Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Here’s the thing about running away: it very rarely lasts forever. Beatrice wakes up on the couch of the holiday cottage with an aching back, feeling dirty and itchy in the same clothes she wore the day before. She has no choice except to slink back to the room she’s sharing with Ava and face up to her in the cold, bright light of the morning.

Ava is still in bed, facing the wall with the covers pulled up to her chin, and Beatrice feels some relief that she might be able to delay conversation for another few hours. Almost the second she steps into the room though, Ava rolls onto her back, wide awake at once, as though she had been alert to movement even in her sleep. Her hair is sticking up on one side of her head and there are dark circles under her eyes.

“Bea,” she says. Her voice is hoarse, like she had been crying many hours ago and was only just beginning to recover from it. “Shit - are you okay? I really fucked up last night, I’m sorry.”

Beatrice frowns and sits down heavily on the edge of her own bed. Her eyes feel gritty with sleep still, her brain slow and stupid. “Why are you apologising?”

Ava sits up, kicking at the blankets to disentangle them from around her legs. “I made you uncomfortable. That’s literally the last thing on the planet I ever want to do.”

“No, you - “ Beatrice looks down at her own suitcase stored neatly next to her bed. It seems easier to take in than the earnest, pleading apology on Ava’s face. “You didn’t. I think I’ve just made a horrible fool of myself and I really would rather we just don’t mention it.”

“You haven’t - “

“Ava,” Beatrice begs, “Can we pretend it didn’t happen?”

There is silence for a moment, and when Beatrice ventures to glance upwards she sees hurt flash across Ava’s face before it’s tamped down again.

She nods but there is something tinny and unnatural in her voice, “Yeah, of course.”

Beatrice nods once too, firmly, mostly to reassure herself. This is the right course of action. “I’m going to shower.”

She feels Ava’s eyes on her as she gathers her things together, but by the time she emerges from the bathroom again, Ava is gone. Beatrice can hear her downstairs joking with the kids, but even from here, she can tell that the laughter is just a little too loud, a little too forced.

*

Beatrice hates posing for photographs. She feels stiff and awkward, not quite sure where to angle her body or whether she’s really smiling or just manipulating her mouth. Even worse, she’s sandwiched between Ava and Lilith, and the former looks like a runway model at the best of times while the latter has the uncanny ability to look carefree and gorgeous in every picture.

Ava’s hand is on her back, the very lightest of touches, as though she’s barely there at all. It’s been this way since they returned from their beach trip: they’re acting out all the familiar gestures of friendship while painfully aware that something has shifted between them.

Beatrice has the feeling that night wasn’t the change, only the spotlight shining on something she had been refusing to acknowledge. Their friendship was already changing, sliding into something she has no control over. In two weeks she’ll be gone again, back at sea, and she’s beginning to count down the days.

The picture is taken and they’re released from where they’re standing. Ava’s hand lingers on her back just half a second longer than is necessary and then she pulls it away.

“I have such beautiful friends,” Camila announces, looking admiringly at the picture on her phone.

“Like you didn’t know that before,” Ava tells her.

Balloons are covering every available surface of Camila’s tiny flat - at least those that aren’t laden with the feast she prepared - and the place is bursting with people. Camila has been so efficient in pulling together an engagement party in the week since Mary proposed that Beatrice privately wonders if she hadn’t had the whole thing ready to go in advance. Mary seems surprised to find that she knows as many people as she does, with the staff of her restaurant, Shannon’s football team and all the rest of their friends gathered together in one place.

The celebration is enough for Beatrice to tear her thoughts away from the situation (the non-situation) with Ava and feel nothing but unrelentingly happy for the two of them, at least for a while. Shannon can’t stop catching her thumb on her ring and looking down at it with surprise. When she does, she leans up to kiss Mary on the cheek with a smile.

“You need to help us figure out dates for the wedding,” Mary tells Beatrice as the others begin to drift away from the corner where the picture was taken. “So we can make sure you’ll be here.”

“Oh, no.” Beatrice shakes her head quickly, “Don’t arrange around me. I know it can be difficult to find a date as it is.”

Mary rolls her eyes, “You’re our friend and we want you at our wedding. Of course we’re going to arrange around you.”

“Mm.” Beatrice isn't entirely sure she's comfortable with her friends changing things for her, but she acquiesces. “Well, this contract is only four months and I have nothing set after that. I can make sure not to schedule anything over the important dates.”

“Good,” Shannon joins them, sneaking an arm around Mary’s waist and handing her a beer, “Because we need you to edit Ava’s best man speech before she gives it. My grandmother is a ninety-year-old Catholic and I’d really like it if she didn’t have a heart attack.”

Beatrice laughs although it feels strained in her throat, “I’m not sure I have that much influence over her.”

Shannon places a hand on her arm with mock severity, “You’re our only hope.”

Nodding solemnly, Beatrice tells her, “I’ll do my very best.”

For a moment, Bea thinks she feels someone’s eyes on her, and when she glances around she finds Ava looking at her. As soon as their eyes meet though, she turns away and begins talking to Camila again.

They dance around each other like that for the rest of the party - never quite part of the same conversations, never standing close enough to speak. Beatrice can feel her there though, registers the absence of Ava checking in just because she knows that Bea hates parties and feels how close she is at the same time, just there in the corner of her eye.

By ten, Beatrice feels hot and sick and decides she has had enough of alcohol. She goes to the kitchen instead, where there are fewer people compared to the over-crowded living room and it’s at least a little cooler, and pours herself a glass of water.

Lilith is there too and she nods her head at Beatrice as she enters. “Good party,” she says, although her voice holds no particular feeling.

It is a good party - or at least, what Beatrice supposes most people would consider to be a good party. Some ancient song is playing that is more nostalgia than quality and through the open door, she can see that Shannon has convinced Mary to dance, their arms wrapped around each other. There is a bark of laughter from someone talking to Camila and Ava is leaning against a wall in a corner, her movements drunk and sloppy now, deep in conversation with one of the servers from Mary’s restaurant.

“Everyone seems to be having fun,” Beatrice agrees.

She watches Lilith pick up vodka from the assortment of open bottles on the kitchen island and pour it into a plastic cup, followed by diet coke that only fizzes half-heartedly when she opens it. It’s an alarming choice, particularly since, to Beatrice’s knowledge, Lilith has never drank from anything made of plastic.

“Are you alright?”

Lilith scowls at her, taking a sip from her drink and wincing at the taste. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you did once tell me if I ever caught you mixing your own drinks I should have you killed,” Beatrice points out, “And you’re in the kitchen instead of out there mingling.”

“So are you,” Lilith retorts, raising her chin defiantly.

Beatrice just shrugs. They all know she’s not alright, that’s hardly up for debate here.

Seeing she isn’t getting anywhere with Beatrice, who has known her for far too long to be even slightly intimidated by her, Lilith sighs and leans back against the counter.

“I didn’t want to say anything and take away from Mary and Shannon’s night,” she admits, “But Adriel has agreed to give me what I want. He’ll sign the divorce papers next week.”

