is on several forms, but it’s the kind of cursive that’s so unintelligible that she has no chance of figuring out what it says. She thinks she might see an… E? F? P?? Who’s to say, it could be any letter the longer Ava tries to discern it.

She’s looking over a typed document that looks like it might be promising when she notices something at the bottom of the stack she’s been looking through—her own name in her handwriting, staring up at her.

Ava’s file.

She glances at the stairs, listening for a moment to make sure nobody is coming before she sets down whatever document she was looking at to instead read over her own information. She moves quickly over the first page, which is just basic information about her—name, address, pronouns, routing details for her paychecks, etc. 

Ava remembers filling this out. The next few pages are the resume she turned in when she applied for the job, highlighting her several short-term jobs (fucking great that Beatrice has been looking over that, no fucking wonder she thinks Ava is a useless employee), as well as a general questionnaire she filled out at some point. It’s when she starts looking for where she would have notated her disability that she realizes several pages are missing.

It’s not just the page with information on her disability. The missing pages are sporadic, like someone had dropped the file or something and scrambled it back together, but lost a few of the pages along the way.

(Their old manager was a disaster. Ava seriously has no idea how she got promoted.)

So then, Beatrice has no clue about Ava’s disability. Fucking great.

The page at the end is the kicker. It must have been added by Beatrice, because it’s in a loopy cursive that doesn’t belong to Ava or their old manager, that appears to be a neater form of Beatrice’s signature. Ava prepares herself for the worst as she begins to read.

“ Initial observations on Ava–

She works efficiently, but often gets distracted. I’ve noticed Hans occasionally has to pick up her slack, in addition to covering her when she’s late or “sick.” Her momentum varies by the day, unclear why. She has quite the temper and does not take criticism well. ”

Ava knows it’s immature, but she reads the last sentence out loud in a mocking tone, then sticks her tongue out in the direction of the stairs as if Beatrice can see her. She scoffs, grumbling to herself as she tries her best to return the pile to its original state.

She forgets entirely about her search for Beatrice’s surname as she stomps downstairs, now upset. Hans looks at her as she returns behind the bar, taking in her grumpy disposition and her vacant arms, “ Where’s the rum? ”

Oh. Shit. She’s unknowingly proving Beatrice right.

“ I… ” Ava looks at the floor like it has answers. “ Uh… I couldn’t find it? ”

He hums, “ I’ll have a look. ”

She watches him move around her to head to the stairs. Her gaze is then drawn just over to Beatrice’s table, where Beatrice sits currently watching her. Ava doesn’t even have it in her to do anything beyond rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the bar.

It’s bullshit. Even the only compliment in Beatrice’s observations about her efficiency essentially felt canceled out, once you take into consideration everything else Beatrice wrote about her. Ava wonders if her opinion has changed at all, or if Ava’s most recent callouts have made her plummet even further on Beatrice’s shit list. 

Hans comes back down with a case of rum. Ava is certain that it lives on a shelf in plain sight, and that ever since Beatrice took over order placement and organization everything has been consistently in the same places, but she’s going to play dumb anyway to avoid absolute embarrassment.

“ Ah! You found it! ” If Ava is a little over-excited, she hopes Hans and Beatrice (who is very clearly listening) don’t notice. She helps him unpack and shelve the bottles, then the two of them fall back into the flow of things.

(Ava is distracted by her discovery the entire time, but it doesn’t impact her work. So hah, Beatrice, suck it!)

It takes her until long after closing to realize she never got Beatrice’s last name from her search. She decides to text Hans.

Ava: do you know what beatrice’s last name is?

Hans: …why?

Ava: relax, dude. i’m just trying to figure out what her deal is.

Hans: oh, sure. because obsessing over her personal life is going to improve your work situation.

Ava: i need ammo, hans. right now it feels like it’s 1 billion points beatrice, maybe 3 points ava. and i’m a sore loser.

Hans: oh, i’m aware. i have a literal scar from our last game night.

Ava: shut up, no you don’t.

Hans: you hit me pretty hard with your controller!

Ava: pretty please just help me find out what her last name is? please? 

Hans: i’ll see what i can do.

Ava: :) 

—

Hans does indeed deliver. He gets Beatrice’s last name in less than twenty-four hours, apparently by texting their old manager who doesn’t question a thing.

Ava scours the internet for literally anything. But there’s nothing. Fucking nothing.

Not even a Facebook. Beatrice seems like she’d be the type to have a Facebook, at the very least. Of course no Instagram, no Twitter, no Tiktok… but no Facebook? Ava was so sure she’d be the type.

(She had worked up this image in her mind of Beatrice being a cat owner whose entire Facebook feed was just pictures of her cat. The illusion is shattered.)

Ava is slowly becoming convinced that Beatrice is a robot or something. Maybe she was manufactured in a lab to be the world’s most annoying (and simultaneously) most efficient manager. Ava may not like the way the woman treats her, but she’s seen her spreadsheets. She really is doing amazing things for Bar La Vasseur, which Ava can’t deny.

Still. No Facebook?

Ava decides to stir the pot at work while they’re slow. She’s leaning against the bar, cheek digging into the palm of her hand as she squints in Beatrice’s direction, “What do you do outside of work, Beatrice?”

Beatrice looks up from her computer, “...What?”

Ava looks around at the empty, quiet bar. The instinct to rudely say ‘you heard me’ is strong, but her will to live is stronger, “I asked what you do outside of work.”

“You want to know?” Beatrice sounds suspicious of Ava’s intentions, which is totally fair and probably a safe bet, but still.

“Yeah. That’s why I asked.”

She can feel Hans looking at her like she’s about to set a bomb off and he isn’t sure if he should stop her or mind his own business. He opts for the latter. Smart boy.

“I… read. And go hiking.”

“That’s it?”

“...Yes?”

“Huh.”

“Forgive me for only sharing my basic hobbies with you. I didn’t think you cared.”

Pff. Ava doesn’t care. She only wants an in. But reading and hiking aren’t revealing. Ava likes both of those things, too. Hans probably does. Fucking everyone in this town probably does.

“So there’s more, then?” Ava taps her knuckles on the bar, tilting her head.

“Of course there’s more,” Beatrice shrugs, looking back at her laptop to signify that they’ve reached the end of how far she’s willing to let Ava carry out this conversation.

Ava sighs and turns to Hans, lowering her voice so Beatrice can’t hear as she switches to German, “ Did I not seem genuine? ”

“ Ava, ” Hans says, practically laughing. “ I could smell the ulterior motive a mile away. ”

“ Damn, ” Ava tsks. “ Guess I’ll have to find some other way to be a nuisance. ”

“ I’m sure that won’t be difficult for you. ”

Ava smacks him with her rag.

—

Ava thought the note she’d found was her breaking point. But as it turns out, things could certainly get worse between her and Beatrice. And they do, several days later.

They’re in the middle of a rush, with Ava just finishing topping off a drink as Beatrice leans over the bar, “Ava, help me bring a few things down from storage. Quickly, please.”

Ava can’t help but roll her eyes as she turns around to put the Brandy back in its place on the shelf. All day it’s been ‘ Ava, refill the ice,’ ‘ Ava, put your phone down, ‘ Ava, we’re going to need all hands on deck this afternoon,’ ‘ Ava, you’re so cool and hot and I’m so jealous of you,’ and Ava is sick of it.

(Okay. She made the last one up.)

Beatrice is mega-stressed about something, and she’s taking it out on Ava because Ava is the clear target. Hans is simply the perfect employee and can do nothing wrong, so.

Speak of the devil, Hans waves a hand, “ I’ll help– ”

“ No, ” Beatrice cuts him off, slipping from English to German with the blink of an eye. “ I want you to make drinks. ”

Right. Because Ava’s are subpar and his are excellent. It doesn’t matter that both Hans and Ava know that Hans was trying to take over this task because carrying heavy boxes down a flight of stairs can be extremely painful for Ava, especially if she’s been nonstop making drinks for five hours and hasn’t had a chance to take another of her pain pills since breakfast.

Beatrice widens her eyes and makes a hurry up gesture, “Well, come on. We’re busy.”

Ava sighs and follows her up the stairs.

She feels like she’s being punished. For her pestering, for missing five days of work, for every bit of trouble and every rude comment since Beatrice started working here. She wonders if she deserves this, if perhaps Beatrice is the rude awakening that’s been building over the past twenty two years since Ava was born and was destined to be a menace. 

(Ava would think that the accident would have been enough for the universe, but apparently not.)

As they get upstairs, it takes everything in her not to groan at the vast amount of boxes that Beatrice has pulled aside into a neat pile to be brought downstairs.

“What are we doing with all this?” Ava approaches, touching the label of one and seeing that it’s being shipped out.

“Our brewing company sent us the wrong liquor. They’re coming to pick it up in twenty minutes. Start bringing these to the loading dock while I finish looking through the order for any other mistakes.”

Oh. So Ava has to carry all of these on her own. Fantastic.

She really is being punished.

Ava picks up the first one, feeling like her arms could snap off at any moment. Beatrice watches her carry it towards the stairs, and Ava does her best to maintain a facade of being unbothered by the weight. 

She passes by Hans to get to the loading dock without even looking, but she can feel his concern from a mile away.

As Ava is setting the final box down in the loading dock, Beatrice appears in the doorway, scans over Ava’s work, and gives a curt nod.

A nod. No ‘thank you,’ or ‘great work,’ or anything.

Ava can’t stop herself.

“This…” Ava breathes heavily, resting her hands on her hips and leaning forward a bit. “This was cruel and unusual punishment. Even for you.”

Her arms feel like jello, partially from the heaviness of the boxes, but mostly because a piercing pain has begun zipping through the nerves of her arms so quickly that she isn’t sure she could even lift a pencil for at least 3-5 business days.

Ava’s tone isn’t joking. It isn’t fun or teasing, and she doesn’t smile. The pain she’s experiencing is too strong for that. Beatrice seems to sense this seriousness, different from the usual mocking or jabbing tone Ava usually has. She straightens her back, looking at the pile of boxes then back at Ava, “It had to be done. The truck will be here any minute to pick it up–”

“ Hans offered!” Ava gestures towards where he’d be inside, just beyond the wall. “But you made me do it. You told him no because for some fucking reason I can’t seem to do anything that proves I’m a good employee unless I’m breaking my fucking back to do so.”

Ava doesn’t want to look at Beatrice to see how that lands. She breathes heavily, a mixture of anger and exhaustion, while she stares at the bricks on the wall and absorbs the glaring silence from Beatrice. Chatter from inside the bar filters out the open door, reminding Ava that it’s still incredibly busy and Hans is making drinks alone.

Without waiting for a response, she moves past Beatrice and rejoins Hans. He looks at her with a question, but Ava only sighs and tries not to let the shaking of her body show.

Just a few days ago, Ava was ready to pull some simple pranks. Nothing crazy, just things that would be vaguely annoying—breaking the tips of all of Beatrice’s pencils, maybe folding some corners of all that paperwork that she keeps so pristine, maybe pretending she forgot about Beatrice’s new organizing system and putting different liquors on shelves they don’t belong on… but now Ava is just upset.

Nothing she does seems to be good enough.

When they finally slow down, Hans disappears upstairs. Ava makes a few drinks before she finds a moment to head up, curious what’s been keeping him for over five minutes now. She’s halfway up the stairs when she hears their voices.

“The way you are treating her is not fair,” Hans says in English, which Ava only notices him doing with people who don’t know German or when he needs a non-native German speaker to know he’s completely serious. “She has been here well over a year. She is good at her job. The customers love her. She is trying so hard to get your approval–”

“Oh, is she?” Beatrice cuts him off, all sarcasm and fury. Ava can picture the stupid way her face is scrunched up. “She curses like a sailor to her boss, and I’ve received nothing but attitude lately regarding a few concerns I’ve expressed.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like she wants your approval, and I don’t think she even realizes, but she does. You’re making her work for it twice as hard as anyone else, and what you don’t know–” Ava hears him abruptly cut himself off, then take a breath. “There are… There are just things you don’t know about her life. Things that affect her work here, that she doesn’t have to tell you about.”

“Please,” Beatrice scoffs. “Asking for a doctor’s note after five days off is not a strange request.”

Hans sighs a heavy, disappointed sigh, “Please, just… ease up.”

Ava hears footsteps then, heavy and frustrated, before Hans comes to a halt at the top of the stairs. Ava doesn’t have enough time to react or even move as they lock eyes. She can practically see the fumes radiating off him. She softens, feeling nothing but grateful that he’s so willing to advocate for her while also maintaining her privacy. He softens too, starting down the stairs towards her.

They move behind the bar together, Hans squeezing her arm comfortingly as they get back to work.

Chapter Text

The burning and screeching of rubber on pavement. 

Tumbling so intense that her seatbelt can’t keep her in place. 

Broken glass. 

Her bones being crushed. 

Her throat aching from all the screaming that’s inaudible over it all.

The car horn, loud and continuous and unending as her mother’s cheek digs into it against the steering wheel.

The side of her mother’s face, angled just so that she can see the lifeless look in her eyes and the blood spilling from the massive wound in her head.

Ava herself—only seven years old—paralyzed in the back seat, unable to do anything but stare at her mother’s face until ambulance sirens join the car horn.

It comes in flashes, feeling like a slideshow being clicked through in rapid succession.

Ava’s eyes shoot open, though the memory stays fresh in her mind, painted over the ceiling of her apartment. A glance at her clock tells her it’s 4:37am.

The familiar ache of her body only serves to heighten the nightmare across her senses. She can still hear the car horn, so she pulls her pillow over her head and tries to block it out. When it only isolates the sound in her head and makes it louder, Ava pushes the sheets back and climbs out of bed.

She takes a pill from her bedside table and swallows it dry before getting dressed in the dark. She’s got her keys in hand and is out the door minutes later, wandering into the cool early morning air with the hood of her sweatshirt tugged up over her head.

The sky is tinged with the faintest bit of pink, casting everything in a pale glow. Ava walks to the edge of town and keeps going, finding a quiet spot in the open field and laying down in the grass, letting the fading stars and changing colors of the sky calm her rapidly beating heart.

She waits until the memory of her accident doesn’t feel quite so vivid. It’s some time before she finds it in herself to get up again.

When she re-enters town, early risers are just starting to get up and get started for the day. It’s her day off (thank god), so she takes her time. She stops for a pastry and a coffee, having it alone outside the cafe and hoping nobody pays much attention to her.

Naturally—because why should anything be sacred anymore?—a familiar, annoying, stupidly pretty face turns a corner, headed right in Ava’s direction. Ava has to resist the urge to groan, trying to pretend she hasn’t noticed Beatrice approaching her cafe. She hides as much of her face as she can behind her croissant, becoming incredibly interested in its flaky layers.

Beatrice goes inside without acknowledging (and hopefully without noticing) Ava. It isn’t until several minutes later as she’s emerging that Ava learns Beatrice will ignore her at work, but she won’t ignore her on the street. Ava sees her stop just beside her table out of the corner of her eye, a bag and coffee in hand. 

“Good morning, Ava. Is this seat taken?”

Ava, who has never been a morning person and never will be, finds it impossible through her tiredness to even attempt to hide her scowl, “You wanna sit with me? ”

When she looks up, she finds that Beatrice’s lips are pursed and her body is tense with apprehension, “Every other table is full, it seems.”

Oh. That makes more sense.

Ava lets out a grunt of consent, going back to picking at her croissant so she doesn’t have to look at Beatrice.

Apparently, Beatrice doesn’t plan to just share the table. She also plans to carry out a conversation, even though Ava would much rather dump her hot coffee over her own head than talk.

“You’re up very early, considering you’re off today.”

Ava watches her delicately unwrap a blueberry muffin, pulling down the corners of the paper liner so it lays in a flat circle just underneath. She then proceeds to pick off a small piece and pop it into her mouth, like a bird taking small pecks of their food. 

(Ava finds something about it weirdly… endearing? But there’s no time to unpack that right now.)

“I’m always up early,” Ava lies.

Beatrice hums. She doesn’t outwardly say ‘yeah, right,’ but Ava hears it.

Despite Beatrice shutting down Ava’s attempt to learn more about her personal life over a week ago, she continues to ask questions, “What are you doing with your day off?”

She could shut this conversation down immediately. Everything in her brain screams for her to, telling her that this is not genuine. But something inside her secretly hopes that Hans’ plea broke past Beatrice’s stubbornness, and this is her attempt at an apology for The-Great-Box-Incident-of-Last-Friday.

(Ava has spent days trying to remind herself that Beatrice doesn’t know about her disability, and wouldn’t have had any clue that Ava barely made it into work the next day. She can still be mad about the premise that Beatrice did it just to get back at her, though.)

She decides she’ll entertain Beatrice’s attempt at conversation, but she’s going to do it in her way.

“I sell hard drugs on the side, so. Just a bunch of that. Ooh, maybe I’ll commit a B&E, too! I’m thinking something cool, like a museum heist, ” Ava waves her hand across the air like she’s presenting a life-changing idea. She wriggles her eyebrows with a smirk, “What do you think?”

Beatrice scoffs, “That’s not funny.”

Ava scoffs too, “Uh, yeah, it is.”

“I’m sure you’re getting quite the kick out of it. I get it, you hate me and you think I hate you, but I don’t think little of you, Ava, and it’s actually rather insulting of you to joke around like I’d actually think that’s your life.”

Oh. Woah. Ava wasn’t trying to make a statement like that, but now that Beatrice mentions it that would totally be an amazing manipulation tactic. So of course she’ll take credit–

Wait.

Back up.

Beatrice thinks Ava hates her?

She might be pissed about everything that’s happened as of late, but she’d never go that far.

“You think I hate you?” Ava had meant to pick on Beatrice further, to ease into the perfect gap Beatrice left with her insecurities regarding Ava’s joke. Instead, she feels a wave of surprise at her own thoughts, unfiltered and centering on the steady confidence in Beatrice’s tone that Ava hates her.

“Well, don’t you?”

“No,” Ava has lost all semblance of her pushy tone. She can feel the muscles in her face evening out with disbelief and seriousness. Her voice has gone low, “No, I don’t.”

The chatter of other customers at the tables around them fills the void left in their conversation as all Beatrice is able to do is stare at her. After several minutes, she finally breathes out a quiet, “...Oh.”

Ava waits until the guilt sets in to add, “...I’m never gonna push the specials, though.”

And just like that, the tension snaps and falls away. Beatrice sighs and rolls her eyes, then goes back to picking at her muffin. Apparently, she’s decided that’s enough forced conversation with Ava for one day, because she doesn’t say anything else.

Ava leaves not long after that. She never tells Beatrice what her plans are, and she doesn’t ask what Beatrice’s are either. She’s sure they look a lot like inventory and placing orders and jotting down more notes about how bad Ava is at her job.

But… Beatrice thinks Ava hates her?

Ava wouldn’t go that far.

Beatrice is just annoying. And somehow really pretty about it. But that doesn’t negate how annoying she is.

Ava thinks about how sure Beatrice was that Ava hates her for the next several hours, until it’s time for her to talk about her feelings with strangers.

—

“Well, you look like shit.”

Ava, who can’t sit right in a chair no matter the circumstance, only slumps further in the awful folding chair she’s forced to withstand for this one hour every month as everyone’s attention is drawn to her.

Her hood is drawn over her head, her arms are crossed over her chest, and her legs are stretched out as far as she can go without hitting anyone else’s legs. She glares, saying childishly, “Suzanne, Lilith isn’t making me feel very supported right now.”

Ava doesn’t see it, but she can hear through the sigh that Suzanne lets out that she’s giving Lilith a look. It causes the other woman to straighten her back and roll her eyes, saying in a very forced, sarcastic tone, “I apologize. Ava, you appear to have had a rough night. How can we—your most supportive acquaintances—be of assistance?”

Welcome to the (briefly) aforementioned support group for individuals with CPS—AKA Ava’s worst nightmare.

(Well, Suzanne and Michael are fine. It’s really just Lilith that’s a nightmare.)

Suzanne, of course, decided to organize this after Ava arrived and became her third patient in town with CPS. She thought it would be helpful for them each to find community, so now they meet every third Thursday of the month in a small conference room that’s in the same office building as Suzanne’s private office. Ava spends the 28-30 days between group sessions dreading the next one.

Despite the fact that she and Lilith acquired —for lack of a better term—their chronic pain in similar ways, they never quite seem to get along. Lilith has a habit of being brutally honest and openly judgemental, and Ava hasn’t aged out of poking her tongue out, so really it’s quite possibly the worst combination of personalities. They have their moments, but still…

Lilith’s accident has a few differences from Ava’s. It happened when she was in high school, when she and a few friends were leaving a party. They were all drunk but insisted Lilith drive them home on account of her being the least drunk, and one small distraction from someone in the backseat was all it took. The next thing Lilith knew, the car was wrapped around a tree and her entire upper body was crushed by metal. Her legs didn’t suffer nearly as much physical trauma, and as a result most of her pain is centered in her chest and arms.

The other member of their group—Michael—is a different story. The way he very vaguely tells it, he was born with a unique blood disorder. The chemical treatments he received to extend his life did permanent damage to his body, and now anywhere blood flows (fucking everywhere) is just like a permanent gateway to Hell.

Michael is nice. He listens intently when Suzanne prompts Ava to talk, and seems to really understand her on some molecular level. Lilith, on the other hand, has yawned while Ava was speaking on multiple occasions.

Which brings her back to the present moment, with Lilith’s incredibly sarcastic question still hanging in the air. Ava hums dramatically, “I mean, I could really go for a foot massage, if you’re offering?” When Lilith scowls, Ava feels her first bit of joy for the day.

They were talking about something in Lilith’s personal life before, and Ava is absolutely sure that the callout of Ava’s clear lack of sleep was purposeful as Suzanne looks at her with interest. That’s another thing they share—the inescapable need to deflect.

Suzanne ignores the blatant yet calm cat-fight happening between them, as she usually does, looking up as she finishes writing something down and making direct eye contact with Ava, “While I don’t agree with the way she brought it up, Lilith was right to express concern. Perhaps we should finally talk about the nightmares?”

Ava considers it.

No, perhaps they shouldn’t.

“There’s a new manager at the bar. She’s the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

A long stretch of silence follows as Suzanne and the others absorb this. The ticking of the clock on the wall is the only sound, at least until Ava drags her feet on the ground as she sits up a little straighter.

It’s a game they play—Suzanne says ‘let’s talk about the nightmares,’ and Ava offers up something she’s sure is much more interesting. Suzanne has yet to correct this behavior, but Ava is working on preparing herself for the day that she won’t let it slide. She knows they’ll have to talk about her nightmares eventually. She knows.

But today, Suzanne lets her win. At least for now.

“...How is she confusing?”

Lilith scoffs again, looking at Suzanne incredulously. Ava knows Suzanne is easier on her because she’s been seeing her for a lot less time than both Lilith and Michael, and she also knows that it pisses Lilith off that she’s able to get away with avoiding difficult subjects. She’s going to rub it in Lilith’s face until the inevitable day when Suzanne stops being so flexible with her.

“Well,” Ava gets more comfortable in her folding chair, relief flooding her system at one more difficult conversation avoided. “She’s been very against my working style. But then recently she totally humiliated this guy causing trouble at the bar, and it was awesome.”

(Ava avoids mentioning that he’s banned or that his name is Adriel. As previously mentioned, Suzanne knows all about the sexual assault she experienced several months ago, and bringing up that he’d payed another visit is one more conversation she’d like to steer clear of in this moment. Especially because she hasn’t talked about it with the group before, only Suzanne.)

Ava continues, “And now she’s pissed because Hans had to cover me five days in a row when I was supposed to be in. She’s been a dick to me since.”

Oh. Wait.

Ava practically flinches when she realizes what she’s just let slip. It seems to catch all three of them off-guard as they look at her with sudden concern. Suzanne’s eyebrows shift upwards and she writes something down, absolutely riding that segway, “That’s the longest episode you’ve had in some time. How did it make you feel?”

Ava slumps again, “Not… great.”

“Can we talk more about that?”

“I think I’d rather hear you say ‘well, that’s not right of your new boss, she sucks,’” Ava offers, hoping Suzanne will let her win the deflection game twice in a row.

She doesn’t.

“Is she aware of your disability?”

Ava pauses, “Um…”

“Have you explicitly told her?”

Ava shrugs, unwilling to admit that she definitely hasn’t and that she’s fully aware that Beatrice couldn’t possibly know, “Maybe she’s just ableist.”

“That’s not a fair assumption to make. I’m sure this new manager of yours has had a lot on her plate since she started her position. If you haven’t told her, she’s only going to continue to treat you like a standard, able-bodied employee,” Suzanne offers. The words are said with the tough kindness that she always has for each of them, but they still spark Ava’s easily-ignitable anger.

“I just don’t understand why it was such a big deal to her! Hans told her he would cover for me, and I still got reprimanded. But she treats him like he’s the saint-iest saint of all bartenders,” She hears her tone getting sharp and loud, and it’s not fair of her but she just can’t stop it. “I can’t help that my limbs don’t work like they should!”

Lilith looks like she wants to make a comment, but one look from Suzanne has her closing her mouth again. Suzanne breathes and says just as calmly as if Ava hadn’t just shouted at her, “Ava, I acknowledge that your manager has made some unfair assumptions about your capabilities and is pushing an unrealistic expectation for someone in your condition, but can’t you see that it is just as unfair for you to assume that she will understand without you communicating your needs?”

Ava slumps even further into her seat. It’s unflattering, she’s sure.

Suzanne is right. Of course she is. Ava knows that.

She sighs, “I’ve gotta get a doctor’s note…”

—

When Ava sets the note written by her physical therapist on Beatrice’s table, she keeps the muscles in her face as neutral as possible. The (undeserved) smugness she’s aching to express isn’t productive, as her therapist had pointed out at the end of their group session.

Beatrice stares up at her before she reaches for it slowly. Ava walks off to start her shift after that, giving Hans a fist bump in greeting as she ties her apron around her waist. It’s an incredibly vague note that barely scrapes the surface of her condition, but it’s an official slip from her physical therapist’s office and the signature is unintelligible, so it’s extremely legitimate.

Ava feels Beatrice watching her throughout the day, but she does her best to ignore it as she moves through the shift. She can feel the difference in it, like Beatrice is trying to relearn Ava’s entire being through visuals alone. She can feel Beatrice waiting for a good moment to come over, to initiate some kind of conversation about Ava’s disability.

That moment comes at the midpoint of Ava’s shift, while the bar is basically empty aside from the staff and a table of middle-aged women drinking far too many martinis. Beatrice approaches, resting her arms on the bar and looking uncomfortable as she says, “Thank you. For the doctor’s note.”

“Sure,” Ava says shortly. She wants to leave it at that, but then she sees Suzanne’s stern look in her mind and she clears her throat. She tries to piece together the apology she practiced in the mirror this morning, but looking at Beatrice now is making her brain feel like jelly, and her sentences come out choppy. She stares at the ceiling as she forces the words out, “I… apologize. For being all… me. It wasn’t… fair.”

“I accept your apology,” Beatrice nods tightly. “And… I’m sorry as well. I let my prejudice get the better of me.”

It’s clear neither of them are used to apologizing, if the awkward way they stand in silence is anything to go by. Ava pokes her tongue into her cheek and puffs out a small breath, “Right, yeah. I accept yours too.”

