Chapter Text
Life has a really fucked up way of making your dreams come true.
It’s Tuesday.
It’s a regular Tuesday. There is nothing remarkable or special about it.
Her morning run takes Beatrice down the same winding path it always does. She drinks her coffee black like any other day, watching the sun climb higher from the little balcony of her studio apartment. She goes to class and takes notes with the precision of an archivist. She meditates for thirty minutes instead of praying. She revisits her notes to patch up gaps that don’t exist and to get a head-start which she doesn’t need. She calls Mary to catch up and confirm their weekly film night - turns out even though Father Vincent was lying about almost everything else, he wasn’t lying about wanting to redeem himself.
And it’s days like these - it’s smooth sailing - that have Beatrice wondering if she made the right choice by leaving the OCS.
A holy war is coming but it’s the same war that has been coming for the past three years. Neither the unholy nor the divine seem to care about the ephemerality of human life and Beatrice doesn’t know whether to feel sick with rage or soothed by it.
They all deserve a break.
Only this doesn’t feel like a break. To Beatrice it doesn’t. She’s in limbo. Suspended in mid-air. Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It reminds her of Switzerland. It reminds her of—
“—the entire Fast & Furious series.”
“Mhm…”
“And I feel like we should branch out so I’ve downloaded the first season of Jersey Shore.”
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
“Beatrice,” Mary says, lending enough weight to her name to pull Beatrice from her thoughts.
“Yes, Mary?”
“Have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?”
“I— Of course.” She blinks, shakes her head as if to convince the empty stretch of beach before her. “Whatever you pick, I’m sure it will be appropriate. I trust your judgement.” It’s not a lie but it’s not the complete truth either.
“Beatrice.” Mary’s voice is as soft as the sigh carrying over the line. Comparing pain is neither fair nor helpful but they wear similar scars. Some already white, others still pink and tender. Jagged and crisscrossing in different places but similar all the same.
Beatrice pauses. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, eyes fixed on the sand between her feet, “today has been… difficult.”
It still takes a lot of convincing and a healthy dose of persistence to get something out of her but she’s slowly becoming better at opening up.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not particularly. No.” Very slowly. “Any news on Lilith?”
Lilith who has been on the run ever since they defeated Adriel. Lilith who is something else entirely. Camila has been put in charge of hunting her down - though she optimistically refers to it as a ‘search and rescue mission’. Both Mary and Beatrice agree that in order for it to qualify as such, Lilith would have to want to be found.
Mary must realize that she’s trying to change the subject, it’s not exactly subtle. She might’ve as well said ‘I’m changing the subject’. But Mary also knows that’s what Beatrice needs.
An attempt to step away from it all had been made. She’d travelled Europe for a year, trying to make good on what had been asked of her, but neither her head nor her heart had been in it.
Spain is no place for new beginnings - they all know this - but they’ve lost too many already. No one is going to force Beatrice out if she doesn’t want to go.
Not even for her own sake.
“Camila said they received some cryptic ass message while they were in France. They’re tracking her through Germany now but no one’s actually seen Lilith in the past five months so they might as well be chasing a ghost out there.”
“What was the message?” Beatrice asks just as a group of three barrels past her, kicking up the sand no more than a meter to her right and hooting obnoxiously.
She reflexively leans the other way, throwing up a hand to shield her eyes from flying grains of sand. When she lowers it again, she’s met with the sight of two stragglers, tugging their clothes from their bodies in such a haste that one might conclude they’ve managed to personally offend them.
Beatrice doesn’t stare. She doesn’t start arguments, minds her own business, knows how to lay low.
She’s on her feet in .5 seconds.
An elbow gets stuck in the sleeve of a shirt while a lace bra drops to the ground elsewhere. Not that Beatrice notices, her entire world condensed to a single body with - as far as she can tell - a beating heart.
Brown eyes meet her own. The woman finally manages to wrangle her shirt over her head. She then hooks her thumbs into the elastic of her shorts to work them down her legs all while looking directly at Beatrice and sporting a cheeky grin.
“What are you doing?” It’s a question and an accusation all at once. Beatrice sounds precisely as she feels, like there’s no air left in her lungs.
“Skinny dipping.” Ava’s voice is exactly the same. Down to the excited lilt that suffuses every word with the sheer joy of being alive. Like ‘You want to go sightseeing? - Yes, of course. This is Madrid.’
Beatrice wants to cry.
“Hurry up, Ava! The devil takes the hindmost!” Someone yells from the waves as the second woman races for the shoreline.
“I’m coming!” Ava yells back, laughing at her own innuendo and the promptly returned, “Not without me, I hope!”