Her mouth has a curious downturn when she says it, as though it can’t quite decide what emotion it needs to express. Beatrice nods slowly and moves so she’s standing next to her, side by side. In the other room, she can see the server talking to Ava has a hand on her arm now, his thumb brushing back and forth.

“You don’t seem as pleased about that as I thought you would,” she tells Lilith.

Lilith purses her lips, “I am pleased.”

Beatrice looks at her for a moment, waiting for more, but there’s only silence. “Alright,” she agrees, choosing not to push, “I’m happy for you.”

There is quiet except for the noise from the party. Beatrice sips at her water and Lilith looks down, disgusted, at her drink.

“I know none of you ever liked him,” she continues in the end, “With good reason.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Beatrice tries non-committally, although it is, for the most part, entirely true.

Lilith snorts, “He’s a prick. Arrogant and self-centred. I don’t know what I was thinking when I married him.”

Beatrice remembers Lilith on her wedding day though, the way she had looked at Adriel with quiet adoration, how they had clutched each other’s hands and smiled at each other as they walked out of the church.

“You loved him,” she points out, “Even if that feels like a long time ago now.”

Lilith glances at her with irritation - presumably because Beatrice dared to point out that she has the capacity to love.

“Still,” she says, “Feeling sad over Adriel is ridiculous.”

“I think it’s alright to mourn the relationship you had even if it’s no longer the relationship you want,” Beatrice suggests.

In the living room, the server bends his head towards Ava and for a moment it looks like they’re going to kiss. He only says something that makes Ava laugh though, her face bright and happy.

Sighing, Lilith puts the plastic cup firmly down on the counter next to her and turns to fling open one of the kitchen cupboards.

“Let’s find where Camila’s hiding the good wine and not the shit she puts out for party guests,” she announces.

Beatrice laughs and touches her arm, “I think I’ll leave you to that, actually.”

She makes her way back through the party, dropping a word to Camila to check in on Lilith and hugging Mary and Shannon to say goodbye. If she could slip out the door without interrupting Ava then she certainly would have, but they live together and it seems unavoidable.

Although she’s seen Ava flirt with other people before, seen her kiss other people, seen her go home with other people, she has always been able to look the other way at the opportune moment, refusing to let herself linger. It seems almost impossible not to think about this man standing so close to Ava though, their conversation private and just for them.

Ava steps back and straightens as soon as she sees Beatrice though, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bea lies. She isn’t sorry. “I’m going home if you’d like to share a taxi.”

There is a pause as Ava glances at the guy then back at Beatrice. “I think I’m going to stay, actually,” she says. “If that’s okay.”

For the first time all night, she meets Beatrice’s gaze and holds it, as if she’s waiting for something.

Beatrice bites at the inside of her lip. “Alright. You have your keys?”

The sag in Ava’s shoulders is so tiny that Beatrice is sure no one would notice it except her. She nods. “Yeah. ”

By two that morning Ava still isn’t home though, nor has she texted. Beatrice checks her phone for the tenth time and then lets it clatter back onto the nightstand, forgetting all her usual rules about preventing scratches to the screen.

For years she has not let herself think about Ava and now she can’t stop it, can’t keep the thoughts back in their neat little boxes. When she closes her eyes, she sees Ava with someone else's hands on her hips, Ava kissing a faceless figure, her face contorted in pleasure, Ava slowly undressing in a strange bedroom. It is interspersed with the memory of Ava’s thumb on her stomach and singing in her kitchen and laughing in her car.

She falls asleep like that, sweaty and writhing in her blankets, twisted up inside her own mind.

*

When she wakes up the next morning, the smell of bacon cooking fills the flat and she can hear the faint sounds of music coming from Ava’s phone. Beatrice had convinced herself she’d wake up and find that Ava had gone back to the server’s place and she doesn’t know quite how to react to finding her here.

In the kitchen, Ava looks tired and stiff and she doesn’t smile when she sees Beatrice hovering in the doorway. There is a droop to her posture that is never normally there.

“Breakfast?” she asks.

“Mm - yes. Thank you,” Beatrice says, “I didn’t hear you come home last night, I thought you might have - well, stayed out with…“ She doesn’t know his name and doesn’t particularly want to. Then, with dawning horror, she looks towards Ava’s closed bedroom door.

“Am I interrupting?” she whispers, “Should I go back to my room?”

Ava snorts and turns back to the frying pan, poking at the bacon with none of her usual enthusiasm, “I didn’t have sex with him. But good to know you’d be incredibly normal about it if I ever did bring someone back.”

“Oh.” Beatrice winces, embarrassed at herself. “Sorry, I just thought you two seemed…” She trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“It’s fine,” Ava says too quickly, her tone as close to irritation as she ever really gets. “We were. I mean, he was hot I guess. But I’m just not - “

Beatrice waits, eyeing her slumped shoulders in her oversized t-shirt, her bare feet on the kitchen tiles. She had spent so much of last night imagining Ava that she doesn’t know quite what to do with her now she’s here and real.

“I dunno. Mary and Shannon are getting married and I’m… what? Taking guys home for bad one-night stands?” She jabs viciously at the bacon.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it if that’s what you want,” Beatrice tries, wrong-footed by the turn the conversation has taken.

“Right. But it’s like…” Ava sighs and rubs her free hand over her face, “This is stupid.”

“It’s not,” Beatrice prompts, moving closer to her. She feels oblivious, self-involved, too caught up in her own confused feelings to see that Ava has been struggling. “Tell me.”

Ava doesn’t look up at her but she does answer. “It got boring. Fucking whoever and staying out all night and whatever. Like, when I was eighteen I’d never have believed it but it kind of did. Now I just want to have my own place and play guitar and get a cat. Or a dog. Or a snake. Maybe date someone for more than three months.”

She glances at Beatrice as though she’s not quite sure what her reaction will be. “That’s the most about-to-turn-thirty thing I’ve ever said. Don’t tell anyone.”

Beatrice gives a small smile, “Then you can do those things. I’m sure you don’t have any shortage of people wanting to date you, anyway.”

Ava gives a strange, strained laugh, “You’d be surprised.”

For a moment they look at each other, Ava’s eyes roaming over Beatrice’s face as if she’s trying to find something there. Beatrice half wonders if she can see her thoughts from last night, illustrated plainly on her features. 

Ava looks away though, her face drawn and tense. In the pan, the bacon begins to smoke and burn, and Beatrice reaches over to turn off the stove.

“Why don’t we order out for food?” she suggests, unsure how to wipe the tension from Ava’s face. “And we can watch one of those awful shows you like.”

It should be a fix, something familiar that resets the undercurrent of tension running between them. It doesn’t quite work though: Ava nods but her smile is barely there.

“Yeah, alright,” she agrees. “Let me brush my teeth though. I can still taste rum.”

Beatrice watches her leave the kitchen with a furrow between her brows, left with sinking nausea in the pit of her stomach and the remnants of breakfast.

*

Their familiar table in the corner of the pub is crowded with empty glasses now: Beatrice’s friends had insisted. It’s the night before she leaves again and although really she should be checking that her packing is correct, going over her travel arrangements for tomorrow, instead she let herself be dragged out, to Ava’s show. She wants to be here, is the funny thing about it all - she’s glad she came.

