Work Text:
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you are the light of the world.
a city built on a hill cannot be hidden.
matthew 5:14
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It’s the same nightmare ever since she came back to life.
During the war, on the run, sleep was rare. In the times Ava could get some rest, it was often cut short with the same terrifying night terror—unable to move from her chest down, Sister Frances above her with that sadistic smile, and darkness, ever-consuming darkness, coming for her until she couldn’t breathe. Because of course what she has been for twelve years of her life was more terrifying than the actual flesh-and-fire demons they fought against.
Sometimes, when one had been through hell, one didn’t want to go back. Ava was certain Lilith could say the same.
In those rare times Ava could sleep, she’d wake up screaming until Camila or Beatrice calmed her down. After the first few nights—far too used to keeping her existence small so as not to be a burden like Sister Frances ingrained in her—Ava learned to silence herself.
Beatrice, too, learned that was what she did. By the third night, when nightmares shoved Ava into the world of the waking, the Sister Warrior would be there, light in the darkness, hands on Ava and a single promise on her lips: You’re alright, Ava. I got you.
The first night after the war, in the comfort of Ava’s bed—her own bed, in Cat’s Cradle, her now home—there hadn’t been an excuse for Ava to ask Beatrice to lie mere inches away from her while they slept. And Ava is a big girl; she’s the damned Halo Bearer, for fuck’s sake, regardless if the war is over or not. Her nightmares are all in her head. She can move. She can run. She kicked demon asses.
She can’t sleep.
It’s half an hour later that Ava finds herself out of bed, padding quietly through the hallway and careful not to wake anyone. Maybe a run would do her some good, or maybe some hot cocoa or—
“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Ava?”
If Ava practically phases through the floor, she hopes Beatrice doesn’t notice. She glares past the open bedroom door and at the woman hunched over her desk, her silhouette dimly lit by the moonlight through her window and the low lamp above her table.
Ava huffs. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question, Sister Creeper-in-the-Dark?”
Beatrice chuckles. “I was feeling a bit restless.” She gestures to the open book in front of her. “I decided to get some reading done instead. Why are you awake?”
Ava shrugs. “The same, I guess.”
She treads into the room. Beatrice isn’t wearing her habit. Of course. She wears a white sleep gown that is like her tunic, and the coif doesn’t cover her hair. The dark strands brush just above her shoulders and fall to her face. Beatrice sweeps them back behind her ear as she eyes Ava, worry creasing her eyebrows.
“Nightmares?”
Ava crosses her arms and looks around Beatrice’s room. It’s not her first time here, but it’s definitely the first since they came back and the first she’s been here in the dead of night. There’s a faint scent of incense and vanilla in the air. Unlike Sister Shannon’s walls filled with sketches and photos, bookshelves lined Beatrice’s bedroom walls instead.
“Not really,” Ava admits, dragging her gaze to Beatrice again. “I mean, can’t have nightmares if you can’t sleep, right?”
At that, a hint of a frown settles on Beatrice’s lips. Ava’s gaze flickers to them. She watches her lips move before the words actually register. “You need rest. The past few weeks have been rough.”
“Trust me, it’s not from the lack of trying,” Ava mutters. She gestures to Beatrice’s bed. “Can I…”
She trails off, not exactly knowing what to say next, or what she’s actually asking. She isn’t a fucking child. She’s fought literal demons, and yet. Ava fights the urge to leave. Beatrice looks to her bed, then back at Ava, before realization seems to dawn on her. A certain expression crosses her face, but it’s gone before Ava catches it—or it might have just been a trick of the light.
“Would you like some company to help you sleep?” Beatrice offers, her voice softer as she rises from her seat, her book in her hand.
Permission given, Ava takes a deep breath as she takes the three steps and settles on the edge of Beatrice’s bed. “That. That would be… nice.”
The corner of Beatrice’s lips twitch into a smile. She encourages Ava to scoot and lie down. Ava doesn’t complain, nor does she say anything. The Halo lets out a quiet thrum but more attuned to it now, Ava manages before she can settle into bed like a firefly. She lies down with a sigh, half-aware of Beatrice’s weight as she joins her on the edge of the bed.
“You know…”
Ava turns to Beatrice as she speaks. The Sister Warrior offers her a smile. “It’s not selfish to ask for help. Not from people who care for you, Ava.”
Worrying her lip between her teeth, Ava shrugs again. The sheets under her feel soft and stiff at the same time. “I know. I’m just getting used to it, I guess.”
“Asking for help?”
“Having people care about me.” Ava puffs her cheeks with air and lets it out with a heavy sigh. “Beyond the hunk of metal in my back, I mean.”
Realizing what she just said, Ava stares at the ceiling. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a bummer.”
“War or not, halo or not, you have us,” Beatrice assures. Ava remembers months ago, halfway into twenty feet of stone and a panic attack, when Beatrice declared the same thing. The darkness in her bedroom becomes easier to bear compared to the dead silence of Ava’s own room, what with the moonlight, the faint scent of vanilla, and Beatrice’s warmth, just inches away from her.
“I know. Thank you.”
Ava forces a smile on her lips, if only to dampen the feeling of guilt for imposing herself in Beatrice’s presence. As if seeming to sense that, Beatrice reaches for her forearm and squeezes it. She knows. She always does, somehow—always ready with the life raft to reach out to Ava to keep her afloat in the stormy sea. Light bleeds from under Ava.
“I’m reading Sartre,” Beatrice says, opening the book on her lap with her free hand. “Sure to knock you right out, if you want to listen.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of bedtime story.”
Beatrice smiles at her, soft features in the shadows and the light of the Halo, and reads. Ava half-wonders if she’s translating from French again. “What do we mean by saying that existence precedes essence? We mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world, and defines himself afterward...”
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Ava doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes up the next morning to a cold bed, it’s the first time she ever feels well-rested after what felt like an eternity. The summer sun filters through the slit between the closed curtains. Sartre’s book is on the bedside table, and atop it is a note in Beatrice’s neat script. Ava pushes herself up on her elbow to reach for it.
