Chapter Text
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“I don't know what it's like to be fighting for my life
But if you do, I'll be fighting too
When you're feeling weak, I'll be the words if you can't speak
And if you lose, I'll be losing too
And I can't lose you”
I can’t lose you; Isak Danielson.
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There’s something in the breathtaking beauty of the Norwegian landscape that provided Beatrice with a sense of freedom, peace. It was partly why she chose to stay in Ålesund, the country's northwest. After leaving the OCS, the former nun had thought of returning to her apartment in the Alps, where she had shared so much time with Ava. She had gone there first, lost in a storm of emotions that she had once been too terrified to name, and seeking comfort in places familiar to her. Places connected to Ava, where her soul had been liberated, relieved of her burden by the Warrior Nun and the time they shared in hiding.
Beatrice stayed in a hotel for a week before the reality of her loss caught in her chest, a heavy anchor on her heart. Everything in that town was saturated with memories of the two of them. Her first day waking in the Alps had quickly established she would find no comfort in its familiarity. As she awoke, Beatrice’s hand drifted toward the space where Ava had laid beside her. The moment of realisation, the cold knot of pain and heartache that erupted in her chest, made her want to fucking scream. The former nun found herself clutching at the thick sheets of her bed, sobbing into her pillow for the return of her lover, begging through gasped breaths and anguished cries, “Please, God, please bring Ava back. I can’t do this without Her, I need Her. Please.” Throat aching and soul-shaking within its mortal confines, Beatrice whispered her prayers through her tears. As usual, they remained unanswered.
Beatrice walked the tracks where she and Ava had trained, her heart clenching painfully as she remembered their moments together. She had entered bars and walked through gardens, trying to recall the happiest moments she’d shared with Ava, not the Warrior Nun, but the beautiful, charming and snarky girl behind the title, the one worthy to bear the Halo. Despite her efforts, so many years of hiding and concealing these thoughts and feelings, Ava had broken down each wall carefully built up. All of her waking moments she attempted to draw happiness from were marred by the remnants of memories of the two of them, times when Ava was busy goofing off, sometimes using her Halo subtly in public to irritate the former nun. It hurt to know she wasn’t there with her, wasn’t there to share in these moments. All she felt was the tightening of her throat and the urge to scream. She had left swiftly, the constant heartache too much to bear. So Beatrice had ended up in Norway, Ålesund, to be exact, the comfort she had found in the Alps with Ava she sought to replicate in this new place. Leaving the OCS, she’d wanted a new beginning, to live her life as Ava had asked of her, maybe to make a life for herself where she could live freely, without judgement, pain or fear. During one of her many sleepless nights in her room in Cat’s Cradle, she'd promised to try to live for herself, as Ava wished.
As she stepped out of her apartment, Beatrice breathed in the chilled air that greeted her, lungs expanding within her chest. The former nun centred herself, drawing on meditation techniques learned long ago. She’d created a habit of sorts ‘and oh god would Ava have a field day with that one,’ a routine to drown her waking mind in, falling into old patterns to avoid thoughts, no, memories, she’d rather not visit. Beatrice had taken to working at a bar again, quickly rising to the position of manager with her organisational skills and previous experience in hiding. Her new place of employment was good. She enjoyed her work, taking inventory and mostly being behind the scenes, the social aspect was more suited to Ava’s skillset than hers, so she was relieved to be promoted to manager merely one month into her working there. She remembered being drawn to the building sitting on the corner of a busy street, an open beer garden at the front of the pub filled with young people laughing and talking. The name carved beautifully into the rustic wooden sign hanging over the entrance caused her to enter, Velkommen til Valhalla, ‘Welcome to Valhalla.’ The interior was a mix of exposed brick walls, dark wooden floors, high benches made of sturdy wood crowded in the corners, and tables and chairs scattered around the room with a sort of organised chaos that blended with the theme of the bar. The atmosphere erupted warmth that echoed in the soft orange glow cast by the rustic style lighting. Beatrice had ordered a water after flagging down the tall blonde bartender, Astrid, and asked if they were hiring. She started the following Friday.