“You remember what I told you about calling?” Camila asks, pointing sternly at Beatrice. “I’m not accepting any of those ‘I’m on a ship in the middle of the ocean’ bullshit excuses any more.”

“But I will be on a ship in the middle of the ocean,” Beatrice points out, amused, “I’ll call whenever I can though.”

Lilith, who managed to wrangle her mother into babysitting for the night, seems to find the entire thought of it distasteful - but then she always has. “You know I keep telling you I can get you a job at the law firm,” she tells her, “You don’t have to commit to this itinerant sailor lifestyle.”

Beatrice shakes her head, “It’s been ten years, I think I’m rather committed.” More committed, probably, than she is to anything else in her life.

On the stage, Ava is checking her mic and guitar before she begins to play. She offers Beatrice a smile when their eyes meet but there’s something reticent in it, withdrawn. Bea can’t help thinking of her show weeks earlier when Ava had been so excited to have her here. It’s different now. Wrong.

Beatrice watches her on stage as she leans back to say something to one of the staff, her guitar resting easy in her lap. Ava is dressed simply - black t-shirt and jeans - and somehow manages to turn every head in the room towards her even so. Ava catches the eye of someone she knows in the crowd and waves happily, her smile open and unencumbered.

Just before Ava’s first song, Beatrice gets up to go to the bathroom, not quite sure she’s ready to hear her sing love songs with lingering emotion. She stays in there for a long time, washing her hands until they’re almost raw as she stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection familiar and strange to her at the same time.

By the time she makes her way back to the table, Ava is playing her second or third song - something slow and sad - and only Mary is left sitting there.

Beatrice frowns as she takes her seat again, “Where is everyone?”

“Camila and Shannon went to get more drinks, Lilith is on the phone to her mom outside,” Mary says. She takes a sip of her beer and regards Beatrice steadily for a moment, then says, “So. What the fuck?”

“What?” Beatrice frowns, “What do you mean?”

Mary shrugs, leaning back in her chair with a pretence of nonchalance. “A week ago Ava was in my kitchen freaking out because she thought she’d fucked up your friendship. And yesterday she told me she’s thinking about moving in with JC.”

“ Kissed her face and kissed her head, dreamed of all the different ways,” Ava sings, “ I had to make her glow. ”

“JC?” Beatrice asks, looking up at Ava and then back to Mary’s unreadable expression. “She didn’t say anything.”

“He broke up with his girlfriend.” Mary states flatly, “So what the fuck happened? I thought you two were having fun playing house.”

“Nothing happened.” It feels both true and not true at the same time. “She said she wants to… settle down, I suppose. Have something permanent.”

Something twitches in Mary’s cheek. “You’re not permanent?”

“I am. Look, she didn’t fuck up our friendship - I told her that.” Beatrice feels lost in this conversation, unsure how to navigate it. For years she didn’t live with Ava, and now the thought of her somewhere else, with her ex-fling, feels impossible.

Ava sings, “ Why are you so far away? She said, why won’t you ever know - ”

Mary turns her face away, takes a long drink from her beer. “You need to talk to her. Before you leave.”

Beatrice nods. It sounds so easy when Mary says it like that.

*

She doesn’t let herself wait. It would have been easy to delay it, to tell herself the conversation is better left until she gets back, but the unspoken implication in Mary’s words - that Ava is hurting because of her - won’t let her. She can live with her own cowardice and shame, she can’t live with knowing that Ava is unhappy while she can change that.

Beatrice knocks on Ava’s bedroom door not long after they get home, tense and nervous outside the door. She had said that she was going to bed so there is some confusion in Ava’s voice when she says, “Uh, yeah? Come in?”

Opening the door slowly, Beatrice steps over the threshold of Ava’s bedroom. She still hasn’t unpacked much - the room is virtually bare - and Ava herself has her back to her, applying face cream in the mirror. She glances over her shoulder at the sound of Beatrice entering though.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Beatrice says automatically. Then, “No. I don’t think so. Can I talk to you?”

Now that she’s here she doesn’t even know where to begin. The entire subject feels impregnable, too huge and shapeless to even contemplate in its entirety.

Ava looks at her in the mirror with a small furrow in her brows, “You don’t have to ask if you can talk to me.”

“Right.” Beatrice perches herself on the very edge of Ava’s unmade bed. “I spoke to Mary tonight. Or, rather, Mary spoke to me.”

For half a second, Ava’s hand pauses in her movements.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Beatrice chews the inside of her lip, “She said you’re thinking about moving in with JC.”

In the mirror, she sees Ava looking down, her mouth held straight and flat. “Thinking about it. I was going to tell you when I had something more official figured out.”

If she’s going to do this, Beatrice realises, then she can’t obscure her purpose with half-truths and reticence. Even if Ava doesn’t call her out on it then she’ll know, understand that Beatrice is hiding something.

“You don’t have to move out,” she tells her, “I mean - I would like it if you stayed. I like having you here.”

At long last, Ava puts down the jar of face cream and turns around, heaving out a sigh as she does. She sits down next to Beatrice on the bed, careful to make sure their knees don’t touch. “I like living here. But I think it kind of fucked everything up between us. Things have been all tense and weird ever since…”

She trails off but Beatrice is almost certain she was going to say since the beach trip. If she’s honest though, Beatrice thinks things were tense and weird before that - or at least she was tense and weird, maybe always has been when it comes to Ava.

“That night…” she starts, taking a deep breath.

She wishes now that she hadn’t done this in Ava’s bedroom: it feels too close, too intimate. If this is the moment for some grand confession, Ava in her pajamas and Beatrice almost vibrating with anxiety, then it doesn’t feel like it. The words stick in her throat, swollen shut by panic.

Ava reaches out and touches her arm, “We don’t have to talk about it. I know that - “

“No,” Beatrice bursts out, surprising even herself. “No, you didn’t - you didn’t do anything. It was me. It’s always me, I’m so - I don’t know the words. Frightened. I suppose that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Frightened?” Ava’s hand doesn’t leave her arm, her fingers gentle. “What are you frightened of?”

The first word that comes to Beatrice’s mind is you, but that isn’t fair, not really. She’s scared of loving Ava and losing her but certainly never her.

“You and I,” she tries. “Our friendship is important to me. The most important thing, I think.”

She wants to say that sometimes it feels as though her friendship with Ava is the solid ground under her feet, the only thing holding her steady, but the words get muddled on her tongue before she can.

“It’s important to me too,” Ava agrees slowly. The confusion on her face is fading into understanding, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Beatrice isn’t sure that she likes it.

“I don’t want you to move out,” she says in lieu of anything else, “Really, I love having you here. I don’t want you to feel obligated if you’d rather leave but this can be - your place? You can buy wall art and get a dog or a cat or - well, we might have to talk about the snake.”

A tiny smile twitches at the corner of Ava’s lip, “Pet fur on your furniture?”

It’s only when Beatrice rolls her eyes that she realises they’re wet. “I can clean, can’t I? And if you want to draw up some sort of legal agreement so you feel more secure we can certainly do that.”

