Chapter Text
They return to Deb’s Vegas hub without much pomp and circumstance, a dark SUV arranged by Josefina waiting for them on the tarmac.
There's a silent agreement Ava would be moving back in while they ‘‘fight the fuckers”, as Deborah so elegantly put it while slinging her clothes into one of her suitcases and Ava had to restrain herself from straightening them out neatly. Talk about role reversal.
The flight was uneventful in that they both knocked down a few of their preferred sedatives - causing a discussion about the long-term effects of Ambien and ‘‘Good golly Ms Molly, you really wanna go down this road?”, which , yeah, Ava had to concede defeat on that one.
And right before she dozed off, she let herself observe Deborah, the tension in her posture easing as she let the drugs do their thing. For the first time in a long time it hit her - she had no idea how they were going to fix this.
Something felt broken. And it may be more than just Ava's heart.
‘‘A whole month, Deb. That's how long we've been rewriting this thing. The feminist anger is a good tool but not when we have absolutely nothing to lean it against!”
‘‘Isn't feminism your whole shtick? I could get us to the punch line if you would guide the way, for once!”
They'd been at each other's throats since three am, when they met in the kitchen, both slaves to a blood-thirsty insomnia. Now, nearing six pm, they're no closer to shaping their material the way they both wanted it.
‘‘Okay, we need a break. You want me to bring up dinner? I know I'm starving.”
‘‘I'm not hungry, you go. I'm going to take a shower.”, Deborah sighs, her voice losing most of its edge, and Ava hates that she wants said edge back. Fire vs. ash, she thinks. She never wants to see the ash ever again.
‘‘Hey, D.?”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Deborah turns and Ava takes a deep breath before walking the distance of the few steps it takes to get to her.
‘‘When I was a kid, I would get nasty temper tantrums.”
‘‘Shocker.”, deadpans Deborah, but Ava merely smiles.
‘‘You're one to talk, Rock-thrower slash chain-saw-wielder.”
Deborah rolls her eyes but the half-smile tells Ava she'll take the L.
‘‘My emotional regulation was subpar at best as a kid. You can imagine how well that went down when it comes to my mom.”
She gently grasps one of Deborah's hands, the smooth, warm palm fitting so perfectly in her own. She blinks, in a minute daze, before re-centering her thoughts.
‘‘My Dad had a theory that if he could get me to redirect all the rage, in a controlled environment, it would help with how I deal with social situations. Or, well, at least stop biting Beth Kacsinsky.”
At Deb's intrigued face, she laughs lightly before waving the memory away.
‘‘She kept eating my Uncrustables, so I made her into one.”
Deborah barks out a laugh and their hands clasp together more firmly, Ava's breath catching in her throat at the sparkle lurking in Deb's eyes, a sign that the situation was salvageable. That they were salvageable.
‘‘So what was your father's method?”
Ava blinks away the tears threatening at the mention of her dad and takes a deep breath.
‘‘Rage room.”
‘‘Excuse me?”
‘‘Yeah. Don’t knock it till you've tried it. I mean, I know you’ve had your fair share of impromptu smashing of furniture and alike but, think how much better it would be when it’s actually premeditated, so to speak. Did for me. Granted, my rage room was the bottom of our backyard, an old baseball bat, goggles and all the glass recycling he could get his hands on.”
‘‘Did it work?”
‘‘Yes and no? The rage would diminish, but not extinguish.”, Ava says mischievously, and weirdly happy at seeing the almost proud smirk it elicits from Deborah.
‘‘Meaning...?”
‘‘No more Beth-themed snacks, but I did join the girls' softball team and more than a few balls connected with her mug. Not that anyone could pin anything on me.”
‘‘Of course.”, Deb replies with a slight chuckle and a sigh, squeezing Ava's hand once more before letting go.
‘‘So?”
‘‘I'll think on it. For now, we should both rest. My brain feels like a wasp nest.”
‘‘Yeah, you go chill, shower, etc. Me? Imma get my huge mitts on a slice of that chocolate pie from last night.”
