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Chapter Text

Athens, Greece

“For a bike that promises all terrains, it does not at all feel suitable for this particular terrain.”

Complaining about a product to someone who literally has had no hand in making it would be unproductive and unappealing to most people, but goddamn it, Beatrice could use a venting ear.

As expected, the sigh that echoes in her helmet is one of resignation. 

“Galahad, I am not your customer service chatbot. File your complaint with the appropriate department.”

Abruptly ducking so she doesn’t get decapitated by a passing tree branch, Beatrice huffs. 

“Who’s to say I haven’t?”

“Oh I know you haven’t, because if you did, you would ask me to proofread your suggestion slip for potentially harsh language and typos before actually getting it anywhere near the internal network hub.”

Hidden beneath her visor is Beatrice’s sulking pout. Thankfully, no one can see her in this darkness and not when she is driving this fast. 

“Well, excuse me for being a gentleman. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

“A gentleman is one thing. You’re just being a nitpick.” Before Beatrice can say anything to refute this baseless accusation, the other line is changing their tone to a more serious one. “You’re getting very close to the train. Be ready to hop on.”

“Copy that.” Beatrice nods, twisting her handlebar so the motorbike goes even faster. “Car 3, correct?”

“Affirmative. Car 3 of Train 053171. Unfortunately, you will have to hop onto car 8 as that is where the cargo is and manually walk your way through the rest.”

“Perfect. I love it when people call me precious cargo.” Beatrice allows herself a chuckle while the other line groans. She’s used to it, no one ever appreciates her jokes around here. “How many goons am I expecting?”

“Um… two in Car 6, five in Car 4, and one in Car 3. That last one has his headphones on, sleeping. Probably got tired of all the children screaming and crying.”

Despite her best attempts to keep calm in any sort of situation, the mention of children still twists Beatrice’s heart and douses it in gasoline. She’s been working this case undercover for the past three years, and if everything goes well tonight, she will have accomplished her biggest mission to date. 

“I can take it from here. Thank you.”

The other line says nothing about her poorly hidden anger, only offers reassurance. “I’ll be on standby if you need me. Good luck, Galahad.”

Even though they can’t see her, Beatrice nods anyway. 

Just in time, as her motorcycle is now catching up to the train. Beatrice allows herself a large exhale before she jumps. 

Luckily, Beatrice’s landing is relatively soundless, catching a rusted handlebar and using it as momentum to swing herself aboard. By the time her entire body is inside the cargo compartment, her motorbike has automatically activated its nanotech mode and folds itself into a tiny cube that sits snugly in the pocket of Beatrice's trousers.

Maybe she should lay off the lab techs. After all, this is already pretty dope technology for its time. 

“Eh. They can always improve.” Beatrice shrugs, easily kicking the door down and making her way inside Car 7. 

All of that, and her suit remains without a single crease. Beatrice doesn't bother holding back a self-satisfied grin.

As promised, there is no one in Car 7, but she makes a swift scan of her surroundings using her smart spectacles in case a bomb or two is stored away as a contingency plan. 

That happened two missions ago when she was busting down an international drug trading ring in The Bahamas, and till this day, Beatrice swears she can still occasionally hear ringing of an unidentifiable source in her ear.

Since her intelligence informed her there were two people in the next car, Beatrice prepares accordingly. Switching to x-ray mode, she quickly determines the positions of the two assailants, their heads conveniently huddled together as they play a game of chess.

Busting down the door, Beatrice gives them no time to process her entrance. “Sorry, guys. I’m afraid I’m going to have to call a checkmate.” 

Before any of them can think of doing something stupid, trying to defend themselves for example, Beatrice is raising her leg and performs a roundhouse kick on the nearest goon. As soon as he goes down, she rounds up on the other guy, nimble hands quickly twisting her wristwatch and activating its stun mode.

Without much fanfare, she grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks, sending his body falling back and exposing his neck for her to press her watch against his skin. 

The man goes limp, Beatrice tosses him to lie atop his mate.

Temporarily stopping to brush the wrinkles and dust off her suit, Beatrice advances forward once more.

Car 4 has twice as many perpetrators, so Beatrice needs to be smarter about this.

One hand in her pocket, Beatrice waits to open the door with a loud bang before she throws a lighter-shaped flashbang that blinds every single occupant in the car. Before any of them can react in any other way but screaming, Beatrice pulls out her pistol from her belt. 

She makes sure they're tranquilizer bullets in the magazine before she fires, even if a part of her wants to blow all their heads off for even being here to begin with.

All those children. All that blood. All that pain and torture and for what?

How much money could have ever made all this worth it? How many social capitals? How much fame and fortune? 

How could anything be worth all this suffering?

Feeling that anger building up in her again, Beatrice continues on her warpath. 

The minute she yanks open the door to Car 3, she feels that blinding rage takes over completely.

Because right there, practically at the feet of the sleeping perp, is a bunch of kids passed out due to exhaustion and who knows what else. 

Beatrice's eyes dart back and forth between their tiny faces, some bruised with hand marks that are way too big to be of a child. To make matters even worse, they're all squeezed inside a cage, malnourished limbs entangling with each other, a heartbreaking mess that even someone as observant as her wouldn't even know where it begins and where it ends.

One of them stirs at the ruckus, and Beatrice's heart outright stops in her chest.

She sees herself. Just for a moment, a flash of what used to be, she sees herself in that cage. 

Big, round eyes that widen at the sight of a stranger. The immediate cloud of distrust and caution that makes the little one curl into himself. The way she can hear him beg her to please not hurt him loud and clear without even a single word exchanged between them.

Beatrice feels wetness dripping down her cheeks, and so she looks away. 

When she turns, she finds that man again. That man who wears the same disinterest and apathy as the rest of the barbarics that Beatrice killed with her own hands before getting here. 

Perhaps she's been standing around for way too long, because in her ears, echoes of a familiar crackle of the intercoms. “Galahad? Everything alright?”

Beatrice blinks, and with it comes the abrupt end to her quiet sobs. She places a finger on her lips, telling the kid to keep quiet, before tapping at the spine of her spectacles.

It doesn't do anything. She's always connected to the people who are ready at any given moment to come to her defense. It's just a force of habit and anxiety. 

“I’m fine. This is the guy, isn't it? Who set this all up and is selling these kids to… to…”

“Yes.” There's no judgment nor any admonishment. They are all thinking the same thing. “Arthur will understand if he falls into the train tracks.”

Beatrice chuckles humorlessly, which turns into a soft smile when she sees the little one flinch back. 

“Thank you, Merlin. I’ll take it from here.”

Merlin says nothing, but there is a click that signals the end of their communication line. Beatrice knows it's decorative, merely for her own sake and letting her know that the floor is essentially hers and hers alone.

Beatrice takes a deep breath, before she gently walks towards the cage of kids. Kneeling down, Beatrice does her best to make her voice sound like the soft one that once got her to calm down from the most hysteric breakdowns.

It's not hard to recall. Merlin just talked to her after all. 

“Hey little one, may I ask you a question?”

The kid, with his big and imploring brown eyes, bravely nods. He’s a little bit older than the other kids in the cage with him, but it’s almost impossible to tell with how hard he is trembling in his own arms. Beatrice’s lips start quivering all over again. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Beatrice asks, tilting her head. She is told she looks like a curious pup whenever she does so, maybe the little one will find her less scary like this. 

“Diego.” He says, cracked and barely louder than a whisper. Beatrice understands why when she sees his neck, bruised with a hand mark and littered with scratches. 

“Diego, hi.” Beatrice tries to smile, even as the invisible ropes around her own neck start to burn. “I’m Beatrice. I’m here to get you and your friends out of here.”

“Really?” Diego asks, physically holding himself back even though there are stars exploding in his eyes. “You will help us? You will help us run away from the bad man?”

“Yes.” Beatrice nods, putting her finger on her lips before he can make any sound of excitement. “I would like to talk to him first, however. So I’m going to need to bring him to a different car, but I promise you, little one, that I will be right back to get you out.”

Diego listens attentively to every word Beatrice has to say. He takes a couple seconds more to think when she finishes, clearly debating with himself whether to trust her or not.

Beatrice hopes he will. More than anything.

“Okay.” Diego nods eventually. Beatrice is so relieved she lets out a big sigh. “Come back quick?”

“Be back in a flash, I promise.” Beatrice smiles, keeping eye contact with him the entire time she pulls herself up.

Even with the coils of anger boiling in her blood, Beatrice does her best to keep herself calm and composed. She gets on one knee so she is almost eye level with the sleeping goon, gently slapping him awake with the back of her hand.

“Hmm, wha— what?” The goon groans, obviously irked at being pulled out of sleep. His eyes, heavy with sleep, blow open wide once he registers the sight of her as well as the knife she subtly pulled out of her pant leg. “What the—”

“Ah, ah. Quiet.” Beatrice says, pressing the blade against his neck. The corner in which he slept is too dark for Diego or any of the kids to see what she's doing, which works out incredibly in her favor. “Come with me. You make even one peep and I will thrust this blade up your chin and skewer your head like a Chinese tanghulu.”

“Tang what—” The blade cuts through skin, just a little bit. “Okay! Okay! I’ll come with you.”

“Good.” Beatrice smiles, all fake niceties and cruel mirth. “I’m going to hold onto your collar in case you try to run.”

“I’m not going to run.” The goon grumbles, slowly sitting up once Beatrice steps back enough to give him space.

And sure enough, the minute someone can fit an adult shoe in the space between them, he wrenches himself out of her grip and makes a dash for the door.

“He’s getting away!” Diego shouts, waking up more of his friends.

“What’s going on?”

“Who is that?”

“Where is the bad man?”

“Are we getting out? Are we?”

Amidst the ruckus, Beatrice remains calm. “Don't worry, little ones.” She says, taking off her suit jacket and rolling up her shirt sleeves. “I’ll catch up to him.”

She exits the car with the children cheering her on, Diego the loudest of them all. Her heart feels so full, and it urges her to keep moving forward. 

It's honestly comically easy to catch up to the goon, what with him still struggling to pry open the door Beatrice previously glued to the metal hinges with a small tube of super gel hidden in her shoes.

Another thing to thank the tech labs for, she quietly muses.

The goon doesn't hear her, mouth spilling all sorts of curse words as he tries his hardest to get the door open.

It's no use, she knows that, but she’ll let him buy himself some more time.

After all, Beatrice smiles as she twists her signet ring, feeling the vibration of electrical voltages shimmering in the air, he will wish time would stop when she finally gets her hands on him.

And if she takes her own time before she throws him off the running train, then there's no one else here to say she did it.

—

Mediterranean Sea, 42500 feet above sea level

Beatrice is not even back in London yet and already she's itching to leave again.

It's not at all an insult to the home of Sherlock Holmes, or Mary Poppins, if you swing that way too, but more an inclination to Beatrice's ever so persistent workaholic tendencies combined with her unhealthy coping mechanism.

When it comes to fight or flight, Beatrice becomes Superman.

Speaking of flight, “The jet will be landing in about two hours. I hope you’re thinking of getting in a nice and relaxing hot bath once you’ve arrived at your place, Galahad.”

Beatrice chuckles humorlessly, head leaning back against her seat. “You would love that, wouldn't you, Merlin?”

The feminine voice in her glasses chuckles goodnaturedly. “Why yes, I would, but alas, I’ll just have to settle for a good ole boiling shower.”

“Here's an idea, you can move out.” Beatrice taps the spine of her glasses, her own way of expressing mirth. “Guinevere has been going on and on about that sweet townhouse on Baker Street for months. What's stopping you?”

“Believe it or not, interior shopping.” Merlin’s sigh is one of longing. “Neither she nor I could agree on the couch to be put in the living room. I’m of the opinion that one should always put a white couch in the space where they plan to host their friends— that's you— but she thinks a white couch is a recipe for disaster with how often she likes to snack while watching TV.”

Beatrice oohs and ahhs in all the right places, but eventually she has to give it to her straight.

“I’m sorry, Merlin, but I’d have to side with Guinevere on this one.” Before an indignant squawk can puncture her eardrums, as they often do, Beatrice rushes to explain. “I’ve seen Guinevere with an ice cream cone. She makes our sidewalk look like the River Thames. I would not trust her near such a pristine and probably expensive-to-clean couch.”

The squawk comes anyway, despite her best attempts. “Screw you. I should have asked Percival. She would take my side.”

Beatrice laughs for real this time, taking a sip out of her glass of water. The coldness helps keep her mind awake. “Only because you sponsored her for the mantle when you stepped down.”

“Some nepotism doesn't hurt anyone, and hey, it's not stepping down, but stepping up. My mental health has been thanking me since I became Merlin, even with the things I have to see you all partake in for the sake of the mission.”

Scoffing, Beatrice puts down her water and picks up her laptop. “Can't say that’s a sentiment I can relate to, but I’m happy for you.” 

On the screen, popping up in no particular order nor organization style, are the multiple case files Beatrice has previously pulled up the night before. 

After spending so long in Europe, a mission somewhere a little warmer, perhaps South East Asia, might do good for her soul. 

“Beatrice.”

Uh oh. Nothing good ever comes out of hearing her real name spoken in this tone of voice. 

“Shannon.”

“Do you never think about it?”

Beatrice frowns, clicking out of the mission where there are children involved. Her heart can’t bear anymore of that, at least for the next month or so. Lancelot will be perfect for this, Beatrice thinks, forwarding her the details via their secret correspondence network hub.

After the last time Kingsman was remotely hacked into and subsequently bombed to oblivion, extra security measures were implemented, going as far as changing the name of their headquarters to something a bit more discreet.

Beatrice won't pretend like she has any idea what goes on, just that she is grateful for her fellow agents working overtime to ensure everyone’s safety. Working in a job like this, you can never be too careful.

“About what?” Beatrice asks Shannon to clarify, typing up a quick email. 

“Stepping down.” Her fingers freeze over the keyboard. “Living your own life.”

Her frown deepens, an answer hard to come by as she is put out of her depth. “What’s wrong with this life? I like this life.”

“You wouldn’t be doing this for over a decade if you didn’t.” Shannon dismisses her in that same no-nonsense tone of voice. “But Bea, you know there is more to life than just being Kingsman.” Beatrice’s heart squeezes. “I love this job, I can do it for a couple more years, but I can’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life. I can't see myself making it the only thing either.”

“Maybe you can’t. But I can.” If she sounds defensive then, yes, perhaps she is.

Shannon doesn’t care, bulldozes ahead. “Bea, aren't you lonely?” A choked gasp escapes Beatrice. “Don't you want to fall in love? Spend the rest of your life with someone special?”