This, at last, makes Ava laugh. “I don’t really give a fuck about a legal agreement. But we can if you want, I know you love filling out forms.”

The hand that was resting on Beatrice’s arm slides upwards, to her shoulder, and then Ava wraps both arms around her, smiling into her hair.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Beatrice closes her eyes and lets the warmth of Ava envelop her. For a moment, she feels steady and safe. “Of course I’m sure.”

It takes a long time for Ava to pull away but when she does, at long last, she says, “So you don’t like snakes, huh?”

Beatrice wrinkles her nose, “Not particularly.”

“Do you think that’s because you’re a - “

“Ava.”

*

Beatrice is still blinking sleep from her eyes when Lilith knocks on their door the next morning. She, of course, looks as though she could step into a board room there and then, and Ava is similarly perky, pouring coffee into a flask for Beatrice for the journey.

“You both drank more than me last night,” Bea grumbles as she loads her bags into Lilith’s Range Rover, “Why on earth are you both so bloody cheerful?”

“I have children who wake me up early regardless and she…” Lilith gestures vaguely at Ava, “Is essentially the equivalent of an extra six-year-old.”

“Rude,” Ava comments without any annoyance, climbing into the front seat next to Lilith.

As they crawl through the morning traffic towards the train station, Ava fidgets in her seat, plays with the radio and the GPS in the car until Lilith slaps her hand away, and can’t seem to stop turning to look at every passing car and pedestrian. Even by her standards, there is a nervous energy about her, a restlessness that refuses to settle.

Beatrice can’t match it. She barely slept last night, plagued by the what if of her conversation with Ava - whether she should have said more, said less. All night, it seemed like she could hear every movement from Ava’s room, felt like pressing her ear against the wall to feel closer to her.

In the train station, they stand in between a bookshop and a Burger King, buffeted by the crowd of commuters on their way to work. Lilith glares at them with disdain as Beatrice stares at the departure board. After the train she’ll catch a flight to meet her ship this afternoon - it’s a familiar journey that feels, suddenly, unfamiliar.

When she finds her platform on the screen and shoulders her bag, Lilith leans in to kiss her cheek, saying lowly in her ear, “Come back in one piece, won’t you?” Then, before it might be taken for sentiment, she adds with exaggerated irritation, “Ava will be insufferable if you die.”

She steps away and Ava gives her a meaningful look. Lilith raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. They have a silent stare down for several seconds before Lilith rolls her eyes and points to the bookshop, “I suppose I desperately want to look at the two-for-one deals on true crime, suddenly.”

She marches away haughtily and Ava laughs, stuffing one hand into the pockets of her jeans. “Subtlety isn’t exactly her thing.”

“It never has been,” Beatrice agrees, although she doesn’t quite manage a smile. She feels on the edge of something, has the sinking feeling Ava is about to tell her she wants to move out after all - that everything has become too weird for her.

Instead, Ava says, so clearly and simply that she might be noticing the colour of the sky, “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Beatrice tells her. She always does, always feels the absence of Ava like a stomach ache. This time feels like it will be worse than ever though.

“Can I say something? About that night at the cottage?” There is a plea in Ava’s voice. “I know you want to pretend it didn’t happen but if I don’t say it then I’m going to go crazy thinking about it for the next four months.”

Beatrice feels her stomach twist. “Yes. You can say whatever you want.”

“Alright.” Now that she has permission Ava seems bewildered, as if she’s unsure what words are even about to come out of her mouth. “I thought I made you uncomfortable. But last night when you said that - “

A commuter pushes past her irritably and Ava stumbles forward, catching herself with her cane. Beatrice's hand shoots out and grips her elbow to steady her.

“Fuck.” Ava laughs, high-pitched and nervous, “Bad place to do this.”

Beatrice stares at her, her stomach churning. “To do what?”

For a moment Ava just looks at her, chewing her lip. There is a rush of air as a train pulls into a platform nearby and then it settles again.

Finally, she shrugs her shoulders and says, as if she’s helpless to do anything else, “You’re it for me. You’re the person. I don’t think I’ll ever want anybody the way I want you.” She swallows, a hard movement in her throat, “And for a really long time I thought I was the only one feeling that way but now I’m not so sure.”

“Ava,” Beatrice breathes out. She’s not sure if Ava even hears her though, if the word isn’t lost in the waves of people rushing past them.

“Look, I know you like to take your time so I don’t want you to feel pressured to give an answer just because you’re leaving but I just wanted you to know…” Ava sighs, “I just wanted you to know.”

A crackling speaker announces that Beatrice’s train is arriving. She stares up at it, confused by the realisation she still has a train to catch, a job to make it to.

Ava covers the hand still on her elbow with her own and squeezes gently, “Go on. Can’t be late.” She stands up on her toes and kisses Beatrice’s cheek, her lips lingering there on the skin like a brand. “I’ll be here when you get back. Either way, whatever your answer is. Nothing to be scared of.”

She pushes gently at Beatrice’s arm and, not knowing what else to do, Beatrice turns to go. The crowd is beginning to thin now and it isn’t difficult to make her way to the turnstiles marking the entrance to her platform.

Just before she passes through them, she glances back. Ava is still watching her and she waves and smiles, like she knew Beatrice would look for her.

*

The decision doesn’t come to her immediately. She takes the train in a state of shock, spending the journey drinking the coffee Ava made for her and repeating the conversation in her mind. She remembers the folds in Ava’s t-shirt, the chipped nail polish on her fingernails, the soft pink of her lips again and again.

By the time she meets her ship, she’s no further forward and gets caught up in the administration of the start of a contract. When she changes into her uniform in her cabin, she spends long seconds looking down at the socks that Ava bought her for her last birthday, covered in little rainbows.

That’s the last chance she has to stop and contemplate though. The work begins in earnest after that: almost as soon as they leave port they hit bad weather, the North Sea wreaking its usual havoc over them, and Beatrice is caught up in the frantic pace of the storm. They are quickly too far offshore for any kind of regular phone reception and the weather is too poor for her satellite phone to work. Besides, it isn’t like there’s opportunity anyway: when she isn’t working, she’s snatching the few hours of sleep that she can before she’s awake again, the regularities of clocks and schedules lost to her.

Then, four days after they left port and five since Beatrice left London, the storm breaks. They find themselves, bruised and exhausted, in clear skies and calm seas. There’s still work to be done - there always is - but for the first time Beatrice is able to sit and drink a cup of tea without feeling guilty for resting.

She enjoys all of it, though: she likes to be busy, to have her time and her hands occupied with something to do at all hours of the day. She would rather four months of storms than smooth sailing, although some of the crew think she’s mad for it.

Ten years ago, she had been on the verge of graduating from university with a place in a master’s program. There had been vague intentions of going on to complete a PhD after that, although if she was honest the thought of spending her life in stuffy offices and dark libraries was stifling to her.

Back then, Ava was living in a single room in a flat above a bar that played drum and bass music at all hours of the day and night. The two of them had sat side by side on Ava’s mattress and passed a bottle of cheap white wine between them. There, a little drunk and distracted by the music, Beatrice had haltingly told her about the alternative. She had liked sailing with her parents as a child and the thought of maritime college and an occupation where she worked with her hands was tugging at her.