“Great,” Beatrice taps the bar with her knuckles. “Well… I’ll…” She gestures to her table as she backs up, pursing her lips into something like a smile before going to sit back down. Ava turns her head away to look at Hans, letting her face tense up with the weirdness of that conversation before she wipes it away.

Still, something inside her feels lighter.

The rest of the shift descends into chaos. The bar is packed only thirty minutes later, and then she and Hans don’t get any reprieve until they kick the last patron out and lock the door. Beatrice had fled upstairs at some point to open up a table, but she comes downstairs as soon as the open sign is switched off and takes a seat at the bar with what looks like their supply order.

Ava, a little out of breath and her muscles aching, lines up three shot glasses along the bar. She pats the bar to get Beatrice and Hans’ attention as she pours straight whiskey into each glass, “You are both obligated to have a shot with me after that shit.”

Hans smiles, setting the broom he’d been sweeping with aside momentarily and coming up beside Beatrice. He grabs a glass, then the two of them look at Beatrice expectantly. Her eyes widen, “Oh, I… I couldn’t possibly–”

Ava holds her glass up, saying in a sing-song voice, “I’ll be really annoying tomorrow if you turn me down, Beatrice.”

Beatrice looks between the two of them, attempting to cover a small smile with the roll of her eyes. She tilts her head as Ava wriggles her eyebrows and pushes the shot closer. Finally, she sighs, “Fine. Fine. ”

“Yes!” Ava clinks her glass with Hans, then Beatrice. She and Hans toss theirs back quickly, but Ava watches Beatrice hesitantly sip hers until it’s gone. She coughs as she sets the glass back onto the bar, covering her mouth. Ava squints, but stops herself from teasing Beatrice openly in front of Hans.

(What? She’s growing as a person.)

Instead, she raises both hands in the air, waiting patiently. Hans doesn’t hesitate to give her a high-five, but Beatrice is confused for a solid few seconds before she awkwardly lifts her arm and high-fives Ava as well.

(It’s… cute.)

Ava waits until it’s just her and Beatrice walking home before she grins and nudges her, “So, you work in a bar and you’ve never had a shot before?”

Beatrice looks mortified, to say the least, “What? Of course I’ve had a shot before.”

“Nah, you’re lying,” Ava tsks. “I have a sixth sense for these things, and your face after you tossed it back… there’s nothing you could say that could convince me otherwise.”

“I… I…” Beatrice fumbles for words, her tan cheeks heating up with a pretty pink. It’s almost unnoticeable in the darkness, the only thing illuminating it being the dim street lamps. “My family was very religious. I don’t… I…”

“Hey,” Ava nudges her again. “I’m just teasing. Why do you think I waited until Hans wasn’t around to hear?”

Beatrice watches the cobblestones very carefully, intent on avoiding eye contact, “I appreciate that. Though subtlety hasn’t really been your thing before.”

“That was different,” Ava can’t stop herself from being honest, even if the next bit comes out clunky. “That was before I realized that I… was being dumb. You know. By not telling you. About. My thing.”

“I understand why you didn’t right away,” Beatrice says quietly, her head tilted downward. “I really am sorry, by the way. For before. I was wrong about you.”

The sincerity in her voice is all Ava had wanted to hear just a few days ago. It’s a relief, truly, to know that Beatrice is capable of this level of emotional depth. Until today, she’d barely seen Beatrice’s face move much beyond the neutral state it’s usually in.

The immature side of Ava that missed out on a real childhood wants to rub it in and maybe make Beatrice work a little harder to earn forgiveness. But the growing, tired, aching side of Ava knows that she was wrong, too. She sees the shame in Beatrice’s expression, like she feels it’s her fault that Ava didn’t trust her to come to her about this sooner. Ava wants to tell her that it’s not her fault, that she would have pushed herself even if Beatrice wasn’t so stern and serious, that Ava has struggled to let people in since Andalucia became her home against her will.

“You weren’t… completely wrong. I was being a dick,” Ava concedes. “I’m not very good at thinking before I speak or act. And you just sort of showed up and started changing things, and I got defensive. So… bygones, or whatever.”

“Bygones,” Beatrice nods, reaching out to shake her hand. Ava takes it.

She laughs fully as her arm settles back at her side, “That was awkward.”

They’re fully stopped outside Ava’s building, looking at one another. Ava feels in her bones like Beatrice has more to say to her, but when nearly a minute goes by in silence, she finally reaches into her pocket for her keys, getting ready to say goodnight.

This is the initiative Beatrice needs, it seems, “Oh, uh, Ava?” Ava stops, keys in her hands as she looks to Beatrice expectantly. “I’d love to chat about how I can be more accommodating tomorrow, if we’re not busy.”

Ava freezes. She supposes this was inevitable after the doctor’s note. She suddenly feels distant, “...Maybe.”

“Great. Goodnight, then.”

“‘Night.”

Once she’s upstairs and in her apartment, she presses her back against the front door as it closes behind her.

Her doctors and therapist knowing about her condition is necessary (for obvious reasons). Lilith and Michael don’t count. Hans knowing wasn’t ideal at first, but she trusts him. However… the more people that start to become aware, the less free Ava feels.

She spent a majority of her life relying on other people to live. Now that she’s on her own and independent, it doesn’t sit right with her taking charity. Especially not from a pretty girl she only lost her distaste for this afternoon.

Suzanne would tell her an accommodation isn’t the loss of her freedom. Ava would tell her she doesn’t feel free when people look at her like she’s broken and needs fixing.

So, for days on end Ava pretends to be busy even when there’s nobody in the store. She avoids the conversation with Beatrice, she takes far more of her medication than is prescribed to work through her pain, and she feels normal. If Hans notices her weird behavior or that she’s out the door faster than light to avoid walking home alone with Beatrice, he doesn’t say anything about it.

(The re-navigation of her working relationship with Beatrice is… a process. One that Ava wasn’t expecting—she thought for sure this would end up just like every other job, that Beatrice would find an excuse to get rid of her and the inconvenience that comes along with having her as an employee.)

Suzanne tells her she can’t avoid this conversation forever during one of her sessions. She tells Suzanne she can certainly try.

Chapter Text

The new denial Ava is living in is more powerful than her chronic pain, so much so that she drags herself out of bed on one of her bad days and goes to work anyway.

She makes it through their slow open and just up until the shift begins to pick up before Hans notices. He tries to say something to her, but she just waves him off and keeps at it. She’s slower than usual and everything takes a lot more precision, but she’s here and she’s pouring drinks and so what if every slight movement of her wrists makes her see stars? That’s her business, and hers alone.

It’s after her third spill of the day that Hans goes over to Beatrice’s table to whisper about something, and Ava’s absolutely certain it’s about her, even though Hans tells her it was about “ticket times on food orders.” He’s a liar and a scoundrel. She tries not to let it bother her that her boss and her supposed best friend are conspiring about her well-being. Those assholes.

She’s putting together a rum and coke for a regular when Beatrice approaches the bar. She leans against it and watches Ava pour, “Could we have that chat upstairs when you’re done?”

“Hm?” Ava pretends not to understand what Beatrice is referencing, as she has the past few times Beatrice has brought it up. Her hands are shaking as she pours the rum into the glass. She squeezes the bottle tighter to keep it as steady as she can.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research, and I have a list of changes we might be able to implement to help improve your ability to work this job,” She says it with passion in her voice, like she truly cares. It makes Ava waver. “Not that I don’t think you’re capable—you clearly are—but anything I could do to–”

Crash!

…Ava isn’t sure what happens, really.

All she knows is that one moment she’s got a full bottle of rum in her hands, trying to tuck it back in its place on the shelf, and the next it’s shattered and her hand is bleeding. Everything seems to stop in that moment as she stands there, now drenched in rum, the bar silent as everyone freezes with the sudden shattering of glass. Even Hans is too shocked to immediately act.

It’s Beatrice who reacts first, “Ava, your arm!”

Oh. Oh.

It’s not just her hand.

Beatrice zooms around the bar when all Ava can do is stand there and stare down at the blood, her entire body feeling like it’s shaking at this point. She doesn’t begin to register the intense burning sensation from the alcohol in her open wound until Beatrice is beside her, sterile gauze wrap from the first aid kit in hand. She wraps it around Ava’s wound and secures it tightly—it’s somehow nothing compared to what she experiences on a daily basis.

Beatrice starts guiding her around the bar, “We have to get you to the hospital. Now.”

All Ava can do is mumble, “...Okay.”

They’re halfway to the emergency room when Ava passes out in Beatrice’s arms from the blood loss and pain.

—

When she wakes up, Beatrice is asleep in the chair next to her hospital bed.

Her arm is fully bandaged from her elbow to her wrist. It stings and aches. She can’t tell if it’s just her standard or if it’s because of the wound—it doesn’t feel all that different than what she’s used to. Her brain is cloudy and everything feels like it’s spinning, probably no thanks to whatever drugs they’ve got in the drip bag currently feeding into her body through the needle in her vein.

Her gaze falls on Beatrice as reality sets in and the confusion fades. She’s in the same clothes she wore all day, though Ava’s dried blood is smeared across the front and on the sleeves. The button-down she’s wearing under her sweater is more disheveled, and the bun on her head is no longer tight and perfect. She looks more relaxed than Ava ever thought possible.

Ava’s chest stirs with something foreign. Something warm. 

Beatrice took care of her. She’s the reason Ava’s here. She stayed.

The clock on the wall tells Ava that it’s a little past 1am. 

She stayed.

Ava watches the rise and fall of her chest, the way the loose strands of hair framing her delicate features move with every breath. She watches her nose twitch and her eyebrows furrow, then relax back into a peaceful neutrality. She feels like she can’t look away, and truthfully she doesn’t really want to.

Brown eyes blink open slowly only a few minutes later. Ava watches Beatrice piece together where she is and who she’s with as she sits up. She tucks strands of hair behind her ear and straightens up her shirt, her back no longer relaxed against the sofa but instead pin straight and at attention. Finally, her eyes settle on Ava. They become alert as she realizes Ava is looking back at her, “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Weird. Ache-y. Dizzy. Relieved. A plethora of synonyms pass through Ava’s mind, but she says nothing. She can’t. She’s in shock, but not just because of her injury.

She stayed…

When Ava doesn’t respond, Beatrice starts to stand, wiping at her face to shake off any remaining drowsiness from her nap, “I’ll get the doctor–”

“No, Beatrice,” Ava finally says, her dry throat adding a rasp to her voice. She reaches forward with her good arm to grab Beatrice’s, stopping her. Beatrice very hesitantly lowers back into the armchair, her eyes wide and full of worry. “I’m okay.”

“The doctor said you didn’t slash any major arteries. They removed all the glass and stitched you up, but you lost a decent amount of blood on the way so you might feel woozy. From that, and the medicine,” Beatrice says it all so fast and with such purpose that Ava has difficulty keeping up. She clears her throat, “I’m… sorry if it’s strange that I’m here, I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”

“No, I’m glad you are,” Ava says dumbly.

She stayed.

“Oh,” Beatrice nods. “Okay.”

She can see it in Beatrice’s eyes—all the questions she’s been harboring, doubled after today’s injury, that no amount of research on her condition could answer. Hours ago Ava was considering trying to get Hans to help her distract Beatrice to avoid this topic, and then an even larger distraction just sort of fell into her lap when she lost control of her hands. And yet—even knowing that Beatrice wouldn’t dare ask her a thing about her disability while she’s in a hospital bed with a tube pumping saline and pain medication into her bloodstream—she wants to talk about it.

(Suzanne would eat this shit up.)

She tries not to think too hard about what her desire to be open with Beatrice means.

“It was an accident.”

“I know that,” Beatrice asserts quickly, worried that Ava still views her as she did before. “I’m not angry at you, Ava.”

Ava huffs a small laugh, “I’m not talking about the rum, Beatrice. I’m talking about my… disability.”

Suzanne has been helping her get used to using that word out loud— disability. The connotation Ava grew up with always made it seem like such a bad thing, like something others should pity, look down on, or be afraid of. She’s been working on moving past that, on identifying her fear about it all and accepting the community into her life. Having Michael—and even Lilith—in her life helps. This is just another step towards that.

“Oh,” Beatrice says, seemingly lost for words. It’s clear to Ava that this is uncharted territory for her; discussing an employee’s disability in the hospital by their bedside. Or maybe she just feels weird being in a hospital—Ava has spent practically her entire life in hospitals, so it’s nothing new. Or… maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Ava, her ex-employ-enemie.

“It was an accident,” Ava starts again. “My mother and I were on vacation in Andalucia when I was seven. We were on our way to the airport when she hit a turn too hard trying to avoid this truck…” The flash of memories she gets from that day makes her pause. When they clear and all she sees is Beatrice listening intently, she clears her throat and continues, “Um… anyway, she died, and I sustained enough nerve damage to last a lifetime.”

It’s not the most emotional way she could phrase it, but it gets the point across. Suzanne would be proud of her for the vulnerability, regardless.

“That’s awful,” Beatrice sympathizes, the concern in her expression growing more intense. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“ Ahh, ” Ava shrugs a shoulder and forces a smile as if to say shit happens. “The chronic pain is just a little gift from the universe, so I can relive all that constantly. Constantly. ” Her smile fades, “It’s fine most days—my medication helps. But then sometimes… I wake up in the morning and it feels like the accident just happened yesterday.”

“And that’s what happened when…” Beatrice trails off, but Ava knows the implication is about the five days of work she missed, so she nods. “And tonight?”

“I, um… I probably shouldn’t have come to work today,” Ava admits, staring down at her good hand as she picks at her hospital gown.

She feels Beatrice lean closer, “I’ve been trying to talk to you about that.”

“I know. I know,” Ava is quick to say, sounding apologetic. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I gathered that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ava finally looks back up, meeting Beatrice’s eyes. “I have trouble… letting people help me.”

“I gathered that as well,” Beatrice tilts her head, looking at Ava like she’s seen through every last bit of bullshit since they met. Ava thinks she probably has. “I’m glad you told me. I want to work with you on this, Ava. At your pace.”

“I know you’ve been letting me avoid this conversation because it’s my disability and you don’t want to set me off,” Ava assumes, knowing she’s right as Beatrice purses her lips in response. “But I think my therapist is gonna be pissed at me for this one, so I need you to promise to knock some sense into me if I try that shit again. Like, for real. With your karate moves.”

Ava sees Beatrice fighting the urge to laugh, but a small puff of air and the crinkling of her eyes is enough for Ava to know that she’s amused, “It’s… aikido, actually.”

“Even better,” Ava has no idea what the difference is. “Just as long as you remind me that I’m an idiot every once in a while.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Beatrice counters, sincerity in her tone. “You’re just stubborn.”

“Those are pretty synonymous in my experience,” Ava jokes to cover up the intimacy of the moment as it begins to catch up with her. “Seriously. A punch to the jaw or whatever might be good for me. Pain builds character—I should know.”

Beatrice shakes her head, though her expression is lighter than before, “I won’t punch you, Ava. But I’ll be here for you.”

“That works for me,” Ava says quietly.

That echoing thought of ‘she stayed’ bounces around Ava’s mind, even long after their conversation fades and she drifts back off to sleep.

—

Beatrice: I don’t want you coming into work today. Please rest.

Ava: who’s gonna make the drinks? you?

It’s supposed to be Hans’ day off—when Ava saw his text offering to cover for her after getting home from the hospital, she told him no. Hans must have relayed this to Beatrice out of concern, or… maybe Beatrice is just worried about her.

(Oddly enough, Ava wants it to be the latter.)

Beatrice: Yes.

Well, that simply won’t do.

When Ava shows up to work anyway, Beatrice looks like she might tear Ava’s head off—in a concerned-for-her way, not the previous she’s-my-most-annoying-employee way that Ava had gotten accustomed to.

“You’re not resting,” Beatrice says plainly and with force. The bar isn’t open just yet, and she’s got a massive recipe book for drinks open in front of her. Ava knew it existed somewhere within the confines of the bar, but she’s never once looked at it.

“Beatrice, nobody is going to trust you to serve them alcohol if you have to look up all the answers,” Ava pulls herself up onto a stool and turns the book around to face her. The sound of protest Beatrice lets out is cute, but she doesn’t make any actual effort to stop Ava from taking it. She reads over the recipe it’s open to, “Oh, yeah. This is wrong. When was this last updated? God, the dust on this thing!”

“It is?” Beatrice peers over the bar to look down at it. She bites at her lip in thought, “...I still don’t want you making drinks. It’s been less than twelve hours since you were injured.”

“I don’t have to make them. I’ll be your mixologist coach. Ooh, or like… have you ever seen Ratatouille? ” Beatrice stares blankly. “Hm. That was probably a dumb question on my part. Anyway, I’ll be your Remi. And I can still take orders, okay?”

Beatrice sighs and flails her hand, “Fine.”

Ava grins and moves a stool around onto the other side of the bar, kicking her feet like a child as she watches Beatrice finish up opening tasks. She’s dressed much less managerial today, with her hair down in a low ponytail and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She ties one of their aprons around her waist, unknowingly completing the look.

In the last few minutes before opening, Beatrice starts looking noticeably more nervous. She rubs her hands together before looking at Ava, a little strained, “Do you… have any tips?”

Ava straightens her back, not bothering to hide her surprise or smugness that Beatrice is asking her for bartending advice. She hums and taps her chin in thought, enjoying the eye-roll it produces, “Okay, so, uh… first order of business, if anyone tries to get you to do a shot with them, you pour water into your glass and pretend. We have a special recycled Vodka bottle full of water just for that purpose. It’s got a smiley face in red marker on the lid.”

“Okay.”

“Also, if anyone tries to flirt with you, just laugh it off and step away. There’s usually someone else waiting to order a drink anyway.”

“...Okay.”

“And—god, I’m gonna sound like such a man when I say this—you gotta smile. You get tipped better.”

Beatrice nods slowly, her eyes narrowing, “Won’t that… encourage flirting?”

“Yeah, but they won’t tip if you glare at them.”

“This is… quite complicated,” Beatrice runs her hands on the apron three times sharply, looking around at everything. “There’s more to this than I… thought.”

Ava wants to raise her eyebrows and say something teasing about how it does actually take a little brains to be a bartender, how it’s not as easy as it might look. But Beatrice looks genuinely nervous and all Ava can think about is calming her, “You’ll be great, don’t worry.”

And she is. Ava sits by the register for most of the day, resting her body as much as she can, taking orders and payments, and quietly instructing Beatrice through the making of several drinks. By the end of the day, Beatrice doesn’t even need her help for some of the more basic drinks, and her motions as she pours, shakes, and stirs don’t look nearly as clunky. It’s impressive, but she supposes she shouldn’t expect anything less from someone who knows aikido.

When they leave after closing, Ava laughs into the night air and nudges Beatrice with her elbow, “Admit it—you were having fun by the end.”

“I…” She’s about to deny it, Ava can tell. But Ava is grinning with her eyebrows raised, ready to refute, and Beatrice simply can’t help but smile too, “I… was. ”

“Ha! I knew it!” Ava can’t help the little skip of excitement she does.

Beatrice only lets her gloat for a few moments before she changes the subject, “How’s your arm?”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Ava rotates it in front of her. “I changed my bandages on my break. I think I did okay?”

Beatrice looks over Ava’s handiwork, “Well… it looks a little tight. Do you feel like you’re getting a good amount of circulation?”

“Um… yes?” Ava flexes her hand, but it’s hard to tell what’s the injury and what’s typical for her. Beatrice purses her lips as they come to a stop outside of Ava’s building. Ava jokes, “Well, doc, if you’re so unimpressed by my bandaging capabilities, you’re welcome to come up and fix it.”

Beatrice doesn’t laugh and say goodnight like Ava expects. She looks at Ava seriously, “Of course. Lead the way.”

Ava blinks. Oh, god. Did she just invite Beatrice up to her apartment?

She has the realization in the elevator that her sink is full of dishes and her trash is overflowing. She hasn’t had the strength to take care of either in almost a week.

As they approach her door, she fumbles with her keys and stammers, “Uh, I haven’t had, uh, time to clean up. So. Sorry for the mess.”

“You were literally in the hospital yesterday, Ava. I’m not going to judge,” Beatrice says reassuringly from behind. Ava lets out a short breath before she pushes the door open, letting Beatrice walk in fully before she closes it behind them.

Ava’s apartment is small and modest, but it’s nothing short of a perfect representation of her.

The kitchen is just inside the door on the left, which indeed has an overflowing sink of dishes and trash that miraculously hasn’t started smelling yet. There’s leftover tea in a kettle on the stove from a few days ago, now long cold. Just to the left of the stove is Ava’s rack of novelty pun mugs (AKA her prized possessions), which has a very obvious hole left by the mug she’d used and left out with the kettle. It’s a white, ceramic mug with a cartoon image of an air pump going into a jar of jam with the words ‘pump up the jam’ in the worst font imaginable above. Her fridge is absolutely covered in magnets, a good portion of which she’d collected from all the places she’d traveled to and the rest consisting of the letters of the alphabet. Currently they spell out ‘Hans was here’—a ridiculous remnant from a game night they’d had weeks ago.

The kitchen island—which has all the supplies Ava had been given at the hospital for upkeep of her injury spread across it—is the separating point between the kitchen and the living room. Several windows line the back wall that let in quite a bit of natural light in the daytime. There’s a simple couch and armchair which Ava has brought to life with colorful blankets and pillows, with a coffee table situated in front. Her TV stand is decorated with an excessive amount of knick-knacks (all also from her traveling). The pièce de résistance is the massive painting on the living room wall, which is an explosion of color springing from what Ava thinks of as ‘the halo,’ on account of it being an open circle of light in the center.

Just between the living room and kitchen is a hallway that leads to Ava’s bedroom and bathroom, but that’s all there is to the space and that’s all Ava needs. Beatrice doesn’t even pay any mind to the general messiness of the space, instead making a beeline (Bea-line?) to the kitchen island to start gathering whatever she needs to dress Ava’s wound.

Ava goes to take a seat on her couch, thinking that will be the most optimal place for Beatrice to change her bandages. It’s only as she’s peeling off the bandages (wincing all the way) that she realizes what’s on her coffee table—a blunt she rolled several days ago, and all of her weed and weed accessories.

“Oh, fuck.”

“ Ava! ”

Ava turns so fast, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Yes it is, Ava,” Beatrice practically storms over, setting a bag of supplies down on Ava’s coffee table, accidentally perfectly covering up her exposed stash. It’s then that she realizes Beatrice’s eyes are on her, or more specifically– “Your arm is infected!”

“...What?” Ava looks down at her exposed wound, the bloodied bandages in her hand. She nearly gags at the sight, “Oh, shit.”

Ava turns her head away abruptly, feeling Beatrice’s hands on her arm moments later. She briefly registers Beatrice fishing through the bag she brought over, and then suddenly there’s an intense burning on her arm that makes her tense so hard that her teeth clatter loudly. Beatrice mumbles an apology but continues working, and before Ava knows it her wound has been re-bandaged.

“There. Did you apply the antibiotic ointment you were prescribed? You were supposed to reapply it three times a day, to prevent infection,” Beatrice chastises.

“No, but you just did,” Ava pokes her tongue out childishly, rubbing her good hand over the bandage to try and alleviate some of the pain. She truly hadn’t noticed until now just how bad it was, thanks to over a decade of chronic pain.

Beatrice must notice Ava’s discomfort, because she softens, “...Does it feel better now?”

“Yes… thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Wait…” Ava smiles lopsidedly. “You remember all the details of my treatment?”

Ava sees Beatrice’s cheeks start to turn pink, her eyes widening with something akin to embarrassment, “I was there the whole time, Ava. And it’s only been a day.”

Ava hums knowingly, her smile taking on more of a smirk. It’s not like she hasn’t noticed Beatrice warming towards her, but remembering the exact details of her treatment feels like something else entirely.

Her smirk fades instantaneously when Beatrice starts to clean up the supplies, “Oh—wait!”

“What?” Beatrice stops immediately, holding her hands in the air.

“I’ll… I’ll clean it up.”

Beatrice drops her hands exasperatingly, continuing to tuck things into the bag, “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re injured. Let me get it on my way to the door.” Ava stumbles through an attempt to come up with some excuse, but by then it’s too late. Beatrice has the bag packed up in her hands, and she’s pausing as she realizes what else is on Ava’s coffee table.

“Is that… marijuana?”

(Of course that’s what Beatrice calls it.)

Even though less than five seconds ago she was desperate to keep her stash hidden, the embarrassment she feels makes her defensive, “What? It’s not like I smoke it at work. This couldn’t possibly make you think any less of me.”

“I don’t think less of you, Ava,” Beatrice says incredulously. Ava doesn’t quite believe her, if only because moments ago she looked mildly mortified by the sight of Ava’s weed. Or maybe just surprised, Ava thinks as she takes in Beatrice’s adjustment in expression.

“The weed helps with… stuff,” She doesn’t explicitly use the word ‘pain,’ but she can tell that Beatrice understands the implication.

“Sure. Weed is a natural drug. No judgment.”

“None?”

“None at all. What you do in your spare time is entirely up to you.”

Ava stares at her for far too long.

…Fuck it.

“Since you’re here… do you wanna smoke it with me?”

Beatrice blinks, “Now?”

“Yes, now. Consider it the final step to breaking the barrier of the entire start to our relationship.”

“Surely you’re not allowed to smoke in your apartment,” Beatrice tries to reason, laughing dryly as if that would ever be enough to convince Ava to drop the subject.

“I don’t. I smoke on the balcony,” Ava grabs the blunt and her lighter, starting to head towards her bedroom where the entrance to the balcony is. She glances behind her when Beatrice sits frozen on her couch. “You at least have to light it for me. What if I set my bandages on fire? You don’t want the guilt of my death on your conscience, Beatrice.”

Beatrice opens her mouth, then closes it. She blinks in such rapid succession that Ava feels faint concern for her well-being, but then she stands and dusts off her perfectly clean pants, “Fine. Fine. ”

Ava grins and turns on her heel, heading down the hallway and into her bedroom with Beatrice close behind. Her bed, which could comfortably fit two people, is tucked into the corner, currently unmade. The bedside table beside it has a lamp, a scattering of loose pills, and a small stack of worn books. The closet door is closed (thank god, it’s a disaster), revealing a worn Paramore poster. The only other furniture is a narrow bookshelf packed to the brim with a combination of books and movies on DVD, as well as Ava’s desk by the window.

Ava opens the window and tosses one leg over, then the other, plopping down onto the metal grating and moving around the stairs descending from above to give Beatrice room to join her. The woman in question pokes her head out the window and looks around, her brows furrowing, “Ava?”

“Yes?”

“This is a fire escape, not a balcony.”

“I like to pretend my life is more luxurious than it is. C’mon,” Ava offers a hand to help her, and surprisingly enough Beatrice takes it with a sigh and joins her.

Ava plops down onto the stairs, which are just barely wide enough for two people. Beatrice looks at it hesitantly before brushing the step off with her hand and sitting down, her back so straight and stiff that it’s a wonder she hasn’t developed back pain from how tense she always seems to be.

Despite Ava’s earlier comment, she pops the blunt between her lips and uses her good hand to light it. She inhales slowly before tucking the lighter in her pocket and pulling it away from her lips. She offers the blunt over to Beatrice, wriggling her eyebrows as she holds the smoke in. She doesn’t release it until the blunt is in Beatrice’s hand, watching Beatrice as she carefully passes it from one hand to the next, looking down at it like it’s foreign.