Her head buzzes with noises, and her hands shake with tremors. Beatrice takes a really long time to finally find her voice within the mass. “I can’t say I do.”

Beatrice knows she is disappointing Shannon, but what else is she supposed to say. Getting by in 15 different languages, 2 of them dead and 1 fictional, or not, Beatrice is yet to find the right words.

To describe? To articulate? To unburden? Whatever it is, she doesn’t know how to do it.

What she knows is being alone. Being alone and doing good things just for the sake of being good and repenting for all the wrong things she did when she was young and stupid. 

The silence on the other line lasts longer than she did just now, but like everything else in life, eventually broken. 

“Think about it, alright?” Shannon sighs in resignation. The winds of it hits Beatrice square in the chest. She hates being a disappointment. “I’m going home to my wife. I know you said you want to be alone tonight, so make sure you eat dinner and get a good night’s sleep before coming into work tomorrow.”

“You’re so sure I’ll be coming into work tomorrow?” Beatrice asks, doing her best to alleviate the tension. 

Shannon chuckles, playing along. “I would prefer if you take the recommended 3-day break Arthur herself insisted on all her knights, but we both know this isn't a battle worth having.”

“You don’t know. Maybe I will take a half day.” Beatrice jokes, the sentiment reciprocated tenfold by Shannon’s bolstering laughter.

They both know Beatrice will be at Cat’s Cradle at 7am sharp in her bespoke suit. Maybe with a cup of black coffee in her hand, iced, because she is not a psychopath. 

“Have a good night, Galahad.”

“You too, Merlin.”

And with that, the communication line cuts off. Beatrice lets out a tired sigh, her whole body sinking into the extremely comfortable cushion of her seat, spectacles removed from her face and thrown onto the coffee table. 

There's that buzzing in her head again, a series of indistinguishable montages playing on loop. Beatrice lets them consume her, eyes vacantly taking in the ink peeking out of her ruffed up, uncuffed sleeves.

Despite her reluctance to admit it, there is some merit in what Shannon said.

Not the part about finding someone to fall in love with or whatever. But she is lonely, in the sense that she craves the sensation of feeling someone else’s skin beneath her palm and hearing back how they respond to her touch.

Beatrice hasn't talked to another person outside of her job for longer than she could remember, and the mission in Greece hasn't left her with any desire nor any spare chunk of time she could be spending with anyone else, even if just for their body.

Now that the seed has been planted in her mind, Beatrice can't stop thinking about it.

Her hands move before her brain can catch up, and suddenly Beatrice finds herself staring down at the address of a lesbian pub she has actually heard plenty of good things about highlighted as the top search result on her phone.

The pub is in Madrid. She could reprogram the jet herself to make a pit stop and be on her way back to London in the early morning.

Beatrice's teeth snags at her bottom lip. Thinking. Contemplating.

Aren't you lonely?

Don’t you want to fall in love? 

Think about it.

Beatrice stops thinking, and checks for their work hours.

—

Madrid, Spain

The Flying Graysons is exactly what Beatrice has expected from a pub.

There’s a bar, which Beatrice immediately navigates towards. She orders a Gin Tonic from the sole bartender, who wears a he/him pin on his chest and a polite customer service smile.

The drink itself tastes decent, an assessment Beatrice doesn’t give out very freely, and that was enough to get Beatrice to stick around for the next hour or so.

While she would never call herself vain, Beatrice knows very well she wouldn’t last too long in the club alone without someone trying to catch her eyes.

The combination of a casually draped white shirt and a pair of tight trousers, the tie still intact and just asking to be tugged on, Beatrice probably looks out of place. It doesn’t matter, she thinks as she catches yet another woman not so discreetly staring at her ass, Beatrice will find a target soon.

Gosh, even while not entirely sober does she sound like she’s on the job. Shannon would be peeved to know. 

“You look lost.”

The observation, while on the spot, is so bold that it makes her stumble. 

Beatrice hasn't stumbled once in the last 5 years. And now she almost slips off her stool because a pretty woman came out of nowhere and startled her.

This is a dangerous woman, and Beatrice is automatically on guard.

“My apologies.” Still, Beatrice gives her her best charming smile. “I didn't realize I stood out so much.”

The pretty woman, whose eyes look absurdly brown under the light and her short hair curled to perfection, looks at her like she has something to offer.

Perhaps she does.

“A handsome woman like you? I find that hard to believe.” A hand extends itself in her direction, flawless skin despite the scars scattered all over the knuckles. A fellow working woman, mayhaps. With only the slightest hint of an accent in her flawless English. “My name is Ava, and you are?”

Beatrice's eyes track the way Ava leans against the bar, putting herself in her space while not entirely crowding her.

Her eyes, keen as they are, can't help but follow the path of Ava’s emerald green dress, the fabric clinging to her beautiful, curvy body like oil paint on canvas. 

Ava’s shoulders, magnificent as they are shaped, are bare under two flimsy strings holding her dress up. Her arms are well-formed and bulging as they press against the bar top, a clear product of hard work. Beneath, there is a slit in her thigh area, offering a glimpse of perfect, golden skin that makes Beatrice's insides twist.

Realizing she has been quiet for far too long, Beatrice quickly straightens back up on her stool. Ava’s eyes follow her as she straddles her seat, muscular thighs flexing as she situates herself.

“My apologies, again. My name is…”

Beatrice isn't in the business of giving out her real name, but there's something about this woman’s smile and the way she is looking at her makes her want to be seen. Something she hasn't been since the day she lost him.

Again, this is definitely a very dangerous woman.

“My name is Beatrice.” She says, and Ava’s smile widens.

“Interesting name.” At her quirked eyebrow, Ava laughs, straddling the stool beside her with an agility of a gazelle. “No, for real. I haven't yet met a lot of people named Beatrice.”

“It's the 407th most common name in the world. Most prevalent in the Democratic Republic of Congo.”

She doesn't know why she just said that, but Ava seems amused, at least. “Look at you with your little fun facts.” Ava waves a hand at the bartender, who comes at her beck and call. Beatrice finds she can understand him. “The usual, Jamie.”

“Of course.” The bartender nods, his tattooed rolled-up sleeves and black tie an almost twin to her. Jamie turns to Beatrice, wearing the same smile. “Would you like me to refill that for you as well?”

“That’d be lovely, thank you.” Beatrice waves him back before he can leave. “Please put whatever Ava orders for the rest of the night on my tab as well.”

Jamie doesn't look at all surprised. With how familiar Ava acted with him, this must be a regular thing for Ava.

Beatrice doesn't know why that thought makes her mouth sour.

“Sure thing. Be right back.” Jamie turns to fix their drinks, and the spotlight is back between the two of them again.

In the time it took for Beatrice to talk to Jamie, Ava has somehow managed to twist herself fully onto the stool, further slotting in between that her kneecap now directly touches the fabric of Beatrice's trousers.

It burns. Should human skin ever burn this hot?

“That's very nice of you, but you didn't have to do that.” Ava says, her voice soft and low, her finger grazing the calluses on Beatrice's knuckle even more so. Dangerous, her mind warns.

“What good of a gentleman would I be if I didn't buy a pretty lady a drink.” Beatrice says nonchalantly, but her heart jumps at the smile dimpling Ava’s cheek.

“A gentleman, huh. That would explain the suit jacket” Finger moves from her hand to her wrist, where her Rolex sits. “And the expensive watch. Am I in the presence of royalty?”

“Not really.” Beatrice smiles, incapable of not when being looked at the way she is. “Although I have been mistaken by several Americans for Prince Harry.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, prepared to enunciate extra clear. “I think it might be the hair.”

Ava’s eyes have briefly followed the path of her tongue, but they light up impossibly bright at her joke. 

Beatrice isn't ashamed to admit she gets a little lost in the way Ava arches her neck back to laugh with her whole body, revealing the rest of her marbled collarbones and a bust so beautiful she would have made Beatrice's 14-year-old self faint.

Hell, 26-year-old Beatrice is feeling the blood rushing up to her head right now too.

What fantastic breasts indeed.

Fortunately, her fixation is interrupted by Jamie delivering their drinks. “Here you go, ladies.”

Unfortunately, his arrival also puts a pause to Ava’s delightful laughter, only the remnants of giggles left to echo around the bar. The tiny glass looks comically large in her small hand, but Ava hovers the rim over her mouth with a familiarity that does not escape Beatrice. 

“Thank you, Jamie.” Ava winks, at which the bartender only reciprocates with one of his own before leaving. Ava turns back to Beatrice, whose eyes haven’t once moved away. The smirk tugging at Ava’s lips tells Beatrice she is aware of that too. “So, Beatrice, tell me about yourself. What brings you here and on a Wednesday night out of all times?”

This, Beatrice is more familiar. Way less nerve-wracking than talking to pretty girls. 

“I work in data analytics for a non-profit.” Beatrice answers, not a full-blown lie like she would have given anyone else. Dangerous, her mind tugs at her. “Particularly in the research of AI and how much damage it causes to creative spaces. After the things I’ve seen tonight, a Gin Tonic is a much faster and cheaper equivalent to therapy.”

Again, not a total lie. Beatrice tells herself to curb herself a little more. The AI thing is a good bluff, even if it is her actual opinion on the new technological parasite. 

Beatrice half expects Ava’s eyes to gloss over, as stereotypical and undermining as it is, but Ava’s eyes brighten with clear knowledge, much to her pleasant surprise and attraction.

“I have the same gripe about it!” Ava says, excitedly slamming her glass down the bar countertop. Nothing cracks, thankfully. “I’m currently in grad school for my Master’s in Neuroscience, and as a STEM major, I don’t understand how anyone can’t see that AI would have been more beneficial had all the resources been put into cell research, particularly cancer research, instead of being a for-profit copyright laundering scheme.” 

If someone were to take a picture of Beatrice right now, they would surely come to the right assumption that her attraction towards Ava has just grown into a colossal of a thing. 

Words continue to flow as the moon rises higher overhead, and soon Beatrice finds herself still sipping on her second glass of Gin Tonic, drunk on good conversation and even better company.

Ava, as it turns out, is exactly who Beatrice is looking for.

Here is what Beatrice knows so far about her.

As she mentioned before, Ava is studying Neuroscience for her Master's of Science, after having completed med school two years ahead of schedule. Ava is twenty-three, she loves to cook, and she looks forward to making the world a better place.

Beatrice finds her smarts and her wits so incredibly charming, but it's Ava’s passion to do good just for the sake of being good is what gets her more riled up than anything.

Sure, Beatrice has come here with an explicit intention of finding a body, anybody, to spend the night with and put the bandaid on the ache that is her loneliness. But in a span of less than two hours, talking about subjects that ranged from the fascinating biology of a stingray possibly impregnating herself to the catastrophic death grip capitalism has on their society, Ava has given her more fulfillment than she could have ever hoped to find in a primal exchange of lust.

In another life, they would have been lovers. In this one, Beatrice is content to be something a little more short lived but nonetheless passionate.

That's why she never says anything about herself. Whenever Ava asked something she deems too close, Beatrice would redirect the question back at her. 

Ava doesn't seem to mind, as if knowing Beatrice has her boundaries and respecting them without question. 

Beatrice feels a little rotten on the inside for her omissions in return to Ava’s openness, but there isn't much you can say about someone who isn't actually alive in the legal sense without opening another can of legality worms.

It doesn't matter in the end.

Because Beatrice is sure Ava at least feels something right back, if the way dark brown eyes have flickered down to Beatrice's lips multiple times and linger at every exposed patch of skin are any indication.

They are going to fuck. And fuck nasty if Beatrice has anything to say about it.

Beatrice is just waiting for the right time. Searching for the right question to ask.

The opportunity comes when they least expect it.

Ava, actually in the middle of trying to gently pry for Beatrice’s opinion regarding the fantasy show ‘Merlin’ that aired on BBC almost a decade ago, suddenly stops talking.

Beatrice, who has been amused if not on guard about the topic of Arthurian legends being brought up, as any sane Kingsman would, immediately perks up in alarm. But before she can inquire, Ava is already beckoning the bartender with a quick double snap of her fingers.

As soon as Jamie looks up from what appears to be his bookkeeping, Ava is whispering over with an urgency like Beatrice hasn’t yet seen from her. 

“Jamie, code yellow.” Ava relays, tilting her head to the side. 

Both Jamie and Beatrice follow, but only the former quickly surges to action. Beatrice too prepares to get off her stool to help, whatever this situation might be, but Ava’s hand on her wrist stops her.

“Bea, wait.” Admittedly, the nickname makes her pause more than the touch, even if it feels scathing all the same. “It’s okay. Jamie is just going to offer a room for the clique of girls over there so they don’t drive home drunk and cause an accident.”

True enough, Beatrice sees the group of girls Ava just mentioned. A quick scan with her naked eyes tells her there are at least seven of them, none of them sober and two on the verge of vomiting all over the floor. 

“Whatever happened to the concept of a designated driver?” Beatrice grumbles, Ava humming in clear agreement beside her. 

“Miscalculations, I suppose.” Ava answers, greeting Jamie with a nod as he walks back to them. “All good, man?”

Jamie sighs, shaking his head all exasperatedly. “They’ll take the rooms. I gave them the passcodes and some water, hopefully they’ll be sober enough to be able to let themselves in.”

Ava laughs. “You’ve been in this business for almost half a decade now. Surely you must be used to this.”

“Doesn’t mean I like the prospect of cleaning up vomit, Ava.” Jamie sneers, his eyes empty of any genuine annoyance. He looks over to Beatrice, who has been quietly watching the interaction. “Sorry for the ruckus, miss. I hope this doesn’t dissuade you from coming back.”

“Not at all.” Beatrice smiles. “I’m glad that you have a contingency for this sort of thing. I’ve seen way too many lives cut short because of a careless drunk driver.”

Jamie’s eyes reflect the same darkness hers do, Beatrice is sure. “Indeed.” Jamie clears his throat, looking away. “Thanks again for the heads up, but I should get back to it. Let me know if you need anything else, ladies.”

“Will do. Thanks, bruv.” 

And Jamie leaves, leaving them to themselves once more.

Sensing Beatrice’s unspoken curiosity, Ava elaborates. “He and I grew up in the same neighborhood. I was here the first day he opened this pub.”

Beatrice hums, genuinely interested. Ava deems it enough encouragement to keep going. 

“Jamie wanted this to be a safe space for sapphics. Strictly so.” Ava says, with a meaningful emphasis. Beatrice senses a story there. “He went above and beyond and made the back a shelter with vacant rooms for those who needed it, for however long. Groups of intoxicated teenagers who are better off not driving included.”

Nodding in approval, Beatrice leans back in her seat, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the accommodations. 