Deborah nods, yawns and walks away, leaving Ava feeling only slightly better about the coming days.
‘‘Want another one?”
Ava swallows the final bite of mousse and waves Josefina away, even though she is indeed craving another slice.
‘‘I'll never fall asleep at this rate, our schedule sucks as is, if I'm not as attentive as can be for Madame tomorrow, she'll have my head.”
‘‘She's not too much of a Red Queen, and you know it.”, giggles Josefina as she turns the dishwasher on.
‘‘No but I myself feel like I am living in Marie Antoinette Quarter, neck perishable as fuck.”, murmurs Ava, wiping down the counter, trying to, at least a little, minimize feeling like part of the horrid bourgeoisie she had unwittingly moved into.
Josefina laughs at her words, followed by a smirk Ava can't force herself to decipher, her limbs protesting in heaviness, eyes dry and too warm.
‘‘I'll bid you good night, my fair lady.”, she says with a bow, turning to head upstairs.
‘‘Waffles or pancakes for breakfast?”
Ava’s mouth waters at the mere thought of a combination of both, with whipped cream and a caramel-Nutella drizzle, but she shakes her head.
‘‘Granola, I think. Some non-fat yoghurt with honey. Oh and that farmer's market goat cheese we got the other day. And do we have any more of that elderberry jam?”
Josefina looks at her as if she sprouted another head and she is suddenly feeling a little too bare for her liking.
‘‘What?”
‘‘You hate ninety percent of the things you just listed.”
‘‘I-...”
‘‘It's okay Ava. I see it too.”
The lack of sleep Deborah is fighting harder than Ava. The weight loss. The way both women pretend they don't hear Deborah pacing the halls every other night just because her brain can't stop running.
‘‘I just...if I eat, maybe I can get her to eat, too?”
Josefina nods, and Ava refuses to think she saw a tear in the corner of her eye. Because if the situation has gotten Josefina herself this troubled, then her point of view is out of focus yet. She frowns and Josefina must see the question she hadn't uttered in the expression and tilt of head.
‘‘Don't worry, you couldn't have known”
‘‘Known what?”
The woman looks torn, and instead of answering, busies herself with loading the soda fountain.
Ava waits her out, pulling up a stool by the island.
‘‘All I know for sure is that once a year there comes a moment when there's a certain something in her I see, and there is nothing that can pull her out of the funk she gets in.”
Ava leans forward to hear clearer, since her voice had lowered to barely above a whisper.
‘‘It's just that now, it’s caught up in this war you two are waging against the corporate entertainment machine and I think it's become hard for her to juggle the two. Every year, come summer, for a brief period, she's a fortress of solitude. Not outwardly, of course, she’d never let it affect her work. But behind the scenes…”
She takes a deep breath before continuing.
‘‘I'll give you one thing, you're the only person I've ever met that is able to jolt her at least a little out of it.”
Ava's brain whirrs with combinations of thoughts and the single one that keeps landing is-
‘‘How come I haven't noticed it?”
She feels guilty, there must have been clear signs of whatever this was right before her very eyes.
‘‘But you did. Otherwise you wouldn't be drafting a nutritional breakfast menu right now.”
The words do little to ease the guilt but she is grateful Josefina puts in an effort to reassure her.
‘‘Are you the only one who knows about this?”
‘‘Probably. Well, until you came along.”, she smiles warmly, as if meaning to convey how glad she is that Ava is there and the spasm her body is in lets up a little.
‘‘Now don't go snooping. Let her be. She has a way of processing whatever is making her feel the way she is. It's not on us to do it for her.”
Ava bites her tongue and swallows the words she feels climbing their way up her throat. She doesn't agree but she nods anyway.
‘‘Okay, that's enough hard topics for one evening, missy. Go to sleep.”
‘‘Yeah, okay. Thanks by the way. For the food and, well...for telling me. I know how much she trusts you and I know you wouldn't tell me this if you didn't think I really needed to know.”
She can’t resist giving the woman a tight hug before slowly making her way up the stairs.