The devil can’t have her. There’s no recognition in her gaze - it’s like they’ve never met before. But Beatrice has already made her decision.
Ava confidently pulls her sports bra past her ears, adding a whole new layer to Beatrice’s struggles. At least this time it doesn’t go unnoticed. The pretty flush spreading from Beatrice neck up to her cheeks makes it near impossible to miss. As does the fact that she refuses to lower her gaze past Ava’s chin. The tensed shoulders and stiff spine make for a promising accessory too.
Ava laughs, her brows crinkling sweetly. “What are you? A nun? I ain’t got nothing you haven’t seen before, Sister.”
Beatrice knows she’s joking - Ava has never been cruel - but her comment steals the words from her throat regardless. “I—”
“You should join us.” Ava takes a single step back and winks at her - Beatrice, in turn, pitches forward. She dips down to remove her last remaining piece of clothing then begins her backwards track towards the rest of the group. “Come on,” she encourages, her smile kind, “you can leave your underwear on if it makes you feel more comfortable. We don’t judge.”
As she turns to sprint for the waves, Beatrice sees the tattoo on her back. An infinity knot that spreads from shoulder-blade to shoulder-blade in the exact location the Halo should be.
It’s cold. Too cold for skinny dipping.
But the woman has Ava’s face and Ava’s voice and Ava’s body and Beatrice would’ve followed her to hell and back - has yet to forgive herself for not stepping through the portal after her.
Mary is still trying to get her attention on the other end of the line, no doubt minutes away from using the very device as a tracking beacon, when Beatrice remembers why she’s holding it.
“I’ll call you back,” she says and disconnects the call. Her phone drops to the sand, followed by her sweater and her trousers.
The icy waves bite at her skin but despite the shock the change in temperature delivers to her system, Ava doesn’t disappear. She grins and cheers when Beatrice joins her, arms out to the sides to keep herself afloat.
“Hey, you did it!”
One of the guys drifts closer to them, splashing Ava to draw her attention. Beatrice knows who he is but there is no comfort to be found in that knowledge.
The guy - J.C. - lets his head bob lower then spits out a mouthful of saltwater, pointing his chin at her with a grin. “Who’s your friend, Ava?”
Ava’s eyes return to her at once. “Uhm, this is—” She starts - almost like she miraculously expects the answer to rest on her tongue by the end of it.
“Beatrice.”
“Beatrice,” she echoes like a reverent prayer and Beatrice dies and comes alive with it all at once. For a moment she thinks she can see something akin to recognition settling into Ava’s gaze but it’s just the sun reflecting off the waves and onto her face.
“You should totally join us for the Bog-Out later.” A disembodied voice remarks to her right. Beatrice turns to find the taller of the two women floating next to her.
“Yes, you should. There’s never a dull moment with the Fantastic Four,” J.C. promises and alright, fine, maybe Beatrice can see why Ava was so drawn to him.
She doesn’t point out that there are five of them but asks instead, “What’s a Bog-Out?”
“It’s a frat party.” Ava’s voice still warms her to the very core, swaddles her in layers of relief and pain. She’s moved even closer to J.C. now but Beatrice doesn’t think she’s looked away from her even just once.
Where have you been? What happened, she wants to ask. “You’re all in college?” Is the closest she gets.
“No but they don’t care,” the woman floating on her back - Zori, as Beatrice learns later - supplies and the entire group snickers, “and neither do we.”
By the time they leave the water several minutes later, their lips have turned blue and goosebumps are lining their skin. Randall and Zori head for their truck right away while J.C. and Chanel linger close by as Ava towels off. All Beatrice can do is watch her, wrapped in the picnic blanket she brought along to sit on.
“So about the party,” Ava starts, wriggling into her shorts with some difficulty, “you should give me your number so I can text you the address.” Her shirt follows and then she’s taking a tentative step towards Beatrice. “That’s, uh- assuming you want to come?”
They’re strangers, Beatrice thinks, Ava has no right to look as hopeful as she does.
“Can I?” She gestures at Beatrice’s phone, lying abandoned on the ground and Beatrice realizes a moment too late that she has neglected to answer her. But whatever Ava takes her lack of a response for, she doesn’t appear to be deterred by it.
“Um, yes.”
Ava picks up her phone and hands it over so Beatrice can unlock it - she does so blindly. And if Ava notices that her hands are shaking as she passes it back, she doesn’t comment on it.
“Okay… Here you go,” she says, her skin warm as she presses the device back into Beatrice’s still trembling hands, “I’ll text you.”
“Okay.”
Ava jogs the short distance to the idling truck. Before she gets in, she turns back to Beatrice one last time. “And make sure to call back Mary!”