She half expected Ava to laugh, to tell her someone like her hardly belonged on a ship. Ava didn’t though - of course she didn’t - just paused thoughtfully for a long time, took a long drink from the bottle and said, “You should do it.”

“Really?” Beatrice asked, “You don’t seem sure.”

Ava shrugged, “No, I was just thinking about how bad I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone. You should do it though, I think it suits you. And you’d be good at it. Do you get one of those hot white officer’s uniforms?”

This moment comes back to Beatrice as she drinks her tea, the sturdy white mug in her hand a far cry from the delicate cups and saucers she drank from in her mother’s house. When she thinks about the tea she thinks about the coffee that Ava sent with her in a flask, and then she thinks about the socks, back in a basket in her room waiting to be washed.

She finds that, in the frantic pace of the last few days, the doubt and confusion has been washed away and she is left with three very simple facts.

She wants Ava. Ava wants her. Ava would never intentionally hurt her.

There are other factors, of course: that Beatrice would break her own back if she thought it would make Ava happy, that they have, maybe, complicated things by living together, that their friends are going to tease her for the rest of time. None of it seems nearly as important as those three things though.

That night, when she should be sleeping, she goes up onto deck with her satellite phone. Below her, she can hear the rush of waves but sees only deep darkness. She looks upwards instead, to where the sky is clear and clustered with stars, and wishes Ava was here with her to see it.

It’s late and she knows Ava will be asleep when she presses the call button but she wants to do this now, knows she already made Ava wait too long.

Ava picks up on the second ring, her voice breathy and rasping with sleep. “Bea?” she says, “Hi. Are you okay?”

It’s always her first question whenever Beatrice calls from the ship, like she half expects her to be in the middle of drowning or something. Bea supposes she doesn’t know what it’s like though - her friends are safe, back in their homes in London, while she’s out here.

“Yes, I’m alright,” she confirms, “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, we hit bad weather.”

“That’s okay.”

There is a pause. The wind whips through Beatrice’s hair and she feels the sting of sea spray on her face. She has thought through, precisely, what she wants to say, now she only needs to say it.

“Bea,” Ava says, a hitch in her throat, “If you’re calling to let me down gently then it’s fine - “

“No,” Beatrice interrupts quickly. If she needed a push then this is it: the thought of Ava hurting on the other end of the phone. “I called to tell you that - well. That you were right. You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

There is a scrabble of movement on the other end and a rush of air from Ava’s mouth, as though she sat up in bed very suddenly. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Beatrice says, her mouth twitching into a smile. “I feel - have always felt, I think - very deeply for you. It’s only the thought of jeopardising our friendship that stopped me from acting on it.”

“I thought about that,” Ava admits, “A lot, actually. But I know you, Bea. I know you’re not going to cheat on me or treat me like shit, and I kinda hope you know the same thing about me. So even if it turned out we weren’t romantically compatible or whatever, I think we could break up like decent people and stay friends out of it.”

It surprises Beatrice to realise that Ava, possibly, had been harbouring the same doubts as her, but she supposes it shouldn’t. Ava has always been more thoughtful than most people realise.

“I know you won’t cheat on me or treat me like shit,” she agrees. In the same breath though she realises something else, that when she pictures it - moving with Ava into something romantic - it no longer feels like a dramatic fall into oblivion. It seems like a simple step forward, something natural and easy.

“I’m not sure that we would break up, though.” The words rush out of her, “I think, maybe, we would just stay together. We’ve always been - “

She doesn’t have the words to describe it, the easy balance of their relationship, the way they’ve carried each other through the last decade of their lives.

“We’ve always been me and you,” Ava says with a smile in her voice. She pauses for a moment then, tentatively, “So we’re doing this then?”

Beatrice thought there would be more to discuss, more factors to consider, but it doesn’t seem like there is. Ava is right: it’s just the two of them, and she already put herself in Ava’s hands a long time ago.

“Yes,” she says, “I think we are.”

Ava laughs, suddenly, loudly, “Oh my God, Beatrice. We couldn’t have had this revelation two weeks ago? Now I have to wait four months to kiss your stupid face.”

Beatrice’s hand unconsciously reaches up to touch her cheek as though registering it there for the first time. “Is my face really so stupid if you want to kiss it?” she counters.

“It’s stupid because it’s not here in front of me,” Ava tells her, and Beatrice can hear the grin in her words. “Four months, oh my God.”

They talk for a long time - about the night of the beach trip, about when they each realised, about Ava’s song the night before Beatrice left. Eventually, Beatrice has to admit she needs at least a couple of hours sleep before her next shift and even then they talk for thirty minutes more, until the first hint of grey dawn is creeping over the horizon. By the time they hang up the phone, Beatrice can see the waves lapping gently at the ship far below her.

*

They only have a forty-eight-hour stop in Reykjavik but it’s enough for Beatrice’s phone to vibrate with all the text messages she missed while she was at sea. There is a couple from Lilith pictures of Phoebe’s birthday party, Shannon has added her to a group chat titled ‘Wedding planning support group’ and Ava, as usual, has documented every moment of her life from the shoes she’s wearing to the dinner she’s cooking.

It’s these that Beatrice takes her time to scroll through most carefully, letting herself indulge in the sight of Ava’s smiling face in a way she never has before. For a moment, her thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button and then she changes her mind, presses video call instead.

It takes Ava a minute to answer but it’s clear why - she’s at work, a row of guitars hanging on the shelves behind her head.

“Is this Beatrice facetiming me?” she asks delightedly, “I didn’t think you even knew phones could do that.”

It makes Beatrice smile to see her, something warm flooding through her veins. “I don’t have long - we’ve just docked and there’s some checks we need to do but…” There doesn’t seem to be any reason not to be honest, “I wanted to see you.”

Ava’s eyes turn soft and liquid, “I want to see you too,” she tells her softly, “Where are you?”

“Reykjavik, only for two days,” Beatrice says.

“Iceland - very cool.” Ava laughs at her own joke, “Do you get it? Because ice - “

“I get it.” Beatrice laughs more at Ava’s amusement than the joke itself, “I’m afraid I won’t see much of it while I’m here but it’s a beautiful place.”

“Maybe we can go back some time,” Ava suggests, “We’ve never been on a trip by ourselves before.”

Beatrice hadn’t thought of it until now but she suddenly wants very badly to be somewhere with Ava, exploring a city neither of them know well hand in hand.

“I would like that. We might be able to see the northern lights if we come at the right time of year.”

Ava nods slowly and thoughtfully, “That sounds amazing but, honestly, if I get you alone in a hotel room we might never leave.”

The image in Beatrice’s mind’s eye changes in an instant to Ava, spread out over hotel sheets, the way she might squirm when Beatrice kisses her, bite her lip when -

In real life, on the screen, Ava really does bite her lip, unnerved by the pause. “Shit, sorry, was that too much?”

“No, not at all. I was just - “ Beatrice clears her throat and feels herself turning pink, “Picturing it.”

