Chapter Text
Beatrice has always been the one to wake at the sounds of birdsong early in the morning, a sense of alertness remaining even into the hours of her rest. Even the slightest unusual creak in the dark lifts her out of slumber into wariness. It means that she’s used to a certain level of interrupted sleep. She’s glad for it, though, when Ava knocks in the middle of the night.
Her voice is small and tense in a way that immediately brings Beatrice from deep sleep to alertness. “Beatrice? Are you there?”
She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and slides out of bed. “I’m here.” She’s barely to the door before it swings open and Ava tumbles into her arms with a small “ oof .” “Hey! Is everything all right?” The words have just left her mouth when she catches the glint of tears across Ava’s cheeks and the redness of her eyes. “Ava? What’s wrong?”
It’s reminiscent of their first real touch, but this time Beatrice finds herself more familiar with it. Ava buries her head against Beatrice’s chest, body shaking, and the instinctive hug comes without hesitation. “Nightmare,” Ava manages between half-sobbing breaths. “Couldn’t sleep.” She’s clutching at Beatrice like a lifeline.
Beatrice finds herself stroking Ava’s hair, pulling her deeper into the embrace. She nudges the door shut with a toe and guides them back, until they’re leaning back against the bed. The last vestiges of sleep confusion have left her now, and she’s all too aware of the warmth of Ava’s body. She grasps for some reaction of comfort. Her mind is absurdly occupied by the way Ava’s hands rest, curled up and supplicant between their bodies, and Beatrice cannot think of how to reassure her.
“How can I help?” she finally asks, after Ava’s hiccuping breaths have evened out somewhat, following the rhythm of Beatrice’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
A jerky shake of the head. Ava makes a soft, pained sound that jerks Beatrice’s heart against her ribcage, hard. “Can you just...hold me?”
“Of course,” Beatrice murmurs. Ava can probably hear the desperate thump of her heart, frantic to escape her chest. Beatrice wishes fiercely for it to calm, because such a reaction cannot be encouraged. “Here, lie down.” She pulls away for a moment to scoot onto the bed. Ava follows like a magnet. As soon as Beatrice has positioned herself on her side, opening a pocket of space for Ava, she curls into it like she’s always belonged there. The thought is dangerous enough, but the way Ava sighs into Beatrice’s chest and settles into her arms is near-deadly. Beatrice disguises her stuttering breath by reaching over to grab a fistful of tissues off her bedside table. Ava takes them gratefully.
“Sorry for waking you up,” Ava mutters. Her voice is hoarse from crying. “I, uh, think Lilith would’ve really killed me if I woke her up, though.” She looks up, a weak smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “Thanks.”
“For not killing you? Low bar, don’t you think?” Small delight quickens Beatrice’s pulse at Ava’s genuine huff of laughter.
“Yeah, well, I think more things have tried to kill me than to protect me recently, so.” She falls silent. It’s somehow easy to forget about the hordes of demons ravenous for the ring embedded in her back.
“You have us,” Beatrice says. “And I’m pretty sure Lilith doesn’t want to kill you anymore.”
“Mary pushed me off a cliff!” Ava takes in Beatrice’s surprised pause. “It was a really tall cliff, too. It hurt like hell.”
Beatrice reminds herself to ask Mary about that. “Well...that notwithstanding. You have me.” Her mind tries to supply “and Camila and Father Vincent” but somehow those words don’t escape her mouth.
“Yeah,” Ava sighs drowsily, nodding. She yawns, and reaches out. Beatrice doesn’t comprehend what exactly she’s reaching for — more tissues? — until warm fingers find her own and intertwine themselves easily. Ava pulls their joined hands between them gently. Fingers trace scars on Beatrice’s knuckles, the back of her hand. “What are these from?”
Beatrice finds her lungs burning and finally recalls how to breathe. “Sparring. General nun activities.” She doesn’t remember most of them. Whacks and cuts from combat training don’t tend to make a mark on her memory. Ava continues to trace each scar, focused intently. It’s adorable, and intimate, and Beatrice can feel a sinuous thread of panic begin to twist in her chest. She grapples with it for long seconds. Tamping down feelings has long been her wheelhouse, just another skill to add to the resume, and she grasps for that practiced calm now.
“What about this one?” Ava traces the long, jagged pale line curving along Beatrice’s forearm. “Looks like it hurt,” she murmurs.
Beatrice smiles wryly. “My first mission.” Back when she was still learning the ropes. “I had an encounter with barbed wire. Nearly gave the others a heart attack, I was bleeding everywhere.”