She can’t help but wish there was a place like this when she was younger. Perhaps things could have turned out differently.  

“I didn’t just tell you that as PR for Jamie though.” 

Beatrice’s head turns around, only to find Ava has somehow gotten even closer without her knowing. Dangerous, her mind is practically screaming now, but Beatrice is too hypnotized by the gentle press of Ava’s soft hand on her cheek to hear. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Ava whispers, her face so close she can smell warm, minty breath. Every puff sends a jolt to her throbbing core. “And I won’t beat around the bush. I really want to kiss you, Beatrice.”

Such a bold statement from anyone else would have turned her away, and yet, Beatrice once again finds herself utterly captivated. 

Dangerous, her mind begs her, but her lips are faster, and the buzzing of electricity that runs through the rest of her body when she presses them against slender fingers caressing her cheek is louder than any warning siren. “It’d be my pleasure.”

At Ava’s returning smile, Beatrice’s mind goes quiet.

Dangerous indeed. 

—

For all of her hard-earned patience, Beatrice gives in to her desires before they even set foot into the room.

It’s pent up libido, Beatrice tells herself, feeling heat prickle up her neck as her hand moves on its own accord. She feels a lot like a preening teenaged boy, absurdly smug and proud at the smallest squeal of surprise escaping Ava’s pretty lips. 

“Handsy already, are we?” Ava laughs, sounding breathless. Having that smile aimed directly at her, coy eyes smirking over a beautiful shoulder, Beatrice finds herself incapable of breathing all the same. 

“I couldn’t help myself.” Beatrice admits, too truthfully, her hand continuing its motion of caressing the left cheek of Ava’s butt. Even under the fabric of her dress, Beatrice can tell her skin is flawlessly smooth. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah…” Ava sighs, pushing back. Her hands fumble for far much longer than necessary to input a simple 4-digit passcode. “Definitely alright. Although, I hadn’t expected it from a self-proclaimed gentleman.”

The door clicks open, and Beatrice gently ushers Ava in by her hand on her butt. Smoothly, she spins on her heels and gently traps Ava against the door, closing it shut and locking with a beep. 

Ava’s breath audibly hitches at the sudden proximity, her chest heaves and presses against Beatrice’s own. Her lips curl up on their own accord, preening, watching as Ava’s beautiful brown eyes dilate as she leans in.

“You’re right. That was very not gentleman-like of me.” Beatrice fakes a thoughtful nod, her suggestive motion on Ava’s behind the complete opposite of soothing. “How could I possibly make it up to you?”

“You could start by putting your mouth where your hand is.” Ava says, a clear challenge, even if her own cheeks are volcanic flames. 

Beatrice’s own desire erupts, one hand turning into two. Ava’s whine becomes a whimper, smaller hands making a desperate grab for Beatrice’s shoulders as she arches into Beatrice’s touch. 

Ava sounds so pretty when she moans, but Beatrice is not at all too saddened to muffle those moans with her own lips. 

With her casual confidence and easy sex appeal, Beatrice had known that Ava would be a good kisser. There was no way in bloody hell she wouldn’t be.

And yet, with all that knowledge, Beatrice still finds herself utterly taken aback by how well their lips slot against each other, their first kiss as passionate and familiar as one shared between estranged lovers coming back together. 

What an odd way of thinking. They’ve literally only just met. Strangers in all senses of the word.

Beatrice physically shakes the thought out of her head by taking her free hand to hold Ava’s head still, tilting hers in order to get an even deeper angle into the warm cavern of Ava's pretty mouth.

Ava tastes like the strawberry vodka concoction that Beatrice jokingly grimaced at, and she feels just incredible anywhere Beatrice touches her. 

“Beatrice, god…” Ava pulls back from their kiss finally, succumbing to the curse of human lungs and oxygen. “You're so fucking good at this.”

Beatrice follows her, yanking her back by the nape for another kiss. Her entire body heats up like lava at the praise, fingers digging into the firm skin of Ava’s butt.

There are fingers threading through her hair, playing with shaved sides as well as tugging on the strands as Ava tries desperately to gain the upper hand.

That ain’t gonna happen. Beatrice puts an end to that fantasy immediately by bending her knees and scooping Ava up into the air, their mouths never once disconnecting.

“Fuck! Fuck, that's so hot.” Ava pants, her puffs and that whine caught in the back of her throat only making Beatrice kiss her harder. Strong legs wrap themselves around her waist, sharp heels digging into her own butt. “Bea, Bea—”

“You're beautiful. You’re so beautiful, and you taste so good.” It's Beatrice's turn to praise her, hands already working on manipulating Ava’s bodyweight so she can grind herself against whatever solid surface she can reach. “Use me. I want you to use me to make yourself come.”

Right on cue, Ava’s hips start moving, her legs tightening around Beatrice's hips like she wants to squeeze the life out of her. 

Beatrice helps her move, temporarily moving her lips to suck on Ava’s neck, leaving her mouth free for her to moan Beatrice's name all she likes. She’ll remember the way Ava’s ass, firm and soft in equal measures, molds into her palms for the rest of her life.

“Fuck, Beatrice… Beatrice, please…”

“Please what?” She taunts, pulling the string of Ava’s dress down with her teeth. She sinks her canines into the flawless skin of Ava’s collarbone, delighted in the trail of purple and red bruises gleaming under the scarce light of the room. “Please what, Ava? Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Bed, bed please…” Ava begs, her hips still working in overtime as she grinds herself down on Beatrice’s crotch the best she can. “Please, I need— I need to come—”

Not wasting anymore time, Beatrice's feet start to move, and soon they are falling back onto a decently comfortable mattress. 

Sprawled out on her back, Beatrice is given the best front row seat to the beautiful show that is Ava's beautiful moaning face, scrunched up in ecstasy and cheeks red with exertion. Her eyes watch in a daze as Ava’s hips begin to rock back and forth in search of friction.

Well that just won't do. What kind of a gentleman would she be if she lets Ava do all the work like that.

“May I put my fingers in you, Ava?” She sits up, tugging at Ava’s chin to make her look down and directly into her eyes. In those dark browns, she sees lust swimming and circling like a python, such a clear reciprocation of Beatrice’s own attraction making the spot between her own legs grow wet. “Ava? Can I help?”

Ava’s hips stutter, and her mouth drops open in a low whimper. She likes this. She likes Beatrice asking for consent. “Yes, yes please, you can— you can fuck me with your fingers— oh god!”

“My, my, you’re so wet,” Beatrice can barely hear the woman above her moan with how much squelching heat her own fingers meet. “What a beautiful girl. So needy, so ready for my fingers like that.”

“Yes, yes please—” Ava’s breath stutters as Beatrice slowly coats her fingers with her wetness, then gradually sinks two digits in. “Fuck, fuck that's so good—”

“Yeah? Yeah, you like that?” Beatrice doesn't bother holding back a smile, meaningfully looking over at the other string of Ava’s dress. “May I?”

Ava just nods, mouth too busy moaning to say anything else.

No matter. Beatrice can take it over from here.

While her fingers find a rhythm as they thrust inside Ava, her mouth moves to yank on the other string and reveals the fantastic set of breasts that Beatrice has been fantasizing about for who knows how long.

Beatrice times it perfectly, sinking a third finger in the same time as she swallows Ava’s whole breast in her mouth, feeling the nipple hard and standing up to attention even beneath the fabric of her bra.

“Off, take it off,” Ava pleads, not actually waiting and using her own hand to rip the bra off her chest, her big beautiful breasts spilling out like holy wine. “Your mouth, I want your mouth on my tit— oh fuck, that's it, god you look so good like this, please don't stop—”

As Ava is beginning to sound genuinely desperate, Beatrice instinctively begins to pick up her pace, fucking into Ava’s dripping pussy in what could be considered an unforgiving pace. All the while her tongue and her mouth work in tandem to shower Ava’s fantastic breasts the attention they deserve.

“Fuck! Fuck, Bea! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

“That's it, Ava. That's it, I love watching you fuck yourself on my fingers like this.” Beatrice continues to praise as she thrusts inside her, her other hand not dilly dallying and moving to slide underneath the fabric of her dress and make a grab for smooth, supple skin. “What an amazing ass. So round and plump.”

Ava’s moans crescendo as Beatrice's hand squeezes at her ass cheek, her pussy flying up and down on her soaked fingers. Beatrice concentrates to flex her muscles and keep them steady, the extra effort paying off as Ava finds a better focus and starts bouncing even harder on her hindlegs.

Strong arms wrap tightly around Beatrice's neck as Ava’s moans begin to grow intelligible, a mess of pleas and exclamations of pleasure with Beatrice's name intertwining in between. 

“So close, so close—” Ava pants in her ear, her mouth moving like she wants to kiss Beatrice’s skin but can’t because she needs it to breathe, to take in the oxygen Beatrice is quite literally fucking out of her. 

“That's it. That's it, come for me, darling.” Beatrice keeps up with Ava’s rapidly approaching orgasm easily, feeling the walls of her cunt beginning to contract and pulsate to the point where Beatrice can barely feel her fingers anymore.

“Bea, Bea— I’m coming, I’m coming— oh god, oh god, oh!” As Ava’s back arches one final time, a pool of cum soaks through her panties and Beatrice’s own pantsuit, even dripping onto the mattress.

Beatrice doesn't give a shit, more occupied in gently helping Ava out of her dress, throwing it somewhere across the room. Ava’s hair ruffles attractively as soon as her head pops back out underneath the fabric, and by god, the way her cheeks are flushed with sex and her pretty mouth slick wet and swollen with remnants on Beatrice’s own saliva.

Ava is definitely one of, if not the most, beautiful women she’s ever seen. 

Still twitching and pulsating around Beatrice's fingers, Ava looks downright shy at how Beatrice is gawking at her, wiggling and consequently bouncing on the digits still inside of her.

As Ava gives a low moan, eyelashes fluttering all prettily, Beatrice can only sigh dreamily. “My god, you're just truly breathtaking, aren't you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, bringing Ava in for a gentle kiss.

Ava’s moan is small, but no less impactful. Her arms still wrap around Beatrice’s shoulders, equally strong hands start stroking up and down the broad panes of her chest. 

“Bea, you too” Ava says, tugging at the collar of Beatrice’s shirt as they trade languid kisses. “Can I… can I undress you too?”

Beatrice hums, licking into Ava’s mouth once more. She tastes so sweet. How does she taste so sweet?

“I don’t know, darling. Can you?” Beatrice teases, smiling when she earns back an annoyed whine. “How about a deal?”

If they weren’t kissing, Ava would be pouting. That knowledge Beatrice is surer than anything. “What deal?”

“You can take my clothes off if…” Beatrice doesn’t let Ava process the purposeful pause, quickly flipping them so Ava is now laying on the bed. 

Their mouths separate with a loud pop, and Beatrice’s fingers sliding out of Ava’s cunt with a wet squelching sound that echoes on the walls. Beatrice’s lips, already hungry for more, trail down the expanse of beautiful skin that still doesn’t have enough of her marks on them. 

She gives a teasing lick at Ava’s bellybutton, delighted in the smallest, most adorable squeal ringing above her. 

“If you let me eat you out for the next hour.”

“Fuck, Bea, you’re so—” Whatever Ava is trying to say is cut off to make room for a filthy moan, an almost natural reaction to seeing Beatrice effortlessly yanking her drenched panties off her legs and throwing it somewhere behind her. “Fuck, you’re serious?”

“Of course I am.” Beatrice says, eyes never once leaving Ava even as she slowly slots her head in between Ava’s legs. Beatrice waits for a sign of approval before she goes any further, because as attractive as Ava clearly finds this show of dominance, Beatrice doesn’t want to do anything that doesn’t gather an enthusiastic yes from the beautiful woman in front of her. “May I? Please?”

Ava’s chest heaves beautifully, riddled with purple bruises and teeth indents of Beatrice’s making. “Yeah, yeah you can… just, be gentle, please? I’m still very sensitive.”

Beatrice nods, giving Ava a reassuring smile as she starts to kiss the inner of her thighs. Methodically working Ava up to her next orgasm. As expected, Ava arches back, her head flopping down the pillow and her hands entangling through the threads of Beatrice’s hair. 

“You taste even better down here, darling.” Beatrice moans, tongue gently lapping up the cum still staining the skin of Ava’s thigh. 

“Fuck, Bea… I’m not going to last, holy fuck—” Ava yelps, perhaps surprised at the experimental prodding of Beatrice’s tongue. “Not yet, baby. Please, still sensitive, remember?”

Beatrice nods, deliberately ignoring the way her own cunt throbs with tsunamis of neediness at the nickname. “Yes, of course. My apologies.” 

Above her, Ava chuckles lightly. “No need for that. But hey, can I have one of your hands?”

Dutifully extending one limb without questioning, Beatrice turns out to try and hold in a whimper of her own when she sees Ava use the hand to grope at her breast, the pebbled nipple a distinctive sensation on her skin.

“There, there we go, oh yes…” Ava moans, keeps on her massage like Beatrice isn’t just blatantly gawking at her two centimeters away from her pussy. “I like it so much better when they’re your hands. So big and strong and feel so good holding my tits up like this.”

Beatrice’s mouth now a desert, barely able to form words to describe the holy image presented in front of her right now. 

Fuck, she really hit the jackpot tonight, didn’t she.

“Do you like what you see, Bea?” Ava smiles, clearly knowing the effect she has on Beatrice’s poor glitching brain. “You like seeing my tit in your strong hand and squeezing?” 

On cue, her hand flexes, and they both moan at the euphoric sensation. Beatrice, more in combination with the visual. What can she say, she is a boobman, and Ava has one of the best she’s ever seen in real life and onscreen. 

“I love it, darling. I love feeling them, squeezing them, and playing with them.” She emphasizes each verb with an action, thumb brushing over the perky nipple and smiling when it makes Ava moan in pleasure. “They’re beautiful. You're beautiful.”

Ava’s cheeks slowly gain back the color that was just cooling down, and her breath is beginning to sound shallow again. Beatrice, always the keen observer, takes it as cue to start diving back into her feast, Ava’s thighs squeezing her head as she begins to move further in. 

They only have one night, so Beatrice is going to make it one Ava can remember forever.

—

London, England

As it turns out, it is Beatrice who can't stop thinking about that eventful night.

It has been exactly three days since she quietly slipped out of bed and left for her flight. 

She remembers that night vividly, from the way Ava had whined but thankfully didn't stir when Beatrice removed herself from their post-coital bliss induced cuddle sesh, to the mildly disapproving look Jamie shot at her when he saw her calling for a cab when the sun hasn't yet risen. 