‘Welcome to Valhalla’ was a relatively short walk from her apartment, one she relished taking each morning, filling her lungs with the morning bite of the coastal air walking by as the streets began to fill with people. It allowed her to settle into herself better, the feeling of anonymity, being so small in a vast crowd. She continued down the paved path, crossing streets and passing shops with brightly coloured signs. She fixed her left sleeve as she walked, re-rolling the white cloth just above her elbow, readjusting the bag slung over her shoulder. Several minutes later, after stopping by one of the many cafes and buying some kind of takeaway breakfast bowl, Beatrice slotted her key into the sturdy wooden door, shouldering her way into the back staff room of the bar. She set the container down on the solid wood table in the centre of the room before slinging her bag from her shoulder and placing it in her locker.
Beatrice withdrew her phone from one of the bag's pockets, turning around to find Astrid leaning against the doorway. The tall blonde wore a pair of comfortable black ripped jeans and a loose vintage-style tank top, her long blonde hair tied into a messy bun above her head. The woman smiled a greeting to Beatrice, holding a takeaway cup of coffee outstretched toward the former nun. She took the cup with a small ‘thanks,’ Astrid patting her shoulder before grabbing a clean rag from a stack and slinging it across her back, heading back out with a cheerful greeting to some of her regulars.
The bartender had been kind to Beatrice when she started working, though at first, the former nun had found the tall and muscular blonde to seem standoffish, cold and silent. But by the end of her seventh shift Astrid, who twenty minutes after close was several drinks in, had pulled her to sit at one of the benches as the former nun had made to leave. The bartender rushed to the bar, fixing her a rum and coke before sitting opposite the former nun, setting the drink down with a smile. They sat there for several hours as Astrid let her in on all of the gossip with regulars at the bar, funny stories about her girlfriend and friend group, inviting her to go out with her and her friends the following week. The woman had made Beatrice feel comfortable with her company and stories, her thick Nordic accent curling around her words, and for that night, the former nun had allowed herself just to be.
“I know you want to get something off your chest,” she said, bringing her attention back to the conversation with another rum and coke, “I can see it in your face; your eyes tell me.” She set the heavy glass down and placed her hand over Beatrice’s. The former nun’s throat tightened, and tears welled in her eyes.
“I thought I was better at hiding it,” she said, voice wavering as her free hand came up to wipe her eyes. “I-” her throat tightened, “I-”
Astrid smiled, gently squeezing her hand, “I understand,” she said softly, “if you ever want to talk about it, I am here for you.”
Beatrice exhaled, “She meant so much to me. I didn’t realise how much I loved her and wasted so much time. She’s away, she’s far away, and I can’t get to her.”
“I’m sorry for your pain,” Astrid said, “have faith. People can surprise you.”
“Faith is my business,” Beatrice says ruefully, raising her glass and tapping it against Astrid’s.
Astrid had walked her home that night, “you never know who can be lurking around,” she’d stated with her back to Beatrice, locking the back door and double checking the security, “safety in numbers, especially with all of those Adriel zealots that followed everyone around a few months back, although something tells me you can handle yourself.” Beatrice had let out a small laugh at that, allowing herself to sink further into the light buzz that had settled into her mind, walking home in the comforting presence of her new friend.
Once the two reached Beatrice’s apartment, Astrid gave the former nun a short hug before wishing her goodnight, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets and heading toward her house. Beatrice managed to make it into her apartment without falling over, slinging her bag into a corner to be dealt with later. She stumbled into the bathroom, slapping on the light switch and gripping the edges of the counter with her hands. Though previously filled with a pleasant buzz that helped her relax along with her conversations with Astrid, her mind now swirled with a deep and unwelcome throb. Her heart began to ache thinking of Ava, that the girl should have been with her, living, enjoying this freedom that Beatrice was now experiencing.
The former nun shook herself from the spiral of her thoughts, and she shed her clothes with little fanfare borne from regimented routine. She showered quickly, nearly burning her skin with the heat setting and leaving it a bright red as blood rose beneath her skin. Once clothed in soft sleep shorts, having pulled on a baggy shirt Ava had bought her as a gift whilst in the alps, she sat on the bed, dropping her head in her hands.