Every year, when the time comes, no matter the current status of her life, she can't help but feel like she's experiencing it for the first time, despite knowing by now, after so many years, that it's coming.
She slides on her silk robe and sits down in front of her mirror to dutifully apply all her moisturizers and serums, all marking the passage of time she battles daily.
The moment she knows is coming will be in full swing soon enough, her subconscious knows it, and prepares her body in the best way it can. A soothing bath, a few face masks, calming white noise playing from her phone placed next to her on the bed.
She should have told Ava not to disturb her, but honestly, she doesn't have it in her to care. Not this year. Or ever again, maybe. Some walls can afford to be torn down. Let them make whatever they want out of what she allows them to see. She herself doesn't know what that will be.
She runs her hands through her damp hair and is satisfied by the fact she doesn't need to work on blow-drying it, seems she has fallen victim to yet another girlhood feature - her hair always looking its best when she had nowhere to be.
She nearly scowls at her reflection, the woman looking back at her a vision of subdued pain and she can’t help looking away, swallowing against a dry, tight throat.
‘‘D.?”
She shuts her eyes at the sound of Ava's inquisitive whisper and doesn't budge.
‘‘Deb? Barry and Cara are tucked in. I figured you were exhausted so I took them out for a little run in the yard.”
Making sure she'd be able to form the words she nods before taking a few seconds to answer.
‘‘Thanks. Early night for us both?”
Apparently, she's not too ready for the defenses to come down. But they're close, because the moment she locks eyes with Ava, she knows Josefina tattled.
‘‘There goes her Xmas bonus.”, she murmurs, continuing her routine, hoping Ava would get the hint and leave her be.
Ava smiles sadly, coming closer.
‘‘To be fair to Josefina, it's me. My Mom once told me that I had a face even mafia dons would want to go to for confession.”
Deborah huffs out a muted laugh, unable to stop herself. However, she sobers quickly and bites her lower lip, inklings of anger seeping out of their carefully curated compartments.
‘‘She had no right. You have no right.”
‘‘To what, Deb?”, asks Ava, calm and unperturbed.
Back in a scene so familiar to them both, she gazes, lets herself take in the silhouette of her writing partner in the vanity mirror, standing ramrod straight, giving her all her attention, an unwavering sentry. And indeed, her angelic pale skin, her divinely radiant eyes...
‘‘I can understand why your mother said what she did.”
‘‘And I never knew whether to take it as an insult or praise.”
Deborah locks eyes with hers and takes a deep breath.
‘‘Both.”
‘‘If you're truly tired and want to sleep, I'll go.”
The words are a gift and Deborah should take them as such, but instead, something in them hurts so much she can't bear to imagine Ava leaving her. She never could, that's why she always left first and never dared dissect her feelings for the younger woman. But now, for some reason, she refuses to let her go.
‘‘No.”
‘‘So then. Looks like it's gonna be another Sleepless in Vegas type night, huh?”
‘‘I want to take a walk.”, Deborah says, surprising even herself.
Ava nods, and Deborah can see the cogs turning in her head.
‘‘I can do you one better. Get dressed.”
She stands up from the bed so fast Deborah feels dizzy.
‘‘What? I just took a shower! I meant a walk in the garden, where are you going?”
Ava turns, and the way her features settle into a beatific smile makes Deborah wonder what her likeness would look like converted into a stained glass window portrait.
‘‘Don't grin like that, you look like Ronald McDonald.”, she spits out before she can think better of it.
Old habits die hard, she supposes.
But Ava pays zero to no attention as she sprints towards her designated bedroom - or rather the room she keeps her clothes in since, for the most part, she falls asleep or rather passes out on Deborah’s California king.
‘‘I gotta make a phone call, and then I’ll go wait in the car!”, she calls out and Deborah is startled by the realization that she doesn't flinch anymore at the sound of doc martens making their thunderous way down her marble staircase. Perhaps sounds like that have become her latest brand of white noise.
Sighing, she makes her way to her closet to get dressed. She finds it very hard to say no to the ecstatic invite. Yet another habit that seems to be growing on her when it comes to Ava.