Beatrice doesn't expect Jamie to understand, nor does she really care, but she hopes Ava wasn't too peeved about her leaving. She even left her a letter, detailing how she wished she could stay but there were unforeseeable circumstances that forced her to leave without being able to say goodbye.

She knew she could have stayed. The majority of her colleagues would have encouraged her if they knew. 

In another life, Beatrice would have stayed. Ava would wake up in her arms and together they would have shared a breakfast croissant at the local cafe, digits and promises of future dates made.

But that's another life.

In this life, Beatrice had to leave.

And in this same life, three days since she left, for the first time in a very long time, Beatrice finds herself feeling remorseful.

Beatrice tries not to think about it, Ava deserves far much better than whatever Beatrice could offer her in the long term, instead pouring all her focus into her work as always. 

When she first set foot back into Cat’s Cradle, she was promptly kicked back out, almost everyone in the agency agreeing that she should be resting and No, Galahad, the 3-day break is no longer a suggestion, it is now an order!

Safe to say, Beatrice was very peeved. But she did what was asked of her, and here she is now, three days of break later and all primed up and ready for work.

It's a beautiful day in The City of Westminster, and Beatrice is high on the energy of a good cup of coffee flowing through her bloodstreams. 

In her hands is a paper bag full of complimentary (read: bribery) pastries and a holder of several cups of coffee made to order. All of which playing a part in an intricate scheme Beatrice devises as to be given a new mission as soon as possible.

Her intricate plan starts from home, meaning handing over a danish croissant to the smiling cabbie that has zero awareness of her evil scheme.

Next is walking into Cat’s Cradle and handing their beloved receptionist slash tailor, Yasmine, two egg tarts and her go-to coffee order.

Last but not least is heading upstairs to their dining room and announcing loudly to everyone that—

“I’ve come bearing treats.”

The sight that awaits her hasn't changed since she was 15 and taken in by a bunch of adults who she thought just loved to play dress ups and sneering down in the faces of those less unfortunate.

“Agent Galahad, so nice of you to finally join us.”

There, at the end of the long table, is Suzanne. Whose eyes smile way before her lips can tug up a centimeter. Beatrice is not at all quiet about how proud she feels being the only one given that smile. 

Flanking her on her sides are her knights, who look about as happy to see Beatrice as she does them.

Beatrice’s feet begin moving again, taking her to the right side of the long table. “My apologies, Arthur, I would have gotten here sooner had I not been busy making conversations to butter up the baristas for my humongous order.”

A snort echoes from the other side of the table, the woman with intricate braids hung over her shoulders and wearing a smile that clearly means Beatrice is going to be mocked.

“We all knew you’re a heartbreaker but dang, Galahad, working your game at seven in the morning? And on a service worker no less? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Ignoring the chuckle coming from where she just put down a pain au chocolat, Beatrice makes a point of rolling her eyes.

“Good morning to you too, Guinevere. How have you been? Is the wife all good? Have you gotten the recommended dosage of sunshine on your skin today?”

Mary chuckles, biceps bulging as she crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Not bad, thank you for asking.” Her smile softens here, and Beatrice’s too. “It's good to see you again. We all kinda missed you around these parts the last few days.”

“Totally.” The knight with curly hair smiles jubilantly as she daintily tears into her pain au chocolat, a cup of fresh lemonade sitting by her wrist. “Thank you for the pastry, Galahad.”

“You’re very welcome, Lancelot.” Beatrice mocks a bow, earning another giggle, before turning to the knight sitting next to Camila. “And you, Percival? Have nothing to say?”

Shoulders are shrugged, and lips are pursed. “I don’t know, it actually felt peaceful not having a doofus keep trying to steal my mission from me— ah hey!” If she purposely ignores perfectly straight black hair being roughed up then so what, she had it coming. “I hate you.”

“I missed you too, mate.” Beatrice emphasizes with a harsh kiss atop her head, around them exploding a round of laughter. 

Ignoring Lilith squawking in offense, all the while sulkingly sipping on her iced americano and pastel de nata, Beatrice continues on her path to Suzanne, whose eyes are still smiling bright as she takes her offering. 

“For you, Suzanne, a boiling hot black coffee and a plain donut, and lastly, for Guinevere, a latte and a strudel.”

“Call me Suzanne again and I will make you go undercover for another 3 years.” Suzanne scolds, and even though she’s clearly joking, Beatrice can’t help but shiver in fright. 

“At least send me somewhere sunny. I have nothing against Greece, but it’s always so wet.”

“That’s what she said.” Mary snorts into her latte, but it’s Camila who laughs the hardest. Beatrice does her damndest to not think about Ava and how wet she felt on her fingertips. 

“Very mature of you, oh holy knights of the Kingsman.” Suzanne rolls her eyes, beckoning Beatrice to sit down. 

It’s always an odd feeling to sit down in what’s come to be known as ‘her’ seat after a mission, but also an undeniable joy to be present in this room still. 

This chair was once empty, albeit for a very brief period before she filled the space, but the emptiness lingers long after and perhaps forever will. Sometimes, Beatrice swears she can smell his cologne, feel his kind eyes seering into her skin, and her heart squeezes tight with grief.  

Beatrice remembers now why she doesn’t like being in London. Too many memories and too many wounds that chaff and ache like they wouldn't ever close. 

That new mission can’t come any faster. 

Sounds of light footsteps echoing from the door gently tugs Beatrice out of her reminiscing. The newcomer, who wears a gentle smile and bright eyes hidden behind a pair of spectacles, is like a breath of fresh air. 

All that tension coiling tightly in Beatrice’s body almost deflates the minute she sees her.

“Ah, Merlin. As punctual as always. Please, come on right in.”

Shannon does as told, giving each of them a customary nod. Everyone promptly greets her back, the admiration they once had for their former pseudo leader never quite dissipates even when Shannon steps down from agent to staff. 

“Good morning, knights.” Shannon says, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “Are we ready for today’s briefing? We’ve got a big one.”

“Last time you called a mission a big one, I had to stalk a prime minister just to catch him cheating on his wife.” Beatrice doesn't bother hiding her snort, knowing Lilith got the case purely because she got the undercover one in Greece. “You laugh, Galahad, but I will enact my revenge.”

“I look forward to it.” She winks at her friend, who rolls her eyes but lips curled up in a smile all the same.

Shannon is unfazed, continuing on with her briefing. “Funny that you mentioned it, because this big mission is for the two of you.”

Both Beatrice and Lilith perk up in their seats, while Mary and Camila give identical sounds of interest. Suzanne, as per usual, takes over in a well-practiced routine.

“Yesterday, Kingsman welcomed in a very high profile visitor. Some of you may have already heard of her, thanks to the many accomplishments and contributions to science in the last two decades.”

“Glasses on, gentlemen.” In unison, everyone puts on their respective spectacles. Looking up, Shannon directs their attention towards the LED screen hidden in plain sight on the fireplace. “Everyone, this is Jillian Salvius.”

Jillian Salvius. Beatrice has definitely heard of her before.

Standing tall at a height of 1.73m, just from a simple profile picture, Jillian is a surely formidable woman. With her light blonde hair and bright blue eyes, Beatrice understands completely how Jillian could have changed the science industry in such a short period of time.

“Jillian Salvius is a well-known neuroscientist and tech mogul. She founded ARQ-TECH at the age of 25 and singlehandedly catapulted it to reach its global status by the time she was 27, her most popular invention being Neural-Net, a series of completely hands-free devices that allows disabled users to operate ARQ-TECH’s collection of state-of-the-art smart gadgetry with only the power of their minds. One of the more prominent products firing off shelves as we speak is their mind-controlled electric wheelchairs.”

Mary whistles, leaning back in her chair. Admiration is painted all over her face. Camila looks similarly starry-eyed, Beatrice remembers now that Jillian is one of the many women in science that inspired Camila to be a Kingsman in the first place.

“What would Jillian Salvius want from us? Did someone steal something from her?” Lilith is the first to ask, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Not quite.” Suzanne beckons Shannon to move onto the next slide, where it shows a freeze frame of Jillian sitting in this same dining room, looking disheveled and frantic, a complete 180 degree switch from the elegant and pristine profile picture they just saw. 

Beatrice feels so bad for her.

“Jillian came to us with an urgent request for around-the-clock protection. She’s been receiving a number of threats, all of it serious and violent enough for her to have reached out to our organization.”

On the screen, Shannon pulls up several letters. 

The cut-out texts from old timey magazines is what first draws Beatrice’s attention, but it’s the crossed-out eyes, scratched out body parts, and words such as “mutilate” and “corpse” that really made the severity of the situation sink into her skin.

Opposite her, Camila gives a low shiver— their youngest Kingsman still hasn't yet grown numb to the violence they see every day. Beatrice hopes she is quicker to grow a thick skin, otherwise she wouldn’t last long in this line of work.

“There’s no mention of a perpetrator’s demand in these letters.” Lilith mumbles out loud, her skimming skill by far the most impressive in the whole agency. “Are we just protecting Jillian from an invisible threat? Does she have any idea what they would want?”

Suzanne shakes her head. “If she did, she didn’t tell us. For now, we’re working on the assumption that they want ransom.”

“Basic, but not unreasonable.” Mary nods. “Two Kingsmen to protect one lady though? One that probably has an army of bodyguards on hand already? Ain’t that a bit over the top?”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. Because we’re not protecting Jillian.” Shannon presses another button, and Beatrice’s heart outright stops. “Meet Michael Salvius and Ava Silva. Jillian’s eldest son and second daughter. They are who you will be protecting.”

Fucking hell.

—

Chapter Text

Ava,

Thank you for an unforgettable night. I’ve had the time of my life with you.

Unfortunately, due to unforeseeable circumstances with my work, I must take my leave late in the night to catch my flight. 

I’m terribly sorry that we have to part ways like this, but please know I will remember our encounter with nothing but fondness.

As a token of my appreciation and apology, all expenses have been taken care of. I’ve also taken the liberty of arranging a ride home as well as a fresh change of clothes for you should you need it. 

Please contact Jamie should you wish to take up on any of these offers. 

I wish you a wonderful life,

Beatrice

P.S. Morgana is my favorite.

—

“I didn't know Jillian Salvius had a daughter.”

“Neither did I, admittedly.”

As everyone in the room shares similar sentiments, Beatrice feels her world collapsing in on itself.

Perhaps a reaction a tad too dramatic for the situation at hand, but the utter unexpectedness of it takes her so much aback that her composure, hard-earned and always polished, just catapults itself right out of the window.

This is impossible. 

How could this have happened? 

What even are the chances? 

Didn't Ava live in Spain? 

How could she be the daughter of a worldwide well-known tech mogul and not a single person in this room has heard of her? 

“Our background check says Ava was adopted, actually.” Shannon informs, breaking Beatrice out of her stunned stupor. “Orphaned at age 7 from her mother Elisa Silva, who passed tragically in a car crash that left Ava paralyzed from the chest down. Jillian adopted her when she was 12 from an orphanage in Spain called St. Michael’s for The Disadvantaged Youth.”

“That's rough, buddy.” Camila winces.

Shannon nods, wearing a similar expression of sympathy. “Anyways, back to the mission…”

Beatrice’s heart, previously just calming down, now goes back to growing legs and stomping on her ribcage. 

Ava is a real person, not just a figment of Beatrice's imagination that night. Ava is a real person who she might have to meet again soon.

Beatrice can't at all take her eyes away from Ava’s profile picture, a more solemn version of the beautiful woman with the most beautiful smile that she had the pleasure of fucking senseless just three nights ago.

Why did this have to happen to me?

“The threatening contents of Jillian’s letters aren't at all addressed to her but to her children.” Shannon repeats, pulling up another picture of a blonde young man. Unlike Ava, he actually looks like the splitting image of Jillian, with bright blue eyes and a dimpling smile. Michael Salvius, then. “Jillian came to us with an explicit request to provide them with 24/7 protection.”

“With an additional clause to not mention a word about the letters to them.” Suzanne adds, confirmed by Shannon’s nodding.

“Awfully protective, isn't she?” Lilith quirks an eyebrow.

“I mean, I would too if I didn't know who my stalker was and what they wanted.” Mary points out, earning a begrudging nod. “You already picked out the agents for this mission then?”

Panic overflowing the cup, Beatrice quickly changes the subject, before the reality of what she must do hits her in the face.

“Wait, wait,” She gestures at Shannon, who looks at her with a puzzled and expectant expression. “Can you show us the meeting you had with Dr. Salvius yesterday? I just— I have a question.”

“Alright…” Shannon nods, and Beatrice isn't blind enough to not notice the identical looks of puzzlement spread across all her fellow knights. “Here.”

“There!” Beatrice practically yelps, her hand shaking. “Who's that? Who’s that man with Dr. Salvius?”

Shannon turns her head to check, but it's Suzanne who answers her.

“That’s Kristian Schaefer. Jillian’s right hand man and CFO of ARQ-TECH. Jillian says we can trust him.” She says, never once breaking eye contact with Beatrice. “Are you feeling alright, Galahad?”

“Yeah, you look a little…” Mary gestures at her face with a grimace. “Sweaty.”

“I’m— I’m fine.” Beatrice insists, clearing her throat. Trying her hardest to distract herself from panicking further. What's a better way to do that by making herself read the horrifying content of the letters in detail. I will hang you upside down and let the rats munch on your rotten flesh— never mind, this is too much even for her. “Do we have a proposed timeline for this mission?”

Suzanne doesn't look like she's buying it, but she grants her the mercy of moving on anyway.

“We will commence this the same way we did for every specialized private detail. The promised protection will be provided till either the stalker reveals themselves, be arrested, or the threats stop coming altogether. Whichever comes first.”

Mary chimes in. “Yep. And later if it does come to a point of dwindling down, we’ll send an agent to check in on Dr. Salvius every week or so.” She tilts her head back, clearly lost in memory. “Speaking of which, we should be paying a visit to Dr. Sato sometime soon. I know her wife is crazy buff and can break a man in half with just her pinky but still.”

“You can get on that if you would like.” Suzanne approves in the same breath as she dismisses her. “Back to the mission at large, can we count on you both, Agent Galahad, Agent Percival?”

Lilith nods, always ready and enthusiastic about her job no matter the content of the mission.

Meanwhile… 

“Arthur, please know I mean no disrespect when I say this, but I’m not sure I’m suitable for this mission.”

The looks of befuddlement are back and stronger than ever. Beatrice resists the urge to squirm, knowing that’ll give her away. She usually has this skill under control on the field, but it's different when your interrogators are people you’ve come to associate as family.

“Galahad.” Shit, that sounded way too serious. Maybe she didn't say it lightheartedly enough. “I know this isn’t a mission where you get to travel abroad, but surely you’re not itching to leave the country already.”