Finally, she brings it to her lips, eyes a little wide as she pulls smoke into her lungs. Almost instantly she’s coughing up a storm, the smoke leaving quickly in little puffs. Ava laughs, standing back up to duck her head inside her apartment, reaching for a bottle of water sitting on her desk.

“Here, trade,” Ava offers it over as she sits back down, exchanging the water for the blunt. She watches Beatrice chug about a quarter of the bottle as she takes another hit. She’s still letting out small little coughs, her eyes a little red from the sudden coughing fit. Ava gets another hit in before Beatrice waves for the blunt again. This time she manages to hold it for a few seconds before coughing, not nearly as strained.

They sit together quietly, passing it back and forth until it’s smoked out, then Ava finally leans her head back against the railing and looks at Beatrice, “I really didn’t think you would say yes.”

Beatrice leans back as well. Ava can tell the high is starting to hit her because her eyes are a little hazy and her limbs are loosening. She lets one foot stretch out onto the fire escape, “...You’re not easy to say no to, it seems.”

Ava is grateful that it’s dark (aside from the light spilling out of her apartment) as her cheeks flush. She smiles, “I know I’m just so charming and persuasive, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Beatrice says quickly. “I’ve never smoked before, sure, but I’ve been… I’ve been trying to be open to new experiences, and you don’t seem to be afraid of trying new things, so… I thought this would be a safe place for it.”

Ava dismisses the budding warmth in her chest as the high, “Well, I don’t have a shortage of new things to try. Gotta knock out as many as I can before I can’t anymore.”

Beatrice looks down at her hands, “I wish I could live like that.”

Ava feels the urge to touch Beatrice, but anything beyond the standard nudge to her arm might feel weird. Honestly, she’s surprised it doesn’t feel more weird that she’s high with her boss right now. Maybe it’s because she’s so young, maybe it’s because she stayed with Ava in the hospital… Or, maybe it’s just because Ava enjoys her company more than she thought she would.

“You’re living like that right now, you know,” Ava says after a beat.

Beatrice glances off, down through the alley and out into the street, “Hm…”

“...What is it?”

Beatrice looks back at her, her eyes scanning Ava’s face slowly. She’s searching for something, Ava realizes, and she isn’t sure why but she wants to make sure it’s there for Beatrice to find. Finally, with a slightly dramatic drop of her head back against the railing, Beatrice starts laughing. Like, really laughing.

It’s beautiful. Beatrice is beautiful.

(Woah. She’ll unpack that later.)

Ava laughs too because she can’t help it, “What? What’s funny?”

“I just… the fact that you could see that in me is fascinating,” Beatrice tucks her face into her hands, still laughing. She waits until she stops laughing to continue, blinking a few times like she’s surprised that all that laughter came out of her. “But I guess we don’t really know much about each other, right? I could be literally anybody, and you wouldn’t know any different.”

“Well… I know a few things. I’d like to know more, though.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” Ava says seriously and with zero hesitation.

“...I’d like to know more about you, too.”

“Okay,” Ava leans forward, putting her hands on her knees and looking up in thought. “I’ll tell you something deep and personal if you tell me something equally deep and personal.”

That gives Beatrice pause, but it’s only for a second and then any trace of hesitation is gone, “Alright.”

“Okay,” Ava says again. She blows a raspberry, keeping her eyes on the stars so she doesn’t lose her courage. “Um… after my mom died, I lived in an orphanage in Andalucia. I never really saw much beyond the walls of that place until I was eighteen. That’s why I don’t have a shortage of new things to try.”

“ Oh, ” Beatrice seems genuinely shocked by this. “I thought… your dad…?”

“Never knew him,” Ava says nonchalantly, piecing together the unspoken specificities of Beatrice’s question. “My mom never talked about him, either. I like to think that she would have told me eventually, but who’s to say?”

Beatrice hums to make sure Ava knows she’s listening, but she doesn’t say anything right away. Ava thinks it’s the perfect response.

Eventually, she breaks the silence with a quiet question, “...May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about the orphanage. Still okay?”

“Yes.”

“What was it like? Leaving?”

“Oh,” Ava laughs. It doesn’t feel out of place, even despite the subject matter. “Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying, but also incredibly freeing. They took care of me and I’m grateful, but that place was slowly killing me. I bought a bus ticket out of there the same day with what little money I had, and I started traveling.”

Beatrice smiles softly. Ava sees familiarity in those brown eyes, like she connects fully with what Ava’s saying, even if her journey didn’t include an orphanage. It makes Ava curious, so she reaches her foot forward to tap Beatrice’s, “But, hey. Your turn.”

The second Beatrice meets her gaze, she starts giggling in the way only someone who’s high out of their mind does. She waves a hand, “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that my deep, personal tidbit is something you definitely won’t believe.”

“Try me?”

Beatrice covers her mouth with her hand to stop the giggling, but she’s still smiling as she makes the reveal.

“I… used to be a nun.”

Ava waits for Beatrice to start laughing again, to tell her she’s joking and then tell her the real thing she thinks Ava won’t believe, but she just looks at Ava with that small smile she can’t seem to get rid of, waiting for a response. Ava thinks she might’ve misheard her, “A nun?”

“Yes, a nun.”

“Like a full-Catholic nun in a church? That kind of nun?”

“Exactly like that.”

“And now you manage a bar and are getting high in the middle of the night with one of your…” Ava wants to call them friends in this moment, but she isn’t sure if that’s what this is or if that’s what Beatrice even wants, “...employees?”

“It seems that’s what my life is now, yes.”

Ava feels bad for laughing, “Sorry! Sorry, that’s not funny.”

“No, I think it really is,” Beatrice starts laughing again too. “Or at least I choose to let it be funny. It’s been long enough since I renounced my vows that I feel like I can laugh about it.”

“How long has it been?” Ava asks.

“Three years,” Beatrice puffs out a breath like she can’t believe it either.

Ava feels like she’s prying, but she can’t fight her desire at this moment to learn more about Beatrice. It’s a welcome feeling, considering just over a week ago she wanted nothing to do with her, “You don’t have to answer, but… what made you want to leave?”

Beatrice sighs, “My heart wasn’t in it anymore. It might’ve been at some point in the middle, but my initial vows were taken at a point in my life when I felt like I had no other option.” There’s a pause as her mind drifts off, her eyes closing with the memories. “My parents thought it was the best lifestyle for me after they found out I’m… gay. For the longest time I was so ashamed and afraid that I threw everything I had into it, but by the end… I was starting to resent God. And I was sick of resenting myself.”

“So you left?”

“So I left,” Beatrice nods slowly. She touches her arms and looks down at her hands like they’re the most interesting thing, like she’s not sure that she’s real.

“And… how did you end up here?”

Beatrice looks at Ava with a small smile, “When I renounced my vows, I started traveling. I backpacked all across Europe, just learning as much as I could and hoping to indulge in every desire I’ve ever repressed—obviously I haven’t been that good at that last bit, but I’m getting there. Anyway, I was staying at a hostel here in town for a month before I decided I wanted to stay. This town is just so simple and beautiful, and something about it just… called to me, like it did you.”

So, not that different after all.

Beatrice is staring at her, so intensely and so full of wonder. Ava feels the need to tell her she’s not nearly as adventurous as she makes herself out to be, but she likes being looked at like this. Even if it’s probably mostly because they’re high as shit.

Beatrice really is beautiful. Ava has found her attractive since they met, but there’s something about the moonlight and the look in her eyes like she’s seeing Ava for the first time that gives Ava the deep desire to kiss her.

She doesn’t, though.

They sit quietly together after that, feeling the night air and enjoying each other’s company.

Chapter Text

“Suzanne. I think that I think my boss is hot. Is that bad?”

Ava is sitting sideways in one of the armchairs in her therapist’s office with her legs tossed over one arm and her head tossed back against the other. She tilts her head lazily to see Suzanne’s reaction, watching her blink incredibly slowly. For a minute Ava thinks her attempt to derail their conversation about Ava’s incident won’t work, but the woman sighs, “Is Bar La Vasseur strict about inter-staff relationships?”

(Oh, fantastic. One more point Ava, zero points Lilith.)

“Not to my knowledge,” Ava shrugs, relieved that they’re no longer discussing Ava’s insistence to be her own worst enemy by not listening to her body’s needs. “We’ve been chill lately, after she took me to the hospital and everything. We smoked together the other night and I found out she used to be a nun. A nun who apparently knows aikido. Do you know what that is? ‘Cause you should really google it; I did last night and it only makes her so much hotter. I think we’re becoming friends?”

It’s all said so quickly, if only because Ava has had these thoughts zooming around her head for a few days now and saying them out loud to someone else feels like a weight off her chest.

“How has that been? I know expanding your circle of friends has been difficult for you since the orphanage.”

Ava considers this and lets out a heavy sigh, “It’s weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“I don’t know. Weird,” Ava shrugs and kicks her feet lightly. “She’s the only person besides Hans who hasn’t had some… ulterior motive. That I know of, anyway.”

“It’s good to branch out. It’s healthy,” Suzanne nods, writing something down. Ava really wants to see what those notes say, one day. “Beatrice seems like she could be a good influence on you. She is the reason your arm is no longer infected, yes?”

Ava glances down at her bandages—freshly redone about an hour ago, antibiotic ointment applied, not too tight, just like Beatrice showed her. She nods, then puffs, “I’m a terrible influence on her, though.”

“Maybe you’ll balance each other out. Give it time.”

—

Ava never really got an answer to the question she asked Suzanne. It’s a problem, because today Beatrice has her hair down, and holy shit if Ava hasn’t been stealing glances and wondering if it’s as soft as it looks.

“ What has the boss lady done to piss you off now? ” Hans says from somewhere behind her, making her jump out of her skin.

“ God, Hans, we have to put a bell on you or something, ” Ava says, eyes wide. “ And I’m not pissed, everything’s fine. ”

He looks at Beatrice, then back at her. She pretends not to notice the grin spreading on his face as she takes her rag to the counter, wiping at some dried sugar from one of their mixed drinks that must have spilled at some point. He gently hip-checks her as she moves around him to focus on another spot—some nacho remnants from an earlier customer.

“ I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! ” He says, tone full of faux-scandalism.

Ava plays dumb, “ Tell you what? ”

“ About your crush! When did you start to realize? Was it that heroic stunt she pulled by taking you to the hospital? ” Hans ponders, enjoying the hell out of Ava’s annoyance. Normally she loves attention, but not when it’s being drawn to her unavoidable, growing… admiration for Beatrice.

Yes. It was the hospital. It was probably before that, too, even despite everything. It wasn’t the first time Beatrice came to her rescue, after all. But she doesn’t say that, “ No. I don’t have a crush. ”

“ I don’t believe you for a second, ” Hans shakes his head.

“ I don’t need you to, ” She pokes her tongue out at him. He pokes his out too, but he doesn’t get to revel in the teasing for very long before Ava hits him with her rag. She chases him along the bar as he runs away, laughing the whole time, continuing to get hit.

When Ava stops, fully laughing and going back to refill a regular’s drink, she happens to glance back over at Beatrice’s table. They make eye contact instantly, Ava catching Beatrice in a stare. There’s something a little dark in her eyes, something like envy. But that would be ridiculous, so Ava dismisses it and smiles warmly at Beatrice. It seems to melt away whatever was icing her mood and she returns Ava’s smile.

God, she’s so, so pretty when she smiles. And with her hair down…

Ava is already around the bar, making her way over to Beatrice’s table before she can even register that she’s moving. Beatrice watches her, setting her pen down on the table and straightening her back, head tilting upwards as Ava comes to a stop.

She settles her forearms on the table, grinning at Beatrice, “Hey, boss.”

“Please, don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Hans does.”

“I haven’t shared marijuana with Hans. ”

“You should really just call it weed, Bea, ” Ava rolls her eyes, leaning her head in her hands. The nickname comes naturally, and Ava tries not to let it show just how nice it feels to say. If Beatrice feels any sort of way about it, she doesn’t say, just looks at Ava in amusement. “Your inexperienced-ness is showing.”

“You could say ‘lack of experience,’ you know.”

“And miss the cute way your eyebrows scrunch up when someone uses poor grammar?” Ava wags a finger in a circular motion, indicating Beatrice’s expression. “Fat chance.”

It’s Beatrice’s turn to roll her eyes. It’s attractive as hell, now that it’s playful and not accusatory. Well, maybe it was always attractive. Ava might have to say dumb shit to inspire that look more often.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Beatrice asks, trying to be all serious. Ava can see her blush, though.

“I am working,” Ava rises, grabbing the glass of water from Beatrice’s table that’s mostly empty. “I came to refill your drink, nothing more.” She wanders off to put more water and ice in it, then comes back to sit it down in front of Beatrice. She flashes her most charming smile, “Promise.”

“M-hmm,” Beatrice hums skeptically, but Ava sees that ever-present growing fondness in her eyes.

She does a small salute before returning behind the bar. Hans is already there, watching her with his eyebrows raised. She smacks him with her rag again, “ Not. One. Word. ”

—

Their walks home become a regular thing.

Any night Ava is scheduled to work, they wait for one another. Sometimes it’s Ava, sitting perched on a barstool, tapping away on her phone while Beatrice finishes the last of her paperwork. Other times it’s Beatrice hovering by the door, straightening random decor up (unnecessarily) because she just can’t seem to sit still and enjoy the fact that it’s the end of their working day.

Ava likes it. She can finally fully admit to herself that she just enjoys Beatrice’s company, period. And yeah, okay, maybe Hans wasn’t too far off about his… observance. Maybe.

Beatrice has been proactive about Ava’s accommodations. She listens to Ava when she expresses her concerns and desires over it all. She doesn’t once suggest that this isn’t the job for Ava, and she doesn’t seem to be anywhere near pretending to fire her for some fake reason just because her body doesn’t operate the same as others. She was closer to firing Ava before she knew about Ava’s disability for other reasons affiliated with Ava’s overall menace-like behavior.

She just cares, and it’s super weird. And really hot.

“They’re taking out my stitches tomorrow,” Ava breaks the silence as they walk home one night. She’s usually the first one to break it, but she doesn’t mind. The quiet moments are comfortable, anyway.

“Will you need the day off?” Beatrice asks, not angry that it’s the night before, only concerned for Ava.

“ Psh, ” Ava waves a hand dismissively. “Nah. They’re doing it really early, doc says I should be tip-top to go to work, so you don’t have to make a single martini, I swear.”

“Ugh, those are the worst. I’m relieved,” Beatrice says playfully. She does seem genuinely relieved, though Ava has a feeling it’s not just because she might have needed to assist Hans.

“I appreciate your concern, though,” Ava says seriously. “And everything you’ve done since my moment of stupidity that led to this.” She waves her injured arm.

“You’re not stupid, Ava. Far from it,” Beatrice is just as serious, practically glaring at Ava. She knows there’s no real malice behind it, only determination to keep Ava from being self-deprecating, even if they had a similar line of conversation in the hospital. “It was an accident.”

Ava bumps her, “You wouldn’t have said that a month ago.”

“A month ago I was still misjudging you horribly,” Beatrice admits. “A side effect of years of discipline and assumptions that I’m still trying to move on from, which I apologize for. It’s not an excuse.”

“Right. Nun life,” Ava nods. “I can’t imagine never getting to experience you with your hair down. And all covered up, too? That would be unfortunate.”

Beatrice ducks her head, the tips of her ears and cheeks darkening. Ava can tell even in the darkness, with the only light coming from the moon or the dim street lamps casting a glow over the town. The gentle chuckle Beatrice doesn’t try to hide is incredibly shy and cute, “You like it down, then?”

Oh, Ava likes flirting with Beatrice. She just might have to keep doing it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Smooth, Ava. Real smooth. She’s nervous all of a sudden.

“Noted,” Beatrice smiles as they come to a stop outside Ava’s building.

Ava has the desire to invite her inside, maybe roll up another blunt for them to share. She doesn’t want to say goodbye, that much she knows. But she also doesn’t want Beatrice to think she’s desperate, or to feel uncomfortable. Last time she’d had an excuse with her bandages, but this time would require her to own up to the fact that she just wants to spend time with Beatrice.

She can’t do that. Not with the increased likelihood that she’ll say something dumb and embarrass herself. Not when Beatrice looks so pretty and controlling what comes out of her mouth is already difficult on a standard day with someone that’s not Beatrice.

“Okay,” Ava says eventually, taking a step back. “‘Night, Bea.”

“Goodnight, Ava,” Beatrice says, watching Ava as she reaches for the door to her building. She’s typing in the code when Beatrice adds, “I like that nickname, by the way.”

Ava glances over her shoulder just in time to catch the smile on Beatrice’s face as she turns away.

Thank you, God, Ava thinks as she steps inside, glancing up at the ceiling like He’s actually looking down at her—even though the closest she’s ever gotten to religion was when she tried chocolate cake for the first time. 

Thank you for releasing your hot nun unto me, or whatever. We both know I would have encouraged her to break her vows anyway.

—

Hans: beatrice asked me if you’re single today.

Ava: really??

Ava: holy shit

Ava: do you think she’s into me?

Hans: i don’t know because i was just lying, but now i know for sure that YOU are into HER.

Ava: you’re mean :( 

Hans: and you’re obvious. ask her out, ava.

Ava: um, hello? she’s my boss? if i’m not absolutely certain that she’s into me, i’m not risking making my working situation awkward.

Hans: you were certainly fine making things awkward when you hated her.

Ava: woah

Ava: hate is such a strong word.

Ava: i just didn’t know that underneath all the organization and button-downs, there was a woman who secretly was willing to try weed for the first time with her least favorite employee.

Hans: you smoked with beatrice? OUR BOSS beatrice?

Ava: yes. THAT beatrice.

Hans: what the hell? invite me next time!

Hans: also, cut the “least favorite employee” bullshit. she likes you.

Ava: we’ll see.

—

They get high together again, but this time they’ve pulled Ava’s couch over to the window because it’s raining. The window is cracked to let the smoke out, and Ava has balanced an improvised ashtray (AKA a paper plate) on the ledge.

Beatrice has her hair down again. Ava is sure it’s because Beatrice knows she likes it.

Ava watches as Beatrice flicks ashes onto the plate, somehow having become a pro after one smoke session. She leans back with her eyes closed, running her fingers through her hair. She looks free.

Ava is so sure that her feelings are all over her face, but she’s too high to care.

“You’re staring,” Beatrice says, eyes still closed and a small smile on her lips.

“I can’t help it.”

Oops. There goes her filter.

“Is that so?” Beatrice tilts her head down, eyes fluttering open. The way she smiles mixed with the way her eyes roam Ava… Oh, god help her…

Ava can do nothing but nod. She looks at Beatrice’s lips, then back to her eyes. Then to her lips, then her eyes…

How did they end up here?

She tries to remember, but all she can come up with is the familiar feeling of their arms brushing on the walk home after work, and then… this. Them being high. Beatrice taking her hair out of its bun. It feels like they’ve been on Ava’s couch for a blissful eternity.

Ava is not subtle. She knows that. But it still comes as a surprise when Beatrice leans in—the blunt abandoned on the ‘ashtray’—moving one hand to cup Ava’s cheek and tangling the other in Ava’s hair. Her lips brush Ava’s, and then…

Oh. Oh.

Ava lets out a small, needy moan, instantly reaching up to run her fingers through soft, brown hair. Her other hand lands on Beatrice’s thigh, feeling the fabric of her jeans and wishing that it was skin instead.

Beatrice’s hands move down Ava’s chest, her thumbs lightly brushing over Ava’s nipples through the shirt. She has no memory of taking her bra off when they came inside, but thank god that she did. Beatrice’s hands continue lower to Ava’s waist, her grip tightening as she lifts Ava easily and pulls her into her lap.

Oh, Beatrice feels good under her. She’s all muscle (thank you, aikido) and warmth. The little skin that Ava is touching as both hands come up to loop around Beatrice’s shoulders feel so smooth and soft… Not to mention her lips, which Ava can only compare to pillows—they fit perfectly with her own, like they’re the kind made of memory foam.

Ava starts finding it difficult to stay focused solely on the kissing as Beatrice’s hands smooth their way up her thighs, then under her shirt, gliding along Ava’s stomach and finally pressing against her spine so they’re more flush against one another. The skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through Ava, and she becomes highly aware that her kissing is getting a little sloppy, a little desperate.

Her tongue runs over Beatrice’s bottom lip before the woman in question opens her mouth entirely, letting Ava explore. They both moan at the same time as their tongues brush, the warmth and wetness making Ava feel a rush of heat shoot directly to her center.

Beatrice is tugging on her shirt to take it off when Ava wakes up rather abruptly, her alarm cutting off her dream like someone took the TV remote and switched the screen to black.

She shifts, and almost immediately becomes aware of just how turned on she is. A part of her wants to finish the job, but something in her brain keeps her locked in place, unable to do more than feel a mix of shame and desire.

—

“Let’s talk about my dream last night,” Ava says the next day in group therapy.

There had been a lull in conversation as Suzanne glanced over her notes. She can’t remember who had been talking a minute ago, let alone what they’d been talking about. She hopes this isn’t an inappropriate shift, but… she simply can’t think about anything else.

Suzanne looks at her with surprise, as do both Lilith and Michael, “I’m glad you’re finally ready to start talking about the nightmares–”

“Oh, Suzanne,” Ava blows a raspberry, kicking her feet out a bit as her back digs into the god-awful folding chair. “Not that. I had a sex dream about my boss.”

Lilith snorts, and then a long silence stretches through the room. Ava glances at Michael, who has taken increased interest in a spot on the floor that he scuffs his shoe across. Suzanne is writing rather aggressively in her notes, one eyebrow raised significantly higher than the other. Lilith just looks absolutely overjoyed that Ava may be on the verge of being reprimanded, if Suzanne’s expression is anything to go by.

Ava tries to soften the blow for herself, “You know, your cheekbones are impeccable. You’ve really perfectly the unimpressed glare. What are you writing?”

Suzanne sighs and ignores her, “Well, let’s hear about the dream, then–”

“ Really? ” Lilith leans forward, looking at Suzanne incredulously. “We have to listen to her talk about how horny she is? ”

“Yes, really, ” Suzanne tilts her head at Lilith in a back off gesture. “There are things about Ava’s circumstance that you are unaware of, Lilith. This is a rather large step for her. Tell us about your dream, Ava.”

“Well, we were getting high again, and she was all flirty with me. She had her hair down and I swore it was because I made a comment that I liked it. And then she just kissed me and pulled me into her lap, and my stupid alarm woke me up right when things were about to get even more interesting. And then I—you know —was super horny, so I… I thought about… taking care of it, ” Ava explains. Lilith gags and Michael turns beet-red as he continues to stare down at his shoes.

“This is seriously awful.”

“ Lilith, ” Suzanne warns. Ava wonders if she regrets starting this support group. She turns back to Ava, “You considered masturbation, but didn’t end up following through?”

Lilith makes another face. Ava ignores it, “No, I didn’t.”

“And how did having this dream make you feel? Aside from the sexual feelings you experienced.”

“I feel kind of…” Ava thinks, then winces. “Gross? And guilty.”

Suzanne finds this interesting, “What about it makes you feel guilty?”

“I dunno…” Ava settles back with her head turned towards the ceiling, suddenly feeling shy. “Because she doesn’t know? I feel like a perv.”

“You’ve struggled with sexual attraction and desire for some time now, after what happened earlier this year. I think it’s healthy that you’re beginning to explore it again,” Suzanne says simply. Ava is relieved that she avoids saying Adriel’s name, though the implication weighs heavy in her mind.

Despite her previous disgust, Lilith shifts in her chair a bit, drawing Ava’s gaze over to her. Any trace of her annoyance is gone, instead replaced with a look of pure understanding. When they lock eyes, Lilith clenches her jaw, and Ava knows that Lilith has experienced something similar to her.

(Occasionally, the two of them have their moments.)

Lilith closes her eyes like giving Ava advice is literally the last thing she wants to do, even if this is supposed to be a space for them to relate to and help one another, “...Maybe you should talk to her about it.”

“That I had a sex dream about her? Dear god, no.”

“You don’t have to open with that, Ava,” Lilith sighs. There’s a softness in her gaze that even her eye roll doesn’t hide. “But you could tell her how you feel, and go from there.”

“That’s very insightful, Lilith, thank you,” Suzanne adds. “Small steps out of your comfort zone are how you’ve progressed in the past, Ava. It may be worth thinking about, at the very least.”

Michael finally pipes up, now a much less bright shade of red, “But take your time with it, Ava—there’s no rush.”

Right. Small steps.

Ava can do that.

—

She deliberately takes her break one day while Beatrice is upstairs doing inventory.

She wanders up there with a sandwich specially made for her by the kitchen staff. She pretends to be casual as she plops down onto the sofa, settling her feet up onto the coffee table with the plate resting on her lap. In truth, the prospect of talking alone with Beatrice has made her heart rate increase significantly, as it has every time she’s been alone with Beatrice in the week following her dream and group therapy session.

She hears shuffling from back in the storage area. The rows of shelves hide most of Beatrice, though Ava can see her form moving around through the many glass bottles and boxes.

She takes a breath and calls across the room, “Do you ever take a break, Bea?”

“I sit for most of the day doing paperwork,” She calls back. “That is essentially a break.”

“Your brain needs a break,” Ava argues. “Come here? I need entertainment and you should really stop thinking for more than thirty seconds.”

There’s a beat before Beatrice appears, stepping out of the row of shelves with a clipboard in hand. She’s in a hoodie and jeans, which is the most casual Ava has ever seen her. The sleeves of her hoodie are rolled up to her elbows, and her hair is up in her signature bun.

Ava scoots over and pats the spot beside her. Beatrice looks at her hesitantly before hanging the clipboard in its place on the shelf, tucking the pen into her pocket. She slowly lowers herself onto the couch, sitting with her back straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Ava tilts her head with a small smile and holds up her plate, “You want half?”

“...What is it?”

“Yasmine in the kitchen makes a mean BLT,” Ava waves it a little, trying to be enticing. Beatrice reaches forward and picks up the other half, holding it carefully in her hands. She takes a cautious bite, chewing slowly. After a moment, she hums in surprise and eases back into the couch.

“Careful. I like the spicy sauce they put on the turkey panini,” Ava warns with a grin before shoving the last bite of her half into her mouth.

“I can handle a little spice,” Beatrice says. Ava is definitely not imagining the flirty undertone to it, if the way Beatrice flashes those brown eyes at her is anything to go off of. She can’t help the slight huff of nervous laughter she lets out through her chewing.

She settles back with her hands folded over her stomach loosely, “You’ve been up here a while.”

“There’s a lot to inventory.”

“Yeah, but…” Ava inhales. Small steps. “I… I like looking up and seeing you at the table. It’s comforting.”

Beatrice pauses mid-chew, looking like the human equivalent of a loading symbol.

“‘Cause I’m just so used to it,” Ava adds to lessen the gayness behind her words. “Seeing you there. And my therapist said I should work on acknowledging my dislike for change instead of turning it into a joke.”

She manages to distract Beatrice from the point, though it’s not the intended avenue Ava had meant to lead her towards, “...You’re in therapy?”

Ava sits up a little straighter, “...Yes?”