I didn’t want to wake you.
With a long sigh, Ava settles back into the cold sheets and clutches the note in her hand. A distant thought of this being some dream—or worse, a nightmare—crosses her mind.
Either way, she wakes up from it and faces the day.
+
Once the dust has settled and in between days when there is nothing else to fight but the silence of Cat’s Cradle, Mother Superion herself decrees they deserve a break.
They take it in different ways. Mary catches the first flight out of Andalusia and Ava thinks it’s to properly grieve for Shannon, now that there was nothing else to distract herself with. Lilith goes home to her family. Camila has plans of going home too, but decides to spend a week at Cat’s Cradle first before leaving.
Ava had no family to go home to. Technically, legally, she was dead. She also didn’t have a valid reason to return to the orphanage with her walking, and she wasn’t entirely prepared to discuss miracles and resurrections with the nuns, especially after what happened with Sister Frances.
It’s Beatrice who breaks her silence over dinner.
“I suppose you’re stuck here with the rest of us for summer,” she says, reaching to squeeze Ava’s shoulder.
“Could be worse,” Ava shoots back, a grin replacing the somber expression on her face seconds ago. “I could be stuck under the Vatican in place of some weird-ass creeper demon masquerading as a fucking angel.”
Beatrice rolls her eyes, but Ava caught the slightest quirk of her lips. “Language.”
+
“I… Don’t know how to ride a bike,” Ava admits one summer day.
It’s the most mundane of things. Not knowing how to ride a bike shouldn’t feel like such a shameful thing, especially considering the literal hell she and the Sister Warriors had gone through—and the fact that, well, she was bed-bound for years until fairly recently—but somehow, it does. She fidgets where she stands, watching Beatrice and Camila take two of the three bikes by the stand waiting for them.
The morning before Camila was set to leave, Ava came up to the pair in the library and asked if they could go out for fresh air, see the sights, and spend the day just somewhere outside of Cat’s Cradle. That was how they found themselves in town. They got lunch from the cafe by the park, and not yet quite ready to go home, Ava suggested they walk around for a while. Ten minutes into it, Camila found a bike rental and asked if they could ride around and enjoy the summer sun. How that was even possible considering the habits they wore was beyond Ava, but at least they switched out their dark tunics and scapulars with lighter fabrics.
Ava squints under the awful heat and hopes it’s enough to hide her self-consciousness.
“That’s alright,” Beatrice assures. She smiles that smile that makes Ava feel like everything is perfect in the world. Back when facing Adriel bore the greatest weight on her shoulders, that smile kept Ava from running away. Now, without that anchor of a responsibility holding her down, that smile is the very thing that makes her want to run. “We can teach you.”
“I’m not a very good teacher,” Camila interrupts. She glances at Beatrice, then at Ava, and back at Beatrice again.
Beatrice laughs. “Alright. I will teach you.”
They find a place to practice. Strangers throw curious glances their way—probably an odd sight for a sister to be teaching some girl in ripped jeans and a button-up on how to ride a bike—but Ava pays them no mind. Mostly. Camila rides around them and Ava watches for a few seconds before focusing back on Beatrice. The woman tells her to mount the bike—easy enough—and walk along with it.
“I look stupid,” Ava says.
“You’re learning,” Beatrice counters. “Keep your eyes ahead.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She can’t see what Beatrice is doing, but the woman walks alongside her.
“Okay. I’m going to hold the bike seat to keep it steady. Lift your feet to the pedal to get a feel of it, okay?”
Ava lets out a breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stop calling me ma’am or I’ll let you go.”
“Please don’t.”
Beatrice chuckles at that. Ava scoffs at her laughter, no matter how sunny the sound, and tries to follow instructions. She grips the handlebars too tightly, lifts her feet to the pedal and tries to balance herself on the bike, but she falters and stumbles. She extends a foot to keep herself up before she could fall, but Beatrice holds her up with the seat and the handlebars, her hand settling on Ava’s as she steadies the bike.
Beatrice laughs. “You’ll be fine. Steady. Try again.”
Ava sighs and nods. Her gaze flickers to Beatrice’s hand on hers, fingers brushing against her own digits, but the sister pulls away. She murmurs for Ava to look ahead again, and the Halo Bearer takes a deep breath of determination. Keeping her foot down, she pushes the pedal, and the bike rolls forward. She makes a small sound of surprise, but she continues on with Beatrice keeping her stable.
“See, you’re doing it.”
“Don’t let go, Beatrice!”
Beatrice laughs. “I won’t. You’ll be fine.”
A small breeze kisses Ava’s face. She huffs a breath as she keeps her eyes forward, feet just pushing the pedals. Left. Right. Easy enough. Her grip on the handlebars relaxes. Her fingers twitch on the brakes, but she doesn’t squeeze too tightly to make herself accidentally crash into nothing.
“You’re doing great, Ava!”
Wait, why does Beatrice sound too far?
Ava turns to her left to find that the sister isn’t next to hear anymore. The next moment, she crashes. The pain doesn’t register, but she makes a sound of surprise as she tumbles on her side with a quiet oof.
“Ava!”
There are footsteps running to her just as Ava pushes herself to sit up. “You let go,” she huffs, glaring at Beatrice as the sister kneels to check on her. At least she thinks she’s glaring. The amusement in Beatrice’s eyes makes Ava think she made the mistake of pouting instead. “You liar.”
Beatrice rolls her eyes. “I’ve done worse things, Halo Bearer. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Ava assures. Beatrice stares at her, as if to make certain. “I heal, remember?”
“Right.” Beatrice hums as if to accept that fact, but her hand reaches for Ava’s exposed knee, anyway. The scratch on her skin disappears. Beatrice brushes her thumb against it. Ava tells herself it’s the harsh afternoon heat on her cheeks. The sun at least makes the glowing Halo less obvious.