“Yeah, you just got home. And after being away for so long.” Shannon continues after Suzanne, her eyes big and sad. 

Fuck, that makes Beatrice feel even more rotten. 

“It's not that.” Beatrice says, every word punctuated clearly as to not have their meanings misconstrued. “I’m just not sure I have the experience for it. I’ve never done a private bodyguard gig before.”

Mary’s brows furrow from next to her. Beatrice's heart sinks, seeing the look of disbelief clear as day in her eyes.

“Why does that matter? You and Percival are two of our best agents. You beat Eggsy’s, former Agent Galahad, training record and we all thought that was physically impossible.” 

Supporting Shannon is Camila nodding intensively, having tried her best to break said records during her own recruitment period. 

“If it helps make you feel any better,” Mary says, face stoic. “You won't have to make conversations with Ava if she turns out to be an insufferable and snobbish heiress brat. Just do your job and stay in her shadows.”

“I’m sure Ava isn't a brat. She looks so sweet.” Camila defends, gesturing at the portrait of Beatrice's bed partner still pulled up on the LED screen. Like Beatrice can come close to forgetting how that sweet face has scrunched up in primal pleasure as she rode Beatrice’s fingers and tongue for hours on end. 

Jesus Christ she needs to get a grip right fucking now.

“Alright. I’ll do it.” 

If anyone feels the table shaking with how hard her hands are trembling underneath, they make a point to not mention it.

“Great. Now, as for the logistics…”

The rest of the briefing was relatively uneventful. Beatrice had successfully managed to school her face into not betraying her growing panic as the pair of them were given instructions on where, when, and how they would be meeting Jillian Salvius and her children for the very first time.

The schedule from then on is pretty straightforward, all things considered. 

Both Beatrice and Lilith will get to have a half day to pack up their belongings. The task itself is easy, Beatrice hasn't even unpacked from her undercover stint in Greece, but it’s the dawning prospect of an awkward confrontation that’s making her all sorts of jittery. 

Beatrice thinks she’s managed to hide it well throughout the remainder of the briefing, but being pulled into an empty fitting room by an obviously concerned Mary clearly says otherwise. 

“You want to tell me why you looked like you almost peed yourself in there just now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wasn’t going to pee myself.” Beatrice scowls, if only to shy away from the imploring stare Mary is drilling into the side of her head.

“It’s either that or you look like you were going to bring the entire shop down with how you were practically dry humping the table with your knees.” Shit, she thought she had it under control. “Spill it, Bea. I don’t have the patience I used to when I was young.”

“You’re not even that old.” Resigning in the fact that her grumbling isn’t at all dissuading Mary from pursuing this inquiry, Beatrice sighs. “Fine. Fine. I have something on my mind.”

Without even opening her mouth, Mary’s quirked eyebrow is enough to convey the sentiment. No shit, Sherlock.

The words are close to coming out, but still, Beatrice hesitates. In her head, echoes his voice. Velvet and kind, even when she was the furthest thing from deserving kindness from a stranger.

‘The first rule of being a gentleman, you must never tell about your conquests, private matters, or dealings. A gentleman’s business is his business alone and nobody else.’

Beatrice remembers the day he told her this— when she was about to come out and spill all of her secrets. When she felt like she could trust him enough that he wouldn't hurt her the same way they did.

She had felt so wounded and betrayed when he spilled this lecture out of nowhere.

It was only after everything happened that she knew he only did it to protect her standing in the organization. That he knew there were eyes and ears everywhere and had she opened her mouth about the smallest thing, her head would have been on the floor the minute she took one step back in her so-called home.

Beatrice takes that lesson, along with his many others, to heart ever since, so she knows this is against the rules, and he would be so disappointed if he knew, but goddamn it, she desperately needs some advice.

He’ll understand. Plus, he’s dead anyway, so it's not like he can look at her with those kind eyes that were never angry but just disappointed. 

(Admittedly, that hurt her way more.)

“I hooked up with Ava.”

Silence. Awkward, uncomfortable silence.

When Beatrice finally has the courage to look up from her shoes, she sees Mary with her jaw on the floor and her eyes the size of their satellite dish.

Beatrice would know. She was up in space with it for a good half an hour once.

“You… what?” Mary asks for clarification, although she looks like she is closer to believing in Bigfoot.

“I hooked up with Ava. By accident.” Beatrice frowns at herself. “No, not by accident. By coincidence, yes.”

“How did this even happen? When would you even have time— oh you nasty horn dog, is that why Shannon saw the jet take a detour in Spain?”

“Yes?” Beatrice doesn't dodge the punch Mary aims at her shoulder, even if it does hurt a lot. “Ouch, what gives?”

“You declined our dinner invitation for pussy, that's what gives.” Seeing Beatrice's cheeks flush with embarrassment, Mary mercifully moves on. “So what? Is this a thing where you're worried about conflicts of interest? You know it doesn't work like that anymore, right? Kingsmen are allowed to date freely now.”

“We’re not dating. I…” Beatrice looks down in shame. “I left her. Before she woke up.”

Even without looking, Beatrice can feel the palpable wave of disappointment pouring out of Mary.

“Bea…”

“I know. I know. But I’m not ready for anything more, you know this, and I even left a letter explaining to her that I had to leave. So technically, I didn't just totally abandon her.”

“Right. Like that makes it any better.” Mary sighs, the winds of it smacking straight into Beatrice's chest. “It's fine. It’ll probably be awkward for a little while, but do as I said, and she will take the hint eventually.” Then, seeing Beatrice's unusual silence, Mary asks. “Or is it you that want something different out of this?”

“What? No.” Beatrice shakes her head reverently. “I just don't want it to be awkward. I enjoyed my time with her, but she’s not… I’m not…” Biting back a curse, Beatrice firmly shuts down the conversation. “I don't want her to get the wrong idea.”

It's the truth.

Beatrice is married to her work, and no pretty girl with silversharp smarts and a beaming smile will ever change that. 

Whatever swimming in Mary’s eyes is unfamiliar, not to mention uncomfortable. Still, Beatrice stands firm, her mind unchanging.

Eventually, Mary breaks the quiet. Although Beatrice wishes she hadn't.

“Did Vincent teach you the rules of a Kingsman gentleman?”

The minute Mary says his name, Beatrice's eyes start tearing up. Every muscle in her body screams at her to leave, but she has too much respect for Mary to do that. 

She nods robotically instead. “He framed it as etiquette lessons he learned in boarding school.”

“Of course he did.” Mary chuckles, her sadness dancing with Beatrice's grief like a practiced routine. Mismatched and one-sided even after all these years. “Do you remember the second rule?”

Beatrice nods again. “A gentleman doesn't clash in public with enemies or exes, or worse, with out-of-fashion contrasts, colors, or styles.”

The teasing glint that surfaced above Mary’s sadness is nowhere near enough to shoo away Beatrice's own heartache, but it does soothe the part of her that's always looking for approval.

Pathetic. Even this far away from them, she still looks for them in every one she loves.

Beatrice wonders sometimes, often, if she’ll ever stop seeing their ghosts. Unlike Vincent, her parents aren't dead, but in her heart they're corpses all the same.

“You know the rule. So you must know what to do.” Mary’s voice inadvertently pulls her out of her spiral, even if she doesn’t know it. 

“I suppose so.” Beatrice squares her shoulders, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She needs to go. She needs to find some place where she can be alone and fill her head with less distracting thoughts. Then she’ll gather herself and complete this mission. “Thanks. I guess.”

Mary nods, eyes boring into Beatrice’s soul. 

She gives into her urge to squirm, discreetly trying to remove herself from this overall claustrophobic conversation. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. It's just…” Mary lets out a sigh so clearly heartbroken that it takes Beatrice aback. “He would have been over the moon to introduce you to all this. Sometimes I’m just so sad that he never got the chance to. That he was gone before he could have seen the person you are now.” And what kind of person is that?  “I can only imagine how proud of you he would have been.” Would he, though? When I'm not?

Not even Beatrice, with her hard-earned courage, dared to assume she had the answer to any of those questions.

“I guess we’ll never know.” Beatrice gruffs out, perhaps too harsh in her dismissal if the way Mary’s eyes gloss over with hurt any indication. “I need to go pack. See you later, Guinevere.”

The use of her codename is deliberate, as it brings her wall back up and serves them both a reminder.

Right now, Beatrice is a Kingsman. Agent Galahad, the filler of an empty seat that once belonged to a hero. Her hero.

Mary is right about one thing. Vincent would have wanted her to be the best Kingsman.

He would have wanted her to focus on the mission. And try hard as she does, Beatrice has still done enough to disappoint him.

She needs to right her wrongs.

She needs to make his sacrifice worth it.

She won't let him nor anyone else down ever again.

No matter what that might cost her.

—

Having lived in luxury for the first 14 years of her life, Beatrice’s eyes are well-equipped in recognizing the subtle details of money. Lilith’s are too, if the sly glance she aimed at her as they are escorted past the security gate is any indication. 

No matter that she did build her own career from the ground up, Jillian Salvius was born and raised by wealthy parents, and it showed in the subtle details of luxuries that follow them everywhere they go.

If Beatrice was a lesser Kingsman, she would have grimaced. Alas, she keeps her feelings to herself.

She already feels nervous enough as it is. Determined, but nervous all the same.

The front door, a double set of hardwood that looks recently polished with gold high-arched handlebars, opens with a subtle creak, revealing an older gentleman wearing a suit not quite dissimilar to theirs.

“Good morrow, gentlemen. My name is Leon and I’ll be at your service for today. Please state your names and reasons for your visit, please.”

Double-checking, that's good. Beatrice can appreciate precaution where it is appropriate.

Lilith goes first, reciting word for word what they just told the guards at the gate. “We’re with the Kingsman. Dr. Salvius specifically requested for us.” She gestures to herself then Beatrice. “I’m Agent Percival, and this is my partner, Agent Galahad.”

Beatrice merely nods at the man, a respectful 25 degree head tilt that earns an eyebrow raise. 

“Please hold while I confirm your visit with Dr. Salvius.” Leon holds up a finger while using the other hand to press on the tiny headset hooked on his right earlobe. Beatrice didn’t even see it at first glance, must be another one of ARQ-TECH’s smart and subtle gadgetries. “Entry approved. You may follow me.”

Without another word, Leon spins on his heels and walks away. Beatrice and Lilith quickly follow, already used to this sort of reception. 

All things considered, the Salvius Mansion is not similar with every other type of mansion they’ve seen, in that the luxuries are more subtle and practical. Aside from a couple antiques and paintings, the majority being housewarming gifts and celebratory momentos, Beatrice notices a few standouts such as hand-rails and automated platforms on stairs, presumably for accessibility purposes. 

A voice in her head, Shannon’s perhaps, reminds her about Ava’s past as a quadriplegia during her time in the orphanage. Something hot bubbles inside her stomach, almost akin to protectiveness.

That's not possible. Beatrice doesn't grow protective over someone so quickly. It took her at least a year to grow fond of Camila, who quite literally has the sweetest smile she’s ever met, and she's met a lot of people.

Well—

Not a word.

The walk through the estate is spent in comfortable silence, or at least, Leon must think so. In reality, her and Lilith are having their own conversation.

“bit fancy eh?” Beatrice wordlessly types with her eyes, in their smart spectacles popping up a screen containing a digital keyboard and the message for her.

It remains one of her favorite Kingsman technologies. Being able to type with just your eyes and not having to move a finger? It's only because of it that she made it through so many undercover missions unscathed. 

“quite” Lilith replies, her bespoke suit a dark shade of blue, a contrast to Beatrice's ash gray, makes her tall and slender form all the more intimidating. Even during the peak of their puberty, Lilith still managed to grow three centimeters taller than her. It's something Beatrice can't win, and Lilith loves to gloat about that constantly too. “reminds me of my aunt. lives in rome”

Beatrice’s nose scrunches. “the vatican?”

Lilith’s eyebrows furrow. “the vatican.”

Their little tour comes to a stop at another set of double doors, this one tinier but equally as grand as the entrance. Leon turns back to face them, wearing a thin-lipped smile. 

“Here we are, agents. Please wait a moment while I inquire with Dr. Salvius whether it's appropriate to come in.”

Used to the formality, Beatrice and Lilith simply give the butler a synchronized nod. Once he disappears inside the room, they turn to each other.

Beatrice begins summarizing her observations. “A 10-foot tall security gate with 2 guards and a digital key. The gate isn’t even equipped with any high-end security, just simple metal and a night vision camera.” 

“No snipers in sight. Not even a motion-sensor trap anywhere.” Lilith’s lips curl in obvious disapproval. “Surprisingly humble for a mansion this size, but there’s only two stories, ground floor included. Living accommodations are upstairs. The rest are down here.”

Nodding, Beatrice taps at her spectacles. Information starts popping up, her eyes making a quick skim of the most vital documents. 

“The butler, Leon Reyes, is ex-Marines. Honorably discharged back in 1985. He’s been working for Jillian’s family since she was a little girl.”

“Careless and cocky little thing, isn't she.” Lilith concludes, a sentiment Beatrice can agree with. “The threats might be aimed at her children, but she shouldn’t be so careless. There’s practically an open-for-all sign hanging on her door.”

“That’s actually because Jillian is very proud about her own security system.” Beatrice opens her mouth to ask what security system even is there, but Shannon is already bulldozing ahead in their ears. “She refused to disclose what they are, of course, but she seemed very confident the last time Arthur and I offered her some protection too.”

Shrugging, Beatrice offers. “Wouldn’t be the last time some rich genius thinks they’ve predicted everything that could happen. We should send Guinevere to check on her sometime, once she is done with paying Dr. Sato a visit.”

“If she can bring herself to leave Dr. Sato to begin with, that is.”

Lilith’s eyes twinkle with mischief, and immediately Beatrice knows what’s going to happen. “Merlin, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“As if.” Shannon scoffs, her rasp so deep that it makes them both snicker. “I’m more jealous of the fact that she gets to spend time with Dr. Sato’s wife too. Now that is a hottie.”

Her mind conjuring up the image of bulking muscles, bright blue eyes, and a smile so bright that it can generate actual solar power if she tries, Beatrice can’t help but agree. “A very valid reaction, all things considered.”

Lilith’s mouth opens, but whatever she plans to say is cut off by Leon peeking his head through the door. 

“Please come in, agents. The Salviuses are ready for you.”

Nodding, Beatrice and Lilith move to follow him in. Beatrice barely gets a second to give herself an extra inhale, preparing for the task that is seeing Ava again, before a familiar shout pierces through the air. 

“Hey, it's you!”