“Sorry,” Beatrice says quickly, noticing Ava’s discomfort. “Oh. Not sorry that you’re in therapy, sorry if that was a weird thing to ask. You’d mentioned your therapist before—back in the hospital—but I didn’t want to ask about it… then… ”

“It’s not weird, I get it. I come off as someone who would rather punch than talk things out. It’s the annoying charm I possess,” Ava smiles goofily, placing a hand over her heart and leaning over to nudge Beatrice in a move her therapist would call ‘intentionally distracting to avoid emotional intimacy.’

(Consider that one small step backwards.)

But Beatrice doesn’t let her win like Suzanne always does, “You’re not annoying, Ava. Why would you think that?”

Ava snorts, “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want to strangle me a million times over when we first met. I’m a lot for most people.”

“You are not, ” Beatrice gets defensive. “My treatment of you played a big part in your behavior. You’re nothing like I thought, and I know that now. I thought we had talked about this?”

Ava shrugs, “...Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re not annoying,” Beatrice asserts once more. “And I find it admirable that you’re in therapy.”

“I’ve never heard someone call anything I’ve done ‘admirable’ before. You’re a woman after my own heart, Bea,” Ava says, the light and teasing tone in her voice hopefully covering up the very real emotion she’s feeling the longer Beatrice tries to convince her that she’s actually okay to be around.

“Could you blame me if I was?”

Oh. Oh. The flirting again. Ava’s heart skips in her chest.

(So… maybe not another step backwards, after all.)

“No, not really. I did say I’m charming, after all,” Ava stretches her hands above her head, exhaling like she’s totally incredibly chill about this. Like her heart isn’t beating a million miles a minute right now.

“That, you are,” Beatrice smiles. Ava feels like she’s dying. Those fucking cheekbones will be the death of her. They stare at each other way too long for Ava not to question the energy there, until Beatrice clears her throat and quietly adds, “I… suppose inventory can be finished later. I’d better get to my table before we get busy, right?”

“Right, right…” Ava nods, a slow smile spreading on her face. “Gotta do all that other manager-y stuff.”

“‘Manager-y stuff.’ Is that the official term?”

“I think so, yeah. If you wanna get technical, anyway.”

“Oh, yes.”

Ava is the first to break, her laugh starting as a snort and turning into a full-blown giggle when Beatrice breaks too. The momentum of their laughter has them leaning into each other, and Ava can only describe it as being pulled in by a magnet.

They both head downstairs shortly after Beatrice finishes her half of the sandwich. She moves back around the bar to grab Beatrice a water with lemon, letting the easy smile Beatrice seems to bring out of her spread across her face as she takes it over to her table.

“For you,” Ava tips an imaginary hat.

Beatrice smiles, “Thank you, Ava.”

“Anytime.”

Hans is standing with his arms crossed, looking at her knowingly when she gets back behind the bar. Ava trips him later when he’s least expecting it as payback.

—

The days she and Beatrice work alone together are incredibly nerve-wracking.

Every day is like a little dance. Ava arrives, does her opening tasks, makes a stupid joke or comment in the minutes before the bar opens just to see Beatrice smile, then proceeds to steal glances at her for hours on end until the bar closes. Somewhere in there is a little flirting that makes Ava feel like she could fly. Then, of course, there’s the walks home at night.

They develop the habit of hovering outside Ava’s building. Ava will press her back against the wall, smiling at Beatrice and keeping the conversation going. Beatrice always lets her. Ava knows she could invite Beatrice up and she would say yes, but every time without fail Ava feels like her heart might explode so she chickens out.

Tonight will be different. Ava swears it will be.

She’s got a whole thing planned. Granted, that ‘whole thing’ is just her going, ‘hey, wanna come up for a movie?’ But it’s more of a plan than she’s had in over a week, so. Little victories.

Today, Beatrice had worn a vertically striped maroon and white button-up, which throughout the day became more unbuttoned to where it is now, with so much tanned, smooth collarbone exposed. She took her hair out of the bun at some point during the walk here (Ava had tripped on the pavement when she did), letting it flow over her shoulders like a beautiful river.

They’ve already surpassed step one (stop outside Ava’s building), but getting to step 2 (ask Beatrice to come up) is proving to be rather difficult, on account of Ava getting distracted following said river to where it meets said collarbone. Her fingers itch to pull Beatrice towards her and brush it aside…

“...Ava, are you listening?”

“Hm? Yes,” Ava blinks, meeting Beatrice’s eyes. She tries to look as innocent and aware of the conversation as possible as she pushes up onto her toes, back still pressed against the wall.

“Oh, really? What was I saying?” Beatrice raises an eyebrow in the most attractive way possible, looking to Ava with a challenge. The small smirk on her face is all-knowing.

Ava racks her brain for any semblance of what Beatrice had been saying, but she comes up blank. Suzanne would call this an opportunity for vulnerability… which Ava has been known to avoid.

She takes a breath, “I… don’t know. I was distracted. By… you.”

This seems to throw Beatrice off, so much so that any amusement is wiped right off her face. She blinks, clearly not expecting Ava to be so direct.

Now’s her chance, Ava realizes. She should ask Beatrice to come up, maybe just to have a drink, instead of the pressure of committing to a two hour movie. Beatrice has a look in her eyes, one that Ava has become familiar with. One that says I’m not ready to say goodnight just yet. Ava is sure it’s all over her own face, too.

She presses forward off the wall, stepping towards the door, “How do you feel about spiked hot chocolate?”

“...I’ve never tried it.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yes.”

—

Ava’s apartment is a lot cleaner than the last time she’d brought Beatrice up.

If she’s being honest, she’s been doing her best to keep it clean because she’s been trying to work up the courage to invite Beatrice inside every day, and there was really no way of telling when she’d actually follow through with it. It makes her feel a little pathetic, that it took the prospect of having a girl over to encourage her to keep her space clean.

She flicks the lights on and hangs her stuff up by the door as they step inside, kicking her shoes off and moving into the kitchen. Beatrice follows, resting her arms on Ava’s kitchen island as Ava begins to prep.

She puts some milk on the stove on low heat, grabs cocoa powder and a half-empty bag of chocolate chips from her pantry, and pulls a bottle of bourbon out of her liquor cabinet before going to grab two mugs from her mug rack. And, of course, whipped cream from the fridge.

They’re both quiet. Beatrice watches Ava put the ingredients together with a warm smile on her face, and for some reason it makes Ava feel more calm. She’s been noticing that more lately—silence has always been unbearable for Ava, she’s always felt the need to fill it, but with Beatrice… she can just sit in it and feel comfortable.

Partway through her continuous stirring of the milk, she remembers the ache in her wrists. Her pain always tends to become background noise despite its constant presence, but now that she’s home and especially since she’s continuing to use her hands, everything comes rushing to the forefront of her mind.

She glances at the cupboard drawer she keeps her miscellaneous things in—receipts, pens, batteries, her wrist braces… She should really go for the latter, put them on, let them work their magic so she can get through the rest of the night. But she remembers Beatrice sitting just behind her, and even though they’ve been working together to make subtle changes to Ava’s work routine to ease the strain on Ava’s body, and Beatrice saw her hospitalized and helped her when her injury was infected, Ava still doesn’t want to look weak in front of her.

Get the fuck over it, Ava tries to tell herself as she looks down at where her hand is stirring the milk. She’s already seen you at your weakest. 

She grabs the wrist braces from the drawer before she can stop herself and puts them on. When Beatrice doesn’t say anything about it, she breathes out in relief.

They sit in the quiet for a minute longer before Beatrice says, “I’ve never heard of anyone mixing liquor and hot chocolate before.”

“Really?” Ava glances over her shoulder in surprise. “Growing up, my mom would make it all the time. Mine was just regular hot chocolate, obviously—she wasn’t giving me alcohol at six years old, even if I used to beg for the ‘adult version’ all the time,” She clarifies, earning a chuckle from Beatrice. “She used to tell me that one day we could have the adult version together… and to make up for it she’d load mine with so much whipped cream…”

There’s an ache that hits her chest as she thinks about her mother wiping whipped cream from her nose. She pauses with the can of whipped cream in her hand now, staring down at it before clearing her throat and adding some to both mugs.

She overloads her own with a mountain of whipped cream out of habit before replacing her frown with a smile, carrying both mugs over to the kitchen island. She sets one in front of Beatrice, “For you.”

Beatrice smiles, taking the mug into her hands. She spins it around to look at what’s printed on it, reading off, “...‘Just roll with it’? Is that a cartoon of sushi?”

“It is, yes,” Ava nods with a grin. “It’s an avocado roll. Hans got it for me for Christmas last year—he said it was a ‘double whammy in the pun department.’”

Beatrice stares at it, brows drawn together, before she gives up, “How so?”

“ Ava-cado, ” She waves her hand through the air to dramatize the reveal. “It’s genius, really. The perfect Christmas gift.”

She can tell Beatrice tries really hard to hold in her laugh, but despite her efforts she still snorts. She tries to cover it up behind the mug as she takes a sip, “That’s… actually quite clever.”

“Yeah. You might even say it’s…” She spins her own mug around on the counter, revealing the cartoon image of a taco followed by text that says ‘something to taco ‘bout.’ Ava raises her eyebrows, mouth open in a smile, “Ah?”

Beatrice shakes her head, laughing fully, “That was dumb.”

“Yeah, well. You haven’t seen the rest of the rack,” Ava gestures behind her to her mug collection.

“Oh, boy.”

“What? You got somethin’ to say about my prized possessions?” Ava raises her eyebrows as high as they’ll go.

“No, they’re lovely,” Beatrice is smiling wide, looking so content and just happy to be here with Ava sharing spiked hot chocolates. “What inspired you to collect them?”

“Well, for starters, they’re so fun. All the other mugs I saw when I was shopping were so boring, so I bought a few silly ones. And then ‘a few’ became many, many more. If I had it my way we’d serve all our drinks out of novelty pun mugs at the bar.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Beatrice rolls her eyes playfully.

Ava laughs as she pulls out the stool next to Beatrice to join her in sitting at the kitchen island. Her feet thank her with a prickling of relief, tingles moving up her legs as the effort of standing is removed. She can’t stop the grunt of pain she lets out as she winces with the sudden shift.

“...Are you alright?” Beatrice asks quietly, the tone shifting when she notices Ava’s discomfort.

“Oh, uh,” Ava takes a sip of her hot chocolate so she has somewhere else to look. “Yeah. Just… long day.”

Beatrice nods, watching her carefully. Ava thinks she sees her glance at the wrist braces, “...May I ask you a question?” Ava nods her consent. “You wear the braces… to help with the pain?” Ava nods again, a little slower. “But you don’t wear them to work?”

Ava doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to, not right away. She’s tried explaining why she lives her life the way she does to people that aren’t Lilith or Michael before, but it never goes well. They always act like they know all the details, like this is a completely black and white decision. Like Ava doesn’t have years of trauma pushing her back down into the cycle of self-sabotage she’s constantly clawing to get out of.

Beatrice places her hand on the counter between them to try and get Ava’s eyes on her. It works, if only because Ava has been getting further and further from being able to stop herself from being drawn to Beatrice. She says gently, “I apologize, Ava. I’m not trying to overstep, but… you did ask me to talk some sense into you if I saw you making your life more difficult.”

“I think I actually asked you to knock some sense into me, not talk. With your aikido, ” Ava tilts her head with a small smile.

“ Aikido is hardly the answer to everything.”

“But it is the answer to some things.”

“Not this, Ava,” Her words feel like they should be stern, but she says them so softly that Ava thinks she might actually feel her insides melting. She can’t remember the last time she looked so deeply into another’s person’s eyes and could feel just how much they truly care for her.

Ava may not know how to explain the responses her body and mind have to her trauma, but Beatrice makes her want to try. 

“I don’t wear them in public, ‘cause… ‘cause people don’t look at you the same after they realize there’s something different about your body. You wanna know why I lost every job I’ve had in less than three months since I turned eighteen until now?” Ava doesn’t wait for an answer—she can tell that Beatrice just wants to know more about her. “‘Cause every job I’ve had until now has kicked me to the curb the second they realized. They all had the same conclusion—that I’d take up too much more time, space, and money than I’m worth. Even though I don’t cost any more than any other employee. Even though I work my ass off trying to prove myself every day. I’m still just a liability—someone you might have to rush off to the hospital and leave your other employee behind to fend for himself in the middle of the busiest point in the night.”

Ava doesn’t say it in an accusatory tone. She doesn’t get angry or hot-headed, like she so often does. She says it plainly and honestly, with vulnerability wavering through her voice. She says it because she wants Beatrice to know, and because she thinks Beatrice might be different than the others. Ava knows she is.

“Nobody’s taken the time to get to know me like you have,” Ava adds after a moment of letting Beatrice absorb. “This is the first time I’ve really let people see what’s behind the curtain, and it’s so different and a little scary, if I’m honest. So… in summary… I’ll think about wearing them. But I make no promises.”

Beatrice smiles, so warm and patient, “I’ll take that. I hope you’ll tell me if I’m treating you the way others have in the past.”

“Trust me, you would know. I don’t invite people like that into my apartment. And I certainly don’t make them hot chocolate.”

“I would certainly hope not.”

“ Certainly, ” Ava agrees, straightening her back and looking at Beatrice with a goofy grin.

“Did you just make fun of my accent?” Beatrice playfully raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe a little, ” Ava wrinkles her nose, trying her best to be distracting and cute. It seems to work, because she earns one of those eyerolls she’s been working to draw out of Beatrice as often as possible. Ava smiles, “But seriously, though?” Beatrice nods, urging her to continue. “You’re golden… compared to that lot, ” She does the really bad English accent again.

“Oh, it’s so bad,” Beatrice winces. “I think that was more Scottish than anything.”

“Oh, yeah? I’d love to hear you try and roll your r’s.”

And, of course, because apparently there isn’t a thing Beatrice isn’t perfect at, she says a full sentence in Spanish with a perfect accent, “ You make it sound like it’s difficult. ”

“Oh, bullshit. You know Spanish?”

“I do, yes.”

“What other languages do you speak? Obviously German, English…” Ava trails off.

Beatrice fills in the rest, “French, Mandarin, and I studied Latin while I was a nun.” At Ava’s wide eyes, Beatrice flushes with embarrassment, “I find it fun, learning new languages. You’re multilingual too!”

“I don’t speak fucking Latin, ” Ava stresses, eyes still wide as saucers. 

“Well, I’m sure you know more than German, English, and I assume you speak Spanish as well, since you spent most of your childhood in Spain. Am I wrong?”

“Well… no. ”

“What other languages do you speak, then?” Beatrice raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

Ava smiles too, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand while her other hand absorbs the warmth from her mug, “Portuguese. And a tiny bit of sign language.”

“Where did you pick those up?”

“There were a few deaf kids at the orphanage, and us disabled kids tended to stick together,” Ava pumps her fist to make it more playful than it is, but the truth is that few of the other able-bodied kids were patient enough to make an effort with them. “I couldn’t do the movements very well, but I could at least understand a lot. As for Portuguese… it’s my first language.”

“You’re from Portugal?” Beatrice deduces, not sounding particularly surprised.

“Yep,” Ava pops the ‘p.’ 

“I thought I heard an accent. Very faint, but still noticeable,” Beatrice leans a little closer, seeming so interested. “Where did you learn English?”

“ Also the orphanage. They taught us English and Spanish because they were the most universal, with the wide range of kids who wound up in that place anyway. I watched a lot of American movies to learn faster. Nobody else spoke Portuguese there, so the more time that passed, the more my accent started to slip away. And I haven’t been back to Portugal since… before. ”

“Are you still fluent?”

“Oh, yeah. When I first got there, I was having a hard time communicating ‘cause Spanish is similar to Portuguese but it’s definitely not the same. I had a lot of days where I really missed home and I really missed my mom, and the language barrier was just so frustrating, and I couldn’t move much… So along with the American movies, I also pulled a lot of Portuguese movies from the orphanage’s library. Including my mom’s favorite—I watched that one a lot after I found a copy in the library, which I stole. I still have it, actually.”

“I’ll have to check it out.”

“You can borrow it, if you want,” Ava suggests, maybe a little too quickly. Something yells at her in the back of her mind, a voice that aches for Beatrice to stay a little longer, even though their hot chocolates are starting to dwindle down. She listens to that voice, “Or… we can watch it together?”

Beatrice is looking at Ava so softly, “Together sounds nice.”

“Oh. Good,” Ava grins. “Do you wanna watch it now?”

“Absolutely.”

Chapter Text

Ava isn’t really watching the movie.

She’s watching Beatrice watch the movie, which is objectively so much better because Beatrice is watching this for the first time. She takes in every shift in Beatrice as the movie plays—it’s a comedy, so she’s mostly laughing, but there are a few serious moments that seem to impact her, too.

She looks so relaxed, sinking into Ava’s sofa with one foot pulled up underneath her. She’s got a glass of wine courtesy of Ava’s alcohol stash, having learned approximately an hour ago that she rather enjoys a nice red after Ava offered some for her to try. Ava herself is on her second glass, and that on top of the spiked hot chocolate is really starting to lessen her ability to control how much she’s staring.

Ava has never wanted to touch someone as badly as she wants to touch Beatrice right now, but she stays planted on her side of the couch with her legs curled up underneath her. Beatrice is just so beautiful —Ava watches the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, the way she covers her mouth when she finds something particularly funny, the way she tucks her hair back behind her ear whenever it falls forward… Everything about her just has Ava so entranced.

When Beatrice knocks back the last bit of her wine, Ava reaches out for the glass, “More?”

Beatrice looks at her, and it’s only then that Ava realizes her immediate offering of a refill is a telltale sign that she was watching. Beatrice passes her glass over, smiling at Ava like she knows her secret—not that Ava is doing a particularly good job of hiding her crush, at this point.

Ava takes the glass back to the kitchen, doing a little hop along the way because Beatrice is in her apartment. It’s almost 3am and Beatrice is still here. Because she wants to be here. With Ava. It’s a crazy concept that she’s still getting used to, one that she certainly doesn’t see herself getting used to anytime soon.

(Honestly, a big part of her is still nervous that Beatrice just hasn’t found her escape plan yet. She’s trying to ignore that anxiety as best she can.)

She fills Beatrice’s glass and tops off her own, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Beatrice is looking at her. Ava is no stranger to how good her ass looks in the jeans she’s wearing, so knowing they’re having the desired effect is a bit of a confidence-booster. It encourages her to be a little more bold, so when she brings their drinks back around she sits significantly closer than she did before. 

Ava waits until the movie is over to turn her head, draping her arm along the back of the couch and looking at Beatrice, “What did you think?”

Beatrice leans her head back, humming with a small smile, “I certainly see where you got your sense of humor.”

Ava grins, “Well, you watch a movie enough times…”

“It was quite good,” Beatrice says, all genuine. “I did in fact notice when you were mumbling several lines under your breath.”

Ava holds a hand up in a joking defense, “I can’t be held accountable for having the entire script memorized. It’s probably been up here,” she taps her temple, “since I was, like, five. Mom watched it a lot. ”

“It wasn’t an accusation,” Beatrice giggles in a distinct I’ve-been-drinking-wine type of way. “You were very cute.”

“Oh,” Ava smiles, leaning a little closer simply because she can’t help it. She feels Beatrice’s warmth break the barrier of her clothes, and it’s intoxicating even if they aren’t actually touching. “I was holding back, really. I could probably reenact the entire movie right now.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Ava doesn’t have a response for that, so instead she just tilts her head goofily, leaning it against the couch and looking up at Beatrice in the most obvious, gay way she possibly could be. She breaks eye contact to trace the path of Beatrice’s cheekbones down to her lips and up again. Everything in her aches to lean forward and close the distance. She wouldn’t have to lean very far, and she’s so sure as she looks into Beatrice’s eyes that Beatrice would kiss her back, but…

“Bea?”

“Hm?”

“It’s, like… really late.”

“Mmm…”

There’s a little voice in her head telling her, ‘Be open, Ava. Tell her what you’re feeling. Just do it. Go, go, go…’

She decides to listen.

She breathes in slowly, her voice slipping into nothing more than a soft, vulnerable whisper, “You’re still here.”

“I am,” Beatrice whispers back.

“...Why?”

Beatrice softens, “Because I want to be.”

That’s all Ava needs to hear.

Every anxiety she was feeling is instantly put to rest. Her eyes fully lock on Beatrice’s lips, looking so full and inviting. Beatrice’s expression shifts to one of anticipation as she realizes Ava wants to kiss her. Still, Ava won’t do it without asking.

“...Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

Ava doesn’t hesitate.

Nothing—not even her dream from some time ago—could have prepared her for what it would feel like.

The second their lips touch, Ava’s body from the neck down feels absolutely frozen. She’s overwhelmed by the brush of Beatrice’s nose against hers, the warmth of her breath, the pillow-softness of her lips—it’s like her body is waiting for her brain to catch up with what’s happening before it can react. Their lips move slowly but with purpose, each of them looking not only to savor the moment, but to prolong it.

Beatrice kisses like she does everything else—with so much care and attention, like she’s trying to get it just right. Ava can feel her getting tense, the way she does when she wants something to be perfect but she isn’t sure just how to get there. Ava wants to tell her that she is perfect, but she also doesn’t want to stop kissing Beatrice, so instead she finds other ways to tell her.

It’s the motivation her body needs to unfreeze—this urge to help Beatrice relax. The hand she’d previously had on the couch behind Beatrice moves closer, her fingers sliding easily into Beatrice’s hair and her palm cupping the back of Beatrice’s neck gently. Her other hand moves upward, feeling along the edges of Beatrice’s button-up and smoothing the collar back. The tips of her fingers trace down Beatrice’s arm, guiding her hand up until it comes to rest on Ava’s waist.

Beatrice’s other hand instinctively reaches for the other side of Ava’s waist, her grip tightening. She can feel all of that tension slipping away as Beatrice gains confidence, guiding Ava up into her lap as they kiss.

Beatrice is warm beneath her. She holds Ava against her, one hand staying firmly on her waist and the other moving to her lower back. She lets out a moan as she arches further into Beatrice, feeling just how toned she really is. 

(Holy shit, aikido does wonders.)

Beatrice tastes like red wine and chocolate, even more so when her mouth opens invitingly. Ava doesn’t wait more than a few seconds before letting her tongue brush with Beatrice’s—it’s wet and hot and Ava is so fucking turned on. She can’t remember the last time she wanted someone this badly, and quite frankly she doesn’t want to.

When Beatrice’s hands slip under her shirt, feeling along the smooth skin of her sides and back, Ava becomes so suddenly overwhelmed by the skin-on-skin contact that she can’t help but pull away with a small gasp. She meets Beatrice’s eyes—pupils fucking blown—and all she can think is that she wants to be touching more.

She reaches for Beatrice’s shirt, starting to unbutton it the rest of the way. She barely gets to the last few before she leans back in, touching her lips to Beatrice’s jaw and starting to work her way down. She gets to that fucking collarbone that had her distracted all night, loving how she can feel and hear Beatrice’s breathing getting sharper and more labored, before she pulls back long enough to help Beatrice out of her shirt entirely.

Ava zones in on the abs, “Holy shit.”

Beatrice is flushed and out of breath, “What is it?”

“You’re so…” Ava’s fingers brush over the pure muscle that is Beatrice’s abdomen. It’s smooth and soft and fucking perfect. When she meets Beatrice’s eyes, hazy with adoration, she feels a swell of emotion in her chest, “Beautiful.”

Beatrice smiles before bringing a hand up to cup Ava’s cheek, pulling her in for another softer, sweeter kiss. Ava has never melted before, but there’s a first time for everything.

Everything in her wants to keep going. She wants to see, touch, kiss, and know all of Beatrice. But there’s another part of her—the part that’s actively melting—that is suddenly overcome by a desire to slow this down. To end the night with a kiss, to ensure that this sweetness isn’t temporary. That Beatrice wants this when she’s sober, too. That they don’t permanently fuck up their friendship with something as irreversible as sex.

Ava’s entire life, she’s never had more than a few people that she truly trusts and feels safe around. Despite their rocky start, Beatrice has very quickly become someone that Ava doesn’t want to lose, and that thought is so terrifying that she pulls back.

“Bea?”

She blinks up at Ava, sensing the shift, “Yes?”

“I know I quite literally initiated this, but I don’t think I’m ready?” It sounds like a question, mostly because Ava feels guilty. What exactly she feels guilty about, it’s hard to say. Probably some combination of feeling like she’s putting too much pressure on too quickly and the distorted view she has of relationships that makes her question everything.

Beatrice’s hands are still under her shirt at her waist. Ava feels her thumbs rub gentle circles as she looks up at Ava in concern, “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Ava.”

Oh, Ava is so taken by her. Fucking hell, when did this woman get such a tight grip on her heart? Seriously, Ava wants to kiss her again—and again and again and again —because what the fuck, nobody has ever looked at her like this.

She leans back in because she simply can’t help herself, pressing her lips lightly against Beatrice’s and lingering for just a few seconds before pulling back and climbing off her lap. She grabs Beatrice’s hands and pulls her into a standing position, tilting her head up to look at her with her best puppy dog eyes, “You promise you’re not mad?”

“I promise,” Beatrice whispers, letting go of one of Ava’s hands so she can cup her cheek. She smooths her thumb across Ava’s jaw so delicately that Ava feels like she could cry. “Even if you never wanted to do that again, I wouldn’t be upset.”

“Oh, I do. I want to do that again. Just so we’re clear on that,” Ava lets go of some of her anxiety as she looks into Beatrice’s eyes and sees nothing but honesty and care. She only realizes Beatrice is still shirtless as she goes to loop her arms around Beatrice’s shoulders. The straps of her bra and the warmth of her skin make Ava flush, if she wasn’t already. But she holds her position because Beatrice doesn’t seem to mind. “I like you, Bea. A lot.”

“I like you, too. A lot.”

Ava beams brighter than she has in quite some time.

—

The next morning, Ava practically floats around her apartment as she gets ready for the day, humming happily and losing herself in thoughts of Beatrice.

She dances to the song she’s made up in her head as she makes herself a cup of tea, then again as she showers, then again as she gets dressed and does her makeup. She feels like she’s in a romance movie montage, which is quite literally everything she’s ever wanted.

She’s trying to decide which tank top shows off her tits better when her phone buzzes on her bed. She floats over, still humming, partially distracted by looking at herself in the mirror as she opens the text.

Hans: don’t forget i’m covering your shift today. i’ll handle beatrice when i go into work. take care of yourself, ava.

…Huh?

Last she checked, she doesn’t have any sort of doctor’s appointment or anything else scheduled for today. She opens her calendar just to be sure.

It’s when she sees the date that she makes the connection.

Her fingers are already shaking (her mobility is already rather spotty, but she’s been too happy to care), so instead of attempting to form a coherent sentence, she just likes the message and shuts her phone off, tossing it back onto the bed.

She puts her hands on the back of her head as she floats back down to earth, wincing with the movement as she becomes more aware of her body. Fuck.

How could she have forgotten?

It’s the one fucking day her body never lets her forget. The single set of memories that will forever be ingrained in her head. The reason she’s in fucking therapy.

The anniversary.

