Chapter Text
My head was pounding, like a little drummer boy beating, beating, beating in my head. I ran my hand through my disheveled hair, before throwing it up into a ponytail, out of my face and out of my way. I tucked my hair into a warm knit hat. I felt trapped, wrapped up from head to toe, and yet, I never felt freer than I do right now.
I trucked down the stairs and out the door, my jeans doing little to protect my legs from the cold winter air. Goosebumps danced across my arms, and shivers raced through my veins. At least there wasn’t snow yet. Ava would have loved the snow.
I took a deep breath, calming my emotions before tears fell from my eyes. If they slipped, they would freeze, instantaneously. It was so cold, and it was only going to get worse.
The ringing of the bell above the door to the bar burned my ears as I stepped inside. The warmth from the heat was comforting but overwhelming all the same. I shrugged off my scarf followed by my winter jacket, depositing them on the chair in the corner as my eyes took in the new white lights dangling from the bar.
“What the literal hell is this?” I asked, watching the bartender as he continued his decorating, completely oblivious to my intrusion.
“Decorating,” He shrugged, grabbing a dirty, dusty wreath from the garbage bag of decorations. “It’s Christmas, Bea. And this is the Adventskranz, it’s a Swiss tradition!”
An angry ion passed through my nerves from the all too familiar nickname. He wasn’t allowed to call me that, only her. And she wasn’t here. I punched down my anger, my grief, my guilt as if it was just another demon to destroy. “There’s still like four weeks until Christmas.”
“All the more reason to start now.” He chuckled. “Wait until you hear my rendition of Stille Nacht.”
“Please no.” I said, watching as he tilted the wreath a little toward the left.
“You think you can hold the ladder for me so I can put some lights up around the ceiling?”
“Uh, no,” I responded. “You’re on your own kid. I don’t feel very festive this year.”
“Come on, everyone has to be festive. It’s Christmas!”
“I’ll be in the back doing inventory. Let me know if you need anything.” I spoke. “Anything that’s not related to December 25th.”
I snuggled closer and closer to her side of the bed. If I closed my eyes and held her pillow, I could almost smell her. Almost.
I thought the first day was going to be the hardest, then the first week, then the first month. Never did I expect the first holiday season to hit me this hard.
I mean, my normal Christmases were spent praising God, celebrating the birth of Jesus and all that other religious racket. And Ava, well, Ava never really had a Christmas. I wanted to be the one to give her one. I wanted to be the one to make her smile. I wanted to go all out, make her breakfast on Christmas morning, and for once in her life, make her feel like the holiday season was something to be excited for, to look forward to.
And I knew she would be such a child. She for sure would be waking up at crack of dawn to open Christmas presents, even though it was a chore to wake her up before mid-day on a normal day.
She would run to the Christmas tree and shake each present, guessing what was inside (and she would never guess, she was a horrible guesser). But still, I would role out of bed with a smile on my face and watch, her excitement contagious. Because I love her. Loved her?
I shook my head, rolling out of bed. It was still dark inside, but I couldn’t sleep any longer. I knew I was facing a bad case of insomnia, but if I made it through each and every day, that’s all that matters. And I was, dragging through, day in and day out.
I snatched my fully charged cell phone from the nightstand glancing down to see yet again another missed call from Camila. Why wouldn’t leave me alone?
“Didn’t you do inventory last week?” Hans asked as I climbed on the step stool she brought behind the bar.
“I don’t remember,” I lied. Truth was, I needed something to do because I woke up at 4 a.m., again, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to smile.
“Well, I remember, and you did. About the same time you yelled at me for putting up these decorations. Which reminds me, have you gotten a Christmas tree for your apartment yet?”
“Its always important to know the exact count of inventory at every given time,” I said, moving Jim Beam and counting the number of bottles behind it, just one, and recording it in my notebook. “And no, I haven’t put up a tree. I don’t plan on it. Isn’t the tradition to put the tree up on Christmas Eve here, anyways? Just pretend I’m doing it then.”
“Yeah, but you’re not from here, and it’s Christmas time. Ava would have wanted you to-”
“Ava’s not coming home,” I yelled, tears forming in my eyes.
“You said she was off fighting some war,” Hans said. “Military personnel get time off too.”
“She’s not coming home,” I gritted. “Just drop it.”
“I’m just trying to remind you to be positive,” Hans said, snatching a clean dishrag to shine the wine glasses.
“And I’m just reminding you we are to sell the oldest liquors first,” I said, as I read the date on the glass bottle of Jose Cuervo.
“It’s all the same.”