“Picturing it?” Ava raises an eyebrow and sits back in her chair, “What were you picturing?”

“You’re in public,” Beatrice reminds her.

“There’s no customers and Michael is wearing headphones.” Ava shrugs, “But I guess I can wait for you to tell me all the things happening in your head.”

Regretfully, Beatrice looks down at her watch, “Mm, I should go anyway. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. Can I call you tonight? It might be late.”

“As long as you don’t mind my bedhead,” Ava says, with a tease in her voice that suggests she knows exactly what she’s doing to Beatrice.

*

Beatrice is exhausted by the time she returns to her cabin later that night - the ‘routine checks’ had quickly turned into emergency repairs - and the only thing she wants to do more than drop into her bed is speak to Ava. She hesitates over calling still though, not wanting to disturb her sleep, but she knows Ava would rather be woken up than let down.

When she answers, Ava is curled up in bed on her side, her pillow taking up half the frame where she’s resting her phone on it. She looks cosy and warm with the covers pulled up around her chin, and Beatrice finds herself wondering what it would be like to slip into bed next to her, put her arm around her waist and pull her close.

She supposes she could find out. She supposes she will find out.

“Hey.” Ava smiles sleepily, blinking away the drowsiness, “Two calls in one day, you’re spoiling me.”

“Well - some might argue that’s more of a chore than a treat,” Beatrice jokes, collapsing back onto her bed. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Pretty good.” Ava shifts a little in bed, “Michael kept asking me who I was talking to though.”

“Oh.” Beatrice frowns, confused, “Is it a secret?”

“Not a secret.” Ava shrugs, “Just wasn’t sure if you’d want everyone to know just yet. You like privacy and that kind of stuff.”

Beatrice considers this: if she’s honest, she hadn’t yet thought about the idea of their friends and acquaintances knowing. She’s far enough away that it doesn’t make much of a difference to her. Ava is notoriously bad at keeping secrets though and, more than that, she hates keeping secrets - she likes to share things, involve her friends in her happiness. Beatrice hates the thought of her bottling something up on her behalf.

“You should tell them if you want to,” she says at last, “I don’t want you to feel as if you have to hide something. Besides, if Camila gets a sniff of a secret she’ll interrogate you regardless.”

“Are you sure?” Ava asks, a tiny furrow in her brows, “I mean, what if you get home and you realise that I’m a terrible kisser, or I only want to have sex dressed as a clown, or - “

“Ava,” Beatrice interrupts gently, “Are you worried?”

On the screen, Ava squirms, the blanket falling away from her shoulder. “A little,” she admits, “There’s been a lot building to this and I don’t want it to be disappointing, I guess. I’m just me, make bad puns and can’t get out of bed some days.”

“Darling.” The word comes out of Beatrice without her consciously thinking about it, “I promise I could never be disappointed by you. I like you too thoroughly for that.”

A small smile tugs at the edge of Ava’s mouth, “I like it when you say that.”

“Good, perhaps I’ll have to say it more.” Beatrice pauses, considering, “ Do you only want to have sex dressed as a clown?”

Ava tries and fails to keep a straight face, “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

“Hm.” Beatrice makes an exaggerated show of thinking about this, “Do I have to be dressed as a clown or only you?”

“Only me,” Ava tells her with a grin, “I really get a kick out of the red nose.”

“Well.” Beatrice laughs, “I’ll look forward to seeing it.”

*

It’s another week before they arrive in Norway, one marred by rough seas and yet more complications with the engine. Beatrice barely gets a chance to speak to Ava but she thinks of her constantly, reliving the image of her curled up in bed, slowly falling asleep on the phone to each other.

They didn’t talk about it again, but it seems that Ava must have told their friends because the first thing that pops up on her phone when they reach Oslo is a group picture of Mary, Shannon, Camila and Lilith grinning madly with the caption WE KNEW IT.

BEATRICE [10:03]: Did you all get together exclusively to be smug?

CAMILA [10:13]: No, being smug was just an advantage.

CAMILA [10:14]: So happy for you by the way ❤️❤️❤️

LILITH [10:25]: I’m not, Ava keeps singing in my house.

MARY [10:32]: I’ve spent the last ten years listening to Ava get drunk and cry about how Beatrice is “literally the hottest woman to ever walk the planet and yes I’m including Gillian Anderson in that”. You got the easy end of this deal, Lil.

SHANNON [10:37]: Ignore everything Mary and Lilith just said. We are happy for you, and stay safe ❤️

AVA [10:38]: MARY WHAT THE FUCK

Beatrice would reply further - really she would - except in that exact moment she gets a notification for a message directly from Ava. She opens it immediately and is greeted by the sight of Ava lying back in her bed, an arm draped lazily and carelessly over her breasts but with nothing else to cover her. Her hair is spread out over the pillow and her smile is lazy and secretive. Underneath, she has typed “Something to help you picture it?”

Beatrice starts typing a reply, stops, and then looks at the picture again. Then again. And then a couple more times just for good measure. Finally, the only thing she manages to send is I seem to be lost for words.

(There are some things their friends never need to know, after all. Even if Beatrice isn’t quite ready to send a similar picture, she does take one of herself when she emerges from the engine room hours later, sweaty and dirt-streaked. In return, she gets a row of heart eyes and the message four months??? )

*

The weeks crawl by painfully slowly. Never before has Beatrice spent so much of a contract checking her calendar to count the remaining days, just to find it has only been three hours since she last looked. 

She likes her job - usually, she is just as pleased to be here as she is to go home again and see her friends, but now, with Ava so tantalisingly close, she can barely wait to leave.

The time does drag by though, in fits and starts - frustratingly quickly when she’s on the phone to Ava and agonisingly slowly in the moments when she’s tossing and turning in her cabin, trying to sleep before her next shift begins. Despite all evidence that it might never end though, the last day of her contract finally - finally - presents itself.

It’s Ava’s idea not to return to London immediately. The bustle of it, the well-intentioned prying of their friends and the busyness of their everyday lives hardly seems welcome just now, when all either of them want is to see each other and embrace, face to face, this thing between them.

Instead, Ava books a room in a bed and breakfast by the sea. She sends a link to it to Beatrice in an email, telling her wryly I know you don’t want to be too far from your real true love for long.

It means that instead of disembarking in the frantic atmosphere of King’s Cross, Beatrice steps off the train into a tiny local station instead. It’s no more than two platforms and a dilapidated ticket office, built in old stone as if it hasn’t been updated in the last century. And there, waiting at the entrance, standing out in bright colour against the grey brick, is Ava.

Beatrice shoulders her bag and hurries towards her, passing only one or two other passengers as she does. Almost before she’s even close enough, Ava reaches out her arms and wraps them around her, burying her face in Beatrice’s chest and inhaling. Beatrice circles one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, pulling her as close as she can manage. It’s been too long with nothing but tinny phone calls and intermittent pictures: having her here, warm and lovely, barely feels real anymore.

“Fuck,” Ava says, wriggling out of Beatrice’s grip just enough so that she can look up at her, “I really want to kiss you but I don’t know how you feel about PDA.”