She’s surprised Suzanne hasn’t asked her about how she’s feeling about it, or what she’s been doing to emotionally prepare. Maybe she’s assumed it’s another thing that Ava will avoid (which is probably accurate), or maybe Ava’s simply been derailing every conversation lately with her feelings for Beatrice.

It’s getting hard to breathe. Ava feels a burning sensation in her chest, one that spreads through her like a wildfire and makes her body tingley in a way that is familiar but not quite on the same scale as what she standardly feels with her chronic pain. It’s all connected—the anxiety and the chronic pain overlap in more ways than one, which Suzanne has helped her to understand.

Thinking of her chronic pain only mixes more into the current mess that is her brain, turning everything into mush and making her feel so disconnected from herself. She feels like she’s staring into an abyss, like her body is in a free fall and she’s trying to brace for the impact but she can’t see the ground so it just feels like any moment she’s going to splat and break into a million tiny pieces.

On the outside, she’s still standing in the same spot in her bedroom, staring at the wall.

Flashes of her mother’s lifeless face—usually reserved by Ava’s subconscious for her nightmares—come every time she closes her eyes. She attempts to will the flashes away by picturing her mother as she was, before the accident.

Her mother was beautiful, really. Much more beautiful than Ava feels she ever will be. When she smiled, all you’d want was to be let in on whatever was making her so happy. Her eyes were the same shade of brown as Ava’s, so dark that in most settings they appeared black, but it was such a wonderful thing when she looked at you. Ava always felt like she was the only thing that mattered.

Her hair was long, and she always used to wear it up in a ponytail that fell to the midpoint of her back. Ava would watch it swing when her mother would blast music in the car, nodding her head along and drumming on the steering wheel. There are bits of the way she used to dress in Ava’s wardrobe—pants with wide bottoms, floral shirts, baseball caps. Everything she did, everything she wore, everything she said… it all had so much life, so much color.

Thinking of her mother like this makes her feel calmer—calm enough that her surroundings become clearer to her. With a sniffle and a shake of her head, she changes up her routine, fully switching out of work mode. Her mind shifts to Beatrice, thinking briefly that she’ll be confused (and probably worried) when Hans shows up instead of Ava, but she has to force the thought away. She was so distracted, so selfish, that she nearly forgot today is supposed to be about her mother.

She puts together a small box of things, the muscle memory of her tradition taking over. She tries not to think as much about how badly she wants Beatrice to comfort her.

—

After a stop at a flower shop and a brief hike, Ava finds herself at the top of a rocky hill just outside of town.

When her mother died, she never found out what was done with the body. She didn’t think to ask at seven years old, and by the time she’d grown up there wasn’t anybody left at the orphanage who remembered. Their identification had been lost in the accident, and it wasn’t until Ava woke up that anybody even knew either of their names. She isn’t even sure if her mother was buried.

It’s because of this that Ava makes her own grave. Or, she supposes calling it a ‘vigil’ would be more accurate.

She starts unloading the box. She sets out candles that were all her mom’s favorite scent (sweet apple), as well as lays out the flowers she’d picked up (white peonies—also her mom’s favorite). She lights the candles as she takes a seat on the rocks, crossing her feet underneath her. The sweet apple smell drifts over her as she pulls out the final piece of her vigil—the only photograph of her mother that she still has.

It’s a small, wallet-sized photo that usually lives on her nightstand. In it, her mother sits on a rustic wooden porch, looking about as old as Ava is now. Her hair is much shorter than Ava remembers, but her smile is just as full and beautiful as it always was.

“Hey, mama,” Ava starts, smoothing her thumb over the edge of the photo in her hands. She barely thinks about it as she switches to Portuguese. “ I miss you. I hope you’re well, wherever you are. Are you? ”

She pauses, listening like she’ll hear an answer. She thinks the wind picks up a little, and she takes it as a sign. She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze and imagining it’s her mother’s attempt at holding her.

“ ...I’m sorry, mama. I’ve been so distracted lately—I didn’t mean to forget about today. I’m going to blame myself for this until Suzanne knocks some sense into me at our next session, even though I know you’d never blame me for that… ”

But does she? Does she actually know her mother wouldn’t be upset with her? There’s only so much that a seven-year-old can come to understand about their parents, and she knows that what little she can remember is nowhere near all there was to learn about her.

Ava wishes she could know her.

She can’t help but think about all the things she didn’t know. She wants to know about her father. Who is he? What happened between them? Does he know Ava exists? Is he even still alive? But it’s not just him, it’s everything else, too. Like why was her mother completely on her own? Did they have any other family? Was she an orphan, like Ava is? Or did something happen that caused her to run away?

Was her mother happy? Or was it all just a front to protect the innocence of her seven-year-old daughter? Was she just trying to let Ava have her childhood before she became exposed to the darkness her mother must have had buried? Or was she just an optimist? Was she just that carefree?

Sometimes, when Ava lies awake at night in the silence of her apartment, she can still hear the way her mother’s voice sounded when she would sing Ava to sleep. She tries to hear it now to help her stay calm, but all she can hear is that fucking car horn, taunting her. She buries a hand into her hair, tugging hard to try and distract her brain with the pain. Her brain isn’t so easily fooled, not when she’s spent over a decade living in so much pain that she’s forgotten what it was like to live without it.

She lets go slowly. She’s hearing Suzanne in one of their sessions, walking through alternatives to inflicting pain as a distraction. She’s reminded of Beatrice suddenly—her calming presence, the warmth of her gaze, the feel of her skin…

“ I met someone, mama, ” Ava keeps talking without even really processing. “ She’s really smart. And beautiful. And she doesn’t treat me like I’m incapable because of my disability. And when she smiles it feels like… like… it just feels so colorful. I think you’d like her. Maybe. Maybe you wouldn’t… I guess I don’t really know that, either…

“ I like the way she makes me feel. It’s… safe. But also exciting? It’s still so new, and there’s so much we don’t know about each other, and I’m really nervous, but… I think it’ll be good. 

“ I talk a lot about her in therapy because I’ve been… avoiding things. With you. I’m sorry about that. I just… I don’t know how to talk about what happened. Suzanne keeps saying it’s how I can start to learn to live with it, but how can that possibly be true when even just thinking about what happened to you makes me feel like I’m gonna die? ”

Ava’s throat catches on that last word, and she realizes she’s crying.

She isn’t sure how long she cries for. She lets it happen, mostly because in a weird, cathartic way, it feels good. She doesn’t cry very often—most days, any negative thing she experiences doesn’t hold a candle to her chronic pain, so it’s simply not worth it to cry. She’s talked about it with Suzanne a few times. Suzannes’s firm stance is that whenever Ava does cry, she shouldn’t shy away from it. She should let it happen, full and without interference, because she already bottles up so many other things.

So, Ava lets it happen.

As she strokes a thumb over the picture of her mother, her sobs evening out but the tears still falling, she can’t help but slip into somewhat of a daydream about another world. A world where she doesn’t have survivor’s guilt, or an ache in her body so deep that it feels like just another part of her. A world where at the end of the day she could call her mother on the phone and tell her about the girl she likes.

A world where she could call her mother at all.

—

She doesn’t turn her phone back on until she’s getting ready for bed. Immediately, several texts come through. She looks through them as she brushes her teeth.

Hans: make sure you eat dinner.

She can’t help but smile. He hasn’t outwardly mentioned what today is, but she knows he knows. This expression of concern is so Hans in its simplicity. He knows she wouldn’t want him to make a big fuss of anything. She appreciates his ability to say I’m here if you need anything without saying that directly.

Ava: kraft mac & cheese for the win!

Hans loved a message from Ava: “kraft mac & cheese for the win!”

Hans: dinner of champions! see you tomorrow.

She moves onto the next message, which is (surprisingly) from her therapist. They never text, except for the occasional days that Ava needs to move an appointment because of a flare-up of pain.

Suzanne: Hope you’re doing alright today, Ava. Call me if you need anything.

Oh. Suzanne is a great therapist, even despite Ava’s pushback. She’s receptive, she listens, and she gives Ava just the right amount of sternness to keep her motivated and focused. Her moments of warmth are rare—it’s not that she’s cold per se, but more that she tries to stay as neutral as possible. Ava appreciates that about her. But right now, knowing that she reached out just to let Ava know that she’s available even if Ava isn’t paying her to be, Ava feels a wave of admiration.

Ava: thank you, suzanne. we have lots to talk about at our next session, for sure.

Suzanne: I look forward to it.

She smiles as she spits out her toothpaste, rinsing her mouth before moving onto the last two messages. They’re both from the same person—the one person that Ava was hoping to have messages from.

Beatrice: Hans told me he’s covering for you. He was very dodgy when I asked why. Is everything okay?

Her next text was sent two hours later.

Beatrice: Text me when you can, just so I know you’re alright. I’m here if you need me, regardless of what’s happening.

Her chest aches. Beatrice is so, so sweet. Ava despises how much of a mess she’s become in only a day.

She thinks about how Suzanne would encourage her to respond openly, to continue to let Beatrice in. Honestly, curse that woman for getting into her head so much that she’s analyzing everything she says and actively making an effort to be more open. It’s not like that’s the point of therapy, or anything.

(Of course it is. But Ava is choosing to be bitter about it at the moment.)

She looks at the time. Beatrice is probably home from work by now. She pictures her earlier in the day sitting at her table on her phone, sending those messages with that cute little concerned face she gets. All Ava can think is that she wants to hear her voice.

She hits the call button, pressing the phone to her ear as she sinks onto her bed, sprawling out on top and staring up at the ceiling.

Beatrice picks up on the second ring, “Hello?”

Ava closes her eyes and smiles, “Hey, Bea.”

“Ava,” Beatrice practically sighs out, like she didn’t have caller-ID and needed to hear Ava’s voice to be sure it was her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Bea. Promise,” Ava says. She knows she sounds tired. Crying for who knows how long by your mother’s ‘grave’ will do that to a person.

“Okay. Good,” There’s a tightness to her voice, the kind that Ava has learned is associated with worry. “I don’t want to pry… but…”

Ava hears her struggling to find a way to word her question, so she saves Beatrice the trouble, “No, I know… Today just kinda… took me by surprise. I almost forgot that… that the anniversary was today, until Hans reminded me he was covering my shift.”

Beatrice understands instantly what anniversary Ava is referring to, because of course she does, “...How are you doing?”

“I think…” Ava starts, taking in a slow breath. “I think I have a lot more unresolved feelings about her death than I initially thought.”

“That’s understandable, love,” Beatrice says gently. Ava’s heart swells at the pet name, which seems to slip out without thought as Beatrice is far too focused on Ava’s well-being to have a filter. “It’s okay to still be figuring it out.”

“I don’t know… I feel useless. Like I’m a broken record, or something. I have a lot of good things happening for me… this shouldn’t… I…”

“There’s no expectation that good things in your life should outweigh your mother’s passing. There’s no timeline on grief, Ava.”

Oh.

Ava pauses for a long time. Beatrice stays quiet, always ever-so patient with Ava.

“I’m sorry I made you worry all day. I didn’t mean to.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love.”

There it is again. Love. Ava wants to be held by her.

“I felt guilty for how happy I was yesterday, being with you. But I think my mom would’ve been relieved to see me smile so much,” Ava admits without thinking. What is this woman doing to her? Unknowingly encouraging her to be more open and vulnerable? What’s going on? She might as well not stop there… “I feel less guilty now. And I kind of wish you were here?”

“Would you like me to be?”

Ava doesn’t have to think twice about her answer, “Yes.”

Beatrice doesn’t either, “I’ll be there in ten.”

Chapter Text

Over a year ago…

The bus rattles uncomfortably as it comes to a stop. Ava glances out the window, looking first over the bus stop, then at the map she’s been traveling with. Confirming that this is where she’s supposed to get off, she flags the driver and starts to head to the front, passing by the few other passengers on board with nothing but her map and the backpack she’s had since she left the orphanage.

She thanks the driver as she climbs off, watching the doors close and the bus pull away before she truly takes in her surroundings.

The town is small, that much Ava can tell right away. The air is crisp—much more than it was in France—which can definitely be attributed to the mountains. Ava takes a deep, clean breath, smiling as she feels the sunlight on her face and glancing up past a building, seeing the peaks in the distance.

People wander by, some busier than others. A dog tries to tug in her direction as it walks by with its owner, and they apologize to her in German. A woman’s hat gets blown away by the breeze, and a man rushes by Ava to catch it for her. Someone else walks by on the phone, animatedly talking about something in German that Ava can’t quite understand.

Nobody pays her much mind. She likes it. Lifting her head higher, she grabs onto the straps of her backpack and takes a few leisurely steps down the sidewalk, keeping her eyes peeled for a place to grab lunch. She checks her wallet—she’s got just over two hundred francs, which should be plenty to keep her fed and housed until she can find a temporary job.

She takes her time looking for a hostel—she stops for a pastry, helps a woman struggling to juggle a massive box of old clothes for donation and a child, strolls through a dog park… And eventually, she decides it’s time to listen to her aching body. 

She gets directions from her waitress at a diner for the cheapest place to stay in town. She wanders over after she pays her bill, spotting it from afar. She feels her muscles grind as though to bring her to a stop, but she pushes against it. Only a little further.

She makes it to the door. She grabs the handle, pushes, then immediately feels the weight of something banging into the other side of the door along with a feminine grunt of surprise.

“Oh!” Ava says frantically, being forced to let go as the door is pulled open. She tries to piece an apology together in German, hoping she doesn’t fuck up the pronunciation, “ I’m sorry! I didn’t see you! ”

“It’s not a problem,” The woman says in English—British of some kind, if the accent is anything to go by. She seems frazzled, clearly not even realizing that she hadn’t replied in German. She hardly looks at Ava, her brown eyes focused heavily on the watch at her wrist. She brushes against Ava accidentally as she rushes past, knocking Ava a little off balance.

Rude.

Ava feels herself scoff as she turns to watch the woman rush off, glaring at the tight bun of brown hair on the back of her head. Something in the back of her mind switches with the sudden pain that the collision causes. The pricklings of her tired, damaged nerves suddenly feel like stabbings. It’s instantly draining. 

Ava wonders what kind of woman she must be.

(Over a year from now, she would be a woman Ava had forgotten, whom she wouldn’t recognize. She would be a woman that Ava would feel like she knew even when they were just strangers living out of the same hostel, even though they were completely unaware of each other. She would be a woman who’d wind up deciding—like Ava had—that there was something worth staying here for. She would be a woman who now feels like home to Ava.)

She books her room for a week, but she winds up extending her stay. She intentionally misses the bus that was supposed to take her out of town and off to the next place. She extends her stay even more, and more, and more… and finally decides she should probably look for an apartment and a long-term job. Intermittent odd jobs around town won’t sustain her, that’s for sure.

On the third day of her job search, she wanders into a small pub— Bar La Vasseur —for lunch. A tall man with curly brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and an apron is behind the bar, smiling warmly at a customer as he serves them. She takes a seat at the bar and waits patiently until he notices her.

He approaches with a smile, leaning casually against the bar and saying in German, “ Hi, how can I help you? ”

She returns his smile, “ Just a beer, please. Whatever your favorite is. ”

“ You got it, ” He pats the bar, stepping away momentarily. She notices the menu on the wall behind the rows of alcohol, glancing over it to try and decide what she wants to eat, when she notices a sign pinned to the wall just beside it— Help Wanted.

He sets a beer in front of her—something extremely German that Ava’s never seen before—and is about to walk away before Ava stops him, “Um, wait, please! Can I see an… an… ” She tries to think of the word, but she’s not sure how to say it in German, so instead she switches to English, “Application?”

“Ah!” He nods in understanding, reaching under the bar and pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen for her. He slides it across the counter, then says in English, “It is all in German, so let me know if you need help. You have experience?”

“Um… no?” Ava says with a shrug and a hopeful smile. “But I’m a quick learner. Would you believe I didn’t speak German until a few weeks ago? ” She switches back to German part way through her response, her pronunciation practically perfect. At this point, she’s just struggling to learn all the words—she’s got the grammatical structure down.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed, “ I wouldn’t. Quite impressive… ” He glances down at her application, where she’s already started filling in basic information, including her name, “ ...Ava. I’m Hans. ” He holds a hand out for her to shake, which she takes with a polite, charming smile.

A few days later, she starts training. A week after that, she’s got an apartment secured. 

It’s only when she takes a seat on the floor of her living room, void of furniture, that she pauses long enough to consider how her mother would feel to see her so far away from home.

Even if the roots she’s setting aren’t permanent (who’s to say if they are, really), she hasn’t even been back to Portugal since before the accident. Not even after she left the orphanage when she became old enough. She takes the photo of her mother out now, running her fingers over its worn edges and wishing that she could come to visit Ava in her new apartment.

She looks out the window, over the street. It’s a beautiful place, really. Her mother would have loved it. She would have wanted Ava to fly free.

Ava has to believe that.

Chapter Text

When Beatrice arrives, she barely makes it through the door before Ava is in her arms.

One look at Beatrice and Ava’s done for—she’s bundled up in a soft sweater, her hair down and damp from a shower, with brown eyes full of warmth and care. She slips her arms around Beatrice’s waist when Beatrice opens her arms invitingly, pressing her cheek into the fabric of Beatrice’s sweater.

Beatrice holds her the way she’s always wanted to be held. One arm goes protectively around Ava’s back, her hand rubbing between Ava’s shoulder blades soothingly. The other comes to rest on the back of Ava’s head, her fingers running through Ava’s hair gently. Ava closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath—Beatrice smells like minty soap and night air, a combination that’s fresh and brings Ava closer to Earth.

“How was work?” Ava asks after several long, quiet minutes, her words sounding muffled with her cheek remaining smushed against Beatrice’s shoulder.

She feels Beatrice shift like she’s about to pull back, but Ava squeezes tighter. She gets the hint, staying in place and starting to sway them back and forth gently. She humors Ava’s question, even though she’d much rather talk about how Ava is doing, “It was fine, nothing out of the ordinary. I missed you there.”

“Well, duh. Hans isn’t as entertaining as I am,” Ava mumbles.

“Of course not,” She hears the smile in Beatrice’s voice. “Should we have a seat?”

Ava holds her for a few more seconds, not wanting to let go. She’s not used to feeling this needy. Finally, she nods, though she makes sure to hold onto Beatrice’s hand as they go to Ava’s couch. She lays her head down in Beatrice’s lap the moment the other woman has sat down.

Beatrice begins running her fingers through Ava’s hair, letting Ava get comfortable before she breaks the silence, “I’m perfectly content just existing with you, if that’s what you want. But if you want to talk about today… I’m here for that, as well.”

Ava stares at her coffee table, her own fingers subconsciously playing with a loose thread on Beatrice’s jeans. It’s weirdly comforting finding an imperfection, no matter how small—Beatrice always seems to have everything perfectly in order. She closes her eyes and focuses on Beatrice’s nails scratching her scalp, “I think… I’d like to talk.”

“Of course,” Beatrice says, all-ears for anything Ava has to say.

Ava takes a moment to gather her thoughts, “...Disappointing my mother has always been one of my biggest fears. I acknowledge that that’s extremely irrational, considering she’s… gone… but I’ve never had anyone else whose disappointment in me mattered, so my brain creates these ideas of what she would think of my life choices…

“I spent a lot of time today feeling guilty for letting my growing relationship with you distract me from my grief. It almost felt like I was betraying her memory? Which isn’t fair, because I know she would want me to be happy. She wouldn’t want me to sit there beating myself up about this. I know that, even if I couldn’t possibly have known the real her.

“So I guess I’m just… tired? It doesn’t feel like… like… I’ll ever be able to live with it. I don’t really grieve not having a father ‘cause I never knew him, but my mother… everything she did, I wanted to be a part of. And now… it’s like…” Ava closes her eyes, her hands fidgeting as she tries to piece together her words. “It’s like all that’s left of her is what happened to us.”

The anxiety of sharing something she’s never shared with anyone before runs through her body, and she realizes she’s breathing pretty heavily as she stops talking. Beatrice is still brushing her fingers through Ava’s hair gently, helping her to calm down. She waits a beat before speaking, her voice barely a whisper, “That can’t be all that’s left, love. You are here. You carry a bit of her with you, always.”

Ava turns her head to look up at Beatrice. She takes in her soft gaze—it’s full of warmth and a twinge of sadness, with a familiarity that anyone who’s grieved before would recognize instantly. Ava knows then that Beatrice isn’t just comforting her, she’s speaking from experience.

“...Bea?”

Beatrice strokes Ava’s cheek with her thumb, “Yes?”

“Do you… Do you dream about them?”

“Who, darling?”

“The people you’ve lost.”

Beatrice’s brown eyes stare down into Ava’s, her hand stilling as she’s caught off-guard. Ava almost starts to apologize and take the question back, but Beatrice nods, settling into a comfort that being seen by Ava seems to bring, “I have, yes. I still do.”

Ava isn’t sure how she’s even got more tears left in her, but she feels her eyes beginning to water once more, “How do you… make it hurt less?”

“Well,” Beatrice’s hand starts to move again, her fingers returning to combing through Ava’s hair. “I try to use it as a way to keep them in my mind. To not let myself forget how they were.”

“What if it’s only how things were in… in the end?”

“You mean…?” Ava knows Beatrice’s implication is about the accident. When Ava can only nod, worry flashes in those brown eyes, “Have you spoken to your therapist about it?”

Ah, yes. Ava’s biggest avoidance since she was introduced to broccoli at the orphanage. She hates that it’s only now after an emotionally exhaustive day that she can even verbalize anything to do with the pain surrounding her mother’s death. She wishes that she didn’t have such a blockage, piled so high and with little attention to structural integrity, that even the slightest shift meant things would crumble and it would feel like losing her mother all over again.

“No,” Ava says eventually, her voice small. And then, surprising herself, she adds, “I want to. But I haven’t.”

“Would it help you to tell me a little bit about it now?” Beatrice brushes a persistent piece of Ava’s hair back behind her ear for a third time, running her thumb gently along Ava’s temple in a way that makes Ava’s heart clench.

She’s startled by the sudden thought that yes, talking about her nightmares with Beatrice is not only something that she wants to do, but is also something that she isn’t sure she could stop herself from doing. She isn’t sure how, but she knows she’s come to wholly trust Beatrice in only a few months of knowing one another.

Slowly she nods, taking her time preparing herself to voice everything that’s haunted her for years and years. Then… she tells Beatrice about the nightmares.

It starts in darkness. She can hear traffic moving around her and the sound of her mother singing along to the car radio. She can feel the small stuffed tiger she’d gotten from a zoo they’d visited during their stay. It’s just the way Ava remembers it, and that feeling alone is enough to make her feel uneasy. The sinking feeling in her stomach is what stirs up the next part…

The flashes start. Ava sees a man on the corner with a bag of groceries, waiting patiently for the traffic to pass. There’s her mother’s hair, long and brown, blowing in the breeze from the open window. Her hands drum the steering wheel. A feather charm dangles from the rearview mirror, clinking against the plastic.

She sees the signs indicating a sharp turn is ahead, feeling her mother slowing the car to a reasonable pace… and then a truck rounds the corner.

It’s a wide, massive eighteen-wheeler, and it’s clear that they’ve overestimated how much room they’d have to make this turn. Her mother tugs the wheel, trying desperately to keep them on the road, but it’s too narrow and the hill is steep. Everything after that moves by in a blur, so sudden but so distinguishable…

The burning and screeching of rubber on pavement.

Tumbling so intense that her seatbelt can’t keep her in place.

Broken glass.

Her bones being crushed.

Her throat aching from all the screaming that’s inaudible over it all.

The car horn, loud and continuous and unending as her mother’s cheek digs into it against the steering wheel.

The side of her mother’s face, angled just so that she can see the lifeless look in her eyes and the blood spilling from the massive wound in her head.

And Ava, only seven, paralyzed in the back seat…

As Ava finishes describing the nightmare, she feels Beatrice lift a hand to wipe tears from her cheeks. Ava tucks closer to her, taking a few beats to shake away the flashes of memory before adding, “It’s been less frequent over the years, but… it’s still just as vivid.”

“It’s a difficult thing to forget,” Beatrice says softly. “May I ask… have you been able to think about your mother without thinking of the accident? Do you have space to simply remember her how she was?”

“I don’t know… how. ”

“That’s alright, love. All in your own time,” Beatrice reaches for Ava’s hand, linking their fingers and giving a supportive squeeze. “Is there… any particular reason you haven’t spoken to your therapist about it?”

“Normally when I try, it’s like…” Ava searches for the words, feeling her throat close up as it has so many times before with Suzanne. She locks eyes with Beatrice, seeing her support and care for Ava, and she manages to push past it. “It’s like the feeling to escape takes over, and I… I just avoid it at all costs. Talking about my chronic pain always seems easier, and I think to myself, ‘next time, I’ll talk about it next time.’ But I never do, ‘cause I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. You suffered a trauma and your brain is going to work extremely hard to protect you from it—that’s just human nature,” Beatrice says sternly but with kindness. “It’s easier to give in to the urge to avoid the pain. But you’ve already taken the step towards the difficult part just by asking me to come over after the day you’ve had, and by telling me all of this.”

Ava stares up at her, feeling so much emotion overwhelm her all at once as she takes in Beatrice’s words. She can’t even distinguish most of it, but the forefront of it is pure affection for the woman in front of her. Never in her life has she felt so unequivocally cared for, never in her life has someone truly listened to what she had to say (for free— Suzanne doesn’t count). Her feelings for Beatrice wash over her like a tidal wave, and she lifts herself partially out of Beatrice’s lap, reaching up with both hands to cup Beatrice’s face and pull her in so they meet halfway.

As she kisses Beatrice softly, she finds herself thinking that no, her mother would not have wanted her to spend the days surrounding the anniversary absolutely miserable in her memory. She would have wanted Ava to be close to the people she’s come to hold dear. She would have wanted to be celebrated, not grieved. She would have wanted Ava to be happy.

And… Beatrice makes her happy.

When she pulls back, she presses her forehead against Beatrice’s and keeps her eyes closed, her fingers playing with the hairs on the back of Beatrice’s neck, “...Will you stay here tonight?”

Beatrice kisses the corner of her mouth, “Of course, love.”

—

When Ava wakes up, there’s an arm slung around her waist holding her tightly and a warm body pressed against her backside.

A glance at the clock tells her that it’s not the ass crack of dawn—AKA the time Ava had previously assumed Beatrice was out of bed every morning. That means one of two things—either she’s stayed in bed for Ava’s sake, or that was another mistaken assumption on Ava’s part. When she stirs slightly and feels Beatrice kiss the back of her neck in response, she’s fairly certain it’s the former. She can’t help but smile and snuggle further into Beatrice, her fingers finding Beatrice’s at her waist and linking them together.

Everything in her aches a little more than usual—likely the result of a long day spent in emotional and somewhat-physical distress. She tries not to let it impact her morning with Beatrice, but eventually she has to give in and reach for some of her pain medication. The piercing pain that stabs its way up her arm at the movement is enough to encourage her to take a second pill to try and beat it back more quickly.

“Is everything alright?” Beatrice asks, her voice gravelly with sleep. Ava can’t wait to hear her morning voice a lot more often, because holy shit, it’s attractive.

She turns around in Beatrice’s arms so she can see her, taking in the cute way Beatrice looks at her like she’s the sunrise. She smiles and kisses Beatrice’s cheek, wrapping an arm around Beatrice’s waist and snuggling into her chest, “Yeah, m’good.”

