Chapter Text
The pang of pride Deborah feels in her stomach makes her heart jump. Anger, fear, disappointment, betrayal, excitement, and surprisingly to her, arousal, course through her veins and swirl in the gaze she’s fixing on Ava. Her whole body is vibrating from the intoxicating cocktail of sensations flowing through her.
“Shall we begin?”
“Let’s.”
Ava sits at the other end of the long table in the conference room, so far out of reach. Which Deborah feels is probably best because had she been left alone in the room with her a few more seconds, she might have done something she would’ve deeply regretted. What? She doesn’t know. Her gaze affixed on the beautiful writer sitting opposite her, she tries to swat away the images flashing in her mind. Ava, tears streaming down her face the night before, yelling at her about how she gave her everything and Deborah refused to give her the time of day when it really mattered, how she refused to listen.
She tries to fix the scene playing out before her. She’s thinking of how if she’d been braver she would’ve reached out to Ava, how she would’ve cupped her cheek and wiped her tears away gently, pulling her in so she’d be wrapped up in her arms. She would’ve told the truth then… if only she’d been brave enough. All that was useless now. She thinks of the aftermath, she remembers going up to her bedroom, fluffing her pillows to think of anything but the way her body screamed at the pain of knowing she’d hurt Ava, all the signs trying to get her to call the writer and apologize. She never actually thought she would lose Ava as she’d told her she’d be willing to, but the way the woman’s body reacted to the cold answer Deborah had given was like a punch in the gut. She felt Ava’s faith in her slipping away.
She’d taken for granted Ava’s willingness to drop everything and come back to her, to come home to her. She’d felt it as soon as she saw soft red strands of hair move and frame her tear-flooded face as Ava turned to leave. The way her body disappeared behind the door frame felt final, unlike all those other times they’d parted, and Deborah had to be honest with herself, parted because of her unwillingness to share her life, to admit that being alone in that fortress she’d built for herself these past 40 years, wasn’t all she’d made it out to be.
This time it hadn’t been Deborah who sent Ava away. It was Ava deciding she’d had enough. The loss of control had felt so jarring to the comedian. The year before, looking at her on the roof as her eyes captured the glimmer of all the stars that night, she’d been the one to end it. To extinguish every single one of those glimmers in her eyes. She’d made up bullshit excuses for herself so as not to feel a part of her get extinguished along with Ava’s hopes of ever meaning anything more than work to Deborah.
Deborah had spent the whole night after that in her hotel room getting familiar with the minibar and how one would go about restocking it without having to wait until the next morning, as the sound of The Amazing Race kept her company in the background.
Last night looked a lot like the one the year before had, except she was in her own home, alone, the hallways filled with thick silence. Just walking through the mansion to get to her bedroom had made her feel like she was suffocating.
All of a sudden her heart feels heavy and her lungs are burning. Ava watches her face intently as the brazen mix of emotions that had been swirling in her eyes turns to something else, something dark which would usually be kept locked in Deborah’s impenetrable vault of emotions.
“Yeah, it was a surprise to me too!” the writer said in what would appear to be a joyful manner to anyone who didn’t actually know Ava, but Deborah noticed the edge in her voice, the way it was too flat to actually hold the meaning she was trying to convey. The redhead’s voice cut through the fog of Deborah’s mind like a sharpened knife through flesh, immediately snapping her out of it.
A moment of weakness, a chip in her armor and Ava’s eyes are on her like a hawk. She’d caught it, Deborah could see it in the way she squinted just enough to focus her gaze on the blonde.
Deborah’s knees are weak; she can feel her muscles tremble as she stands up to promptly excuse herself, trying not to seem as though she wants to collapse as she makes her way to the bathroom. It was just like Christmas all over again, she was feeling sick to her stomach about what was awaiting her. Deborah catches her own gaze in the mirror and holds it for a minute or two, trying to piece back that faux-friendly veneer she always has on in situations like these, but for some reason she can’t. She knows Ava would see right through it… she always had.
Deborah’s left hand wraps around her phone, slender fingers hovering over Ava’s name displayed on the screen. She couldn’t fix this like she always had: a quick text and a hidden conversation where it was just them, seemingly no stakes for Deborah. She had to walk back in there like she owned the room because before Ava had yanked control away from her again, Deborah actually had.
She walks back into the conference room as shakily as she left it, a fact that has not escaped Ava’s observant gaze. Deborah hopes that somewhere deep down, the writer feels something, anything, other than enjoyment at the sight. It’s driving her insane not being able to see through her now like she had always been able to.
Deborah had always been fortunate enough to have access to an Ava with no walls around her heart, which seemed to no longer be the case. The open book Deborah had grown so fond of reading was now sealed shut. She feared she might never be able to open it again.
After what feels like an eternity, the meeting is finally over. The comedian watches as everyone stands the moment she does and starts making their way out the door, everyone except her and Ava. As soon as it’s just the two of them again, an uncomfortable silence settles in the room. It feels oddly familiar, like two strangers alone in an elevator.
There’s so much Deborah finds herself wanting to say, yet nothing feels right in that moment. She is on the cusp of saying “Where are you staying?” but she knows that Ava would find a way to tell her she’s sure Deborah doesn’t actually care about the answer. A year ago, that may have been true. That Deborah wouldn’t have given a damn if Ava slept in some shitty motel. This Deborah, however, couldn’t fathom it. She wanted to know so she could show up on her doorstep and take her back to the mansion, back home, with her, where she’d carved a place for herself.
Deborah takes a breath, opening her mouth as if to say something, lifting her gaze only to see Ava do the same. A feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time creeps up and settles in her stomach at the sight: shyness. She lifted her hand encouraging Ava to go first.
As Ava opens her mouth once again, maintaining the determined look in her eyes, to unleash upon Deborah god knows what other painful truth, the shrill sound of the writer’s ringtone cuts her off. Deborah wants to walk up to Ava, close the distance, forcing her to let the phone ring, but once again, her courage fails her.
Seeing Ava move the phone to pick up, something of an apology written all over her face acknowledging the ruined moment, likely more out of habit than intention, Deborah turns away to gather her things and make her exit, hiding the frustration on her face. Her long and perfectly manicured fingers wrap themselves around the door handle as she turns towards her writing partner once more.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ava.” she says as coolly as she can muster, before turning away and disappearing into the hallway.