“I do the books, Hans, its not the same.” I told him truthfully as I peered toward the back of the shelf. There was something still there. Something that was hidden behind both bottles of top shelf tequila. I rolled onto my tippy toes, reaching deeper and deeper into the shelf. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop storing things at the bar.”
“I didn’t,” Hans shrugged his shoulders as my fingertips collided with the small box. As I pulled it out, I realized it was gift wrapped. In Christmas wrapping paper. “What is it?”
Tears were no longer kept at bay as I analyzed each word, each letter, each curve scribbled across the top. She never had good penmanship.
“It’s a present,” I said, taking in the horrid wrapping job. “From Ava. Did you know she hid this here?”
“No,” Han’s said, sliding over to the stepstool, and placing his hand on my lower back as I stepped off the stepstool and onto the ground. “I didn’t have a clue. Are you going to open it?”
“No,” I said, hoping off the step stool to stash it into my bag. I couldn’t do this. Not here. “It’s not Christmas.”
“Which you just said you weren’t celebrating this year.” Hans reminded her.
“Shut up!”
“I’m just saying, maybe you need to get a tree to put that present under.”
“Hans?”
“Yes?”
“Get back to work,” I said, snatching the dishrag from his hands and chucking it at him.
It was two when I trudged back to the apartment, the cold nipping at my nose and the wind hollering against my feet. I ended up staying about an hour after last call, much to Hans’ dismay. I mean, the tables needed cleaning, the floors needed sweeping. Someone had to do it. And I know most managers wouldn’t get down and dirty. But most managers weren’t me. Most managers weren’t trying to keep themselves busy, because they knew that going home only resulted in thinking, in emotions, in distress and despair.
As I climbed up the few front porch stairs, eyes open just the smallest slit so I didn’t slip and fall on my rear, I noticed a light on through the corner window. What the literal f-. I pause at the swear, but then I remember that it doesn’t matter, I’m no longer holy, no longer one of god’s disciples, no longer a freaking nun.
I reach behind my back, attempting to grab my weapon, only to remember I no longer carry any. That’s not me anymore. I’m just living my lonely life. No threats of life altering, ending demons on a daily basis. On any basis really.
But still, I could kick whoever was in our apartment’s ass. With or without a weapon.
I snuck through the doorway, my breathing heavy and my heart racing. I mean, I can’t say I didn’t miss this adrenaline.
“Is someone here?” I called out, reminding myself that I wasn’t living in threat any longer. There was only a few people who knew where I was living, and those few, I trusted with my life. “Camila?”
“I guess you didn’t take me seriously when I told you that if you did not respond to me, I would show up on your doorstep.”
“I think you went a little past the doorstep.” I replied, slightly harsher than I meant it.
“Well, I’m glad I did,” She said, standing from her seat to wrap her arms against me. I shivered from the intimate, human contact. One I had surely been lacking in the months since I had seen her. Both Ava or any of the other nuns, for that matter. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Thanks,” I muttered sarcastically as I moved through our small one bedroom and into the kitchen to put on a kettle of tea. It was going to be a long night. “Not like its 2 in the morning.”
“Yeah, thanks for bringing up that point,” Camila said, following me into the kitchenette and taking her place at one of the chairs at the smaller than life table. “Why were you out at 2?”
“You know I work at the bar, Camila.”
“I know you are a manager of the bar,” She retorted as I snatched another mug from the cabinets. “So there was no reason for you to be there until well after close.”
“I was just… doing some chores.”
“How long has it been since you actually slept for more than a few hours?” She bit, reading me as easy as the bible.
I clenched the side of the kitchen table, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “It’s been a while.”
“Bea,” She called.
“No, no,” I recanted, glancing out the window toward the streetlight. Small flurries had just begun to dangle in the sky, dance toward the ground, before melting instantaneously as they met the pavement. “I know you warned me. You told me not to fall for a warrior nun, and I know you want me to say you’re right, because you were. Because now I’m here heartbroken and-”
“Beatrice,” She called. “Would you rather have loved and have lost, than not to have loved at all?”
“We both know the answer to that,” I said, wiping my tears harshly. I leaned across the counter, grabbing the box of tea bags and pulling out two. “But I’m still allowed to mourn the fact that we never even had a chance, right?”
“You’re allowed to grieve at your own pace, Beatrice.” She said. “But you still need to take care of yourself. And that’s the part I’m worried about. That’s why I’m here.”
“I’m just trying to stay busy.” I admitted as the tea kettle began to sing. I clenched my eyes shut as I snatched the kettle from the burner and began to pour the boiling water into the cups. “Because every time I close my eyes, I see her.”