She feels Beatrice kiss the top of her head, “Good.”

She can’t believe Beatrice is still here. A thought from what feels like forever ago—on the day that Ava realized Beatrice isn’t the worst person ever and is actually quite the opposite—echoes in her mind:

She stayed, she stayed, she stayed…

Even after last night, Ava couldn’t help the fear that she would wake up alone. Ava no longer knows what it feels like not to fear losing the people she’s come to care about. It’s a fear that she knows should be addressed, that she feels much more comfortable attempting to address. And for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t want to suppress it. She wants to embrace it.

That echoing thought slips past her lips, “You stayed.”

“Why would I leave? You’re so cozy,” Beatrice says cutely, clearly teasing but also maintaining an air of honesty. “And I wanted to make sure you’re alright. Are you?”

“That’s a loaded question with a high probability of making my head implode if I consider it for too long,” Ava says in partial jest. “But right now? I’m mostly just thinking that I’m really glad you’re here. So yes, I’m alright.”

“Good. I won’t make you risk potential implosion by thinking about it further. Instead, I have a very serious question.”

“Oh, boy. What is it?”

“...What would you like for breakfast?”

—

The next day, Ava goes to her therapy appointment.

She and Suzanne sit in silence for the first five minutes as Ava works out the best way to say everything she needs to say. She goes over the few lines she’d brainstormed in the past few hours, but it all suddenly feels wrong. She can tell Suzanne wants to ask a million questions, but can sense that Ava is trying to work up to this on her own and would rather leave Ava to take that step on her own.

She thinks about Beatrice’s words. She thinks about the feeling in her chest that hasn’t gone away since the other night—that living in this isolated and one-hundred percent avoided part of her life is no longer sustainable. That no matter how scary it seems, she needs to take this step out of respect for the memory of her mother. She needs to take this step to take care of herself.

And then, with a nervous breath, she exhales, “Let’s talk about the nightmares.”

Chapter Text

Her session with Suzanne is surprisingly… productive. Ava leaves feeling lighter than she has in quite some time. She feels a sense of pride for herself and her progress, which is more than she can say for her entire therapeutic journey thus far.

She takes her time walking to Bar La Vasseur from Suzanne’s office, making a pit stop on a park bench to let herself be alone for a few minutes with her emotions. It’s something she and Suzanne had been working on even before today’s session—Ava allowing herself to feel what she’s feeling in its entirety. Learning to cope isn’t a linear process, and anything that can be done to add rationality and to help Ava feel grounded is a good step to take.

Eventually, she feels okay. Eventually, all she wants is to go see Beatrice.

She gears up to stand, continuing on her way. She smiles at the sky, thinking to herself that its limitless boundaries feel more accessible to her than they did before.

Beatrice isn’t at her table when Ava steps inside Bar La Vasseur. She sees Hans chatting with a regular behind the bar, enjoying the slow hours. He waves when he notices her, stepping away to greet her as she approaches the bar, “ Ava! Here for a drink? ”

“ Not quite, ” Ava replies, stepping up onto her toes so she can lean her forearms on the bar. “ Is Bea here? ”

His expression shifts to something mischievous and all-knowing and she absolutely wants to punch him for it. She would, if she could reach him. He wriggles his eyebrows, “ She is, indeed. She’s doing inventory upstairs. ”

“ Don’t look at me like that. Go back to making your little drinks, ” Ava glares playfully, unable to stop herself from smiling as she begins to head for the stairs. He laughs and returns to work, taking far too much delight in Ava’s blush for Ava’s taste.

The stairs take her a minute to get up, but eventually she reaches the top. When she doesn’t immediately see Beatrice, she takes a few steps towards the shelves in the back, following the sound of a box being torn open.

When she steps in view of Beatrice, she can’t help but smile. Her hair is in a loose bun, several whisps brushing her face as she shelves several bottles of gin. She’s wearing one of Ava’s large hoodies—the one she’d borrowed the other day. She looks all concentrated and serious with her clipboard and pen, hardly looking up but still seeming to notice Ava’s presence.

“ Did you need something, Hans? ” She finishes writing something down before she actually looks up, the double-take she does making Ava’s smile widen. “Ava!” Suddenly, the seriousness on her face evaporates and she’s grinning, stepping around several boxes and abandoning her clipboard to get closer.

“Hi,” Ava reaches a hand out, waiting patiently until Beatrice gets through the maze of boxes to grab her hand and pull her closer. She clasps both of Beatrice’s hands and lets them dangle by their waists, standing so their fronts are almost entirely pressed against one another. She tilts her head up to look at Beatrice with a cute grin, glad to be close to her.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you until tonight,” Beatrice is smiling, but Ava definitely senses a bit of worry behind her eyes, too. Naturally, she’d known about Ava’s intended subject matter for today’s therapy session. Naturally, she’s worried that Ava’s shown up at work because she’s veering towards another spiral. “How did everything go today?”

“Good. Things went good,” Ava says honestly, watching Beatrice relax. “I just wanted to say hi, so… hi. ” She looks at Beatrice’s lips pointedly, seeing more than hearing the hi that she whispers back before she pushes up onto her toes to kiss her.

When she lowers herself back down, Beatrice looks like she’s forgotten entirely about where they are and that she was, in fact, working less than a minute ago. She releases one of Ava’s hands so she can brush a bit of hair behind Ava’s ear, her thumb smoothing over Ava’s cheek, “I like that.”

“The kiss? I mean, I have been told my mouth is life-changing, so.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes in amusement, “That, too. But I was referring to you visiting just because.”

“Well, get used to it if you’re gonna keep refusing to take a day off,” She brings her arms up to wrap them around Beatrice’s shoulders, kissing Beatrice again just because she wants to. “How else am I supposed to see you outside of when I’m also working?”

“I think Hans can manage without me every once in a while,” Beatrice says. “I’d like to spend time with you when the sun is still in the sky.”

“What if… you started today?” Ava says cutely, trying to sound enticing. “I’m not saying now, but… in a bit, around happy hour? We can have drinks, maybe dance a bit…” 

“Would you like that?”

“I would very much like that, yes.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Ava grins and kisses her twice more, “Do you want help with shelving stuff?”

“On your day off? Nonsense,” Beatrice dismisses. “Go sit downstairs, have Hans make you a drink.”

“What if I wanna sit here and watch you work? Lifting all those heavy boxes,” Ava gives Beatrice’s bicep a playful squeeze, but the toned feeling under her fingers makes her blush and gives her away.

“If you insist, ” Beatrice smiles knowingly. Ava lets her step away to get back to work, pulling up the rolling chair from Beatrice’s desk so she can continue to stay close. She does a few spins for her own amusement, earning a small chuckle from Beatrice.

She asks Beatrice about how work has been, opening up an easy dialogue between the two of them. She can’t help but think to herself that she feels happy sitting here, in the presence of the girl she likes, even after a particularly straining therapy session. 

It feels like progress. It feels good. 

She feels good.

Several unpacked boxes later, happy hour hits. Ava lets Beatrice inform Hans of her plan to take the night off, and watches him grin and start pouring shots without another word for the both of them. They order and eat burgers from the kitchen, and by the third or fourth shot they finally migrate over to the dance floor.

“I’ve never danced before!” Beatrice calls over the music and chatter—the bar had steadily been filling up over the course of the past hour. There’s a pretty flush in her cheeks, and a glow in her eyes that is incredibly hypnotizing.

Ava gives the hand she’s holding a squeeze as they come to a stop in the middle of the floor, “That’s okay, I’m not very good! I just want to be close to you.” Beatrice blushes, letting Ava guide her hands to her waist as she starts moving to the beat. She loops her arms around Beatrice’s shoulders, singing along to the song that’s playing and trying her best not to step on Beatrice’s toes in the process.

Ava feels Beatrice start to loosen up, feeling out the rhythm and gaining a bit of confidence. She pulls Ava closer against her, smiling an uncharacteristically loose, carefree smile that only Ava seems to be able to bring out. Ava feels like she’s in a dream the longer they dance—Beatrice seems to be surrounded by an angelic glow (probably courtesy of the alcohol), and the added bonus of letting her hair down sends Ava’s heart soaring. Ava can’t look at anything else—she wouldn’t want to, regardless.

She wonders what Beatrice sees when she looks at her. She hopes Beatrice finds her angelic, too.

Sometime later, when Ava is out of breath and not even the alcohol can push back the ache in her bones, she grabs Beatrice’s hand and pulls her out of the crowd. Beatrice follows her obediently, smiling widely at Hans as they approach the bar. Ava waves to him and he pours them two more, which they then clink together and knock back.

Beatrice giggles as she sets the glass down, reaching out to keep Ava close to her, “I’ve never done anything like this in my life. ”

“Are you having fun?”

“More than I ever have. Is that sad?” Beatrice asks, admiring the way Ava’s hair has begun to curl at the ends from the heat and sweat of the dance floor. 

“You’re talking to the girl who’s idea of a crazy night used to be popping an R rated movie into the TV and hoping one of the nurses didn’t do a check-in until it was over,” Ava jokes. “So no, it’s not sad.”

“Ah, so you’ve always been questioning authority. Good to know,” Beatrice teases.

“Yep, I’m pretty sure my mom told me once that my first word was ‘no,’” Ava says easily, surprising herself. She can’t remember the last time—or any time since the accident—that she casually brought her mother up in conversation. Where it didn’t make her sad to do so. If Beatrice notices, she doesn’t draw attention to it. Ava is grateful.

“I believe it.”

As Ava smiles and opens her mouth to say something else, she shifts slightly, feeling a spark of pain slide so sharply down her spine that she sees stars. She grabs onto Beatrice’s forearm but tries to keep her expression from changing, then glances back towards the restrooms. She can feel Beatrice gearing up to express concern, but she just keeps smiling, “I’m gonna use the restroom real quick. Save my seat?”

Beatrice looks like she wants to come with, but she decides against it, “Of.. course. I’ll be right here.”

She makes her way through the crowd, stumbling slightly but trying to keep her eyes on the prize. A mantra of ‘not now, why now?’ echoes in her mind as she fumbles with the door. As soon as she gets inside, she locks the door behind her and leans against the sink for support.

Ava scrambles in her pockets, finding two of her pills and popping them both. She splashes her face with cold water from the sink, relishing in the way it helps dampen some of the fire piercing her nerves.

Everything else is good. Therapy was hard, but good. She’s been with Beatrice for most of the day, which has her ecstatic. So why now? Why can’t she have this one day without her body getting in the way? Why can’t she just drink and dance with the girl she likes?

If Beatrice knew she wasn’t just in here peeing, would she even want this? Being with Ava means dealing with the days that she can’t get out of bed. It means days with canceled plans, unexpected changes of schedule, uncertainty, and interruptions. It means hospital visits and doctors and therapy galore. It means that they can’t be a normal couple.

These thoughts are new to Ava—she’s never wanted someone the way she wants Beatrice, and wanting someone this way means considering what comes after the honeymoon. It means protecting herself from an inevitable ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ when Beatrice decides this isn’t worth it. 

But… Beatrice stayed.

She stayed after the hospital visit. She stayed after Ava changed her mind about having sex. She stayed after Ava cried for hours about her mother. And when Ava steps out of the bathroom, she sees that Beatrice is still right where she left her, saving Ava’s barstool.

She stayed…

She looks beautiful—wavy brown hair framing her face, cheeks flushed with the alcohol and dancing, eyes sparkling as she talks to Hans over the bar. He’s poured them two more drinks, and she’s got her hands delicately wrapped around both, hers sipped back a bit while Ava’s sits waiting for her.

Her heart clenches. What the fuck is she even thinking? Beatrice is here right now doing things she’s never done before simply because Ava asked her to be. This is not something to hyperfixate on, at least not now. Save it for when you’re sober, Silva.

It’s when she’s some ten feet away, trying to move around a large man sloppily making out with his partner, that she sees Beatrice being approached. The woman looks about their age, with dark skin, a charming smile, and a nose ring. She slinks into Ava’s seat (bitch), and even goes as far as to reach for Ava’s drink. Ava doesn’t miss the way Beatrice pulls it back protectively, looking at the woman in confusion.

Ava makes it over just in time to hear the tail end of the woman’s greeting, “...thought it looked inviting. Are you sure it’s not for me?” She bats her eyelashes, because of course she does. Ava has never had a desire to commit murder before, but she thinks this must be it.

Beatrice blinks, “It’s actually for–”

“Her girlfriend, ” Ava slides in right between them, effectively blocking Beatrice from this woman’s sight. Ava’s smile is full of ice, backed up from the pain she’s been attempting to suppress, “Can we help you?”

“Oh! Um,” The woman looks caught off guard, glancing behind Ava at Beatrice, then back at Ava. “My apologies, I didn’t… realize… pardon me.” She slinks away, disappearing into the crowd. 

Ava feels instant relief, sighing happily and turning around, plopping back down into her seat. The ache in her body is already feeling lighter, both from the alcohol and her pills. She grins at Beatrice, reaching for the drink, “You get this for me?”

Beatrice pulls it back from Ava, a teasing glint in her eye, “No. I got it for my girlfriend, apparently.”

Ava is sure she would have done a spit-take if she’d had any liquids in her mouth. Had she said that? She feels the panic from not even a few minutes ago returning, bubbling in her chest. She tries to play it off, “Har-har. Hand it over, hot stuff.” She thinks she sees disappointment flash in Beatrice’s eyes, but it’s quickly covered up as she gives up the charade, sliding the glass towards Ava with a smile.

Oh. Oh, shit. Did she just fuck up? Ava has never felt more confused in her life. One minute, she’s in the bathroom having an existential crisis about how this woman could even want to date her, the next she’s calling her her girlfriend in front of a stranger, and now she’s completely backtracking on that and Beatrice is disappointed, and–

“Is everything okay?” Beatrice interrupts her thoughts, now appearing to have moved on from the whole ordeal. She glances over Ava’s shoulder, back towards the restroom, and Ava instantly knows she’s only concerned for Ava’s physical comfort. 

Ava continues to play off her inner turmoil, “Yeah, just had to pee.”

Beatrice seems to buy this, settling back into her seat and taking another sip of her drink. Ava practically chugs her drink if the rate it vanishes is anything to go by, tugging Beatrice back onto the dance floor and pulling their bodies flush before she can have another spiraling collection of thoughts.

—

Beatrice walks her home like a perfect gentlewoman.

Despite every bone in Ava’s body wanting to jump Beatrice’s, at a certain point she reaches a level of drunk where she loses awareness, and there’s not much she can do beyond letting Beatrice guide her gently into bed. The last thing she registers is the soft press of Beatrice’s lips on her forehead before she falls asleep, smiling into her pillow.

—

Ava wakes with the worst fucking headache of her life—and that’s saying something, really, because many of her days are spent in pretty intense pain.

She’s fairly sure she knows the root of it as she glances at the loose pills on her bedside. She’s seen the big bad warning label on her bottle about mixing them with alcohol, but she simply… hadn’t been thinking.

(That’s not true, she had been thinking—about not wanting this chronic nuisance in her nerves to interrupt her time with Beatrice.)

She heavily debates leaving them be for a little longer, at least until she’s sure the alcohol is out of her system, but she turns her head and the light from her window makes the pounding ten times worse and she can’t stop herself. As she reaches for a pill, she notices a handwritten note tucked under a glass of water that hadn’t been there before. She pops the pill, using the water to swallow it back as she reads the note.

Ava,

I thought about staying, but you were very out of it by the time we got back, so I thought I’d play it safe and head home for the night. I had a lovely time with you, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Beatrice

She smiles softly at the slip of paper, folding it up and holding it against her chest. She picks up her phone next, sending a text.

Ava: i had a lovelier time :)

Beatrice: Impossible.

Ava giggles and sets her phone aside, slowly pushing herself out of bed and starting her day. 

It’s when she’s pouring a bowl of cereal for herself that her mind starts to wander. Now that she’s sober, she can feel her brain trying to rationalize her fears about dating Beatrice, but there’s something foreign clouding her mind that pushes the rationalities away. A feeling builds in her chest, that this relationship with Beatrice is only temporary. That despite everything, Beatrice will eventually fall in line with everyone else in Ava’s life and decide that Ava isn’t worth the extra effort.

For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t want to run from the feeling. She doesn’t want to avoid talking about it. But she knows there’s only two people in town that she’d feel comfortable discussing it with. 

She searches for the support group groupchat that she’d very cleverly renamed ‘thursday fuckers’ and sends a text before she can second-guess herself.

Ava: sos

Ava: i may… desire… advice…

Ava: are you guys free for coffee?

Michael: Sure, Ava. When?

Ava: asap

Lilith: If you insist.

She glances up at the chat previously. The only four other messages are the three of them typing out their full name so everyone could have them for their contacts, and a ‘hang in there’ picture of a kitten that Ava sent and then proceeded to make the groupchat profile picture.

It almost makes her wonder if this is a bad idea. They’re not friends, not really. But they’re the only two people who understand what Ava’s going through with this, and she’s not sure that talking to Suzanne would be much help. Besides, this is why Suzanne started the support group, right?

Ava arrives at the cafe before either of the others, ordering herself a coffee and taking a seat at a table just outside in the sunlight. Lilith arrives first, waving politely as she goes inside to order. She comes out with two drinks, setting one in front of herself and the other where Michael will likely sit. 

When Ava looks at her confused, Lilith shrugs, “The stairs into the shop. I’ve been seeing him use his forearm canes more often lately. Thought this would be helpful.”

Speaking of, Ava hears the familiar clack.. clack.. clack.. of the canes, turning her head and seeing Michael as he approaches. He’s looked better, that’s for sure. Ava hasn’t seen him since their last group therapy session, but she remembers him mentioning that his legs have been giving him problems lately. 

He sees the coffee waiting for him and smiles as he carefully sets his canes aside and lowers himself into the chair, “Much appreciated, whoever got this.”

“Not a problem,” Lilith nods curtly. “You only take cream, right?”

“Yes. Thanks for remembering.”

“Sure.”

Ava watches their interaction, noting its simplicity and straightforwardness, and she suddenly realizes something, “Do you two, like… hang out?”

They glance at each other, then at Ava. Michael is the first to respond, “Sometimes. Our private sessions with Suzanne are back-to-back on Mondays.”

“Oh,” Ava suddenly feels very… left out.

Lilith reminds her why she hates support group, “So, why did we drag ourselves down here?” 

Michael clears his throat, noticing Ava’s clear distress. She watches them share a look—which is mostly scolding from Michael and mostly exasperation from Lilith—before she sighs and shakes her head.

She changes her tone, “What’s… wrong?”

She’s been doing that more often, Ava’s noticed—since Ava opened up a bit more about her hesitance regarding relationships. Like she’s realized Ava isn’t as much of a menace as she first seemed. 

(It’s a pattern, it turns out—Ava’s track from annoying inconvenience to lovable friend. She can almost hear Beatrice scolding her now, saying that Ava is always lovable, and that it’s the other person’s bias that initially gets in the way. It makes her feel warm, even though thoughts of Beatrice are currently her largest stressor.)

“Um, well,” Ava starts, leaning forward and fiddling with the cardboard sleeve her coffee cup is in. She stares at where she’s started to pull it back, revealing the glue underneath. “Remember the manager at the bar?”

“The one whose bones you want to jump?” Lilith asks, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you asked us here to tell us about another sex dream you had?”

Despite her tone, Ava can tell she’s teasing. Ava chuckles, seeing the corners of Lilith’s lips curl up, “No, no. It’s not about that. Though I did tell her how I feel, and we’ve kissed. A lot. ”

“That’s great, Ava,” Michael says, genuinely happy for her. When he clocks the dip of her brow, he tilts his head quizzically. “Isn’t it?”

“ Yeah, ” Ava agrees, though the sigh she lets out isn’t convincing. “It’s just… I mean… are you guys dating anyone?”

Lilith looks absolutely perturbed by the question, but Michael just smiles a little sadly, “I was, yes. For a long time. But… I broke up with him.”

“ You did?” Ava doesn’t mean for it to sound so pointed, but she can’t help her shock.

“I did, yes,” Michael shrugs.

“Why?”

“We weren’t compatible,” He says simply. “He preferred to stay out all night, I’d rather stay in with a book… He liked my hair long, I prefer it short… Why else?”

“Well, I mean…” Ava trails off.

“Are you worried you and Beatrice aren’t compatible?” Michael asks instead when she continues to make random vowel sounds as she tries to scrape together an explanation.

“Well–”

“It’s because you’re abrasive and rash, isn’t it?” Lilith says quickly, feigning inquisition despite seeming like she knows the answers. “Or is it her height? Is she not tall enough for you? My guess is you like them tall.”

“She’s plenty tall–”

“Is it that you’re afraid she won’t like your stubbornness? Or that you sometimes chew with your mouth open?”

“ No, Lilith–”

“Well, what is it then? If she can put up with you, clearly she’s perfect–”

“She’s not disabled, okay?” Ava says loudly—maybe a little too loudly. The moment catches up with her and she finds that she’s breathing heavily, with her fingers digging into the wood of her chair. Both Michael and Lilith freeze, staring at her with uncertainty, until they both break and start laughing.

Ava, now upset, furrows her brow and looks between them with a frown, “What? What’s funny?”

“Sorry, Ava,” Lilith says, but she doesn’t sound apologetic. She’s still laughing as she asks, “But doesn’t she already know about your disability?”

“Well… yeah.”

“So… she’s openly expressed interest despite it?”

“...Yes.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Lilith rolls her eyes.

Michael interjects, “I think, what Lilith is trying to say–”

“–I’m saying that she’s being an idiot–”

“–Is that if your disability was a problem for Beatrice, don’t you think she would have kept things between you professional?” Michael ignores Lilith, now looking seriously at Ava as their laughter fully dies down.

“She knows, yes. But she doesn’t know, you know?” Ava says, trying to make it make sense and feeling like she’s absolutely failing. “What if down the line she decides it’s too much work to be with someone like me?”

“ Fuck that.”

“Lilith, that’s not productive, ” Michael scolds, doing his best Suzanne impression. It makes all three of them crack a smile. He looks back at Ava, “Look, Ava, I learned a long time ago that people are unpredictable. Things change, people change. But right now Beatrice wants you, yes?” Ava nods. “Then you have to keep living your life in that exploratory, carefree way I’m always so jealous of, alright? My advice… don’t be afraid to see where it goes.”

Ava smiles at him, the two of them sharing a moment. Why hasn’t she seen this before? How has she been ignoring this support for so long? She feels comfortable and seen, like–

“And my advice is to have sex with her as quickly as possible.”

And… there’s the Lilith she knows and loves, ruining the moment as per usual.

(Okay, “ruining” is a strong word. Plus, it was a little funny.)

“...Why?”

“Because you want her, Ava. Don’t fucking hold back. I almost did, and if I had, Camila and I would probably still be in the friend zone,” Lilith says simply, as if she’s not dropping a bomb on Ava that she’s apparently dating someone. “Be open. Be honest. Be vulnerable. Tell her about your insecurities and then have sex with her. I can sense the sexual frustration boiling under all this confusion you’ve been harboring.”

“ ...Camila? ”

“ That’s what you’re focusing on? Seriously?” Lilith rolls her eyes.

“You’ve never mentioned her!”

“Because she’s wonderful and there are other, more pressing matters I’d rather discuss in our sessions,” Lilith dismisses. “And you know what? She doesn’t give a flying fuck that I can’t use my upper body the same as most people. The way you talk about your Beatrice… I think she’d be the same.”

Ava knows she’s trying to redirect the conversation away from her personal life with talk of Beatrice, but she sees the slight blush on Lilith’s cheeks. It makes her smile, seeing that Lilith does have a heart beyond the vaguely emotionally intelligent responses she occasionally shares.

“You will be telling me more about Camila later. I’m not forgetting about this,” Ava warns playfully, sipping her coffee with a rejuvenated peace of mind.

“I bet,” Lilith shakes her head, but Ava sees it—a small, almost imperceptible smile. “So, have we resolved your relationship issue? Can we talk about something else now?”

Ava has to blink back her surprise. 

They want to… spend time with her? She looks between them, seeing Michael’s kind smile and Lilith’s expectant glower (with a slightly hidden mask of sincerity). She wonders if this has always been here—has it been Ava, so intent on avoiding her pain, that has kept this potential friendship at bay? She remembers a time earlier in their group sessions when Michael would invite her for drinks, or Lilith would mention an activity and Ava would wonder later if it had been Lilith’s attempt at an invite. She remembers after many declinations from Ava that they eventually stopped trying.

Now… It's Ava’s turn to try.

Ava smiles, “So… Camila?”

Lilith’s glare only makes Ava smile wider.

Chapter Text

The next day, Ava can’t keep her eyes off Beatrice.

She doesn’t even care that Beatrice looks up from her table and catches her more than a few dozen times. She’s shameless about it her entire shift, going through the motions of bartending and staring very intently. 

She’s been wanting to talk to Beatrice ever since she left the cafe yesterday afternoon. She wants to make sure that Beatrice knows that her dismissal of the ‘girlfriend’ label was an idiotic, drunken fluke and she absolutely wants that label. One-hundred percent. She’d meant to stay up until Beatrice left work, but she’d fallen asleep sometime around 8pm (absolutely lame, all things considered). 

So now, here she is, pining at work. How can she not? Beatrice looks radiant in her tshirt and trousers, occasionally smiling up at Ava with that gentle look in her eyes. Like, fuck.

“ Are you going to stare at her hopelessly the entire shift, or…? ” Hans trails off, pulling her attention away from Beatrice. He’s smiling at her with a ridiculous glint of mischief. Ava punches his arm.

“ Shut it. ”

He laughs and asks seriously, “ Things are going well, then? ”

Ava could keep pretending that what’s going on between her and Beatrice isn’t true, the same way she has every time he teases her about it. She knows he doesn’t believe her (she wouldn’t believe her either), but something about pretending it’s not real has become incredibly unappealing. So, she finally gives in, “ She’s wonderful, Hans. ”

He smiles, “ Happiness looks good on you. ”

“ Woah. You think I didn’t look happy before? ”

“ I think that you were all too comfortable with your solitude, ” Hans corrects with a pointedness in his tone. “ You had convinced yourself that it was the best way for you to live. ”

“ You’re too observant. Would you mind pretending not to notice a thing about me from now on? ” Ava says, mostly joking. “ It’s kind of creepy. ”

“ I can’t help that I’ve worked with you for over a year. Do you know how many hours a week I spend standing beside you in this bar? ” He says, playing along with faux-defensiveness. “ More than I get to see my girlfriend, that’s for sure. ”

“ Tell her to work here, ” Ava teases, smiling wide as she leans against the counter. “ Then you can stare at her all day.”

“ That’s not a bad idea, ” He replies. “ If only she wasn’t so happy with her non-profit. ”

“ Dude, non-profit? Is anything about your life impure? ”

He shrugs playfully before he goes to intercept a customer approaching the bar, ready to take their order. Ava quickly looks back at Beatrice, who is typing very seriously on her laptop. She’s got an adorable crinkle in her brow as she concentrates, and all Ava can think is that she wants to kiss it away.

She pulls out her phone and sends a text.

Ava: you’re cute

Beatrice immediately stops typing when she sees Ava’s name light up on her phone beside her. She picks it up to inspect further, and Ava watches as the crinkle in her brow disappears almost immediately. She smiles, looking up at Ava and shaking her head when she sees the adorable way Ava has propped her head in both hands, watching patiently for Beatrice’s reaction.

