Chapter Text
Moon rose
full and without
compromise through the good
garden of leaves,
here and there
stars rode in flickering
slicks of water
and for certain
the burly trees
hunched toward each other,
their dark mantles
like the fur of animals
touching. It was
summer on earth
so the prayer
I whispered was to no
god but another
creature like me.
Where are you?
Beatrice
Beatrice stirs, struggling out of sleep with a sense of wrongness. Something missing. Rolling over and finding Ava’s side of the bed empty, her mind flashes back to what she’d overheard earlier that day, what Michael had asked Ava to do. Unsure of the specifics, but knowing that whatever he had planned would kill Ava. Kill them both. I have to find her.
She knows, logically, that Ava would probably not vanish the night before their carefully planned offensive on a rogue mission that she didn’t sound terribly thrilled about but also…it’s Ava. So God only knows. She swings her legs out of bed and pads quietly, barefoot, down the hall and out into the night air. It’s much hotter than it had been at night in Switzerland, so the slight breeze feels like a caress on her skin as the stone buildings of Jillian Salvius’s compound radiate the sun’s warmth, stored from the day. A full moon provides enough light to see by, even as heat lightning flickers on the horizon.
Seeing none of the vehicles moved from where they’d been that afternoon, she wanders into the expansive gardens that sprawl across the grounds. They’re beautifully designed, planned and then left to grow a bit wild, striking a balance between the lush and the refined. A small stream winds through, collecting in a series of ponds, meticulously planted with different water lily cultivars and filled with ornate koi. Moonlight sparkles on the water, and the babble hides her almost silent footsteps entirely as she approaches a figure seated under a gnarled tree, lost in darkness except her silhouette that shows black and crisp against the light’s reflection in the pond before her. She chooses to announce her approach.
“They came to a plot of land called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, 'Stay here while I pray.' Then he took Peter and James and John with him.”
“And he began to feel terror and anguish. And he said to them, 'My soul is sorrowful to the point of death. Wait here, and stay awake.' And going on a little further he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, this hour might pass him by.”
Ava’s response surprises her. In all the time they’d spent together, Ava had avoided most theological topics, at least since the night on the train. She sits beside her, resting her hand just beside Ava’s. Not quite touching.
“So you know the story of the agony in the garden?”
“I was stuck in a bed in a Catholic orphanage for most of my life Bea, I remember some stuff. Sister Frances loved anything about suffering. A bit on the nose for tonight, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps I wanted to illustrate that in his time of need, the night before the passion, even God asked for companionship from those who loved him. Even He didn’t want to be alone.”
Ava lets out a heavy sigh, staring out into the darkness. “Jesus got a raw deal, knowing he was going to die.”
“You are not going to die, I don’t care what Michael told you—”
Her voice cracks. She grips Ava’s arm suddenly and Ava looks up at her. Beatrice knows that she rarely lets her emotions get the better of her, but there is nobody else here but the fish, gliding through their inky world.
“You can’t. Please. Promise me, Ava. Whatever Michael asked you to do. You can’t.”
“That’s the plan, Bea. We’ll find another way. We always find another way.”
It isn’t lost on Beatrice that she avoids actually saying “I promise,” but then Ava is leaning in, resting her head on her shoulder, and she feels so heavy. So tired. So precious. If they could only stay like this in the morning and beyond, she would revoke all her vows, or keep them, or make new ones to break and keep. Anything to barter with God or whatever is out there to keep Ava here, beside her, like this. Warm. Breathing.
Silence falls over them like a shroud. Ava threads her arm behind Beatrice, pulling her close. Beatrice leans in response, pressing against her. I’m here. You’re not alone. I’ll be here, every step of the way. Nothing feels close enough. Time is slipping through their fingers with every breath, and no matter how hard she refuses to believe it, it is possible, as it always is, that one of them may be sitting here alone tomorrow night. Battling with demons and deities has never been a safe line of work.
She leans back for a moment to look at Ava. A cruel choice to make, between looking and touching, but she’s not sure what she would be most gutted to lose. The smell of her, dusty and floral? The burning, tingling sensation that radiates from her skin anywhere they touch? The way she’s looking at her right now, dark eyes impossibly soft and liquid in the moonlight, face full of tenderness and warmth? Or the feeling that spreads through her with that look, knowing that someone could see and know so much of her and still look at her like she’s witnessing divinity?
Maybe if they could stay in this moment forever, she could resist, but knowing that they can’t, her body is screaming at her to grasp and have and keep. It’s less of a decision and more of a compulsion that drives her to capture Ava’s lips in a searing kiss, to tangle her hands into her hair and hold her closer, closer. Ava lets out a small hum and responds in kind, first pulling Beatrice in by the waist, then when that fails to be enough, climbing into her lap, straddling her. Beatrice loses herself in her taste, the softness of her lips, the sounds she makes. Indulgences that she hasn’t allowed herself since Switzerland. Her reasons for the self-denial seem flimsy now, in the face of this.
Breaking apart, they pause. Ava breathes deeply, and Beatrice can feel her trembling.
“Ava, come back to bed?”
Ava looks up at her again and stands, reaching for her hand. Beatrice takes it and leads her inside.
The wind stood still.
Lightning flung
its intermittent flares;
in the orchard
something wandered
among the windfalls,
licking the skins,
nuzzling the tunnels,
the pockets of seeds.
Where are you? I called
and hurried out
over the silky sea
of the night, across
the good garden of branches,
leaves, water, down
into the garden
of fire.