A deep well of emotion spilled over within me, causing me to accidentally overfill one of the mugs, burning water seeping into my once frozen hands.
“Holy fuck,” I cursed, my eyes welling with a new emotion, pain, as I shook my hand wildly to stop it from stinging, but to no avail.
Camila chuckled, but stood quickly, immediately ushering me to my seat as she grabbed the mugs from the counter and set them on the table. “It’s funny hearing you curse so freely.”
I stared at my hand reddening hand as a small smirk broke through the ice of my features.
“Do you happen to have a first aid kit?”
“Yeah, in the bathroom, under the sink.” I replied, watching as my skin continued to scream increased in my hand.
“How did you use all this burn cream?” Camila questioned as she exited the bathroom, folding the bottom of the tube to get the last dab out and onto my angry hand.
“Ava tried to cook once,” I told her. “And the halo didn’t heal her quick enough, so I dabbed like the entire bottle all over her hands and arms.”
“Why did you let her cook?”
“She wanted to!” I smirked. Now that I think about it, I think she was trying to impress me, with some quasi-date idea which remarkably failed. But she was so adorable, even in her failure.
“She always tried so hard.” She reminisced. “Now that that is settled, do you want to tell me what that is?”
I didn’t even have to look up from my brightly burned hand to know exactly what she was pointing at; the small wrapped box on my nightstand. If only our apartment wasn’t so small. I still hadn’t opened it, and I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to. Ever.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “It’s from Ava. She hid it in the bar. I spotted it when I was doing inventory a week or so ago.”
Camila slid back into her seat across the table, gliding her mug across the table and into her possession. “Girl, I think you need to do inventory more often than that!”
“What do you mean?” I paused. “I do inventory every week. Hans tries to kill me for doing it so often.”
“But you didn’t-” She paused, and I could hear the gears shifting in her mind.
“No, no,” I spit. “Stop with your alternate dimension theories. I just must have missed it, you know. I haven’t been great at paying attention to detail recently.”
“Whatever you say, Bea,” Camila said, taking a sip of her tea as she tried to hide her smirk.
She was crazy, insane. And a hopeless romantic. But I wasn’t falling for it. I wouldn’t allow myself any hope. Ever again.
“Nice to see you coming in at a time when the sun is actually up,” Hans said as I swung open the door to the still closed bar, the wind gusting in and announcing my presence. “No Camila today?”
The wind ushered me inside, pulling me into the bar, but my feet stood frozen, like Olaf throughout the entirety of Frozen, and I guess the sequel. What? Ava made me watch those; I promise it wasn’t my idea.
“What the bloody hell is that?” I asked, pointing up to the leafy plant dangling from the doorframe.
“Don’t tell me mistletoe isn’t a thing in London, or wherever the hell you are pretending to hail from today.”
“Oh no, it’s definitely a thing,” I admitted, jumping past the barrier and into the bar, as if I wouldn’t get caught under its spell if I didn’t stand under it long enough. “But I want to know what it’s doing in the bar.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Beatrice!” He said excitedly. “And don’t think that running as fast as possible through the doorway makes you immune, it doesn’t. And how else are you going to exit?”
“Guess I’m just going to have to jump from the roof.” I said, sarcastically. I could, and I would to. I was not kissing anyone on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day, or any other bloody holiday taking place in the next twelve months. Maybe even lifetime. “And why are you still decorating when it is literally Christmas Eve? You know we are just going to have to take them all down tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He said. “We are having our annual Weihnachten party tonight.”
“Yes, I remember,” I said evenly. “I had to sign off on the budget and all your petty cash expenses. And don’t forget, you are leaving here tonight, okay? I don’t want to see you here a minute after midnight. You deserve to be home with your family to.” Even if I’m not.
“Woah, the grinch actually has a heart?” He chuckled.
“Believe it or not, I do. A frozen heart most of the time.” I admitted. “And I would have let you have today off too, you know, if you didn’t plan this huge gathering.”
“This is the day where we celebrate our Christmas, Bea!” He said. “We literally can’t close on the day we make the most money. Just wait until you see.”
“Whatever you say, Hans.” I chuckled. “And do your Christmas traditions literally involve people making out in the entry way?”
“Sometimes it does,” He shrugged.
“Do you need any help?”
“You mean before you go back and do inventory for the 18th time this month?”
“No, I was going to do a bank deposit, you know, before the banks go on holiday for two days.” I said. “Is that all you think I do is inventory?”
“Recently, yes,” He chuckled. I wished I had a napkin or something to throw at his large head. But alas, I didn’t. “Actually, I do need your help.”