Beatrice: You’re cute, too.

Beatrice: I’ve noticed you watching me.

Ava: oh, really? i thought i was being subtle

Beatrice: Sure, subtle. Let’s go with that.

Beatrice: But I’m incredibly perceptive.

Ava, who had been sneaking over to Beatrice’s table throughout the text exchange, suddenly slides into the chair beside Beatrice, “ So perceptive, Bea.”

Beatrice nearly jumps out of her skin, setting her phone aside and looking at Ava with wide eyes, “You’re impossible.”

Ava chuckles and intentionally brushes her leg against Beatrice’s under the table, “But you like me anyway.” If Beatrice is bothered by the touching, she doesn’t say anything. Ava knows that anything above the table would be a step too far for the workplace though, so she (mostly) keeps her hands to herself. And her lips, even though they really want to kiss Beatrice’s. She hesitantly touches Beatrice’s hand under the table, “You wanna come over later?”

Beatrice gives a small nod, glancing at Ava’s lips briefly, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Ava smooths her thumb over Beatrice’s knuckles before she pulls back, standing from the seat and slowly backing up. She adds ironically, “Keep doing your manager-y stuff. You’re so easily distracted, Bea, god. ”

“Only when it comes to you, Ava.”

Well. Ava wasn’t expecting her to be sweet about it. She frowns, “You’re making it difficult for me to get back to work. Do you want Hans to collapse and die from overworking?”

Beatrice glances over Ava’s shoulder, “I think… he’ll manage.” Ava looks over—he’s laughing with one of the regulars, leaning casually against the bar.

Ava turns back to Beatrice, “He’s clearly swamped, Bea. I don’t think he’ll survive.”

“If you say so,” Beatrice is grinning now. “You know more about the trials and tribulations of being a bartender than I do.”

Ava holds her hands up in a ‘what can I say?’ gesture that only makes Beatrice smile wider. She finally breaks and smiles back, nearly stumbling into someone as she struggles to exchange watching Beatrice for watching her path.

Later, when the bar is closed and Ava and Hans are cleaning up, she starts feeling nervous.

She’s never had a relationship talk before. Most of her anxiety isn’t that Beatrice will say no, but instead surrounds the anticipation of leading up to the conversation. How does she bring it up? She thinks it would be weird if it’s the first thing she mentions when they walk through the door, but then again waiting might be awkward, too.

There’s the added factor that she really wants to have sex with Beatrice. And if the way Beatrice has been looking at her all day is anything to go by, she’s caught that vibe from Ava and she certainly feels the same. It’s a really distracting thing for Ava to notice, because now how is she possibly supposed to have the relationship conversation first, when she would really rather jump Beatrice (consensually) the moment they walk in the door?

As she, Hans, and Beatrice are headed out the front door, Hans takes the initiative to pull out his keys to lock the door. Ava reaches subconsciously for Beatrice’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Her eyes are on Hans as she gives him a small smile and waves with her free hand, “ Goodnight, Hans. ”

“ Get home safe, you two, ” He nods his head, walking off in the direction of his car. 

When she looks back at Beatrice, the woman is smiling at her. Ava pretends to be chill about it, when really that softness will probably always make her insides melt, “What?”

Beatrice squeezes her hand and shrugs, “Nothing.”

By the time they reach Ava’s apartment, Ava realizes neither of them has said anything the entire walk here. She wonders what Beatrice is thinking in that pretty head of hers—if she finds the silence as comfortable as Ava does.

She decides she’ll wait to investigate about that until some other time.

When the elevator door closes them in, Ava immediately steps closer to Beatrice. She lets go of Beatrice’s hand, instead reaching for the lapels of her leather jacket. She grabs on, tugging Beatrice gently towards her until her back is pressed against the wall and Beatrice is standing over her, their fronts pressed together. She braces a forearm on the wall by Ava’s head, and it’s such a hot gesture that Ava simply can’t stop herself from pushing up onto her toes to press a searing kiss to Beatrice’s lips.

It feels like an eternity that they make out just like that, with Beatrice settling her other hand onto Ava’s waist and Ava sighing happily as her lips part. She can hear the distant dinging as the elevator passes several floors, but neither of them really realize when it stops on Ava’s floor until the doors are starting to close again.

“Mmm—Bea, door,” Ava’s hands have slipped past the lapel and into Beatrice’s jacket, feeling along her sides through the fabric of her tshirt. Beatrice blinks before realizing what’s happened, frantically moving to stick her leg into the door to keep the door from closing. It halts and reopens, the two of them giggling as they move out into the hallway.

Ava kisses Beatrice again before getting her keys out, getting so distracted by the feeling of Beatrice standing so close behind her that she tries using her key to the bar at least twice before she realizes it’s the wrong key.

The second the door closes, Ava tugs Beatrice back to mimic their position in the elevator, except now as her hands slip under Beatrice’s jacket it’s with the intention to remove it. Beatrice shrugs it off her shoulders, tossing it uncharacteristically off to the side without a care. Ava feels along the edges of Beatrice’s tshirt, lifting it slightly so she can slide her hands in and feel Beatrice’s skin.

She barely registers Beatrice guiding her over towards her kitchen island until she’s being lifted onto it. Beatrice swipes something out of the way to make room for Ava—maybe her grocery list and a few pens, if the clattering is anything to go by—and she slides easily between Ava’s legs. Ava pulls back long enough to look down at Beatrice, finding that doing so makes a rush of heat so intense flow through her that she lets out a small moan.

“You’re so hot,” Ava can’t stop herself from saying. “Why aren’t you wearing less clothing?”

“I could say the same of you,” Beatrice smirks up at her—fucking smirks —and then proceeds to pull her tshirt directly over her head with no warning. Ava’s brain suddenly can only alternate between boobs abs boobs abs. She reaches her fingers out to touch, but Beatrice stops her with nothing but a look. “First…”

She reaches for the buttons on Ava’s shirt, slowly undoing them as she leans up to kiss down Ava’s neck. Ava arches into it, gripping the counter on either side of her so tightly that she’s convinced she could tear the granite straight off any moment now, “Mmm, Bea…”

Beatrice undoes the final button, helping Ava shrug her shirt off her shoulders. Ava tilts her head back and closes her eyes as she feels Beatrice suck just above her collarbone, teeth brushing over Ava’s skin lightly. She lets out a quiet whimper when Beatrice’s fingers shift to the clasp of her bra, “May I?”

“Oh, please,” Ava sighs out, feeling more impatient than she’s ever felt in her entire life—which is quite a feat, honestly, Beatrice should be proud of that one.

It’s off nearly a second later, Ava looking down just in time to watch the way Beatrice’s eyes rake over her skin unabashedly. She takes her own bra off with little regard, and Ava doesn’t even have time to take it in fully before Beatrice is kissing her neck again. Her hands brush lightly over Ava’s chest, immediately making her nipples harden as a shudder passes through her.

“Beautiful…” She whispers against Ava’s skin as she kisses lower and lower.

“Fuck,” Ava arches into the other woman, trying to feel more of her skin. Beatrice complies to Ava’s silent request, pulling back only long enough to lift her head and kiss Ava’s lips, so that their fronts are pressed against one another.

Beatrice holds her close and bites her lip, smoothing back over it with her tongue. Ava opens her mouth instinctually and invitingly, another wave of heat rushing over her body when their tongues brush. She doesn’t know where this sudden confidence of Beatrice’s has come from—whether that be from their shared confession after the last time they reached this point, or because Ava is just too enticing—but she’s loving it.

Ava reaches up to comb her fingers through Beatrice’s hair, tugging lightly and drawing a moan out of the other woman. It’s a wonderful sound that makes Ava somehow even more impatient than she already was, her hips shifting against her will. Beatrice’s response is immediate, her hands going to Ava’s thighs and encouraging her to grab on. She feels herself being lifted, and honestly thank god for all of that aikido because being carried to bed by the woman she’s been fantasizing about is fucking everything.

They stop kissing so Beatrice can navigate, Ava laughing as she tightens her grip around Beatrice’s shoulders and buries her face in Beatrice’s neck. It’s when she’s gently laid back onto her bed and she sees the soft way Beatrice is smiling down at her that her giggles fade away, everything in her brain being replaced only with thoughts like ‘I want you’ and ‘I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone.’

As Beatrice is starting to lean over her—which hello, Beatrice on top of her is simply the hottest thing—she must notice the shift in Ava’s eyes, because she pauses, “Everything okay, love?”

Oh, yes, everything’s fine. You’re just the most stunning person I’ve ever seen and I think I might be falling in love with you.

What actually comes out of Ava’s mouth is, “I want to be your girlfriend.”

She’s not sure what she expects Beatrice to do, but whatever it was, she certainly wasn’t expecting her to laugh. Like full-on, falling forward against Ava, laughing. Ava isn’t sure how to take it, so she just laughs a little nervously until Beatrice calms down and pushes herself up, hovering over Ava with a gorgeous smile, “That’s all?”

Ava’s brows furrow, “What do you mean, ‘that’s all’?”

“No, no,” Beatrice kisses her forehead, right over the crease that’s formed, instantly causing it to smooth away. “I was just worried you weren’t ready to go beyond kissing, yet. I didn’t want it to feel like I was pressuring you.”

“Oh, you’re not pressuring me. There’s not enough pressure, actually,” Ava shifts the implication, grabbing Beatrice’s waist and sliding her closer with a grin. “I want this. I want you. But I just didn’t want a repeat of the bar, you know? I need you to know that this isn’t just physical for me.”

“I know that,” Beatrice reassures. “I’d love nothing more than to call you my girlfriend, Ava.”

“Yeah?” Ava says shyly, reaching up and running her fingers through the hairs on the back of Beatrice’s neck.

Beatrice lets Ava slowly guide her down, the mood shifting back into place, “Yes, babe.”

“Call me that again,” Ava whispers against Beatrice’s lips, grinning ear to ear.

“Babe,” Beatrice whispers back, closing the distance. This kiss starts slower than the others, but it very quickly shifts when Ava feels Beatrice reach for the button of her jeans. 

She tries to make it easier for Beatrice to pull them off, lifting her hips slightly and thanking god that most of her jeans are a little too big. They’re gone moments later, forgotten somewhere across the room, and then Ava’s bare thighs are straddling Beatrice’s waist above her and she’s moaning into Beatrice’s mouth needily, “Touch me, Bea.”

Beatrice doesn’t need to be told twice. She runs her hands over Ava’s smooth skin, settling over Ava’s chest and giving both her boobs a squeeze. She brushes her thumbs over Ava’s already-hard nipples, then slides down Ava’s body to take one into her mouth. Ava arches into her, her thighs tightening at Beatrice’s waist as she searches for any kind of friction. Beatrice seems to understand (as always), because seconds later a thigh is slotted between Ava’s legs and she’s being encouraged to ride it. 

“Oh, fuck,” Ava gasps, her nails digging into Beatrice’s back.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” Beatrice says as she switches her mouth to Ava’s other nipple. “About you.”

“Same, sister,” Ava teases.

She pulls back, making Ava pout, “I’m not sure you’d like it if I was still bound by those vows.”

“I’m not sure you’d stick to them even if you were, ” Ava says smugly, hoping to elicit a reaction.

It works, because seconds later her hands are pinned on either side of her head, “You’re confident for someone who’s actively trying to get release on my thigh.”

“Can you blame me? You’re hot when you’re bossy,” Ava picks her head up, trying to distract Beatrice with another kiss. She wins for all of two seconds before Beatrice pushes her back and stands up straight, sliding off her pants and kicking them away. Ava lays stunned as she looks over Beatrice’s body greedily, “Oh…”

“Are you ready to behave, Ava?”

Oh, fuck. Ava likes that tone. Loves it, actually. Especially when Beatrice says her name like that, like she’s ready to devour. 

Ava nods slowly, watching as Beatrice crawls back on top of her. She looks deep into Ava’s eyes, and fuck, if the way Beatrice is looking at her doesn’t make her even more wet than she already was, the word she says next definitely does–

“ Good. ”

She kisses Ava in a sultry manner, and at first Ava thinks she’s slowing things down, but then she feels Beatrice’s hand touch the waistband of her briefs. It moves lower, fingers tracing over the fabric in a move that is entirely unfair. Ava squirms, trying to find more purchase, but Beatrice draws her hand back. Ava whimpers.

“Oh? Was there something you wanted?”

“ Bea. ”

“Yes, love?”

“Bea, please. ”

“Please what, Ava?”

“Fuck,” Ava tries to relax her body, but it’s like every time she moves even an inch she just feels how wet she is from the past thirty-some minutes, and probably way before that, too. Then, of course, there’s Beatrice’s raised eyebrow and knowing smirk. So fucking hot. She caves, “Please fuck me, Beatrice.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all,” Beatrice says, hooking her thumbs into either side of the waistband of Ava’s boxer briefs. Ava can tell they’re soaked through as Beatrice slides them down and off her legs, the wetness brushing faintly along her skin on the way.

Once they’re gone, Beatrice gives a little extra attention to Ava’s chest, her tongue brushing over a nipple as one of her hands glides along Ava’s stomach, then lower. Ava thinks she’s going to keep teasing, but then she feels two fingers slide through her folds, and they both let out completely unavoidable moans.

“Fuck, Ava, you’re so wet.”

Ava pants, “You used to… say your prayers with that mouth?”

“You really want to keep bringing up my history with the Catholic church? Right now?” Beatrice brushes over her clit to emphasize, causing Ava’s hips to jerk upwards involuntarily. Even if she wanted to, she’s no longer certain that her ability to form full sentences is within reach, so she shuts her mouth and looks up at Beatrice obediently.

Beatrice resumes a steady pace, circling Ava’s clit and kissing along her body. Ava feels reduced to mush already, unable to do anything other than moan and try and get as physically close to Beatrice as possible while not interfering with her work.

Just when she thinks the rhythm is set, she feels both of those fingers at her entrance before they swiftly pump inside. Ava grips the bedsheets on either side of her, “Holy shit.” She quickly adds, “That one was unintentional.”

“M-hmm,” Beatrice doesn’t stop, pumping her fingers without issue—and why would there be any issue, Ava’s fucking vagina is a goddamn river at this rate. 

She loves how comfortable she feels talking to Beatrice while she’s literally knuckles-deep inside of her. She can’t believe she was nervous for this, either—Beatrice has been nothing but honest and open since they started really getting to know one another. She hasn’t hid her feelings from Ava. She’s her girlfriend now.

(Which means that… Lilith was fucking right. No time to think about that right now, though.)

“Fuck,” Ava gasps as Beatrice picks up speed. “Bea, that’s so good. Please don’t stop.”

She can feel Beatrice looking at her, so she forces her eyes open (when did they even close?) and looks back into the other woman’s eyes. They no longer look brown, instead appearing much darker. Something about watching Beatrice as she fucks Ava makes everything feel heightened, and she swears it must be encouraging Beatrice as well because she adds her thumb into the mix, brushing it over Ava’s clit like that’s not going to drive Ava absolutely insane.

“I bet you’re absolutely stunning when you cum,” Beatrice breathes out. “Will you show me, Ava?” Ava moans, Beatrice’s words seeming to be the final push Ava needs to–

“Bea, I’m—I’m–” Ava clutches the sheets like her life depends on it, unable to even get the words out as her orgasm crashes over her like a fucking tsunami. Beatrice watches her all the way through, easing her down with slower, gentler thrusts until Ava slumps back, panting. “Fuck, Bea.”

“I was right. Stunning,” Beatrice kisses the center of her chest. “Think you can go again?”

Ava picks her head up, pouting, “What about you?”

“Oh, we’ve got all night, love,” Beatrice says slyly, smirking at Ava as she moves further and further down Ava’s body, until Ava can feel her breath ghosting over her clit. “I’d like to take my time with you, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, I don’t. Do whatever you’d like.”

Beatrice’s tongue is wet and hot and honestly, Ava isn’t going to last very long. She moans into Ava at the taste, and it’s such a startling and fucking amazing sensation that Ava’s fingers slide into Beatrice’s hair—it’s somewhat of a stabilizing move and also just because she’s noticed that Beatrice seems to like having her hair pulled, especially when it means Ava is enjoying herself.

Beatrice slowly and sensually licks up most of Ava’s cum, watching Ava with dark, intense eyes. Ava tries her best to maintain eye contact because it’s hot as shit, but eventually as Beatrice’s tongue starts to circle her clit, she’s so overcome with pleasure that her head sinks back into the mattress and her eyes roll back. She’s reduced to a panting, moaning mess as Beatrice picks up the pace, her tongue taking deliberate trips away from Ava’s clit every time her hand starts to clench in Beatrice’s hair and her moans reach a certain pitch. Beatrice wasn’t kidding about them having all night.

When Beatrice reaches a hand up to play with Ava’s nipples, she practically whines at how good it feels. This time when Beatrice brings her back down from the edge, it’s so torturously good that she can’t stop herself from begging, “ Please, Bea. Please, let me cum.”

Beatrice moans against her clit, her pace increasing to a devastating rate without another word. Ava can feel her orgasm building, her hips beginning to cant against Beatrice’s mouth against her will. Beatrice stops playing with Ava’s nipples to instead push Ava’s hips firmly against the mattress, keeping her steady as she continues to eat Ava out.

This time when she cums, she sees the good kind of stars against the walls of her eyelids. She’s fairly certain Beatrice’s name comes out somewhere in the moaning, but the only thing she can really focus on is the way Beatrice’s tongue moves slowly over her, both licking up cum and helping Ava ride it out. There are aftershocks that make her entire body shiver, particularly when Beatrice traces gently back over her now very sensitive clit. 

Finally, when she thinks she can form words again, she relinquishes her grip in Beatrice’s hair and opens her eyes, looking down at Beatrice between her legs in a hazy manner, “Fuck, Bea… so good.”

Beatrice kisses her way up Ava’s body, her chin dripping with cum. Ava wraps her arms around Beatrice’s shoulders the second she’s within range, meeting Beatrice in a wet, hot kiss. She moans when she tastes herself on Beatrice’s tongue. 

Finally, Beatrice is close enough that Ava can touch her fully. Her hands brush over the muscle of Beatrice’s upper body, though she’s got a pretty set mission for one of said hands as she slides it down, until it’s over Beatrice’s underwear, feeling the warmth and pressing gently. Ava can tell she’s absolutely soaked. Beatrice moans into the kiss at her touch, involuntarily thrusting against Ava’s hand.

“ Mmm, ” Ava pulls back from the kiss, her other hand lightly pushing against Beatrice’s chest. “My turn to be on top.”

Beatrice lets herself be guided back, watching as Ava climbs on top of her. It takes her a minute seeing as everything still feels a little like jello, but as she settles down and looks at the other woman, eyes hazy with lust and adoration, she feels a renewed burst of energy.

“I’m gonna rock your world, Beatrice.”

—

Ava wakes up to an empty bed.

It’s devastating, really. She had been looking forward to waking up naked in Beatrice’s arms, like the way they’d fallen asleep the night before. But… Ava supposes there will be plenty of time for that.

The clinking of metal on metal in the kitchen tells Ava that Beatrice hasn’t left, which at the very least puts Ava’s anxiety to rest. She’s sore as all hell, and reaches over to pop two pills from her bedside to try and remedy it. Perhaps she’d gotten a little… excited last night.

She’s vaguely aware that her legs aren’t responding, at least not right away. Slowly, she sits up in bed, starting some of the exercises she learned in physical therapy to loosen up her muscles and ease the tension. It takes more time than she’d like for her to be able to stand, but eventually she’s able to.

She finds a rather large tshirt that she tugs over her head—it’s got a Portuguese metal band on it called Moonspell, AKA her mom’s favorite band. Ava thrifted this shirt somewhere in Spain when she’d gotten dangerously close to the Portuguese border at the start of her traveling. She’s fishing through her dresser looking for a pair of clean shorts when the knob of her door starts turning slowly.

Beatrice doesn’t realize that Ava is awake initially, slowly and quietly entering with a tray in hand. The smell of bacon and fresh coffee drifts in—Ava can see eggs and a glass of water on the tray, too. She freezes in place when she sees Ava, standing by her dresser with a single sock in her hand.

Beatrice is in one of Ava’s sweatshirts—while it would normally be large on Ava, it’s just right for Beatrice. The only other thing she’s wearing is a pair of boxers that she also must have taken from Ava’s dresser, because Ava is one-hundred percent certain that those weren’t what Beatrice was wearing last night. Her hair is down, falling gently over her shoulders. She looks so beautiful and she’s looking at Ava—standing in nothing but her tshirt with her hair a mess and her eyes still blinking away sleep—absolutely enamored. 

Ava’s chest shifts with a now-familiar feeling as Beatrice smiles softly at her, realizing that her ninja-like entrance was for nothing, “Oh. Good morning.”

“Hi,” Ava drops her sock, abandoning the dresser and her quest for pants. She steps closer, nearly tripping on an article of clothing from last night.

“You look beautiful,” Beatrice can’t seem to stop herself from saying, staring at Ava a little dumbly (and adorably). She holds the tray up, “I made you breakfast.”

Ava takes the tray and sets it on her bedside table, turning back to Beatrice and wrapping her arms around Beatrice’s shoulders. Beatrice’s hands settle on Ava’s waist as she leans up to kiss her in greeting.

Everything is different now. They’re dating. Beatrice is her girlfriend. She doesn’t have to hobble around lying to herself about how Beatrice really feels. She can see it and feel it for herself whenever she wants. And Ava wants.

The kiss intensifies, and a few minutes of making out later results in Ava being pressed back against her dresser. As soon as she collides, she feels a familiarly annoying and inconvenient spike of pain up her spine, and she knows that she needs to sit down.

Bullshit. CPS is bullshit, Ava thinks as she pulls back, holding onto Beatrice for more than just leisure now. Beatrice must sense this before Ava even says anything, because her grip at Ava’s waist tightens as she supports some of Ava’s waist. Immediate concern flashes in those brown eyes, and it takes everything in Ava to actually listen to her body instead of pushing through it.

“I need to—sit,” Ava mumbles, letting Beatrice help her to the bed. She sits there for a moment, Beatrice at her side, as she catches her breath and waits for her body to adjust. 

This is exactly what she was afraid of. She doesn’t want Beatrice to look at her like she’s delicate, or to treat her differently than she would any other woman that she might date. She just wants to be Ava and Beatrice, who go on dates and go dancing and have endless, fucking fantastic sex.

But she can’t be that. Not fully.

“Are you…” Ava finally starts, unable to look at Beatrice and instead opting to stare at her pants on the ground. “Are you sure you… want this?”

“What, breakfast? I will admit, I did snack on some while I was cooking,” Beatrice says. It takes her a moment to realize that Beatrice knows what Ava really means—she’s just chosen to respond cleverly about it.

“No, I mean…” Ava nudges Beatrice’s forearm as if to say ‘be serious.’ She closes her eyes and tilts her head back as she tries to form the words, “Just… dating me is going to be… I dunno, different. ”

“I’ve already seen your mug collection, love. I’m well aware that you’re special.”

“Bea.”

“Yes, Ava?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

Beatrice doesn’t respond right away, but Ava hears her slowly breathe out. She laces her fingers with Ava’s, giving her hand a squeeze, “Will you look at me?”

Ava mentally prepares herself for the look— the one all of her past potential romantic endeavors have gotten when they’d talked about her disability. The uncomfortable, cautious look. She opens her eyes, turning her attention over to Beatrice, and…

And…

It’s not there.

All Ava sees is passion. Kindness. Admiration. Like Beatrice thinks Ava is strong, not weak. Like she knows Ava can take care of herself, but she wants Ava to let herself be taken care of. Like maybe Beatrice wants Ava to take care of her, too.

“I do know what you’re trying to say,” Beatrice confirms, holding Ava’s gaze with confidence and care. “And I need you to know that there is not a single ounce of me that is not fully committed to this. I want you, love. All of you.”

It’s ridiculous, really. Lilith and Michael had tried to convince her already that Beatrice clearly had no issues with her disability, seeing as she’d known well before anything started to happen between them. They’d given her the confidence to broach the subject, sure… but hearing it directly from Beatrice is something else entirely.

“Even if it means… that we can’t be a normal couple?”

“‘Normal’ is a subjective concept. We can be our version of normal.”

Oh. Ava might be in love with her.

“I like that,” Ava smiles, leaning in close to kiss Beatrice sweetly. “ Our version.”

“I like it, too,” Beatrice says when Ava pulls back, grinning. “Now… would you like some eggs? I worked very hard on them.”

“You drive a hard bargain… but yes, please.”

Beatrice, her girlfriend, kisses her (because she’s Ava’s girlfriend) (Ava’s girlfriend who says they can be their version of normal) (Ava’s girlfriend who’s looking at her like she’s the only fucking person who ever existed, ever), and she feels the most okay that she’s felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

Ava’s never had a girlfriend before.

Even with all the media she’d consumed over her lifetime, she never could have predicted how it would actually feel. If she’d known that having a girlfriend would be as wonderful as it is, she probably would have felt a little more attached to the sentiment sooner.

(Well. Only if it meant that said girlfriend would call her ‘love.’ Only if it meant they’d walk her home late at night and swing their arms lightly as Ava talked and talked and talked. Only if it meant they’d drink from Ava’s novelty pun mugs even despite the reveal that Ava does actually have a few normal cups in her cupboard. Only if it meant they’d climb through Ava’s window onto her balcony-not-balcony to smoke with her. Only if it meant they’d ask Ava to chat upstairs about work things but then actually make out with her against a shelf of whiskey.)

(Essentially… only if it meant that girlfriend would be Beatrice.)

It’s been a little over two weeks since they made things official, and Ava’s been soaring. They’ve fallen into a bit of a routine on their own, one that interrupts Ava’s typical routine (and she suspects greatly impacts Beatrice’s as well), but she couldn’t be happier to let it be disturbed.

As she feels herself slowly waking from a very vivid dream where she could phase through walls (incredibly bizarre, if you ask her), she feels an arm around her waist, holding her close. She breathes in deep, catching hints of her coconut-scented shampoo and soap—Ava can always tell when Beatrice has been out for a run when she smells it.

She turns around slowly in Beatrice’s arms, burying her face into Beatrice’s neck and smiling against smooth skin. She thinks she feels Beatrice’s arm tighten at her waist, but her breathing is slow and deep (which Ava has learned means she’s asleep). She presses a gentle kiss to Beatrice’s neck, and before she knows it, she’s drifting back in and out of sleep.

She doesn’t know how long it is until she feels Beatrice shift against her, but it’s enough to fully shake her out of sleep. There’s a kiss placed on the top of her head, and she smiles as she pulls back to look up at Beatrice. The woman is already watching her, brown eyes a bit sleepy and full of softness.

“Hello, love,” Beatrice yawns. It’s so cute that all Ava can do is lean up and kiss her.

“Hi,” Ava says as she leans back into the pillows. “How was your run?”

“Did you wake while I was gone?” Beatrice asks regretfully. “I tried to be as quiet as possible.”

“No, no, you were,” Ava pulls her closer. “You didn’t wake me. I just knew.”

“Oh,” Beatrice relaxes, smiling easily down at Ava as she props her head up. “Well, in that case, my run was wonderful.”