“Makes it easier for you to keep learning then.” Beatrice grins, pulls away, and offers Ava her hand. She takes it and the woman helps her up. Ava tries her best to look at anywhere but her. She fails, inevitably, and forces herself to look down and dust her knees. Camila joins them with a giggle, rolling her bike to a stop with a squeak of the brakes.
“At least falling won’t hurt that much for you.”
Beatrice still has that smile on her lips. Ava doesn’t hear her next words as her mind replays what Camila just said. Brown eyes settle on Beatrice as the sister picks up the bike and waits for Ava to take it.
“Again?”
Ava hopes Camila is right.
“Sure.”
+
The dormitories are quiet. It’s the delicious scent of something warm and comforting that wakes Ava that morning. She follows the smell to find Beatrice in the kitchen, an apron around her waist and over her tunic. She hums ever so softly, but the sound of it carries through the tall ceilings and vast spaces of the Cat’s Cradle.
“What ‘cha doin’?” Ava murmurs. It startles Beatrice; she gasps and almost drops the bowl in her hands. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Beatrice muses after a breath to calm herself. She sets the bowl on the counter. “You just surprised me, is all.”
Ava walks up to the counter and finds two trays of what looks like cupcakes. Those must be what smell so good. Ava’s stomach rumbles. “I didn’t know you baked.”
“I don’t do it often.” Beatrice scoops whatever it is in the bowl. At Ava’s curious glance, she continues. “It’s cream cheese and cinnamon,” she says and nods her head to the trays. “Frosting for chocolate chip banana cupcakes.”
“Wow. That sounds sinful.”
Beatrice laughs. “Then I’m not offering.”
“Hey, I’d gladly be a sinner for cupcakes.” Ava reaches for one of the cupcakes on the tray just as Beatrice finishes transferring the frosting to the piping bag. “Can I?”
“Always so impatient.” Beatrice makes a small sound of disapproval, but the amusement in her eyes says otherwise. Still, Ava waits until she nods. “Tell me what you think.”
“I don’t think I’ve had a banana cupcake before.” Ava bounces on the balls of her feet as she unwraps the liner and takes a bite of the cupcake. She moans at the taste of warm softness that melts in her mouth.
“Fu—” Ava swallows the bite and grins. “Fudge. Wow. That is delicious.”
Beatrice doesn’t say anything; she smiles with that small quirk of her lips, her eyelids fluttering shut as she nods in quiet gratitude. She slides the tray in front of her and frosts a cupcake as Ava takes another nibble, a bigger one this time that leaves a single bite in her hand.
“You like it then?” Beatrice asks.
Ava would have answered, but she gets distracted by how Beatrice’s hands move with grace as she sets the piping bag above the cupcake. She places two fingers above the tip of the piping bag and squeezes it with her other hand, swirling the cream cheese frosting atop the chocolate chip banana cupcake. A fleeting thought of how her hands would feel in Ava’s settles in the Halo Bearer’s mind, melding with the warmth of the holy relic in her back, an orange glow in the morning, before it disappears with a quiet hum.
When Beatrice finishes, she looks up at Ava, and only then does Ava realize she hasn’t answered her. At least she didn’t see Ava glow out of nowhere.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” That’s not an answer either, but Ava can’t really be blamed for the question.
Beatrice chuckles and moves on to her next cupcake. “Make terrible puns?”
Ava rolls her eyes playfully. “Rude. You think I’m hilarious.”
“I don’t.” Beatrice raises an eyebrow at her, and Ava doesn’t miss the smirk on her lips.
“Ouch.” Ava pouts playfully and finishes the bite in her hand, speaking before she could even swallow. “Honestly though, this is great.”
“Manners please,” Beatrice hums. She pauses as she finishes with another rose on a cupcake. She glances at Ava with a small smile. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s the yeast I can do.”
Beatrice looks at her in disbelief. She parts her lips to say something. Ava glances down to watch the movement, but the woman says nothing. Instead, Beatrice just sighs and mutters something under her breath that Ava can’t hear.
Regardless, the hint of a smile on the corner of Beatrice’s lips is unmistakable. A more successful joke later, and Beatrice’s laugh echoes in the emptiness of the Cradle’s hollow walls and Ava’s own chest.
+
Ava learns to sleep on her own again, if only because she doesn’t want to keep bother Beatrice when she doesn’t have to. But on nights when any attempts become futile, Beatrice’s door is always open. Either way, every morning, Ava wakes to an empty bed. She rarely wakes up early. Beatrice seems to rise with the sun.
When Ava does finally wake up early enough—not from a nightmare, thankfully, but from a kink in her neck that became too uncomfortable to sleep through—she wanders the almost-empty halls and finds Beatrice training.
It’s one of the rare times Ava sees her out of her habit during the day. Her usual training attire composed of the still-black fabrics of her long sleeves and pants, boots and her coif, but today, she’s wearing something different—a coat and a skirt. A gi and a hakama. She grips a wooden sword. Ava’s seen it in books. Beatrice still has her coif, and the darkened, damp edges of the fabric tell Ava the woman has been at this for a while.
“Kendo.”
Beatrice pauses where she has her sword raised, her fists loosening around the hilt of the sword.
“Japanese martial art,” Ava continues, stepping into the training mat but keeping her distance from Beatrice. No one wants to get hit by a sword first thing in the morning, wooden or not.
“Good morning to you, too.” Beatrice lets out a long breath, an amused smile on her lips. “You’re familiar with it, then?”
“In theory,” Ava shrugs. “I learned about it on TV, like how I learned… Well, a lot of things. Not much to do when you’re stuck in bed for years.”
Beatrice purses her lips like she’s deciding what to say, but Ava sees her gaze flicker over her hands. Ava fidgets at the attention and wonders if the hollowness in her belly is just need for breakfast.
“You’re a quick learner,” Beatrice finally voices. “And you’re already skilled with the sword.”