“Okay, fine,” I replied, pretending to be put out, when really, I was just happy for the distraction. You can only stare at Excel spreadsheets for so long before your brain begins to rot, and your eyes hallucinate long lost loved ones that you have only dreamed about for ages. “What do you need me for?”
“Christmas Glogg is actually really popular here,” He announced, like a walking encyclopedia of Christmas traditions. “I was hoping we could prep a whole bunch so I don’t get overwhelmed when people start to trickle in.”
“I could definitely do some bartending tonight, you know, if you need the help.” I glanced over at him as I dropped my coat on the chair at the corner table, his eyes wild in disapproval. “Or I could just help you now, either way.”
“Yes please,” He chuckled, and then bit back honestly. “Sometimes your people skills leave a lot to be desired.”
“Hey!” I said, grabbing a coaster and thrusting it at his head.
“I’m just saying, people are looking to be happy and festive today, not all grinch like.”
“I would like you to know I’m not always a grinch!” I spit back as I rounded the bar and stood beside him. “What would you like me to do?”
“Can you start peeling these oranges and slicing them into small strips?” He said, rolling a bag of oranges fresh from the Christmas market across the counter.
“You got it,” I said, reaching into the drawer, grabbing a knife, throwing it up in the air, snatching it, and then spinning it between my fingers with ease.
“What the literal fuck was that?” He said. “Screw making drinks, we should hire you to do parlor tricks.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, slicing the orange and beginning to remove its skin. The smell of citrus haunted the entire bar and tickled my nostrils. “Maybe next time. What’s in these drinks?”
“Wine, more wine, brandy, rum,” He began, moving toward the doorway to the wine cellar to grab the newest box of wine.
“Is that why you had me order so much wine from our vendors last week?” I asked, taking the oranges out of the bag and placing them on the counter so I had somewhere to hide the peels. “And how much are we charging for this extremely alcoholic drink?”
“I can see the dollar signs spinning in your eyes. Admit it, this party was a good idea,” Hans said, taking the wine bottles out of the box and beginning to pull out the corks with his teeth, one by one.”
“I’ll let you know once I calculate our net loss for the evening.”
“Hardie, har, har,” He replied as the bar door opened, the wind gushing against the heavy wood and causing it to bang loudly against the wall.
“We aren’t open yet!” I griped, not looking up from my task at hand.
“And Merry Christmas!” Hans said, muttering something about being polite as he turned around. One second, he was popping open a cork, the next thing I knew, the glass was crashing to the ground and port wine spilling all over the floor.
“What is your problem?” I asked, watching as his face paled and the wine sunk into his plain white Reebok tennis shoes.
“I’m standing here, in the doorway,” Her voice skated into my ears, beautiful just like Michelle Kwan winning her nineth national figure skating title. “Waiting for someone to join me under the mistletoe.”
I shook my head wildly, refusing to turn around. I thought the hallucinations had stopped once I started getting an actual good night’s sleep. I guess I was wrong. Dead wrong.
“Someone specific,” Her voice continued, tricking me, fooling me, my own mind betraying me. “Bea?”
I clenched my eyes shut and then slowly turned my head around, expecting, no, knowing, she wouldn’t be standing there. And yet again, she was just a figment of my imagination.
But it wasn’t. It was. She was- she couldn’t be-
I missed the orange, stabbing and slicing through my own thumb. She was here, literally standing in the doorway to the bar, extremely underdressed in a light cardigan and a tank top, but she was here. And blood was spilling from my thumb and pooling into the puddle of red wine seeping into the wooden floor.
“Oh fuck, oh shit,” I swore as pain ripped through my body. I didn’t need stitches, right? I don’t think I need stitches.
“Yeah, she does that now,” Hans said as he jumped onto the bar and slid across, the fastest trek toward the first aid kit.
“I meant to surprise you, not wound you,” Ava said, snatching one of the white dishrags and phasing over toward me in an instant. She wrapped the white towel against my thumb tightly, the blood seeping through the white and turning it a putrid red color.
“I think I’ve been impaled,” I joked, ignoring the pain and the sudden dizziness wrecking my body.
“Is that what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone? Watching Disney movies?” She chuckled, her lips turning into a slight smile after the sudden emotional rollercoaster of the past minute.
“No, I’ve been,” I took a deep breath, tears welling into my eyes. “Missing you. You aren’t really here, are you?”
“I’m here, Bea,” She said, her cold hands reaching up to caress my face. “I fought through hell and high water just to be here with you, Bea. I wish I made it sooner than this, but I’m here now.”