Frozen solid, Beatrice can only watch dumbly as every eyes in the room pour over her and her alone.

Everything is made worse when the only eyes she cares about is Ava’s and they look utterly delighted to see her. Oh god, what has she done?

Even in her shock, Beatrice doesn’t forget to do her job and account for everybody in the room.

Aside from Leon, who is standing stoically in one corner, there are only three other people and all of them are members of the Salvius family. 

Convenient for her, Jillian, Michael, and Ava are all sitting on the lounging couch; Jillian in the middle, Ava on the left arm and Michael sprawled out on the right half.

When the family sees the two of them coming in, each switches to a new position. While Jillian merely straightens her back, Ava is turning a whole 180 degree around and Michael is sitting up straight like a proper gentleman. 

Beatrice is far too distracted by Ava’s happy grin to note further than that. Her heart sinks through the layers of her stomach, knowing what she must do.

Jillian is the first to break the silence, even if everyone else looks curious enough to be on the verge of doing the same thing. Especially Lilith, whose eyes are burning a particularly large spot on the side of Beatrice’s head.

“Sweetheart, are you and Agent Galahad acquaintances?” 

Ava’s mouth opens, eyes glinting like she’s ready to retell the entire night they spent together and make it mean something more. Beatrice can’t let that happen, not on her watch.

“You must've mistaken me for someone else. We’ve never met, Miss Silva.”

Immediately, Beatrice sees the storm of hurt that flashes all over Ava’s face. That ray of happiness melts into a frown, her entire posture deflating like a pathetic balloon. Beatrice adds a head shake for good measure, and even if it deepens the sadness on Ava’s face, she looks like she understood.

“Oh, um… sorry. You just— you look a lot like someone I just met recently.” Ava laughs, sounding entirely fake to those who know what her real laugh sounds like. 

It’s not at all an exaggeration to say that Beatrice’s heart starts to rot within itself. 

“Someone like who? A hookup?” Michael comments, completely unaware at how hard he just hit the bullseye. 

Ava laughs humorlessly. “You’d be surprised at how many handsome British women there were in Spain.” Something with teeth and claws chip at Beatrice’s heart, a bunch of confusing emotions only becoming more entangled in each other. “Agent Galahad, you say?”

“That’s right.” Jillian nods, introducing each of them. “Agent Galahad and Agent Percival from Kingsman. As we’ve discussed earlier, they will be your around-the-clock protective services.”

Ready to step up and greet, Beatrice is impressed when Michael stands up from his seat and makes his way over to them before they can do the opposite.

“Hello. I'm Michael Salvius,” He smiles, all pearly white teeth and bright blue eyes. He sticks his hand out in Lilith’s direction, whose subtle eyebrow raise means she’s impressed. Usually men are too afraid of her to be this upfront. “Agent Percival, I’m assuming?”

Lilith returns his handshake in kind, glint of approval shining even more when he gives her hand a distinct two pumps. Camila is not going to be happy to hear about this. “You’d be correct. It’d be my pleasure to offer you my protection.”

“Likewise. Thank you for all that you do.” Michael smiles at Lilith one last time before he turns to Beatrice, extending a similar hand. “Hi, I’m Michael, and you must be Agent Galahad, who’s protecting my little sister.”

Sensing a bit of protectiveness and warning in his voice, Beatrice accepts his hand and opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by said little sister.

“Michael, stop that. She’s literally already paid to protect me, there's no need for intimidation.”

The insinuation of her being paid to protect Ava seems so wrong, but then Beatrice remembers this is all but a job.

So Ava isn't wrong. It just… doesn't feel right, but that's more on her and whatever the mess in her head is trying to tell her.

Beatrice has no time for introspection, sadly for it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Salvius. Your sister is in good hands, I guarantee you.”

She hasn't meant it for anything other than the fact that she’ll lay down her life to protect her, but Ava’s eyes suddenly spark something unreadable that almost, almost, makes her pause.

It's probably nothing.

“Now that we’ve all introduced ourselves,” Jillian says, beckoning Michael back. He obeys his mother without hesitation, sitting down in his original seat. “I would like to go over a few clauses in our contract.”

Immediately, Beatrice and Lilith both perk up. Nothing actually pings their radar as alarming, but in their line of work, any sudden change is worth being on guard for.

Unaware, Jillian begins. “I realized later that I have come off as unclear about this during my first meeting with Arthur and Merlin, but you both will not be put on security details here in my home.”

Watching Ava’s mouth forming the codenames of their colleagues in the corner of her eye and quietly wondering if she's remembering the coincidence of her bringing up the Arthurian legends that night as well, Beatrice asks for clarification. 

“Where shall we be posted then, Dr. Salvius?”

“At Ava’s and Michael’s respective apartments.” Both her children whip their heads around at this, as if just hearing it for the first time. “Don't look at me like that. Last I checked, each of your condo has an extra guest bedroom, and to my knowledge, none of you have a long-term significant other that is using it.”

“But— mom, I know that you explained you think this is the best for whatever reasons you can't tell us about, but is it really all that necessary?” Ava whines. “Can't we just be driven around by them or something?”

“I usually hate to agree with her but this time I have to.” Michael chimes in, reciprocating Ava’s fist bump without looking. 

Jillian rolls her eyes, completely unfazed by the double beams of puppy eyes aimed directly at her.

“It’s all for your protection. I’ve already respected that you two don't want to stay here with me, so please respect that I need to have eyes on you at all times.”

Both Ava and Michael look like they want to disagree, but something about the look on Jillian’s face, blatantly pleading and eyes watered, that makes them resign to their fate.

Done convincing her children, Jillian turns back to the two awaiting Kingsmen. 

“Gentlemen, you will be spending the rest of your post at my children’s home. Accommodations will be provided to you for whatever needs you may have. My only condition is that when inside the home, you must always make sure my children are in your sight, either nearby or in the same room. When outside, you must be their shadows everywhere they go, although you can stay outside the bathroom so as to not totally violate their privacy.”

“We wouldn't do anything that causes our clients to feel uncomfortable, Dr. Salvius.” Lilith assures her, at which Beatrice nods along. “I’m sure we can flesh out the details amongst ourselves, as Michael and I would have different boundaries compared to Ava and Agent Galahad.”

“That makes sense.” Jillian sighs, for the first time since they stepped into the room looking like she doesn't have a whole mountain weighing on her shoulders. “I guess you can go and get on with your day now, darlings. The agents will drive you home.”

“Okay, mom. We’ll text you the minute we get home.” Ava promises, quickly pulling Jillian into a tight hug, as if Ava knew she really needed it. 

By the way Jillian immediately wraps her arms to reciprocate her daughter's affection, she must've really wanted it too. Michael doesn't join, but he gently takes one of his mother's hands in his and squeezes.

Beatrice stands back with Lilith, exchanging yet another meaningful look. Only, this one is tainted with questions instead of compassion.

Right. The Ava outburst just now. Damn it, she thought she squashed it down quick enough. 

“you two…” Lilith’s eyes type out another message.

Beatrice subtly shakes her head. “no. misunderstanding.”

“?” Lilith punctuates this with a disbelieving eyebrow quirk. And man it almost works too.

Luckily for Beatrice, Ava and Michael are approaching them once more. 

It's only now that Beatrice gets to take in Ava’s complete outfit, and fuck if she doesn't take Beatrice's breath away so ridiculously easy again.

Ava is wearing another dress, this one a sundress and much more modest compared to the one she wore in Madrid. It's yellow, pillowy soft, and very cute, even if the abundance of cleavage is still way more distracting than she’d like.

There's so much of it. A sea of perfect skin and beautiful bosoms. Would there be a splash if she jumps in face first?

Jesus Christ, Galahad, get a fucking grip.

You are not putting your mission in jeopardy because of a pair of tits.

Even if they are a magnificent pair of tits.

“Are you just going to stand there and look or are we leaving, agent?”

Beatrice’s neck practically snaps with a fierce crack as she whips her head up. Great, not two minutes into the protective detail and already she is having to pretend like she wasn’t just caught red-handed looking down into her client’s boobs.

“Yes! Yes! We’ll be leaving now.” Beatrice’s head bops not unlike that of a doll, eyes deliberately steering away from the mischievous quirk of Ava’s lips. “Please, after you, Miss Silva.”

By some mercy, Ava merely nods at her before taking off. Beatrice hurries to greet everyone else with a goodbye nod before hurrying after, swiftly pulling out the keys to her rental cab too.

And if there’s a voice in her head telling her to take advantage of the moment and watch the way Ava’s nice ass sway in that dress then…

She’ll kill it.

Before it lays eggs, or multiplies, or god forbid parthenogenesis itself. She’ll kill it.

Anything to nip this attraction in the bud.

Because if not, Beatrice is so fucking screwed.

—

Calling the drive awkward would be the understatement of the century. 

The only time either of them spoke a word to each other was to exchange addresses and input them into the GPS tracker. 

Beatrice admittedly has an easier time not getting distracted as Ava is sitting in the back with her in the front, but that train of thought goes out the window immediately after looking up and spotting Ava’s curious eyes drilling into her through the front mirror. 

She’s seen that look before. The same look Ava wore back at the pub every time she tried asking Beatrice a more personal question, only to have it as well as the entire spotlight turned back on her.

Ava wants to know, about what she isn’t sure. 

She is also not in the right headspace to find out, thus why she hits the ignition button a little too harshly, if the way Ava blinks in surprise is any indication. 

Beatrice doesn’t allow herself to watch nor contemplate the motion of apologizing, concentrating on driving and learning the routes by heart. Thankfully, Ava shows mercy once more, and the ride is filled with nothing but awkward silence.

It helps, truly, because Beatrice doesn’t get at all distracted as she takes notes on what stores and establishments there are on the streets leading from Jillian’s mansion to Ava’s apartment. It might or might not come in handy later, but a gentleman always makes an effort to know better than most. 

‘Rule number five, a gentleman is always ready with witty comments and remarks, interesting facts and conversation starters that bring the best out of everyone.’

No matter how expected, having his voice in her head will always feel disconcerting. Beatrice’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter, perhaps a little too tight, seeing as it eventually catches Ava’s attention.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes.” Beatrice husks. “I’m just studying the layouts of the streets.”

“Makes sense.” Ava nods, absentmindedly biting on her lower lip. Beatrice doesn’t look. Really, she doesn’t. “Will it bother you terribly if I play some music in here? It’s a bit… claustrophobic.”

Claustrophobic. What a particular choice of word. 

“Not at all.” She says, flipping a switch amongst the many on her dashboard. “You’re welcome to connect your phone via Bluetooth.”

Ava hums, clearly delighted. “Very fancy stuff. Thanks, B…. Agent Galahad.”

Beatrice sucks her lips in, pretending like she isn’t disappointed at being robbed of the opportunity of hearing Ava say her name again. 

“You’re welcome, Miss Silva.”

The silence from before comes back with a vengeance, which all in all is an incredible achievement considering there is now Ava’s music playing on the cab’s stereo systems. 

Get Ready For It — Take That runs across the dash, and while it’s not a song Beatrice has heard in full before, she can totally understand why it’s one Ava would listen to on the regular. 

It takes another 5 songs, all of different genres, before they finally get to the street of Ava’s apartment building. 

Beatrice isn’t too surprised to note that the apartment is actually quite close, barely a 15-minute walk away, from Kings’ College London, where she assumes Ava is pursuing her Master’s of Science. Ava doesn’t look the type to be tardy, or at least not yet, but if needed, it’s only a 5-minute car ride away.

That’s good information to know. Beatrice just wants to be helpful in ensuring Ava gets her education. No other reason.

Right as she is turning the car into the road, a well-much older gentleman wearing the typical outfit of a valet walks up to them. He leans down, speaking directly with Ava who is already rolling her window down before Beatrice can say anything to caution her against it.

“Miss Ava, hello. Who is this gentleman driving you today?”

“Hi Oliver!” Ava chirps, putting her chin in her hand as she makes conversations with the man. 

Oliver, Beatrice takes notes. Her smart spectacles zero in on his smiling face, revealing his full name to be Oliver Wang, a full-time valet employee of the building and a widowed father of 2 children who work as a banker and a tattoo artist respectively.

“This is Galahad. She’s going to be my bodyguard for the time being.”

“Another one?” Beatrice blinks at this. “Didn’t you wipe your other bodyguard out so badly he quit and then retired from the business in the same breath?”

Ava laughs, not at all fazed by Beatrice’s slowly widening and frightful eyes. “I didn’t even do anything. That man was as old as our monarch. He should be thanking me for giving him a chance to retire before he could get me killed by accident.”

“Speaks a lot about the state of our country, doesn’t it?” Somehow, without saying a word, all three of them share the same resigned and exasperated look. “Very well. Galahad, I’m going to need to talk to you later about getting your biometrics so you can access the garage floor without Miss Ava’s company.”

Beatrice nods, giving Oliver a thin-lipped smile. “It’s Agent Galahad, and thank you, sir. I would greatly appreciate it.”

Oliver doesn’t mind the correction, more focused on typing out a series of passcodes onto his digital tablet. “Agent Galahad it is.” The garage door opens with a click, Oliver putting down his tablet to wave them in. “Off you go then. I wish you both a good day.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“See you later, Oliver! And let me know if your daughter got her promotion!”

Oliver’s chuckle echoing behind her, Beatrice can’t help but let the tiniest of smiles grow on her own lips. What can she say, Ava’s cheerfulness has always been infectious. 

Parking the cab is easy, Beatrice sending a pin to the internal network hub so Kingsman knows where to find it lest they need an extra, otherwise the two of them will be driving in Ava’s own car that’s parked right beside them. 

Beatrice knows less about cars than she does firearms, but the smart spectacles give her enough of an overview to know it’s a 2024 Sport Subaru Crosstrek.

With a 4-Cyl 2.0 Liter BOXER engine. Whatever that means. And all terrains too. Beatrice just hopes the statement stays truer for this car than it did her nanotech motorbike. 

“If you don’t mind, Miss Silva, I’m just going to round up the back and grab my trunks.”

“Sure. I’ll just be on my phone.” Ava nods lightly, already exiting the cab on her own. 

Again, before Beatrice can tell her it’s okay to leave.

Sighing, writing down another thing in her mental list of things to talk about with Ava, Beatrice moves to the luggage and picks out her trunks, one carry-on and one larger suitcase. 

They’re Kingsman-sponsored and made, so of course there are secret compartments in which Beatrice hides her various firearms and espionage gadgetries. 

True to her words, Ava is still on her phone by the time Beatrice walks over with her luggages. She looks up at the sound of Beatrice’s footsteps, head beckoning towards the elevator.