At that, Ava grins. The mat she stands on is the same mat where she and Lilith first sparred—if one could even call it that. During the war, when time permitted and their injuries permitted, Lilith sparred with Ava. The Next in Line was the most fitting to train with the Halo Bearer after all; Ava was half-sure Lilith enjoyed beating the ever-loving shit out of her, too, even if it wasn’t out of resentment. Sadism, probably. She seemed like the type.
“You know, we never really sparred.”
Beatrice lowers her sword and raises her eyebrow. The emptiness in Ava’s stomach makes itself known again. It’s a type of hunger she’s less familiar with.
“Is that a challenge?”
Ava grins. “Are you taking it?”
“Alright then, Halo Bearer.” Beatrice’s tone is amused. Ava thinks she’s going to regret this. “No cheating.”
The woman hands her a wooden sword. Gripping the hilt with both hands, Ava watches and mirrors Beatrice’s movements.
“Ready?”
They circle each other for a few steps, swords pointed forward. Ever impatient, Ava steps forward and strikes first. Beatrice blocks it and twists—Ava’s own sword lands on her shoulder, but Beatrice takes the opportunity to swing towards Ava’s back. The wooden sword smacks right where the Halo is.
“One,” Beatrice says as Ava gasps. She shakes her head at Beatrice.
“Wow. You’re not playing,” Ava chuckles as she watches Beatrice. The sister has that look of concentration on her face: eyebrows slightly furrowed, lips pursed. Calculating. Always calculating. She is the team’s strategist after all; she always thinks things through, and if it weren’t for her, Ava was certain she and the Sister Warriors would have been worse for wear during the fight with Adriel.
Or worse. Ava distantly thinks of the dead and never waking.
“I don’t play.” Beatrice tilts her head. “Focus.”
“So serious.”
Beatrice takes that as a time to strike. Ava thanks her Halo-induced reflexes to have been able to block it, because for a woman supposedly without Heaven-granted powers, Beatrice is truly remarkable. Ava feels the strain of blocking her strikes as the Sister Warrior keeps the offense. Yet again, Ava regrets issuing the challenge with no preparation from her end.
Then again, she’s done more stupid things.
Another blow lands on Ava, this time on her shoulder. Beatrice hums. “Two.”
Ava grunts as she cranes her neck from side to side. It doesn’t entirely hurt, but two to nil is a bummer and wounds her pride more than anything. She huffs out a breath and keeps her sword up.
“Ready?” Beatrice asks. “Always keep your guard up.”
Ava nods and immediately attacks. With a raise of her sword, she lunges forward. Beatrice mirrors her, and the hilts of their swords meet in the air with a dull crash. The taller woman grins at her. Ava catches the twinkle in her eye, but it’s gone as she steps back to put distance between them.
“Good.” Beatrice doesn’t give her a chance. She steps forward again, and running on mere reflex alone, Ava leaps, meeting Beatrice head on with her own sword above her head. She sees the impact before she feels it: Ava’s forearms land above Beatrice’s chest, an opening brought by her raised sword, and Ava shoves before she could even think.
The Sister Warrior stumbles backward but manages to catch herself with her knee. Ava doesn’t stop. She takes another step, rushing forward to strike once more. Beatrice blocks her sword with a perpendicular hit, but considering her position isn’t the most stable, a single push is all it takes for Ava to send her tumbling back into the mat. Her sword clatters inches away from her grip.
Ava heaves as she steps above Beatrice, but the strain doesn’t dampen her victorious grin. And just because she could, she hooks the tip of her sword under Beatrice’s chin, lifting the woman’s face up by an inch just to see if that same smirk from earlier is in her eyes.
“Is that considered a knockout?”
Ava should really learn to control her tongue.
Before she could even blink, she feels the ground vanish from her feet and she comes crashing into the mat. She groans in surprise, the impact shocking her more than anything. When she looks up, Beatrice is pushing herself up with that stupid smirk on her face. A clean leg sweep. Ava didn’t even notice.
“You said no cheating,” Ava huffs.
“Cheating is using the Halo,” Beatrice says, before offering her hand to Ava. It reminds her of the time Beatrice taught her how to ride a bike and the smile on her lips.
How can a single quirk of Beatrice’s lips make her want to stay still and freeze this moment here and make Ava want to run at the same time?
“I told you to always keep your guard up.”
“Yes ma’am,” Ava mutters. She takes Beatrice’s hand. With a quick tug, Ava pulls the woman down, and a heartbeat later she has flipped their positions—Ava straddles Beatrice on the mat, smug satisfaction on her face. The shock on Beatrice’s face is apparent.
And then she laughs. It crinkles the corner of her eyes; the sunlight through the church windows makes her eyes look more gold than brown. Ava never quite noticed the rings of green around them until now, only the way her eyes looked like they held galaxies of secrets as they sat huddled around a fire, months ago on the run.
“See?” Beatrice says, breathless in a way that steals the air out of Ava’s own lungs. “Quick learner.”
Oh god.
+
The summer days blur together. It’s been two weeks or so, Ava thinks, which is halfway through the month Mother Superion gave them. Mary, Lilith, and Camila haven’t returned yet, but Camila sends them postcards and some goat cheese from Inverness. Some of the Sister Warriors take missions in the city and beyond, and while Ava itches to go back outside in action, she takes the slower days while she can, fully knowing that despite the end of the war, there’s still so much good to do in the world.
Purpose. It’s an odd thing, probably also driven by the hunk of divine metal on her back, but where it laid so heavy the first few weeks she had it, it’s a weight she carries responsibly now. Maybe it’s getting used to it; maybe, it’s the realization many months ago within the walls of the Vatican, echoed repeatedly with every day she spends at Cat’s Cradle with the rest of the Sisters that she doesn’t have to do it alone.
It’s after lunch and Ava takes purposeful strides to Beatrice’s room, a brochure she found in the library shelves in hand. She doesn’t knock; Beatrice’s bedroom door is often open, unless she has to close it for privacy, but when Ava finds Beatrice in front of her mirror, hands fastening her veil atop her head, Ava freezes and quickly looks away.