Ava slides one of her bare legs between Beatrice’s solely to get closer to her, “It’s cute that you were so concerned, though.”

“I know how much you prefer to wake up with company,” Beatrice says softly, patting Ava’s butt, “Should we get up?”

Ava groans and slumps into her pillow, but she drops the act mere moments later when Beatrice laughs, getting up along with her girlfriend to start getting ready for the day.

She spends about half an hour going through her closet and dresser until she finds an outfit she likes while Beatrice watches her from the bed. Ava settles on jeans and a hoodie—a classic but aesthetically pleasing combo. Beatrice calls her beautiful and takes her hand as they leave Ava’s bedroom.

They’ve been alternating between making breakfast together and walking to the cafe, and today seems to be a cafe day. It’s between Bar La Vasseur and Suzanne’s office, which makes it ideal for a day like today when they’re not going to work together.

(Beatrice has started taking off on one of Ava’s two days off so they can spend the entire day together. It had been a compromise—Ava wanted her to take off both days, but Beatrice insisted that wouldn’t be fair to Hans.)

(She’s right. But still.)

Today, Ava has support group. That had been a part of the compromise—Beatrice takes off the day Ava doesn’t have therapy, so they don’t have to miss each other too much. It’s convenient, too, because ever since Ava summoned Lilith and Michael outside of support group, they’ve started getting together after Ava’s weekly Thursday session. It’s been really nice, even if it’s only been two weeks and nothing about her new routine feels set in stone just yet.

Beatrice orders for Ava at the cafe, letting her handle getting a table. Ava’s started to notice that she does a lot of stuff like that. 

(Part of her has been wondering if it’s just the charm and chivalry Beatrice seems to have, or if it’s because of Ava’s disability. She doesn’t really know how to ask, and it never seems like the right moment to do so.)

When Beatrice brings their food and drinks over, she takes a seat across from Ava. Ava tangles their legs together casually—the first time she’d done that, she thought for sure that Beatrice would be bothered, but she’d just adjusted to welcome it and ever since Ava has felt less nervous about physical touch in public.

Beatrice smiles, “What’re your plans for after therapy?”

“Hm,” Ava hums, leaning back to feel the sunlight from their little table out on the cafe’s patio. “Well, coffee with Lilith and Michael, obviously. Oh! And, I’ve run out of new books to read, so I might go to the library. Maybe I’ll read in the park.”

“That sounds lovely,” Beatrice agrees. “Should I text you when I leave work?”

“Yeah, and…” Ava starts, but trails off.

She’s been trying to suggest that they stay at Beatrice’s for the past several days. The thought had occurred to her that she’s never seen Beatrice’s place and she’s been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since. Is Beatrice keeping her away intentionally? She’s sure that’s not it, but she’s too nervous to ask. She tries to force out the question of can we stay at your place tonight? 

But… it gets caught in her throat. Is it too soon? Maybe Beatrice thinks it’s too soon to dip into more than one of their home territories–

“And…?” Beatrice drawls when Ava says nothing.

She makes up an excuse, “And… maybe bring takeout?”

She feels Beatrice squeeze her knee lightly under the table, “Of course.”

After breakfast, they kiss and split off, heading in their separate directions.

Ava kills some time at an antique store, looking for something small to get for Beatrice. She ends up choosing a mug (to nobody’s surprise). It’s not a mug with a pun on it, however it does have a small ceramic goose attached on the bottom of the inside of the turquoise mug. Something about it just feels right, so she buys it. Maybe it’s because it’s subtle in the way Beatrice often is, hiding her silly side under all that seriousness.

When she arrives at support group, Lilith and Michael are standing just outside the building. Lilith is smoking a cigarette, leaning against the wall in a leather jacket and looking so cool about it. Michael is leaning on one of his forearm canes, scrolling through something on his phone. Ava smiles as she approaches, not feeling the usual deep, unbridled annoyance she used to feel when thinking about support group.

“‘Sup, losers?” Ava calls, quickly gaining both of their attention. Michael smiles politely, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Lilith, however, rolls her eyes and flicks away ash, “Must you insist on greeting us like that every time?”

“I have to keep you humble, Lilith. I mean, look at you—if I didn’t, you’d probably go around thinking you’re the coolest person alive.”

“I am the coolest person alive.”

Ava pats her arm with pursed lips, “Maybe we should talk about why you feel that way in therapy, huh?” Lilith glares. Ava beams and pulls the door open, “Should we go get our socks blown off by Suzanne?”

“That’s not the saying.”

“Well, it is now, ‘cause I’m sayin’ it.”

“Michael, please admit that she’s insufferable. I’m begging you.”

Michael laughs, thanking Ava as he steps inside, “I think she’s actually rather charming.”

“Unbelievable.”

But Ava sees it. She sees the upturn of Lilith’s lips as she steps inside behind him, and she feels peacefully content while entering group therapy for the first time in her life.

—

“Ava’s looking particularly radiant today, wouldn’t you say, Suzanne?”

Ava raises her eyebrows at Lilith and looks at Suzanne and Michael in turn with wide eyes and a grin, as if checking to make sure they both heard that, too. She points a finger at Lilith, “That was crazy. She just used ‘radiant’ and ‘Ava’ in the same sentence. Did you both hear that?”

“She’s right, Ava,” Suzanne adds, smiling between both of them like a proud mother. “You seem in very high spirits.”

“Sex will do that to a person,” Lilith says bluntly.

“ Partly, ” Ava corrects, not even caring or noticing that Lilith is either mostly joking or just trying to embarrass her. Embarrassing her wouldn’t work, anyway. “But it’s also because things with Bea have been really good. Emotionally, I mean.”

“Tell us a little more about that,” Suzanne encourages, her pen moving over her clipboard basically subconsciously at this point.

“Um, well…” Ava leans forward, putting her hands on her knees and looking up at the ceiling as she thinks. “She’s really sweet. She doesn’t mind doing things I like to do. She makes time for me, and she’s not afraid to tell me how she’s feeling. I really thought that was going to be a problem—because, hello —repressed nun. But I think she’s better at sorting through her shit than I am. But! I’ve gotten really good at talking to her too, about the things that freak me out about our relationship. Well, most things.”

“Most?” Suzanne catches.

“...Yeah. Like we talked about how I was nervous to be dating a person with an able-body.”

“But you didn’t talk about…?”

Ava honestly hadn’t even realized she’s said that. Why had she said most? Her and Beatrice are doing really well. They’ve only been dating a week, why should she be afraid because she’s never seen Beatrice’s place?

Because you’ve been friends a lot longer than you’ve been dating, Ava thinks. Because what if the end is already beginning and neither of you will admit it?

Oh. That’s a startling thought. 

Things start tumbling out of her against her will.

“She’s just… never invited me over to her place. Am I supposed to ask? Or is it, like, really weird that she hasn’t asked me over?” Ava keeps going, a sense of dread growing in her stomach. “And… sometimes I can’t tell if she’s taking care of me just because she’s my girlfriend and she’s such a gentlewoman, or if I’m being coddled because of my disability. It feels like a fine line. How do you even bring that up? ‘Hey, you know how you hold all the doors for me and insist on letting me sit down while you order breakfast and how you’ve started sneaking a glass of water onto my bedside for my medication? Is that all because I’m disabled and you think I can’t handle it?’ That feels like a very fast route to a breakup, if I ever heard one–”

“Ava, Ava, ” Lilith cuts her off, and it’s then that she realizes that the three of them are all looking at her in alarm and she’s breathing really heavily. Lilith—in a shocking turn of events—reaches a hand over, and Ava takes it as she takes a few moments to calm herself. Her heart beat is still a little rapid in her chest, but it starts to be because she’s embarrassed.

(Holy shit, she can feel embarrassed.)

“You’re right about the fine line,” Lilith says once she’s sure Ava is no longer freaking out. “When I started dating Camila…”

Ava notices Suzanne looking at Lilith in shock, and she realizes that Suzanne has no idea that the three of them have started spending time together outside of group therapy. And Lilith has never brought up Camila in group therapy. It’s somehow a hilarious enough expression that Ava can feel herself settling in even more.

Lilith continues, “She did a lot of similar stuff. I got in my head about it, and one day I blew up at her. I told her if she wanted someone to baby, she should have a child. Do you know what she said?” Ava shakes her head no. “She said, ‘Can’t I find you capable and spoil you?’”

“As for her place,” Michael pipes in. “Perhaps she’s nervous. You’re very open, for the most part. She may be open emotionally, but she could be shy about other things, like her apartment.”

“Or maybe she hasn’t even thought about it and you’re being ridiculous, which is also very possible,” Lilith adds. “The way you talked about her the other day… for literal hours… it’s the most likely scenario that you’re being silly, honestly.”

“I think…” Suzanne interrupts, seeing Ava’s slack-jawed expression as she stares between her two friends and thinking that now is probably a good time to step in. “I think this may be a little deeper. You’ve been struggling with this feeling of inadequacy for quite some time. It’s hard to transition from a life of isolation, to a life with an abundance of love and support. Both from your girlfriend, and elsewhere. ”

Ava may be distracted, but she still notices as Suzanne looks knowingly at Michael and Lilith as she says elsewhere. She’s definitely eating this shit up—knowing that they all actually do enjoy each other’s company and that this support group was a success.

Lilith blushes at Suzanne’s attention—Ava knows that she also struggles with isolating herself, and the silent acknowledgement that she’s on a similar path to Ava and is pulling herself free from that isolation, is enough to bring out a little bit of shyness.

When the three of them stare, all a little lost for words, Suzanne leans back and adds softly, “It may be unintentional, but perhaps this is your brain’s way of attempting to sabotage these good things. To further that isolation. Making these connections took a lot of energy—it’s a natural response for your brain to want a way out of that hard work, because it’s often painful. But it’s up to you, Ava, to push against that feeling. I wish I could say it’s easy, but happiness is something you have to fight for.

“In other words, winning the battle… does not always mean you win the war.”

—

Later, in the park with her library book, she finds that she actually can’t read a single word on the page. Her mind is a million miles away—somewhere up in the clouds, maybe—thinking about Suzanne’s and Lilith’s and Michael’s words. She lays back in the grass, setting her book aside and pulling her phone out.

Ava: bea

Beatrice: Yes, love?

Ava: woah. that was fast. miss me?

Beatrice: Of course.

Ava: :)

Beatrice: Is everything okay?

Ava: yes… i was just wondering something

Ava stares at the keyboard, typing about thirty different renditions of “can we go to yours tonight?” She’s working on her thirty-first version when Beatrice sends another text.

Beatrice: You’ve been typing a while, and I just want to say that whatever it is, I can promise that you don’t have to be stressed about how I’ll respond.

Ava: oh

Ava: well

Ava: it’s going to sound so dumb, bea

Beatrice: Doubtful.

Ava: you know who you’re dating, right? 95% of the shit that comes out of my mouth is dumb

Beatrice: Not to me.

Ava: ugh

Ava: stop being cute right now

Ava: anyway

Ava: so

Ava: you know how i have an apartment?

Beatrice: Yes?

Ava: so

Ava: you ALSO have an apartment

Ava: that i’ve never been to

Ava: and, like… could we? go there tonight instead of mine?

Beatrice: Oh, dear. I suppose I’d never really thought about it. Has the fact that I’ve never asked you over been worrying you?

Stupid (incredibly smart) Beatrice with her really annoying (wonderful) ability to read Ava like a goddamn stupid fucking book.

Ava: psh

Ava: me?

Ava: nah

Ava: (maybe a little)

Beatrice: If you’d like to stay at mine, we can absolutely do that. 

Ava: oh :) yay

Ava: that was easier than i thought

Beatrice: I hope it only continues to get easier.

So, Lilith was right. Again. This is getting annoying, honestly. How can that tall, broody, angry supermodel of a human being be more emotionally intelligent than Ava is? What does she have that Ava doesn’t?

(Lengthy experience in a communicative, happy relationship. Solid therapy not provided by the state for a significantly longer period of time than Ava. A formative middle and high school experience with companionship and the full use of her body. A lot of things, really. But this isn’t about comparing the two of them, and it’s not a competition. Ava can see now that she resorts to aggressive ignorance of other people’s experiences and emotions when frustrated. That’s on her, not Lilith.)

With the beginnings of excitement taking shape in her chest, she starts gathering her things, gearing up to go home and pack a bag for tonight.

—

Beatrice’s apartment is a literal street away from Ava’s in a tiny complex attached to a bakery that Ava has been to a million times. There are planters out front with a gorgeous arrangement of some sort of blue and purple flowers. It’s dark now that Beatrice is free from her shift at the bar, but Ava just knows it gets a lovely amount of sunlight during the day.

Ava stands just behind Beatrice, holding her hand and resting her head on Beatrice’s shoulder as she fishes in her pocket for her keys. The takeout is hanging by the handlebars over her forearm as she unlocks the complex’s front door. Ava tugs Beatrice by the hand quickly after her as she steps inside. She’s acting like somewhat of an overexcited puppy, but Beatrice only seems to find it endearing, so she doesn’t try to hide it one bit.

Beatrice stops them at a door on the first floor at the end of the hall. She unlocks it and steps inside, pausing to carefully untie her shoes and set them aside on a shoe rack. Ava unceremoniously toes out of hers, but she does take a moment to set them in an empty spot on the rack before she starts roaming around.

It’s somehow exactly how she’d pictured it would be. The entryway opens up into a small living room. Everything is neat and orderly, with a couch and an armchair facing a small TV atop a neatly compiled bookshelf. Beside the armchair on a small side table is a book marked about halfway through, and Ava can just picture Beatrice sitting there reading as the sun fills the room.

There’s a wall between the kitchen and the living room with a small cutout that peers inside. She can see that another hallway leads to several closed doors, as well as holds the entrance to the kitchen itself. 

The only decoration besides small, plain things, is a photo pinned to the fridge by a magnet. Ava leans on the cutout’s counter and squints, spotting herself and Beatrice. It’s a picture Ava took only a few days ago, while they were cuddling on Ava’s couch. Ava smiles goofily up at the camera, while Beatrice smiles down at Ava. 

Ava turns on her heels and leans her back against the counter, “I’m on your fridge.”

Beatrice sets the takeout down, smiling as she settles her hands on either side of Ava, who instinctively wraps her arms around Beatrice’s shoulders. She kisses Ava, “You are.”

“You got that printed already?” Ava smiles and kisses her again.

“I own a printer, so it really wasn’t that difficult,” Beatrice explains. “But I like it. And I like being reminded of you. So yes, I printed it already.”

Ava is about to respond to how nauseatingly cute that is when a sudden meow startles her. She gasps, immediately looking around the room and finding that in the open windowsill of Beatrice’s kitchen, a small, gray cat seems to have appeared.

She turns back quickly to Beatrice, eyes wide, “You have a cat? ”

“He’s not mine, not really,” Beatrice explains quickly, as if she’d entirely forgotten about this minute detail of her life. She lets go of Ava and steps around and into the kitchen. Ava follows closely behind, peering over Beatrice’s shoulder as she scoops the cat up off the windowsill. He almost immediately starts purring as he nuzzles against her. “He’s a stray. He just showed up in the window one day and he hasn’t really gone away since. I’ve been calling him Oliver.”

As Ava steps closer, she notices that his coat is a little mangy, and he doesn’t have a collar or any type of identification. She notices the bowls for food and water in the window, too, “He’s totally your cat, then. What’s stopping you from setting him up here permanently?”

“Well… what if he is someone else’s cat?”

Ava holds out a hand, letting the cat sniff. It only takes a second before he presses his head directly into her palm, and it’s all she can do not to squeal as she grins and starts petting him gently, “Hi, Oliver.” She scratches under his chin, “Is this lady here Bea-ing a little ridiculous? You’d like her to be your mom, right?”

Oliver lets out a small mew in response.

Ava gasps, “He said yes, Bea.”

“Did you just casually throw a pun in there?” Beatrice pauses, looking at Ava like she’s the silliest person that ever did live.

“Don’t change the subject. Oliver is yours. Why didn’t you tell me you take care of this little guy?”

It’s a question that disguises the real question—why didn’t Beatrice tell her or show her anything about her place at all?

Beatrice sighs, “It never really came up. I’m not used to talking about myself, I suppose. I’m not very good at it. I guess I’m not used to feeling… safe in being able to express myself. I had to hide it around my parents, and then again when I joined the church… and now with you, I feel so free to be who I want. And it’s a little overwhelming and scary. I still feel like you’re not real.”

So. Ava might have been a little wrong in therapy. Turns out the repressed nun thing has more lingering effects than Ava thought. Looking at Beatrice now, she looks so… conflicted. Has Ava really been so caught up in her own shit that she hasn’t noticed this?

That stops now.

She leans up and over Oliver to kiss Beatrice’s cheek, “I’m fucking terrified too, you know.”

“I do. But you’re more brave than I am.”

“Hardly… you’ve always been better at the talking stuff.”

“It’s easier to reassure someone else than it is one’s self,” Beatrice reasons. “I’m confident in my feelings for you, and I like doing things to make sure you never question them… so it’s easy to talk about. But it isn’t easy for me to admit that I struggle, too.”

Ava has the striking realization that Beatrice hasn’t been coddling her because of her disability. She’s been coddling Ava because she wants her to feel loved. She laughs, feeling incredibly idiotic and secure in the idea that chivalry is not dead. It’s ultimately the wrong reaction, because Beatrice starts to frown, “What’s… funny?”

Ava quickly backtracks, “Oh! No! Not you! I’m just realizing that Suzanne might be a scary, mind-reading prophet.”

“About what?”

“I just… I talked about it a little bit in therapy today. But I have a difficult time separating the sweet things you do for me—like holding doors and pulling out chairs and stuff—from my fear that everyone thinks I need to be coddled because of my disability. And you saying that—about wanting me to never question your feelings? That just… really cleared it up, I guess,” Ava confides.

(She struggles to comprehend that she just said all of that with minimal pausing. Is this what growth feels like?)

“I hadn’t realized,” Beatrice says quickly, her frown deepening. “I never want you to think that I don’t find you capable.” Ava opens her mouth to say that she doesn’t think Beatrice thinks that, but she would honestly be lying after the week she’s spent psycho-analyzing every sweet girlfriend thing Beatrice has done for her. Luckily, she doesn’t have to, because Beatrice adds, “How about… we take turns?”

“What? Holding doors for each other?”

“And similar activities, yes.”

“Can I order our breakfast tomorrow?”

“If you’d like.”

“What about the store? Can I push the cart next time?”

“Well, I’ll certainly need my arms free to reach the shelves that you can’t.”

“What about–”

Beatrice laughs fully and with so much affection that Ava stops talking, her cheeks heating up a bit. Beatrice kisses her, “ Whatever you like. Though I will be insistent on occasion, because I like pampering you.”

“Oh,” Ava wriggles her eyebrows teasingly. “I know you do, Bea.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes (hot) and sets Oliver down onto the counter. She pulls Ava in at the waist until their fronts are pressed together, touching her forehead to Ava’s and asking softly, “Promise you’ll tell me if I make you feel like that again as soon as it happens?”

Ava closes her eyes, “Yeah. I promise.”

—

She gives Beatrice the mug she’d bought later that night, saying that Beatrice has been in desperate need of some Ava-fication in her apartment since they met.

—

Things are fantastic until Ava’s next episode.

Inconveniently, it’s supposed to be date night. Beatrice had mentioned wanting to take Ava out somewhere fancy several times, and they’d finally made time to do so tonight. Ava had already picked out a little red number that she was extremely excited for Beatrice to see (and take off)—but now, of course, she’s unsure that she’ll be able to even get out of bed without copious amounts of her medication.

They’re at Beatrice’s place, which makes that awfully difficult considering her medication bottle is in her bag across the room. She’s only got one pill set aside with a glass of water on the bedside table.

She shifts in Beatrice’s arms, grunting softly as pain spikes through her every nerve. With a shaking hand, she reaches outward, grabbing the pill and swallowing it dry, even though there’s water. She’s sure she wouldn’t be able to lift the glass without spilling or dropping it, anyway.

When she settles back down into the bed, she finds that Beatrice is watching her with concern laced in those gorgeous brown eyes, “Are you alright, love?”

“Not… right now. But in a few minutes, maybe.”

A few minutes later, Ava somehow feels worse. Even just lifting a finger from the bed feels like holding the weight of the sky. Beatrice had gotten up to clean up a bit and start making breakfast—which Ava has inwardly deemed a stress response from being unable to do much to help with Ava’s pain.

She’s been unable to do anything beyond lying there and trying to ignore it, but she’s noticed that Beatrice has been popping her head into the room basically every minute, as if she expects there to be a change or expects Ava to need something from her.

It’s the fifth time this happens that Ava opens her eyes fully, “Bea?”

Beatrice immediately pushes the door fully open, “Yes, love?”

“My pills—can you bring them? They’re in the front pocket of my bag.”

Beatrice wordlessly steps inside, going over and opening up Ava’s bag. She produces the pill bottle moments later, her eyes subconsciously scanning over it as she approaches Ava on the bed.

She’s about to open it and give Ava another pill when her eyes catch on something on the label. She immediately pulls back, her eyebrows furrowing, “Ava?”

“M-hmm?”

“This says you should only be taking one a day,” Beatrice closes her fist around it. “You had one when you woke up.”

“Yeah…” Ava reaches an unsteady hand out. “Please, Bea?”

Beatrice doesn’t budge, “This is an opioid, Ava. It’s addictive. How long have you been taking more than is prescribed?”

“I dunno. I only take more when the pain is really bad,” Ava explains, feeling vague annoyance pierce into her heart—a feeling she never thought she’d associate with Beatrice again, not since they both got over their biases. It makes her feel a bit of guilt, but it’s difficult to be reasonable when her entire body feels like a tree caught in a forest fire.

“This isn’t the answer,” Beatrice tucks the bottle out of reach, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and smoothing some of Ava’s hair out of her face. “This is dangerous, Ava.”

“It doesn’t feel dangerous,” Ava shrugs, looking away.

“It never does,” Beatrice says gently, sliding a finger under Ava’s chin and tilting her head so she's forced to meet brown eyes. “I’m not judging you, Ava. I want you to know that. I’m only worried. I know you’ve spent your whole life dealing with this pain, and there’s no shame in how you’ve learned to cope. Especially considering you practically raised yourself. But this isn’t the way, and I don’t plan on being complicit. You told me to knock sense into you, remember?”

“I’ve never… had someone who cared enough to pay attention to a thing like this,” Ava admits. “I haven’t had another person to live for in so long.”

“I’m not here to be the person you choose to live for. That has to be you, Ava. But I am here to be the person you live with. ”

Oh. Beatrice couldn’t have said anything more devastatingly true, Ava thinks. Yikes. And here she was, thinking that she’d already laid everything she possibly could onto the table in front of Suzanne, so they could make real progress. She didn’t think there were other secrets she was harboring.

“I think I just… I don’t want this, ” She gestures to her body. “To get in the way of us. It’s supposed to be date night, you know?”

“Who said this means it’s no longer date night?”

“Well… we can’t make our reservation, for starters.”

“Oh, really? I see a table for two right here. I’ve even got candles and everything,” Beatrice smiles. Ava thinks she feels her heart growing in her chest, because she’s fairly certain she’s going to implode soon with how much she’s absolutely in love with this woman. “Does that sound acceptable?”

Ava feels tears welling up, but she doesn’t let them spill over before she pulls Beatrice towards her, kissing her with every ounce of love she feels and hoping that Beatrice can feel it, too.

—

The next time Ava has therapy, she tells Suzanne about the pills. They work on brainstorming ways she can approach her physical therapist, so she can start being more proactive about her pain.

—

Over the course of the following week, Ava sticks to the one-per-day limitation with her pills. She didn’t know just how addicted she had become—just how reliant —until now.

The thought didn’t hit her until she was sitting at work, zoning out and thinking non-stop about how she could just pop one more and things would probably be fine. The thought had been possessive and had made her feel itchy inside, and the anger she’d felt at denying herself the relief had been so strong that she’d pulled Beatrice upstairs in a hurry.

“I can’t think about anything else, Bea,” She said, gripping the lapels of Beatrice’s blazer desperately as she tried to control her breathing. “How did I not see this?”

Beatrice looked at her with so much care as she rubbed the small of Ava’s back with one hand and rested the other over Ava’s chest. It had instantly calmed her, just like it had the other times Beatrice had done it, “Breathe, love. These feelings aren’t your fault. And you’re safe to feel them in front of me, I promise.”

“I hate it,” Ava admitted, tears breaking free and slipping down her cheeks. “I hate this, Bea. I want to stop feeling like this.”

Beatrice holds her close, kissing her forehead, “It will get better. It will. ”

—

Beatrice was right. It does get better.

A month goes by. Ava starts doing more of the exercises recommended by her physical therapist. She diverts more energy towards hobbies per Suzanne’s encouragement. And eventually, thoughts of the addiction she didn’t know she was harboring begin to fade into the background.

—

For the first time in her life, Ava wears her wrist braces to work.

If Beatrice notices her putting them on as they get ready, she doesn’t say anything about it. Ava is grateful, because the anxiety she’s feeling is making her more jittery than her CPS, and any attention just might make her retreat behind the layers of self-protection she’s been hiding behind since she was a little girl.

Even Hans doesn’t say anything. Granted, he’s never been one to press about her disability. He’s always been an advocate and an ally for Ava, and has never once questioned her or expressed disbelief about what is considered to be an invisible disability. He knows her better than most at this point, and she’s never been more grateful to have such a lovely person as her coworker.

She’s surprised by how much better her wrists feel at the end of the day.

—

It’s on a random Wednesday—Ava and Beatrice’s day off—that her reality really hits her deep in the gut.

They’re on a picnic by a lake that’s only a few minutes’ walk out of town. Beatrice is sitting up, her legs laid out in front of her, one hand reaching for the fruit and the other tangled in Ava’s hair. Ava has her head in Beatrice’s lap, her limbs sprawled out in a chaotic manner, as she stares up at the clouds, smiling at nothing and nearly drifting off as Beatrice’s fingers comb through.

Ava’s hair is a little longer than it was—a few months longer, in fact. They sit in silence in the way that you only can with someone you’re incredibly comfortable with. They glide in and out of random topics between those moments of comfortable silence, talking about anything and everything—Ava mentions an idea she has for game night, Beatrice talks casually about brunch with Lilith (whom she’d really hit it off with, in a shocking turn of events), Ava tells a funny story about Hans and a spilled glass of bourbon…

And suddenly it hits her.

She’s watching Beatrice watch the sky, tracing the smooth curve of her jawline to her cheek, those brown eyes full of wonder. The thought that she’s in love with Beatrice is not a new one—she’s been feeling this way for quite some time—but the concept of saying it out loud has never taken her quite as fully as it is in this current moment.

Ava was (arguably) a disaster when she met Beatrice. She had a little direction, but her grip on her well-being was shaky and she was doing almost nothing to take care of it. She wouldn’t say that her improvement was entirely reliant on Beatrice’s appearance in her life, but it certainly was a bit of a catalyst. 

Seeing Beatrice struggle to push through her biases, to work hard to understand Ava even despite Ava’s self-destructive tendencies… It encouraged Ava to talk about things she thought she would leave behind a locked door forever. She made real progress with Suzanne. For the first time probably ever, she felt deserving of companionship. She was willing to let other people take care of her because they want to, not because she needs them to.