Beatrice nods, but makes sure her walking paces are faster so as to open the door for Ava to step in. She gets an appreciative nod for her efforts, and it’s enough to make Beatrice happy.

It’s good that Beatrice let Ava go first anyway, as the elevator system of the apartment building only works if Ava presses her key fob against the sensor and it beeps green. Ava proceeds to press the button for her own floor, a bright red 17th, and the door gently closes shut.

Ready for another bout of silence, Beatrice is surprised when Ava turns around to look at her. “Do you really need those?”

Blinking, Beatrice asks for clarification. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“The glasses.” Ava points two fingers at her own eyes. “Do you need them to see? I don’t remember you wearing them when… you know…”

Just when she was happy to have forgotten about the whole thing. “Ah, well, the short answer is no. I’m not short-sighted or anything. They’re smart spectacles. We use them to scan our environments and establish a constant line of communication with headquarters. They're properties of the Kingsman.”

The elevator door opens then, Ava once again walking ahead. Beatrice bites back a grumble, following her in. 

Ava opens her apartment door in a similar fashion to the elevator, using her key fob and waiting for the sensor to turn green, before pushing the door open and gallantly letting Beatrice carry her suitcases in first. 

The door closes shut with a barely audible click, Ava tossing the key fob carelessly on a hanger.

While Beatrice makes sure to take off her shoes and puts them on the shoe rack, Ava just casually hooks them off using her toe and lets them lie haphazardly across the floor. 

“Ah, home sweet home.” Ava stretches and, to Beatrice’s mortification, starts undoing the zip of her own dress. “Can you help me out here?”

“Um… s- sure?” Beatrice stammers, but obeys anyway. 

Slowly, holding her breath too while she's at it, Beatrice gently grabs onto the metallic zipper and pulls. Something strangled escapes her throat the more perfect skin is exposed, but she manages it well, zipping all the way down to the small of Ava’s back.

The same small where the skin rippled like tidal waves as she was fucking Ava from behind— stop that!

“There you go…” If her voice is shaking then it's her business and her business alone dammit. “All done, Miss.”

“Thank you.” Ava says, sounding airy, before giving Beatrice yet another heart attack by turning around with her dress beginning to unpool. Her eyes snap to the ceiling, though not before she got a glimpse of those perfect shoulders she had such a good time marking with her teeth— “Take a look around while I change then I’ll take you to your room. Cool?”

“Yes. Of course. Take your time.”

Ava says nothing more, footsteps fading. Beatrice's eyes dart back down long enough to catch the fabric slipping off of Ava’s form and revealing a hint of something purple before she forcefully shoves her hand in her face.

Jesus fucking Christ, this girl is going to kill her. 

Sighing, Beatrice decides to do as Ava asked of her and have a look around. It's best if she understands the overall layout of the apartment now anyway, even if she’ll take an extra hour in learning it by heart from the blueprint surely in her inbox by now.

Having had enough pressure weighing down on her nose for one day, Beatrice takes off her glasses and takes herself on a mini tour. 

All in all, Ava’s home is exactly how Beatrice would have imagined it.

It's considerably less luxurious than Jillian’s mansion, that's to be expected, but it's also more artistic and colorful, with sprinkles of life and Ava’s personality everywhere she looks.

The floorplan itself is pretty straightforward, the entrance a small hallway leading directly into the living room. In the same space, separated by a tall countertop, she can oversee the kitchen, large and spacious.

The telltale signs of luxury lie in the double-sided smart fridge with a screen and the absurdly expensive oven and microwave hybrid that she has only seen on social media.

Whether Ava actually uses them for their money’s worth is to be determined.

The living room has only the necessities, a large couch, a small coffee table, and a flatscreen hooked up to an actual entertainment system with various game consoles and sleek sound bars. 

From the living room and the kitchen, one can access another hallway on the left, the layout shaped like a capitalized L. If she has to guess, this leads to the bedrooms, of which this apartment has two, and the bathroom. 

Beatrice doesn't go to check, prefers to leave that for Ava to guide her through, and makes her way to the balcony, because of course someone like Ava Silva would have a balcony.

There's not a lot on said balcony, aside from a small table with one singular matching chair. 

Beatrice thinks the additional space could be filled up with plants, real or fake depending on the extent of Ava’s green thumb, and maybe even a reading lamp as this is a perfect reading/working space, but alas, this isn't her home to decide.

Oddly enough, Beatrice finds herself enjoying the view down below, even though she never once prides herself to be a people watcher of any hobbyist. 

There's always something about being this high up and seeing other humans go about their day that reminds Beatrice of just how small she actually is, how the world will keep turning no matter how many mistakes she makes, and how nothing is ever a one and done deal. 

Life means change. They can be a bit out of hand sometimes, but humans are always capable of change. That includes her and the blood, the sins, and the magnitude of events that she thought were world-ending but in reality barely a footnote in the story of her life.

Beatrice takes a deep breath, and feels her body relaxing for the first time since she set foot into Cat’s Cradle this morning.

“Agent Galahad?”

Nevermind, she spoke too soon.

Whirring around in fright, Beatrice clutches her chest. “Miss Silva!” How the hell did she not even hear her coming. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Ava says, her apologetic frown genuine as she raises both hands in surrender. “I didn't mean to spook you. I called your name like 3 different times.”

Darn, that's on Beatrice then. “Oh, I apologize. I must've been really zoned out.”

“It's alright.” Ava shrugs, slowly putting her hands down. “You wanna come in and see your room now?”

“Yes, I would. Thank you.” Beatrice hurries to step back in, sliding the balcony door shut on her way.

Ava merely smiles lopsided at her, before turning on her heels. Ava’s dressed in what Beatrice can only assume is her sleep clothes, a pair of airy shorts and a tank top that leaves her arms and… a lot of other things bare.

Beatrice won't get lost in any of that. She's better than that. 

Quickly grabbing her trunks, Beatrice lets Ava lead them down the hallway, quietly confirming her theory about this area being reserved for the two bedrooms and bathroom. 

Ava points to the door for the latter, promising to answer any questions Beatrice might have about shower heads and water pressures, before gesturing briefly to the one beside it. 

“My bedroom and the guest bedroom are side by side. I haven't had any complaints but feel free to let me know if I’m being too loud.”

Beatrice nods, feeling grateful that she brought her noise-canceling headphones anyway. No need to bother Ava about her sound sensitivity issue.

Ava opens the door finally, and for some reason, a part of Beatrice feels so incredibly relieved.

She has no idea where that response could have come from, as the guest bedroom is not at all unique and special. Just a simple big enough room for a wardrobe, a desk, a twin size bed, and even a large bookshelf.

The walls are painted in a neutral white color and every furniture was definitely picked out with the most basic criteria in mind. And yet, Beatrice just knows that she is going to love it here.

Which is odd, considering she’s never once felt this in the space of her own home, and everything in it she picked out all on her own. 

“Everything is pretty straightforward.” Ava explains, unaware of Beatrice's odd emotional stupor. “Your clothes go in the closet. There's an iron and an ironing board in the supply closet in the hallway if you need it. The bed sheets and pillowcases have already been changed since my mom was last here, probably knowing you’re coming, and you told me you like reading so the shelf is for you to put your books.”

“You remember that?”

It's not until she sees Ava’s look of trepidation that Beatrice realizes the question came from her. Quickly, before Ava has the bright idea of rehashing over that night, again, Beatrice changes the subject.

“I mean, thank you. This is all very lovely. The desk will be great for my writing up reports for Kingsman.”

Ava’s lips purse, thoughtful, but her curiosity wins over eventually. 

“What is Kingsman, exactly?” Ava asks as she invites herself in and sits down on the bed. “Mom said you guys are protecting me and Michael, but she didn’t give me any details.”

Beatrice rolls the trunks in too, hands automatically beginning the process of unpacking. Surprisingly, she finds she isn't at all self-conscious even as Ava is right here and watching her, when usually she would rather be caught dead than having any of her fellow agents be with her during this.

Too dramatic. She's just unpacking for god’s sake.

“Since 1849, Kingsman tailors have clothed the world's most powerful individuals. By 1919, a great number of them had lost their heirs to World War One.”

The speech comes out easily, like it was just yesterday when Mary led her down the secret tunnel of Cat’s Cradle and on their way to their UK headquarters for the very first time.

Beatrice allows herself a nostalgic, albeit sad, smile grace her lips as she continues, all the while her hands are methodically pulling out clothes after clothes.

“That meant a lot of money going uninherited and a lot of powerful men with a desire to preserve peace and protect life.” As always, Beatrice begins the process with her bespoke suits, considering them the most important and often-used attires and therefore takes priority always. “Our founders realized that they could channel that wealth and influence for the greater good. And so began our other venture.”

Once all the bespoke suits are hung properly, Beatrice moves to her more casual clothes. There aren't a lot, but it's not like she wears them as much as any regular person.

Beatrice practically lives in her suits. Which is why she has seven for every day of the week and an extra three for backups.

They're stylish and bulletproof. What’s not to love, really.

“That is Kingsman’s mission statement. An independent international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion. Above the politics and bureaucracy that undermine the integrity of government-run spy organizations. The suit is a modern gentleman's armor, and the Kingsman agents are the new knights.”

Ava hums, proving she has been paying attention. “So Totally Spies, but distinctively British?”

It's the most simplistic way of putting it, but, “Not entirely wrong but yes, I suppose you can think of it like that.”

“Cool.” Ava says, bouncing a bit on her bed. “That last bit also explains the Arthurian legend names. I’m assuming your chief is Arthur? Like the king?”

Beatrice nods, smiling to herself as all her clothes are now where they should be. The armory will have to be assembled later when Ava is asleep, so as to avoid any unfortunate incident where one of them detonates the whole building by accident.

It happened before, alright? Beatrice got her lighters aka her hand grenades mixed up and instead of blowing up the intended warehouse where there contained some of the world’s most dangerous drugs, she just gave away her hiding spot and surrendered her lighter to one of the goons.

What a shame. She really loved that lighter.  

“Correct, Miss Silva. Arthur is our head of operations, and Merlin is our eyes and ears.”

Ava’s lips purse, a sigh of thoughtfulness, Beatrice knows now. “So you’ve got Arthur, Merlin, Galahad, and Percival. What about the rest?”

“They are other agents. You probably won't get to meet them, and that is a good thing for your safety. I will have to refrain from telling you who they are in general though. It's part of the job.”

Ava’s shoulders slump, looking visibly put out. Beatrice frowns, shoulders hunched back. The abrupt mood change is expected, Beatrice herself hates being kept in the dark, but the sudden intensity building in Ava’s eyes is not.

“Well, can you say anything about what you're hired to protect me from then? Mom looked very scared.”

They haven't spent a lot of time together, but it still doesn't sit right with Beatrice how utterly unreadable Ava’s expression has become. Unlike the relaxed prose she wore when she first sat down, Ava is now back straight and squared shoulders, almost like she’s ready for a fight she knows she’ll struggle to win.

The thought of being that, being someone so difficult, and for Ava specifically, makes Beatrice feel a little bit sick. 

Knowing the one and true answer will only upset Ava even further, Beatrice tries her best to choose her words, with care, to soften the blow.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. It’s classified information sealed per instructions of Arthur, but please know it was a dire enough situation that Jillian personally reached out to us.”

The mention of her mother might have been a good idea in any other circumstances, but in this one, it only serves to make the storm in Ava’s eyes expel lightning and thunder in equal measures. 

“Classified information, right.” Ava repeats, monotonously. Dark brown eyes boring straight into her soul. Beatrice suddenly feels a speck of sympathy for all the criminals she interrogated while wearing this exact same face. “Just your job then?”

Beatrice nods. “Yes. It’s part of the job.” She considers, before adding. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think you are, actually.” Ava says, finally revealing a hint of emotion. Bitterness, Beatrice recognizes it now, and anger too. “Was it another part of the job to pretend like you and I never met? Like you and I didn’t have the most wonderful night together only to end with you leaving me in that bed all by myself?”

She should have predicted that Ava would bring this up the minute they’re alone. Why did she not prepare? 

“I… I left a note.” Beatrice croaks, for the first time ever truly feeling out of her depth. 

It’s perhaps the worst thing to say, as it makes the gasoline in Ava’s eyes erupt into flames. Perfect jawline tightens to the point of highlighting how sculptured she looks under the light. 

“A note. Right, that’s such a gentleman-ly thing to do, isn’t it?”

It comes off as a dig, and Beatrice’s heckles begin to rise, her defense mechanism working its best to protect her from this onslaught of feelings. She would rather die than admit most of them are guilt. 

“I said everything that needed to be said in the note, Miss Silva. If you’re so uncomfortable, I can ask for a transfer and Agent Percival can be your protective detail instead.”

Much to Beatrice’s surprise, Ava’s anger quickly melts into pure hurt. Her lips quiver and her eyes glisten with tears, leaving Beatrice completely stunned and clueless on how to fix this. 

She doesn’t get a chance to contemplate for long, as Ava abruptly stands up and makes way for the door. 

Beatrice wants to say something, anything, but she can’t work her mouth nor does she even have the vocabulary. 15 languages in her repertoire be damned. 

Beatrice is all but prepared to pack up her things again and leave, mentally writing up some sort of speech about her inability to be professional and making sure Suzanne knows all of this is her fault and hers alone, when Ava surprises her once more by stopping right at the door, looking back at her over her shoulder. 

Ava’s mouth opens, but no words come out. Beatrice can relate to her struggles more than she knows. 

“Did that night really mean nothing to you?”

“I…” Beatrice’s heart tightens in her chest, absurdly affected by the wounded note audible through Ava’s quivering lips. She knows what she should say, but it hurts her too, and it's all the more frustrating because she doesn't know why it would. “I already said everything I needed to say in the letter.”

A tremble wrecks through Ava’s body, suddenly making her look so small. Beatrice’s hands twitch, the urge to take actions strong but the actual visual of what to do barely an abstract blob in her mind. 

“I figured you would say that.” Ava says, shaking her head. Ava fully turns away before Beatrice can discern anything else from her face, not that it will help her case anyway. “No need for a transfer. I won’t stop you from doing your job.” With one last shaky exhale, Ava takes her leave. “Have a good rest, Agent. I’ll see you later.”

Beatrice should be glad, watching in real-time as Ava gives up on her, but she doesn’t.

She isn’t glad. Nor is she relieved. All she feels is guilt.

But it’s for the best, Beatrice tells herself, robotically unpacking the rest of her things.

It’s for the best, Beatrice reminds herself, changing out of her suit and putting on her pajamas. 

It’s for the best, tucking herself in for a quick nap.

It’s for the best, closing her eyes.

It’s for the best, willing herself to remember him and forget her.