“Sorry, I—” She flusters, for some reason. It’s not like she walked in on Beatrice naked. She turns redder at the thought and feels the Halo burn on her back. In tune with her emotions. Stupid hunk of metal. Ava forces herself to calm the fuck down.
“It’s alright,” Beatrice says. Ava can hear the smile in her voice. “Did you need anything?”
Clearing her throat, Ava glances at the brunette as she steps into her room. “Do you like art?”
Beatrice drags her eyes away from the mirror to look directly at the Halo Bearer. Ava swallows at the look in her eyes—the slightest hint of amusement dancing with something else Ava can’t really pinpoint what. “Why?”
Ava shrugs. “I… Haven’t really been around Andalusia much, and I read about the Picasso Museum.” She waves the brochure in her hand, almost forgotten, and resists the urge to fidget with the hem of her shirt like a child. “I was wondering if you wanted to go.”
Beatrice studies the brochure in her hand. An expression crosses her face, so similar to the one Ava thought she saw their first night back at Cat’s Cradle. Fleeting, yet again. The sister tilts her head. “Do you like art?”
Ava opens her mouth, closes it, then shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Amusement graces Beatrice’s soft features before her lips lift into a small smile and Ava feels like she’s eaten clouds for dessert. “I suppose we will.”
+
Museo Picasso Málaga is in a literal palace, which explains why it’s huge and Ava reconsiders actually starting the tour. Beatrice tells her it’ll take an hour, hour and a half tops, and that Ava doesn’t need to pretend to like the artworks if she doesn’t like them.
It doesn’t sound so bad. Ava gets interested enough in Picasso’s evolving art style, but mostly, she gets engrossed in the quiet grace in Beatrice’s perusal of the artworks displayed.
“Have you been here before?” Ava asks as they walk out of the hallway and into the central patio. The sun and the white walls make everything brighter. The faint smattering of freckles on Beatrice’s cheeks and the bridge of nose as she looks up to the clear blue skies above become more apparent in this light, and Ava finds herself counting the stars on her skin until Beatrice meets her gaze.
“No.” She smiles at Ava. “But I have been to the one in Barcelona.”
“You should take me there,” Ava points out. When Beatrice looks at her with a raised eyebrow, she shrugs. “I took you to this one!”
A chuckle leaves Beatrice’s lips, the sound of it as warm as the sun on Ava’s skin. “I take it we’re in the direction of you liking art then?”
“Maybe.” The Halo Bearer shrugs. That, or she just likes the idea of more time like this with Beatrice. The thought leaves her quiet, but thankfully, she can hide it with the pretense of perusing the artworks displayed in the center of the patio. Their footsteps are quiet as they make their way to the next hallway. Beatrice has her hands clasped in front of her and Ava wonders how her hands would feel in hers—not for the first time, she realizes with almost jarring clarity.
Beatrice likes to touch. Ava discovered that sooner rather than later. Whether it’s complementing her words with physical assurances or to just prove that she is right there with them—with Ava, specifically, to anchor her to the present when the Halo Bearer feels like running yet again—Beatrice’s hands often than not reach out. Ava knows how her hands feel—on her own, on her arms, cradling her fucking face—and yet still, she craves to know what her hands feel tangled with her own.
Greed has always been the downfall of man.
As they approach the entrance to the next hallway, Ava drags her gaze away and stops to read the display on the wall.
“I see you before me, my lovely landscape and never tire of looking at you.”
Ava glances at Beatrice to ask her what she thinks, but there’s pink dusting the woman’s freckled cheeks that make the olive stars on her skin darker. She clears her throat and looks curiously at Ava. “I thought you couldn’t read French.”
“I can’t,” Ava says, pointing to the text she just read. Only then does she realize what Beatrice is talking about: a piece of parchment that looks like the original letter of what she just read, just above her line of sight, in an unfamiliar language Ava can only assume is French.
“Ah.”
Ava grins. “That’s romantic. Don’t you think?”
Beatrice tilts her head as she looks at the letter again. “Perhaps. I’m quite certain he wrote that for his then-mistress, however. She was 17. He was 45 and married.”
“Okay.” Ava scrunches her nose. “That’s. Decidedly unromantic.”
“There are many rarely known facts about artists like him. Often, they remain untold.” Beatrice shrugs. “Separation of art from the artist.”
“Any other fun facts you know?”
The sister’s eyes widen by a fraction, and a sheepish smile graces her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a know-it-all or a killjoy.”
“No, no! That wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. I do want to know.” Ava pushes her hands into her back pockets and looks up at the letter in front of her again. Beatrice is brilliant, that much Ava knows, but all she can think of at times like this is the woman talking about how she became skilled in so many things so people would look past her so-called flaw. Ava remembers the long-carried grief in Beatrice’s eyes that left Ava hollow until her own pain made itself known. She has to take a deep breath to rein in the distant rage that brews in her chest and the quiet, heated thrum of the Halo at the thought. “Don’t ever apologize about those things. Besides. It’s like I have my own guided tour.”
Beatrice hesitates before she takes the invitation. “He’s considered the world’s greatest modern artist, and his muses are women.”
“I mean.” Ava looks at her then, dark eyes sweeping over soft features. Often, when she finds herself looking at Beatrice, Ava thinks God exists and thanks him with a quiet breath. “Fair.”
Beatrice looks at her curiously. The way her lips curve makes Ava wonder if she said anything else out loud. “His lover, Dora, once told him he’s an extraordinary artist, but morally speaking, he’s worthless.”
“Well. Also fair.” Ava frowns. It makes Beatrice laugh before she gestures for them to continue to the next hallway. As Ava takes in the colors and corners in Picasso’s works, a thought dawns on her.
“Wait. Don’t tell me you paint, too.”