Memories of their time together, the time she could have spent showing Ava how deep her love for her was, came flooding to the forefront of her mind. Her heart clenched in pain as she fell into the feeling of profound loss that she carried on her back, her cross to bear. Beatrice placed her hand beside her on the bed, her mind turning to the times she would wake up in the early hours of the morning, the Warrior Nun stealing her blankets and cuddling into her pillow, murmuring to herself happily when she resettled. Beatrice swallowed, burrowing under the soft covers; she prayed that sleep would find her swiftly.
Echoes of her memories followed her through the fog of sleep, simultaneously the happiest and most heartbreaking moment of her young life replaying.
*****
“Things change when you realise that not everything’s about you.” How her heart had stopped in her chest when she realised...
“that’s the warrior nun’s job... right? They die so everyone else can live.” The look in Ava’s eyes, resignation, determination, sadness. Her heart shattering, Camila’s words echoing in her ears they never last. Static surrounding her.
Her quiet plea, “Ava, don’t,” and the words she wished she’d said.
She remembered the way that Ava had steeled herself, soft brown eyes boring into her soul, a step closer, “I’m doing this so you can live your life.” Face to face, inches away, those eyes searching, pleading, “so live it. Okay?”
The way her voice trembled, “I won’t.” A broken “I can’t.”
*****
Her dreams replayed that moment each night. Ava stepping closer, the momentary struggle for the crown, and then Ava’s lips on hers. The feeling of shock that what she had longed to have for so long was hers, Ava’s last selfish moment before her selfless sacrifice. Beatrice remembered the feeling of sinking into it, the way Ava’s hand gently touched her cheek, the other circling her waist, the feeling of Ava’s skin beneath her fingertips, holding her like something precious, something holy. The former nun had wondered how she had ever thought this a sin, such total, all-encompassing love for this girl, the warmth and heartbreak that spread through her chest as Ava’s lips pressed against her forehead. The Warrior Nun had held her heart far earlier than that moment, longer than Beatrice dared admit even to herself. But when she felt finally she could have this, that this love they felt for one another was hers, it was torn from her hands by a cruel world.
Their last words to each other, confessions of love, Ava’s a goodbye, Beatrice’s a promise, echoed within the former nun’s mind and followed her through every waking and dreaming moment. Remnants of Ava’s request to her, “I'm doing this so you can live your life, so live it.” and yes, she lived her life and left the OCS to pursue it. Yet she lived her life alongside a deep sense of loss and heartbreak for herself and the love she should have had.
But the former nun held onto hope that Ava would return somehow, her body whole again. Though Beatrice had long felt doubt and worry, her belief and trust in God were challenged, but her faith remained with Ava. She knew, somewhere in her heart, Ava would return to her. Whether she would come back walking or crawling, she would find her way. She always did.
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Six months later...
It was almost midnight as Beatrice sat curled against the corner of her couch, wearing a deep blue jumper and a soft pair of sweatpants. She reached over to the coffee table to take a sip from the steaming tea in her mug. Placing it back on the table, she resettled, adjusted her glasses and turned the page of her well-worn copy of Anna Karenina.
A series of light knocks sounding against her door caused the former nun to startle, her fingers tensing against the pages before she quickly slid the bookmark between the pages, placing it beside the mug on her coffee table and stood, years of training and reflexes flooding back to her in an instant.
Despite Adriel’s demise, many of his zealots still operated around the world. OCS members had been dispatched to take care of the problem; however, there was still much work to do. Beatrice supposed it wasn’t implausible that they may have found her.
She walked into the hall, bare feet silently crossing the floorboards. The former nun took her staff from the rack where it rested as she approached the door, she activated it, the weapon lengthening in her hand, blade unsheathing, echoing minutely despite the silence, and no further knock sounded again. As she reached the door, Beatrice’s fist clenched around her staff, with muscles tensed and ready for a potential attacker, her free hand clasped the doorknob, preparing. She twisted the doorknob in a swift series of movements and threw the door backward, rushing into the figure’s space, pushing them against the wall opposite the doorway and forcing the bladed end of her staff against their throat, a threat and a promise.
The sound of the stranger’s sharp intake of breath, the low “fuck, that’s hot” breathed against her ear, caught the nun off guard, and as Beatrice leaned back, registered the face of the person standing before her, the staff fell from limp fingers. The former nun stumbled back several steps, heart erupting as it beat heavily against her chest, trying to break out of its confines.
It was her.
She was here.
She came back.
Ava...
“Hey, Bea.”