Chapter Text
“Bea.”
“Bea.”
“Bea?”
The voice rises, finally, to a scared scream: “Bea?!”
It’s enough to wake Beatrice, and though her thoughts are still scrambled from sleep, she knows that the bed next to her is empty and she knows exactly where she’ll find Ava - at the front door of their apartment. Sure enough, Ava stands with her hand on the doorknob, tears streaming down her face as she shakes it impotently. For safety, for Ava’s safety, it’s locked from both the inside and the outside at night.
“Bea, door!” Ava sobs.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Beatrice says, and she touches Ava’s hand, gently. “It’s the middle of the night. We can’t go anywhere right now. Will you come back to bed?”
“Door!” Ava repeats, and rattles the knob again.
Beatrice smooths back Ava’s hair. “I know. The door is locked and you’re frustrated. But we need to be in bed. We’ll go out in the morning.”
She holds her breath, hoping this suggestion will entice Ava rather than irritating her further and causing her to simply phase through the door, as sometimes occurs in this situation.
Why is it always the middle of the night when she wants to leave?
Mother Superion and Camila did their research with the help of numerous OCS sisters around the world. None of them could find any information on a Halo-Bearer being brain-damaged or being healed from brain-damage. Some of the older records used vague language that could have meant something - temporarily addled seemed promising - but there was no record of a Warrior Nun sustaining serious head trauma and suffering serious brain damage as a result. And there was no record of the Halo healing brain damage.
As usual, Ava was forging new ground.
There was an accident, a horrible accident that took away Beatrice’s breath every time she thought about it. It was so dumb, so horrible and dumb, especially in an age where there were no more enemies, no further Holy War to fight. Of all of the things Ava had survived unscathed, including months spent in an extra-planar realm being tortured, a drunk driver had once again caused Ava a grievous life-changing injury.
He’d smashed through a fruit vendor’s cart when Ava happened to be standing on the other side. The cart, obviously, was no match for the car and burst into pieces as it was destroyed; one of those pieces hit Ava in the head. She spent a month in a coma and four months afterwards re-learning how to walk and perform simple everyday activities. She’d had the best care in the world, but even the very best care reaches its endpoint - or, rather, every patient eventually hits a plateau.
They’d moved into the apartment outside of Boston to keep Ava in contact with the majority of the specialists who’d treated her, and it’d been a year since then. Beatrice was content to work from home, helping the OCS in whatever ways she could online, while Ava went to day programs or therapy. Ava, of course, preferred the days she got to take off from “work” and spend at home with Beatrice.
Ava looks back at the door knob and then to Beatrice’s face. “Bea, door,” she repeats, though her tone is decidedly half-hearted.
“I know it’s locked and you’re frustrated,” Beatrice says again. “Will you please come back to bed with me? We can cuddle.”
Ava frowns. Beatrice knows Ava loves cuddling, almost to the exclusion of all other activities, so she’s not sure why this isn’t immediately enticing.
“Bea. Door, friends,” Ava tells her, and suddenly everything clicks together in Beatrice’s head.
“You’re waiting for our friends!” Beatrice says, relieved. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re waiting for our friends who are coming today?”
“Friends,” Ava repeats.
“Yes, they’re coming to visit us today, but it’s still very early in the morning. We don’t have to go get them from the airport until the sun is up.”
“Friends,” Ava repeats, a little more fiercely.
“They’re not here yet,” Beatrice says. “We can’t go get them until they’re here.”
Ava’s face falls.
“We’ll go as soon as we get up in the morning,” Beatrice says. They won’t, they’ll go when it’s time, but Beatrice is already planning out how to make their morning routines last just long enough to delay them until the plane with Camila, Yasmine, Mother Superion, and Dr. Salvius has landed. But Ava doesn’t need to know that.
“Friends now?” Ava says, in a tone that suggests she is attempting to bargain.
“Friends later,” Beatrice counters.
“Bea.”
“Ava,” Beatrice singsongs. “Come back to bed.”
She’s tired, she’s always tired now, but she knows she won’t rest if Ava isn’t beside her.
“Bea. Mad?”
“No, sweetheart. Not mad,” Beatrice says, and it breaks her heart to think Ava even considers the possibility. “Just tired.”
She gently takes Ava’s hand from the doorknob and tugs Ava away from the door, praying with everything in her that Ava won’t fight, won’t phase, won’t Halo-blast her away. Some nights are longer than others, and Beatrice doesn’t want to relive any of those.
Ava doesn’t. She follows Beatrice amicably back into their bedroom and placidly allows herself to be put back into bed. When they’re both laying down, Ava, looking intently into Beatrice’s face, says, “Bea. Friends. Pancakes?”
“You’d like to have pancakes with our friends?”
Ava nods, gently manipulating Beatrice’s hand with both of her own, seemingly fascinated with the way Beatrice’s fingers will move under her touch.
“That sounds wonderful. Can we do that in the morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, it’s a plan.”
“A plan,” Ava repeats drowsily, continuing to carefully hold Beatrice’s hand in hers.
“I love you,” Beatrice says, and braces herself for the almost-inevitable silence where Ava doesn’t respond. She knows Ava loves her and hates the way she hasn’t heard I love you in response since the accident, hates the way she’d scrape off all her skin to hear it again, because it’s so selfish of her to want it.
Ava hums. “A plan,” she says again.
“Yes, a plan,” Beatrice says, and closes her eyes.
She’s almost asleep when she hears the softest, quietest, “Love you,” so faint that she’s not even sure if it’s Ava or a dream.
Either way she holds it close to her heart.