Beatrice merely glances at her, a secretive smile on her lips as she continues on, ever graceful steps that Ava knew from experience can turn deadly in a heartbeat.
“Seriously?” Ava shakes her head and snorts, the sound of it too loud in the silence of the hall. Of course she can fucking paint, too. “Dude, come on.”
“I prefer the written word.”
“Right. Let me guess. Is it the other Pablo?”
“Neruda?” Beatrice hums as she pauses in front of a painting. Musketeer with Sword, 1972. Ava pouts at it. “Another great artist, also problematic.”
“Yikes.”
Beatrice offers her a solemn smile. “I apologize if I’m putting you off these so-called great artists.”
“No, no, it’s. It’s enlightening.” Ava lets out a breath through her nose. “A bit depressing and enraging, but it’s also impressive how you retain all this information. I can barely remember where the sun rises most days. I should take you to more museums. After you take me to Barcelona, of course. I think I’ll learn a lot.”
“There are 186 museums in Andalusia.”
“Well. I guess I’m amenable to visiting some of those first before we go to Barcelona.”
Beatrice laughs. “Is that a promise?”
Ava pauses. In this life or the next sits in the back of her mind, a creed and a pact among the sister warriors. Ava isn’t certain about the next life. This life is technically her next. She’ll hold on to it with greedy hands and keep all the promises she can make. Especially when Beatrice looks like she’s waiting for her with bated breath.
“What the heck. Yeah.” She grins, Halo thrumming, the divine in front of her. “Yeah it is.”
+
They visit another nearby museum on the works of Felix Revello de Toro. He was a portrait painter well-known for interpreting the feminine figure with seductive elegance, according to the write-up in the brochure that Beatrice got for them. Ava only remembers Sister Melanie and Beatrice’s tears that fateful day, yet again. It lingers in Ava’s mind, even as she watches Beatrice’s silent contemplation of the masterpieces on the wall—even as Ava can only really look at her.
That’s the thing about Beatrice: there’s a quiet, graceful strength about her that sometimes made Ava jealous and often made her stare. The first time they met, Beatrice was wary of her; rightfully so, considering all things. Over time, the sister opened up, but it was only during that time in the search for answers to power the Halo did Ava understand the inner workings of the woman—she’s one to open up just enough, lowers her defenses just enough for people to think they were already in, except beyond the fortified gates were even taller walls.
And unfortunately for Ava, she can’t phase through those.
Talking about Sister Melanie—or at least, why Beatrice found her story somewhat relatable—gave Ava a rare glimpse past those walls. Every so often, in the lull of the moments between the two of them this summer, Ava itches to find herself back there and see Beatrice in her rawest once more—somewhere few people have been, a part of her not many people have seen, because Ava is a curious explorer. Because she wants Beatrice out of the shadows, the way she brought light into Ava’s life.
Greed has always been the downfall of man.
They make their way home past sunset, red and orange bleeding into the dark blue of the evening sky. The gravel crunches beneath the soles of her shoes. Distantly, the rest of the city dissolves into stillness as they approach the hillside walkway that leads to the gates of Cat’s Cradle. Ava doesn’t realize she has been quiet until Beatrice breaks the silence.
“Not a single pun or a joke cracked throughout that last stretch,” she muses, mirth in her tone, but Ava doesn’t miss the worry in the crease of her eyebrows. She’s seen it enough times. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” Ava answers too quickly, and Beatrice just stares, far too used to that too. “Just thinking.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
That at least earns a laugh from Ava.
“Rude.” Quiet for a few more moments, Ava finally hums when she finds the words. “You told me pain is what made you a Sister Warrior.”
“Yes.” There is that secretive smile again, though tinged with sadness this time. A crack in the wall. “I told you, Ava. There’s always more.”
“Right. No, I know that.” Not entirely. Beatrice hasn’t elaborated on that. Ava surmises the story lies past the tall walls, beyond the goddamn gates, and all she could really do now is peer through the crack in the wall. Ava meets Beatrice’s gaze. “What made you stay?”
“I found something to fight for. A purpose.” Beatrice smiles and looks ahead, and Ava wonders what she’s thinking. “A family.”
“And with the war over?”
“War or not, I remain faithful to my God.”
Right. Ava chews her bottom lip at that. She isn’t entirely happy with that reply, but such a response isn’t surprising from a fucking nun, badass ninja or otherwise. Beatrice took her vows earlier than most, which basically means she probably has one of the strongest relationships with God or whatever. And as far as faith is concerned, Ava still doubts, more often than not—despite her alive and walking thanks to the stolen artifact on her back, despite the actual demons they had to fight—much to the rest of the Sister Warriors’ amusement.
There’s an odd taste on Ava’s tongue and she sees green but tempers it. Between the two of them, God’s the jealous one. Still, she huffs. “How do you remain faithful to a God you cannot see?”
“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
Ava laughs. “Did you just quote the Bible to me?”
Beatrice chuckles. “The fact that you know it’s from the Bible is telling,” she points out with a quirk of an eyebrow. “But believing in something, someone, is better than holding on to nothing, isn’t it?”
“Eh, I don’t know. Hard to be faithful when this so-called God of yours had me suffer through years of—” Ava exhales through her nose. She and Beatrice had a great day; why would she want to ruin that with talks of her God? Still, the question stumbles from her lips without a second thought, resentment coloring her tone. “Just saying, if he’s such a compassionate and loving fella, why would he let anyone suffer?”
Beatrice purses her lips. “The Bible says—”
“Fuck the Bible.”
“Language.”
Beatrice is quiet for a while, but she keeps walking. Ava walks just as quietly beside her, almost regretting her words. When will she ever learn to hold her tongue?
When Beatrice finally speaks, her voice is too soft the crickets seemed to sound louder, but her voice held the same conviction of a woman who stormed the walls of Vatican with the single belief the key to rid the world of demons lied in the hands of a relic-powered former quadriplegic risen from the dead. “I could tell you it’s to strengthen your faith in Him, or because He has faith that you’ll get through it, but neither of those are helpful nor certain.”