Several old wounds open up at once, oozing hot red blood. Beatrice barely manages to stay upright until the white truck with its tinted windows turns into a side road and disappears from view. Once it’s gone, she drops to her knees and cries.
Real, ugly, breath-stealing tears.
By the time she gets home her screen shows fifteen missed calls from Mary.
-
She never makes it to the party.
Not because Ava’s number disappears from her contacts or because Ava doesn’t message her.
Because she does.
She sends a string of silly emojis along with the address as well as a follow up message, asking if Beatrice will be there. Three hours after the first two text messages go without a reply, there’s a third and final one, letting her know where to find Ava in case she arrives late.
Beatrice sleeps through all of them.
She wakes at 2 am, face down on the couch, coughing up a storm. Everything aches. She’s drenched in her own sweat - her clothes are sticking uncomfortably to her body and yet she can’t seem to stop shaking. Her arms wobble and threaten to give out as she tries to maneuver herself into a sitting position, to which her head promptly responds with a dull but persistent throb.
When an attempt to get herself a glass of water nearly sees her tripping into the coffee table, Beatrice finally resigns herself to sitting on the floor and calling Mary.
Mary - with her complete disregard for speed limits and stop signs in the face of her friend’s predicament - shows up twenty minutes later and manhandles her into the shower. She feeds her some paracetamol and a spoon of cough drops Beatrice doesn’t remember buying then helps her into a fresh set of pajamas and tucks her into bed.
Beatrice tells her everything. —Or at least she thinks she does. Tries to, anyway.
It’s really just a whole lot of disjointed mumbling.
The general gist? She thinks she’s seen Ava.
Naturally, Mary jumps to the most logical conclusion, heart aching for her friend.
“I used to dream about Shannon all the time too,” she says, sliding under the covers behind Beatrice and holding her while the younger woman’s body shakes with silent sobs.
Mary is gone when Beatrice wakes around noon the next day. There is a note on her bedside table, letting her know her professors have been informed that she won’t be coming to class and telling her to rest. A glass of juice sits next to it, her medication within reach.
The text messages are still there when she manages to drag herself the short distance to the couch, along with the little sun Ava entered after her name and the initial message she sent herself from Beatrice’s phone.
Beatrice doesn’t mention them when Mary comes by later to check on her.
Neither one of them brings up Ava.
She misses an entire week worth of classes. Turns out the human body - Beatrice’s specifically - has a curious reaction to stress and swimming in the ocean in early April when you aren’t used to it.
Camila calls her four days in. It sounds like she’s in a car and they’ve been talking for an hour when Camila quietly admits that they are returning to Spain because their lead on Lilith has gone cold.
“I really tried, Bea,” she says sounding so much younger again.
“I know. It’s okay. You did well,” Beatrice replies even though she no longer holds any authority over her.
At least Camila is coming home, she thinks. They may not be part of the same sect anymore but they will always share a special bond. It isn’t hard to admit that she misses her.
Beatrice misses Ava too.
Not exactly more but differently.
The longing she feels for Ava is sharper, so much more vibrant since that day on the beach. It consumes her to the point of distraction.
Beatrice sits in class, starring at Ava’s number on her phone instead of taking notes, wondering what would happen if she tried to call her.
She dreams of doing just that several times a week.
Dreams of seeing Ava again.
In her dreams, Beatrice reaches for her, touches her face. Ava leans into her palm for one blissful moment then begins to laugh maniacally. Her features melt away under Beatrice’s touch until she’s looking at Adriel.
She wakes up screaming each time but tells no one about it.
Instead she drags Mary along to more than one ‘frat party’, offering little to no explanation only to stand in a corner all night, scowling at strangers and scanning the crowd for Ava or one of her friends.
It has almost been a month when she thinks she’s spotted Chanel doing shots with some redhead on the other side of the room. But by the time Beatrice has managed to weave her way through the masses of sweaty, grinding college kids, Chanel is nowhere to be found and Beatrice’s night ends the same way they all do lately - with her sitting on her couch, her phone in hand, thumb hovering over Ava’s number, missing her but too afraid to do anything about it.
Beatrice stares at the screen until the digits begin to blur. She closes her tired eyes, letting her heavy head drop into her hand. She’s a mess. This can’t go on forever.
“Hello?”
At first she thinks she’s imagining it but when Beatrice moves to set her phone onto the coffee table, she is neither met with the sight of her lock screen nor with Ava’s contact information.
The phone slips from her grasp and clatters to the ground, the little red circle at the bottom taunting her.
“Hello? Beatrice? Are you there?”
Life has a really fucked up way of making your dreams come true.