So Beatrice kisses her instead, tipping her chin up with her finger and pressing their lips firmly together. She feels Ava gasp against her and she squeezes her eyes closed, wanting to savour this moment, the first time she ever kisses her, for as long as she can.

They stay that way for a long time until a station employee clears his throat and tells them, “You’re very sweet, but you are in the way of the exit.”

Blushing and apologising, they pull apart, and make their way out of the station and towards their bed and breakfast. Far from the grey rain Beatrice had left behind months ago, the weather now is cold but bright, and as they walk along the promenade, past tourist shops and tearooms, Ava links their hands together.

The room Ava has booked is small and pretty, with a landscape painting of the same sea view they can see out of the window on the wall and a leaflet on the dresser boasting about the town’s shipping museum.

They stand in the middle of it, as though they’re not quite sure what to do with themselves now they’re alone at long last. It has never, ever been awkward between them, but now there’s a nervous tension, as if neither of them are quite sure what to do with their hands or faces.

Ava casts a sideways look at the double bed she booked, as if she’s doubting herself suddenly, “We don’t have to - uh. I don’t want you to feel like there’s pressure or something.”

“I know,” Beatrice tells her honestly. She has spent the last four months in vivid fantasy about Ava that she never let herself indulge in before. The only pressure might be inside her, threatening to explode at any moment.

Ava steps closer to her and puts a hand on her waist, “I really missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Beatrice says, smoothing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Can I kiss you again?”

Ava breathes out a laugh, “God, yes.”

She doesn’t wait for Beatrice to lean in. Instead, she drags her down by the back of her neck and kisses her with all the pent-up energy and frustration they had held back in the train station. Their mouths are frantic against each other, and Beatrice gasps when Ava’s tongue slips past her lips, her hands sliding up Ava’s shoulders and into her hair.

Ava can’t keep still though: her hands are on Beatrice’s neck, then her back, then her ass and moving upwards again, as though she’s desperate to touch every part of her. With their bodies pushed together like this it’s hard to think of anything, but Beatrice does manage to wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind, why they hadn’t done this years ago.

On the walk here they had discussed where they might have lunch, whether they might walk along the beach, but it seems clear there’s no chance of that now. Already Ava’s fingers are under the edge of Beatrice’s shirt and on her stomach, then her back, warm and firm and desperate to touch her.

In her mind, Beatrice had imagined this being slow, sensual, but she’s never before been quite as eager to get someone out of their clothes. They’ve been waiting too long for this already, after all.

It’s a scrabble trying to undress each other when they’re barely willing to let their mouths part for even a second. Ava’s fingers fumble with the buttons of Beatrice’s shirt at the same time as Beatrice is licking a stripe up her neck, making her hips buck. Bea does it again, then again, until Ava is groaning against her, her fingers stilled.

“Really need you to be naked right now,” she complains, “Needed you to be naked months ago, actually.”

Beatrice laughs and, halfway to obliging, slides her hands under Ava’s t-shirt and lifts it over her head. Any thoughts about her own clothes are completely forgotten at the sight of Ava in her bra though, and she pushes her backwards until her knees hit the bed.

Ava grunts as she lands against the sheets but the noise turns quickly into a moan. Beatrice’s tongue skims over the edge of her bra, and she bites down at her nipple through the fabric.

“Fuck,” Ava whimpers and reaches behind her back to unfasten her bra herself, pulling it off with one shaky hand and throwing it somewhere unseen.

Beatrice scrapes her teeth over her sternum and then turns, with loving attention, to Ava’s hardened nipple, running circles around it with her tongue until Ava’s eyes squeeze shut and she gasps. Ava’s hand goes into her hair though, pulling Bea gently away.

“We’ve been in this room for ten minutes,” she points out. “And you’re still wearing a shirt.”

Disgruntled about being forced to think about something other than Ava’s tits, Beatrice nevertheless hastens to unbutton her shirt and pull it off, then her bra as well just for good measure.

“Oh my God.” Ava runs a palm over Beatrice’s stomach with wide eyes, “How do you just look like that?”

“I could say the same to you,” Beatrice tells her, leaning in to kiss her again.

“Wanna feel you,” Ava says against her lips, plucking at the waistband of her jeans, “All of you.”

“Hm, but I want to kiss you.” Beatrice does just that, kissing her slowly, firmly, her hands running the length of Ava’s body and making her squirm.

Ava’s hips push up into her and Beatrice moves to her neck again, biting down at her earlobe and then leaving a trail of kisses down to her collarbone.

“Bea,” Ava complains, “C’mon, please.”

Obligingly, Beatrice pulls back to unbutton her jeans and Ava uses the opportunity to wriggle out of her own pants as well, then, after only a second’s thought, she slides off her underwear too. Beatrice is sure Ava can see the dampness on her underwear but her mind is unable to focus on that. She stares at her as she hovers over her on the bed - the red marks on her neck and her heaving chest, down to the dark patch of hair between her thighs.

“Can you move up to the pillows for me?” she asks. If they’re going to do this, she wants to do it right.

“Yeah.” Ava nods, her voice breathy, “Take these off though.” She brushes the waistband of Beatrice’s underwear with her fingertips and Bea shudders.

She does as she’s asked though, pulling them hastily down her legs, as Ava shuffles so she’s lying fully on the pillows. Beatrice crawls over her and covers her body with her own, and both of them gasp at the feeling of it: skin to skin, the length of each of them naked and pressed together. Unconsciously they begin to undulate their hips against each other, their mouths colliding somewhere in the middle of it. For a moment, the only sounds are their own heaving breaths and the stick of their skin meeting again and again.

Ava’s thigh moves, wraps around Beatrice to pull her closer, and Bea gasps at the friction between her legs, the ache that is begging for relief. She’s wet - she’s sure that Ava can feel it on her hip, just as she can feel the heat between Ava’s legs - but her attention is so much on the way Ava whimpers and gasps into her mouth, that she barely notices the hand creeping down between their bodies.

At the edge of Beatrice’s thigh Ava stops, her fingernail grazing against the curve of her hip. Beatrice bites her lip and looks downwards, even if she can’t quite stop moving as she does, Ava’s leg providing perfect friction for her.

“Can I?” Ava asks.

Beatrice bites her lips and nods, spreading her legs to sit more comfortably on either side of Ava’s thighs. Ava skirts her hand down over Beatrice’s thigh, watching her face intently as she does, then runs a single finger through her folds.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” she breathes out. Beatrice nods, made messy and uncoordinated by the finger that finds her clit and begins to move in gentle circles.

Leaning above Ava with her arms either side of her, Beatrice squeezes her eyes closed and pushes herself into Ava’s hand, eager for more, to feel more.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Ava tells her, “I wanted this so bad, thought about this so much.”

Usually, it takes Beatrice a long time with a new partner to feel comfortable having them inside her, but now she wants nothing more than for Ava to fill her, to fuck her soundly and thoroughly.

“Can you - “ she asks, “Inside. Please.”

Ava moans in response and moves her fingers down to Beatrice’s entrance, slips inside with one finger and then, when it’s clear that Bea wants more, again with two. 