Beatrice lets out a long breath and looks at Ava—really looks at her, like she’s confessing her greatest sins, and Ava forgets to breathe for a moment. “All I know is that my faith brought me to where I am. To the OCS. Past Adriel, winning the war. To this moment here with you.” She looks away from Ava and looks up at the stars dusting the darkness. “I think that’s enough for me to keep faith in Him.”
Ava swallows thickly at that. She doesn’t say anything, far too focused on remembering how to breathe, and Beatrice seems to take her lack of reply as an answer to her question. They continue walking home in silence. The night settles on, and it’s well into the evening as they arrive at Cat’s Cradle. Ava glances up to the dark canvas, dots twinkling overhead.
“You know, I’ve never actually properly looked at the stars. Or, I mean, appreciate them at least.” Ava shrugs. “The nuns at the orphanage only took me out during the day, and I couldn’t really, you know. Sneak out.” She laughs. “The most I’ve done is peek through the ratty windows Diego and I had in our room. And stargazing isn’t a priority when you’re fighting some ancient evil. But in line with our appreciation of art today, well, this is nice.”
Beatrice looks at her, but there isn’t pity in her eyes. Instead, there’s something akin to wonder in them, and when she smiles, Ava feels the thrum of the stupid divine hunk of metal on her back. If Beatrice notices her glow, she doesn’t say anything.
“I’ve loved the stars since I was young,” she says, glancing up at the sky as well until the stars seem to glimmer in her very eyes. “One of the better things about being in a Catholic school in Switzerland was also the view.”
“Isn’t it weird?” Ava’s eyes sweep across the darkness and she thinks of the many light-years it takes for each single dot to reach the Earth. “How horrifyingly small our existence is compared to those stars?”
The softest hums echo in the silence of the inches between them. Ava doesn’t realize they have stopped walking until she feels the back of Beatrice’s hand brush against her own.
“That’s true. The hell we’ve been through, our very lives, they’re infinitesimal compared to those stars.” Beatrice sighs before smiling to herself like she’s remembering a fond memory. Ava aches to know what she thinks—craves for those fingers to thread through hers, and in the rare moment of desperation where a non-believer finds faith, she wonders if God could allow her this small mercy and seek from Him answers.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Beatrice says, dark eyes meeting Ava’s in the dimness of the night. “That we’re part of such vast greatness.”
“I don’t know what infinitesimal means,” is all Ava can say.
Beatrice stares at her. “You are incorrigible.”
Ava grins, laughs, and Beatrice laughs, too; the sound is more beautiful than the stars themselves.
Fuck.
“Maybe,” Ava mumbles, gaze fixated on Beatrice. Here is another peek through the crack in the wall. Her hand twitches. All she needs to do is to move and thread her fingers through Beatrice’s and her curious craving would be quenched.
She doesn’t move. The gravel crunches with the sound of an approaching car, breaking the silence between them.
“Must be the Sister Warriors from a mission,” Beatrice says. She sighs a breath through her nose and smiles at Ava. She feels like she’s underwater. “We should check in on them.”
Fuck them, Ava wants to say. Stay. Selfishness, too, was the downfall of man, and Ava has never wanted to be selfish like now. She watches Beatrice walk away. Ava lifts her eyes to the sky and glares to whatever higher being watches them.
“Yeah, you think that’s fucking funny, don’t you?”
+
Ava should be sleeping.
Instead of slumbering away and drooling all over her pillow, she lies awake and alone in bed, tired eyes on the ceiling, mind playing Beatrice’s words earlier tonight. The rest of the night wore on, and Beatrice didn’t bring up anything from earlier, even as they parted to their respective bedrooms.
Was there even anything to bring up? Was she imagining things?
Ava isn’t certain if she’d rather have this than her usual nightmare. At least in her nightmares, she’d wake up and feel her arms and legs, feel alive, feel life in her very veins. This? She is wide awake, and in the ever-consuming darkness of her bedroom and her mind is Beatrice, under the stars, lifeline extended towards Ava’s greedy, aching hands. If she dares reach out for her, would Beatrice take them?
Does she want to know? She isn’t a woman of faith. As far as risks go, she’d rather take the road she knows and settle where she’s comfortable, because that’s safe. Because safe means alive and after the years and years of hell, literal and otherwise, Ava would like to stay safe and alive.
Does it matter that Beatrice makes her feel both?
Ava doesn’t know what compels her to stand and phase through her own closed door to make her way to Beatrice’s room. Her door is shut, because it’s way too late to still be awake, but here is Ava: faith in her clutches, hope in trembling digits, conviction of something she couldn’t really see but felt in her bones, her very soul, in the months that have gone—embers made fire by the past days.
Ava stares at Beatrice’s door and lets out a long sigh before finally knocking. It takes three seconds for Beatrice, already in her sleeping gown and her short dark hair in loose curls above her shoulders, to open the door. An apology is already on Ava’s tongue, but the worry in Beatrice’s wide-awake eyes makes her stutter the words.
“Nightmare?” Beatrice asks softly, already opening the door and stepping aside to let Ava into her bedroom with little prompting.
No, not the nightmares, but something as equally terrifying. The concern in Beatrice’s eyes worsens.
“Ava?”
Only then does Ava realize the Halo is glowing, a warm orange in the darkness of Beatrice’s room, lit only by the barely parted curtains. More in tune with the Halo now, Ava forces herself to pull it together until the glowing ceases and all she could see is Beatrice’s soft features cloaked in shadows once more.
“No, I…” Ava swallows and fidgets with her hands. “I mean, not the nightmares. I haven’t been able to sleep yet.”