“I just, I can’t-”
“I’m here, Bea,” She said, threading her fingers through my good hand, and placing our palms against her chest. Her heart shook my entire being, strong, healthy, and totally real.
“You’re really here?” I asked, a tear slipping through the barrier and sledding down my cheek. She reached forward, swiping the warm, salty tear with her thumb.
“Shit, I just got blood on you,” She chuckled, resting her forehead against mine before skirting away to grab a napkin.
“Okay, so I didn’t know what to bring, so I brought the entire first aid kit.” He said as she dapped the napkin against her tongue, then wiped it against my cheek. “Well, I guess what’s left of it.”
“Are there any steri-strips in there?” She asked, her body staying flush against mine. “And a few antiseptic wipes.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my Ava?”
“I know right,” She chuckled, slowly removing the soaking wet once white towel from my hand without breaking eye contact. “I think this is the first time I’m patching you up for once.”
“Are you sure she doesn’t need like actual stitches? It looks deep.” Hans asked, causing Ava to almost growl at the man for interrupting our moment.
“Nope,” She answered, shaking off her frustration like a pro. Was this what it was like when we were at the bar before? Was it always just a loop of continuous charged up sexual tension? How did I miss this? Or more like, how as I able to ignore it for so long?
She snatched the antiseptic wipe from Hans’s hand and opened the small packet with her mouth. My eyes stayed locked on her lips as she spit out the small piece of paper from her mouth. Her pupils dilated as she caught my purview. With a slight teasing yet flirtatious smile, she licked her lips; and yet again, my eyes followed every movement.
“Hans, can you go to the store and grab some bandages? I think we ran out,” Ava asked, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth as she wiped my incision.
“Ava, you haven’t been here in like six months, we’ve definitely bought some-”
“Please?”
“Alright, fine,” He said, glancing between her and I as she affixed the strips to my skin with ease. He snatched his coat, whipped it around his shoulders, and dashed out the door.
As soon as the door closed, I pushed Ava against the bar, pinning her against the first surface I could find. Her eyes, still fully dilated, did nothing but spur me on as I slid my arms against the counter, trapping her against me. My heart felt as though it was seconds away from ripping itself out of my chest, but I wouldn’t let that stop me.
“Bea,” I heard her whine, but before she could utter another syllable, my lips pounced on hers, like a lioness ready to devour its prey. Her lips were soft, like a fresh snowfall on Christmas morning. Her hands wrapped around my neck, her fingertips threading through my hair. My entire body felt as though it was melting into a pool of water, yet being shaped together like the first snowball of the winter season. One of her hands drops to the small of my back as I leant in, my teeth pulling at her bottom lip in a hurried, frenzied fashion.
“Bea,” She tried again, her hands falling to my hips as she ever so gently pulled us apart.
“I need to finish-” She tried, as I continued to lay light, airy kisses against her lips. “Your cut.”
“Oh god,” I said, looking down to the bar, which was spattered with droplets of blood.
“Who taught you to use the Lord’s name in vain?”
“You,” I chuckled. “I’m sorry, you got my blood all over you. Once Hans comes back, we can run to the apartment and get you a new shirt.”
“Or, we can run home to the apartment and get reacquainted?” She asked, her eyes so expressive, so wonderous and curious, happy and joyous.
“I’ve got to be here tonight, Ava,” I said as she pulled off the butterfly stitch and attached yet another. “I’m the manager.”
“Which means you can give yourself the day off, right?” She pouted, and I knew, instantly, just by that one look, that I would never be able to say no to her. Not that that was anything knew. “Please, I’ve missed you.”
Oh god, I really didn’t need her begging. Part of me wanted to tell her it wasn’t necessary, and yet the other half of me, the evil half of me, wanted to command her to keep begging.
“You know I can’t say no to you,” I admitted as she wrapped gauze, followed by medical tape against my thumb.
“As soon as he gets back?”
“Yes,” I sighed, resting my head on her shoulder as her arm’s wrapped around me, comforting me and holding me ever so tightly, as if she was afraid I would be the one to slip away.
“I don’t know if you heard me, but” I took a deep breath, pulling away from her to look her in the eyes. “You know I love you right? I said it to you after you went through the portal, but I’m not sure you heard me.”
“I know, Bea,” She said, dropping a kiss onto my forehead. “I felt it, every minute, every second I was away from you. And I just knew I had to get back. I had to find my way back to you.”
“And now here you are,” I said, taking a deep, shaking breath. I had never done this before; I had never wanted to. And yet, now here I was, deeply and madly in love. “My own Christmas miracle.”