Beatrice cries out and her hips begin to move in earnest, chasing the orgasm building in her gut. More than the feeling of her, the knowledge that this is Ava fucking her, meeting her every movement, gasping with her, is what pushes her towards coming more quickly than she ever has with another person.

“Yes, Bea,” Ava tells her, her free hand toying with one of Beatrice’s nipples and then pinching, suddenly. “Want to see you come.”

And Beatrice, more than anything else, wants to give Ava what she wants. The orgasm that rips through her is blinding, overwhelming, makes her rear back and arch her back as she clenches around Ava’s fingers.

When, at long last, she opens her eyes again, Ava is staring up at her with something close to awe on her face.

“Fuck,” she wiggles, trapped under Beatrice’s thighs, “Kiss me again.”

Beatrice laughs, still a little dazed, and leans down in the same moment that Ava surges up to meet her. The kiss is messy and made more messy when Ava pulls at her hips, aiming for friction, her arousal coating Beatrice’s thigh.

“Please,” Ava tells her, “That was so fucking hot.”

Her mind still somewhere between her legs, Beatrice runs her fingertips over Ava’s breasts and downwards, “What do you want me to do?”

Ava groans and squirms, “Want you to fuck me.”

Beatrice smiles and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “I’m going to fuck you, darling. What would you prefer?”

“Mouth,” Ava says immediately, “And fingers. I’m not as sensitive as most people so - shit - “ She pauses, distracted as Beatrice grazes a fingernail over her nipple, “God. Okay. More stimulation is better.”

Beatrice hums in agreement and moves downwards. She wants to take her time, to run her mouth over every inch of Ava’s body, but she doesn’t think Ava can wait for it - besides, there’ll be chance enough to do that later.

Instead, she kisses Ava’s thighs and pulls her legs apart gently, groaning when she sees the arousal coating the hair there. Gentle and exploratory, she runs her tongue through Ava’s folds, finds the small bud of her clit and smiles when Ava’s hips jump in response.

Then, she circles her entrance and slips two fingers inside her, relishing the moan it drags out of Ava’s mouth. Ava is hot and soaked around her and she has to take a moment just to feel it, to appreciate that she gets to do this at all.

“I knew you’d be good at this,” Ava says, her fingers sliding into Beatrice’s hair.

Where Beatrice’s orgasm had been a short, sharp electric shock, Ava’s builds slowly. Her pleasure comes in waves, cresting and falling but growing gradually bigger.

Beatrice moves slowly at her first, her lips wrapped lightly around Ava’s clit, her fingers moving almost lazily in and out of her. Ava is never quiet and ever moving, gasping and bucking against her, coating Beatrice’s chin with her wetness. When her movements begin to grow frustrated, Beatrice speeds up, driving her fingers into her harder until she hears the high-pitched cry that tells her she’s reached just the right spot. She sucks at Ava’s clit and when Ava comes, for the first time, she does it with Beatrice’s name as a gasp in her mouth.

Beatrice slows but doesn’t stop and Ava’s fingers don’t loosen in her hair. It’s quicker the second time, with Ava already sensitive and eager for more. Bea fucks her harder and faster until Ava’s moans are frantic and she comes again, arching her back and crying out.

The third and fourth time, after that, all seem to blur into one.

When, eventually, Ava pushes her away and lies, panting and glassy-eyed on the bed, Beatrice crawls back up to lie beside her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“We should have done that ages ago,” she says.

“Oh my God,” Ava laughs, still out of breath, “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

She tucks her head into Beatrice’s chest and they like that for several long minutes, enjoying the closeness of each other there. Eventually, though, Ava has to drag herself up to go to the bathroom, and she stumbles a little as she stands. Beatrice reaches a hand out to steady her with a frown.

“Are you in pain?”

Ava laughs and pulls her hand up so she can kiss her knuckles, “No, you just fucked me really good.”

“Oh,” Beatrice blushes but smiles and Ava leans in to kiss her once, quickly. She crosses the room to the bathroom still naked and Beatrice watches her go, toying with the word girlfriend in her mind.

*

They extend their stay by an extra night and would like to do it again, if Ava didn’t have a gig and babysitting duties to return to.

“What are we going to tell everyone when they ask how our holiday was?” Beatrice asks as they leave the bed and breakfast after checking out, strolling in the direction of the train station.

“I’m guessing you don’t want my answer to be that you made me come so many times I’m pretty sure my body is permanently changed?” Ava suggests casually.

“Mm, preferably not,” Beatrice agrees, “Perhaps we’ll mention that there’s a lovely shipping museum.”

Ava laughs, “And what are you going to do if they ask you questions about the shipping museum we definitely didn’t visit?”

Beatrice shrugs, “I’ll start telling them lots of facts about ships. They usually stop listening after about thirty seconds of that.”

It’s an odd feeling going back to their flat after all this time - Beatrice feels somehow as if it should be different, to mark the seismic shift in their relationship. The building and front door are still just the same though, and inside there are only the tiniest of differences. Ava has bought art for the walls, for a start, and Beatrice’s rather bare-bones kitchen equipment has been filled out. Through the open door of Ava’s room, she can see she’s unpacked properly and there’s a string of fairy lights above her headboard.

“You don’t mind, right?” Ava asks, watching her nervously.

“I love it,” Beatrice tells her and kisses her just because she can.

*

As expected, their friends have a lot to say for themselves. They are waiting, already a little drunk and grinning widely when Ava and Beatrice walk into the pub hand in hand, Ava’s guitar case on Beatrice’s back.

Camila looks down at their joined hands and instantly says, “Oh my God, I have to take a picture.”

She doesn’t, though. Instead, she gets up to hug Beatrice, whispering in her ear, “Happy for you.” Then she hugs Ava and asks her something that makes Ava laugh and give a very exaggerated nod. Beatrice tries not to think about what that might have been.

“Are you walking funny?” Shannon asks next, wrapping an arm around her.

And then of course Mary needs to chime in with, “So she didn’t just handcuff you to the bed and leave you?”

“Alright,” Beatrice laughs, shaking her head. “Are we all quite finished with the jokes? It’s lovely to see all of you as well, by the way.”

She hands over Ava’s guitar so she can go and set up on stage then takes her familiar seat at the table as, behind her, Mary and Camila debate which round of shots would be most appropriate to celebrate the occasion.

There is something in Lilith’s posture that strikes Beatrice immediately: a little less straight-backed, less tension in the set of her shoulders.

“Divorced?” Beatrice asks her, feeling no need to cushion her words with Lilith.

“Completely.” Lilith nods, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “Happy?”

Beatrice nods once, firmly, “Completely.”

On stage, Ava runs through a quick sound check, joking with the crowd as she does and making even a few of the more disinterested faces turn towards her. When she’s ready to begin, she leans forward to say into the mic, “You keep booing me off the stage but they keep paying me so I come back every week.”

She grins and there is a ripple of laughter through the crowd, then she continues, “This first song is a request from somebody pretty important to me.”

She glances over and for a fraction of a second, her eyes meet Beatrice’s, before she turns back to the crowd and begins to strum the first few chords. Beatrice sits back in her chair and lets Ava’s voice flow through her like water.