Beatrice reaches for her with a gentle hand on Ava’s bicep. The Halo Bearer tenses and Beatrice hesitates; only when Ava relaxes her shoulders does she continue, her hand setting fire in Ava anew.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know?” Ava fidgets and feels the need to run away. Again. Beatrice’s hand anchors her to the now and Ava remembers the first night back from the war, thinks of earlier tonight, and hurls a gentle accusation towards Beatrice. “You’re- It’s you.”
“I’m—” Beatrice’s hand on her bicep twitches, as if she’s wondering if she should pull away. “I’m sorry?”
“I just—” Ava sighs. She looks down at her fidgeting hands. In her periphery, Beatrice lowers her gaze to meet Ava’s, but she couldn’t dare do the same. She doesn’t think she can.
“Look.” Ava takes a deep breath. Was this what it felt to be in a confessional, darkness looming as you bare yourself to someone? “I- I haven’t been actually certain that I like girls. Like, like like girls. In practice, anyway. Can I appreciate them objectively? Yes”—she waves her hands—“I’ve spent much of my life in front of a fucking TV staring at girls but haven’t actually properly interacted with one until months ago.”
She finally meets Beatrice’s gaze. The woman looks amused and confused at the same time. Ava couldn’t tell with the darkness. She pulls back her hand. Ava already misses her warmth. The Halo thrums. Focus. “I mean, Chanel’s pretty cool and all but she doesn’t make my heart flutter or make this stupid battery on my back light up like a fucking city, you know? But you!”
Ava groans and flails her arms towards Beatrice in frustrated desperation. “I literally fucking light up in your presence.”
Before Beatrice can chastise her for her language, Ava shrugs in resignation. “I just. I can’t stop thinking about earlier. What you said. And I—”
And you what, Ava?
“Maybe I kinda like girls, if that’s chill with your god.” She wants to run. She fidgets with her hands. She wants to run but the look in Beatrice’s eyes makes her stay, anchors her to the moment, rips from her lips the confession she didn’t realize she held on to. “But I’m certain I like you, specifically.”
Beatrice says nothing. It feels like far too long, and Ava isn’t sure if it’s only been an actual second or a half of it, but the woman finally steps forward to close the gap between them. Beatrice takes her fidgeting hands in hers and chuckles.
“You know what’s funny?” Nothing, Ava wants to say, but she can’t find words or breathe right now. Beatrice turns Ava’s hands until her thumbs trace the lifelines on her palms. “I was praying about you when you literally came knocking.”
“You asked your sky father about me?”
Beatrice lets out a long tired sigh, wonder and disbelief in a single exhale, and before Ava can apologize, Beatrice cups her face in her ever-gentle hands, pulling Ava in—close, closer, until their breaths become one and she feels Beatrice’s lips on hers.
And Ava isn’t entirely sure what kissing girls should feel like, but it definitely didn’t feel like this when she kissed JC. The familiar heat and thrumming of the Halo makes itself known, and she feels the ground itself shift beneath her feet, lightness in her very soul at the kiss.
Is this what being born again feels like?
Beatrice pulls away after a while. It feels far too quick, and Ava isn’t sure if it’s only been an actual second or several of it, but Beatrice stays close to her that her breath dances against her lips when she speaks. “Ava?”
“Hm?” She doesn’t dare open her eyes, lest this was another nightmare.
Beatrice chuckles. “Ava.”
Ava finally opens her eyes, only to see Beatrice grinning. “What?”
“You’re levitating.”
“Wh—”
And then she’s crashing. She expects the solid ground beneath her, but Beatrice catches her in her arms with a laugh, a warmth that rivaled the divine heat of the Halo around her.
“Are you alright?” Beatrice asks, all gentle grace and worry.
“Yeah,” Ava whispers, a prayer of thanks to whatever higher being is up there as Beatrice cradles her face in her hands. She succumbs to the ever-present temptation and laces their fingers together. Beatrice smiles. It tethers Ava to the now, to the need to stay, and she nuzzles Beatrice’s hand to kiss the curve of her palm.
“I’m alright. I got you here.”
+
“Something’s up,” is what Mary greets her with when she settles into the dining table with a tray of her food and a suspicious glance over at Ava. Camila grins from across her. The Halo Bearer just stares blankly and pokes at her potatoes.
“Did you gain some divine revelation powers or something while you were over at…” Ava draws circles in the air with her fork. “Wherever you went?”
“Norway,” Mary deadpans. “And no. Then I wouldn’t be asking, would I?”
“There’s nothing… up?” Ava insists.
“What is happening?” Lilith asks, joining them on the table as well, her tray clanking as she slides on the seat beside Camila. A month over and the band’s back together. Ava fully expects Mother Superion’s training schedule on her desk first thing in the morning.
“Nothing,” Ava repeats, glaring at the two now. She looks over at Camila with a wordless attempt to ask for help, but the sister just shoves some carrots into her mouth to avoid speaking.
“You’re lying,” Lilith points out. She mirrors Mary’s suspicious stare. “In the house of God?”
“There is nothing up,” Ava repeats. It’s technically not a lie.
Mary squints and leans forward. “Where’s Beatrice?”
Ava frowns at her. “I’m not my sister’s keeper.”
“There she is.”
Ava jerks her head in the direction Lilith glanced at. On cue, the Halo thrums and fucking glows on her back. Camila giggles, and Mary looks like she won the fucking lottery.
“Liar,” Mary grins.
Ava shrugs and spoons potatoes into her mouth. “I’ve done worse things.”
Lilith gasps. “In the house of God?”
“Don’t you have, I don’t know,” Ava grumbles. “Dumb stories about your summers to share with the rest of the class?”
Beatrice finally joins them. She settles without prompting beside Ava and sweeps a gentle hand on the Halo Bearer’s back as a greeting and sets her tray down.
“It’s nice to see all of you again,” she says with a smile, but Mary and Lilith just stare at her. She throws a curious look over at Ava, but the Halo answers on her behalf—Ava glows, soft orange bleeding through her shirt and warming Beatrice’s palm.
“Well,” Mary snickers. “This is a place of worship, I suppose.”
“Mary!”
+