Ava chuckles. “You mean you weren’t always so badass?” She squeezes Beatrice’s hand. “It’s hard to imagine you as a little nun-in-training.”
“Oh, I’ve always been badass,” Beatrice deadpans. “Maybe just a little clumsier.”
Ava gasps. “Language! We are in a house of God!” Her eyes are twinkling with mirth, and something swoops in Beatrice’s chest. The feeling clogs her throat like honey. All she can do is give Ava an exasperated, fond glare.
“Please.”
“Just learning from the best.” Ava shrugs, grinning. They fall into a lull of companionable silence. Ava’s still holding her hand, but her thumb rubs repetitive circles against the back of Beatrice’s hand instead.
Beatrice feels herself falling back into a state of drowsiness. With Ava’s steady breaths and their hands intertwined, she can almost imagine a different story, another reason why they’re lying face-to-face in the same bed. Her heart aches at the thought like the traitor it is. She closes her eyes and tries to scrub the image of Ava’s smile out of her mind. Forget her kind eyes, the way her lips tug into a smile, how soft they seem, the alluring curve of her cheekbones, forget just how close Ava is to her. Forget it all, because it can’t be hers.
“I dreamt that I couldn’t save anyone,” Ava admits quietly, words barely audible. Beatrice opens her eyes. Ava’s staring hard at something in the distance. “They were killing…everyone. And we were fighting, trying to get somewhere safe, but more and more of them kept coming. I couldn’t stop them. I saw…” She breaks off. Beatrice notices a faint glow creeping up Ava’s back. “I saw them kill Mary, and Lilith, and Camila, and...I saw you die.” Ava shakes her head, squeezing Beatrice’s hand so hard it almost hurts. “I know it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. But it felt real. It felt so real.” Her voice is still a hoarse whisper, wracked with a real terror and pain. “I couldn’t do anything. I could only watch, and —”
Beatrice squeezes her hand. “Ava, look at me.” She’s never seen Ava so torn up, so vulnerable. She’s usually all quips and teasing lines, lighthearted despite everything. This tearstained fear is novel and discomfiting and Beatrice aches to fix it. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” Ava nods, wiping away unshed tears with the back of her hand. “You remember what I promised?”
Ava mumbles a soft “Yeah.”
“What did I promise?”
“Not to leave me alone.”
“ Never to leave you alone.” The words are huge in her mouth, they loom in her mind larger than any basilica or chapel. It feels heady to promise such things to a woman she’d only just met. It feels terrifying. It feels right. It can only feel right, when Ava gives her a quavery, relieved smile. “And, you know, I’ve never died before, so maybe I can’t.”
“Pffft,” Ava snorts, rolling her eyes. “Okay, nerd.”
“Excuse me?” Beatrice can’t find anything in her to be truly offended, only amused. “The nerd that has saved your life at least twice.”
“I mean it as a compliment!” Ava adds, eyes wide. “You know like, fifty languages and can kick ass. You’re the best nerd.”
Beatrice chuckles. “Thanks, Ava.” A yawn catches her by surprise. Hesitation flickers across Ava’s face.
“Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?”
“Not at all. I did say I wouldn’t leave you alone, didn’t I?”
It’s Ava’s turn to yawn. “That’s true.” She flips onto her other side, so that Beatrice is spooning her, their hands still intertwined. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Their hands rest together above Ava’s heart. “For everything.”
Beatrice smiles, and squeezes Ava’s hand. “Of course.” Ava is a solid warmth in her arms. Night rests timeless around them. The moonlight is a bare highlight, the room draped in comforting darkness. She can glimpse the edge of Ava’s half-smile from where she lies. Beatrice feels her eyes droop and a flush of affection through her body, and she can’t help herself from leaning down to press a light kiss to the back of Ava’s head.
Before impulsive panic can burst open again, Ava lets out a contented sigh and snuggles deeper into Beatrice’s embrace. “Goodnight, Bea.”
“Goodnight, Ava.” Beatrice hushes her stuttering heart. She reminds herself that this is simply an act of reassurance for someone rudely thrown into life and death demon fighting. It’s a thing that friends do. Friends provide safety and comfort. They can be affectionate and caring. A friend would try and forget the way that Ava makes her smile. A friend would ignore the sweet ache of fondness for Ava’s laugh. A friend would try desperately, like her faith depends on it, to not imagine kissing Ava softly.
Beatrice closes her eyes and forces herself to recognize the inevitable. If that’s what being a friend means...maybe she can’t be one.
The thought sits commanding in her mind, but even such worries drift away eventually, and soon she finds herself joining Ava in deep, dreamless sleep.