It’s for the best. 

—

When the sun rises abovehead, it marks the second time Beatrice wakes from slumber. 

The first time she woke up, it was hours past dinner time the day before.

Beatrice had woken up because of her stomach gurgling loudly enough for her to hear, pulling her out of her slumber with a forceful yank on her ears.

Sighing, Beatrice resorted to dragging herself out of bed. She was a little reluctant about reaching out after such a recent squabble between them, but Ava still deserved to eat and it was Beatrice’s job to take care of her anyway.

Putting on her big boy pants, Beatrice made to leave her room. 

Only for her foot to stumble upon something plastic while on her way.

“What the…” She frowned, getting down on her knees to check the sticky note attached to the bag.

To no one’s surprise, it was from Ava.

i got us takeouts. didn’t want to wake you up so i left this here. it's soup dumplings with a portion of fried rice. if it's too cold, feel free to heat it up in the microwave 

i’ll be in my room if you need me

— ava

Soup dumplings and fried rice. Beatrice had mentioned that was one of her most favorite comfort foods, very offhandedly as she didn't want to go into details about how she reclaimed the love for her people’s food from the ones who taught her she could only eat if she proved herself deserving of it.

Ava remembered. Ava remembered and took the time to order it for her.

Beatrice felt nothing but warmth as she tenderly picked up the now-recognized styrofoam box of takeouts and carefully brought it back into her room, laying out all the food and the utensils Ava painstakingly packed for her as well. 

“Oh Ava…” She sighed, having to sit down before her knees could bring her down first. Unable to let this act of kindness go unappreciated, Beatrice pulled out her phone and searched for Ava’s number.

It was manually put into her contacts by Kingsman, so Beatrice made sure to sign her text with her name too.

Miss Silva, thank you so much for the food. I will enjoy it immensely.

This is Agent Galahad, by the way.

The reply came much faster than she expected, in the form of a gif of a toddler giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up with the text “You’re welcome” underneath.

Beatrice's heart warmed, and so were the soup dumplings.

The memory serves as perfect motivation for Beatrice to get herself out of bed with a clear mission, righting her wrongs and making it up to Ava.

Grabbing her spectacles from the nightstand with more force than necessary, Beatrice yanks them on her face and immediately goes into Ava’s profile.

She does her best not to read too much out of respect for Ava’s privacy, only skimming for the one word she is looking for.

After 2 whole minutes of flipping through what had to be pages of Ava’s academic achievements, Beatrice finally finds it.

“Most common breakfast orders are an iced matcha latte and a red velvet cupcake from her favorite cafe or breakfast sausages with fluffy omelets and precisely three slices of bacon.” 

Beatrice frowns, thinking about the last time she tried to make any food from scratch. This should be fine, though, it's just eggs and bacon and sausages. She's an international super spy, she can handle some grease, and Ava deserves her going the extra mile.

Both breakfast orders it is. Beatrice can eat the leftovers if Ava can’t finish it all.

Mind set, Beatrice helps herself to a quick shower. She takes a bit more time than usual to pick out an outfit, eventually deciding on a plaid siren suit layered over a white button-up shirt. 

By the time Beatrice fastens her wristwatch and tightens her shoelaces, the address to Ava’s favorite cafe is popping up on her screen. She takes the information, quickly memorizes it, and quietly exits the apartment, snatching Ava’s key fob on the way out.

The cafe is called The Coffee House, aptly named, a home business owned by a Palestinian family who immigrated to the country after being displaced from their home. 

Her gait casual and easy, Beatrice takes the time to read through the owning family as well as the staff, all standard protocols. The only red flag she found is the janitor having a disturbance and disorderly charge on his criminal record, but other than that, The Coffee House is squeaky clean.

The interior looks squeaky clean too, Beatrice attributes that to the two on-floor staff who are already working hard to prepare the store for the early morning rush.

They both look up to smile at Beatrice as she walks by, her answering grin a task easier than breathing. 

Beatrice’s nose is having the time of its life, inhaling the comforting scent of grounded coffee beans and fresh out-of-the-oven pastries. True to its stellar review on various foodie apps, The Coffee House’s reputation speaks for itself with how there’s already a line of people queing for their daily dose of caffeine this early in the morning.

It takes a surprisingly short time for it to be Beatrice's turn to order, the back staff of house must be amazing at their job and paid well, she quietly muses as she steps up to the counter.

“Hello, may I get an iced matcha latte and a red velvet cupcake, please?”

The cashier, a blue-haired young woman with a permanent intelligent glint in her eyes, looks up in intrigue at her order.

“Are you friends with Ava Silva by any chance?”

Beatrice blinks. Ava is clearly a regular here, but to recognize her order on hand like that? “I’m her bodyguard. Do you know Miss Silva well?”

“Ava comes here often. We chat a lot.” She answers happily, though never once making eye contact with Beatrice. “I’m Caitlyn, by the way, and that will be £7.”

Nodding, Beatrice pulls out her wallet and her card, the reader taking her money before she can even finish computing another sentence. “Miss Silva has mentioned you before, actually. She said she loved taking Intro to Engineering with you during her bachelor’s.”

To her relief, Caitlyn’s eyes brighten at the information. “Really? I’m so glad to hear that. Ava is such a joy to be around.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beatrice allows herself a genuine smile, knowing exactly how correct that is. “I’ve only just started my job yesterday, but I can already tell Ava is a genuinely kind soul as well.”

Caitlyn nods several times, hand gesturing for Beatrice to stand by the waiting area instead of at the counter. 

To her surprise, Caitlyn also beckons a colleague to take over for her, apparently wanting to talk to Beatrice for a bit longer. Seeing her widened eyes, Caitlyn raises both hands in assurance. 

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to come off as creepy or anything, I’m just worried since you said you’ve just been appointed as Ava’s bodyguard.” Seeing understanding dawning on Beatrice’s face, Caitlyn continues, worry now painted on her features. “Is everything okay? Ava isn’t hurt or anything, is she?”

“Miss Silva is fine, Caitlyn. I guarantee you.” Beatrice says, softly. “Her mother has security concerns, that’s all. Call it a precaution.”

Caitlyn lets out a clear sigh of relief at this, slumping her torso against the countertop. Beatrice’s intrigue grows by the second, having had zero idea just how much of an effect Ava has on the people around her. 

That’s not entirely true, is it? 

After all, Beatrice knows very well just how easily Ava Silva can change someone’s life in a blink of an eye. Hers, of course, not at all an exception. 

“That’s so good to hear,” Caitlyn smiles, her two front teeth a little more prominent than the others and making her smile all the more charming. “My girlfriend used to work as a personal bodyguard, I suppose that’s why my brain leapt to the worst scenario after hearing about Ava having a bodyguard too.”

Caitlyn’s girlfriend is Violet Lane, an in-house tattoo artist who also travels between England and the States for her consultation work with her younger sister who has her arts on display at a museum of some kind, or so as Beatrice’s smart spectacles tell her. 

Beatrice lets herself smile in secret at how clearly Shannon’s type the redheaded woman is, all toned muscles and handsome crooked smile. 

Sapphics truly flock together one way or another, how incredible.

“I understand, and thank you for your concern. I’ll be sure to tell Ava she has a wonderful friend looking out for her.” Beatrice smiles charmingly, accepting the bag of pastry and coffee.

Caitlyn shrugs, demure and shy. “Aside from the fact that she tips very generously, Ava is just a very good person. You’re very lucky to be working for someone like her. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Seeing the line beginning to grow longer and the employee taking over is slowly getting more and more overwhelmed, Beatrice decides to say goodbye. “Have a good day, Miss Caitlyn. I better be going now.”

“Of course. You have a good day as well!”

Caitlyn waves her goodbye and effortlessly slots herself back in her position at the cash register. Beatrice instinctively looks into the bag as she walks herself out of the shop, pleasantly surprised at the sight of an extra croissant stuffed inside. 

Ava so clearly loves the world, and the world loves her back just the same. The realization hits Beatrice like a brick, leaving her in a hybrid state of awe and melancholy. 

The best part about this is realizing Ava loves the world without hoping for anything in return. Because why else would she have made such an effort to remember Beatrice's favorite food, order it for her, despite the fact that barely three hours before that, Beatrice has just made her cry. 

It's so easy to be kind to the world when it is kind to you, but no one understands just how difficult it is to do the reverse. 

As someone who does good things more out of a sense of retribution and repentance, Beatrice can only dream of having a heart that golden.

—

“Lancelot, I adore you, I genuinely do, but if you keep laughing at me, I will stick you onto a contraption with two flimsy balloons and float you out into the stratosphere.”

Beatrice is Agent Galahad. An international super spy with 10 years of experience on the field and her whole childhood was spent on the street fighting for her survival by any means necessary.

Beatrice has killed more men than any woman her age ever would in their entire lifetime, the exceptions being her fellow Kingsmen, and yet, here she is, staring defeatedly at a pack of frozen breakfast sausages and not understanding why they were screaming at her when she put them on the sizzling pan.

Camila isn't any help, much to her disappointment, still cackling at Beatrice's ineptitude. She got herself a front row seat to how Beatrice's hands started to fly in panic at the splattering oil and screeching screams via their smart spectacles, and she hasn't been able to stop laughing ever since.

So much for calling her anytime she needed help. Beatrice should have just man up and called Mary. 

Alas, she didn't want Mary to misunderstand her relationship with Ava anymore than she already did, what with her completely false insinuations about Beatrice wanting more than pure professionalism and emotional distance.

Preposterous. Slander. Not a single speck of truth to be found.

“I’m sorry, Galahad, but this is too funny,” Beatrice doesn't get a chance to ask exactly what is funny before Camila continues. “The Unfathomable Galahad, defeated by a pack of sausages. Wait, that's actually funnier considering you're a lesbian and—” And there she goes, falling over herself with laughter.

Beatrice rolls her eyes, ruminating over her fate being surrounded by a bunch of toddlers.

“Lancelot, please get a grip.” Beatrice grumbles, almost near tears when she finally flips the sausages and sees they're darker than her own soul. “My sausages are all burnt, and my eggs are not fluffy.”

Pearls of delighted laughter trail off into giggles, Camila has this to say in response. “I don't know what else to say other than skill issues, Galahad.”

Truly offended, Beatrice lets slip a genuine squawk. “I do not have skill issues!”

“I could have told you that, you didn't need to yell.”

The next sound, no matter how much she will deny it to anyone who hears, namely Ava and Camila, that comes out of her mouth is a literal squeal, one that gets both the smiling girl in the room with her and the girl about two continents away from her to laugh boisterously.

What has Beatrice's life come to.

“Miss Silva, please,” Beatrice mumbles miserably, holding her spatula like it's a fencing saber. “You have to stop scaring me like this.”

“Again, I called your name. Three times.” Ava continues to laugh as she walks up to Beatrice, eyes lighting up when she's close enough to smell the food, albeit badly prepped. “Is that breakfast? Did you cook?”

“Oh she cooked, alright.” Camila laughs in her ear, Beatrice sighing before pressing a button on her glass spine to make Camila’s voice amplified externally. 

“My apologies, Miss Silva. I wanted to make breakfast but unfortunately, this is all I’ve got.” Beatrice grimaces apologetically, Camila’s laughter softening at the genuine shame bleeding in her voice.

Darn you, insecurities.

Ava doesn't recognize it, eyes lit up in curiosity at the sound of a stranger’s laughter. “Was that your colleague? The giggles?”

Beatrice nods, turning around and lets Camila take over.

“Hello, Miss Silva. My name is Agent Lancelot, I was just helping Galahad out.”

“You sound exactly like how I imagined you would, in a complimentary way.” Ava says, sharing another laugh. She then looks at Beatrice, who’s now going to scrape the burnt food into the bins. “Hey wait, Agent Galahad, don't throw it all away.”

“What, they're all inedible.” Beatrice frowns, not even daring to show Ava the failed products of her labor. She feels oddly close to tears. “You're better off eating the breakfast I got from The Coffee House, miss.”

Ava visibly stops at this, eyes widening as she spins around and checks the dining table. Sure enough, there is the bag of pastry and her coffee sitting side by side, the only good thing Beatrice has done all morning.

She thinks she will do it again whenever she's able, if not to make Ava smile all happily like that. 

Wait. Why would she care about making Ava happy?

This is just her making it up to Ava. An eye for an eye and nothing more.

“Oh wow, this is so sweet.” Ava chirps, like a cartoon character, beaming at Beatrice like the sun. The smile melts off slightly at Beatrice's posturing over the trash bin, and before she knows it, Ava is stomping over and snatches the plate of burned sausages out of her hands. “Gimme that.”

Beatrice’s hands hover aimlessly, a little bit befuddled. “Wait, Miss Silva—” Her jaw drops in mortification as Ava bravely puts a sausage in her mouth. “Miss Silva!”

“It isn't even that burned.” Ava says, making her point clearer by taking another bite. “All good. I will eat this with everything else you made for me.”

“Miss Silva—” “Don't be stubborn, Galahad. Listen to your client, she clearly knows better.”

“Ah, see, at least one of your Kingsmen knows the truth.” Ava grins, somehow snatching the plates of eggs and bacons Beatrice made earlier too. How is she holding all of that with just one span of arm? “Come, eat. You made plenty for both of us.”

“Have a good breakfast, you two. I have to go back to the mission I’m actually supposed to be doing.”

“Not like you were that helpful to begin with.” Beatrice grumbles, admittedly delighted by Ava’s snort and Camila’s audible eyeroll. “Talk to you soon, Lancelot. Stay safe out there.”

“You too, Galahad. Goodbye, Miss Silva.”

“Bye!” Ava says, waving, like an actual dork. Beatrice ducks her head to hide her smile, bringing herself to sit down on the chair on the other side of the table. “Do you always have to wear a suit or something?”

Stunned by the question, Beatrice’s forkful of egg hovers a centimeter away from her mouth. “I’m sorry?”

“The suit.” Ava gestures at her body, eyes gleaming. “I haven't yet seen you out of one.”

Ignoring the underlying tone, Beatrice nods in understanding. “It's just my uniform. I feel most assured and ready in my suits.”

“I see.” Ava purses her lips, thoughtful, Beatrice remembers now. “Mom does the same. She has five pairs of pantsuits in rotation throughout the week.”

“I have seven,” Beatrice confesses, shy. “And three more as a backup.”

“You sure take this gentleman thing very seriously, don't you?” Ava says, not really a question, more an observation. “Do all gentlemen go buy breakfast for their clients like this?”

“Yes, actually. Our code of conduct specifically says a gentleman should always pay the bill.” The last thing Beatrice wants to do is tell Ava about Vincent, so she distracts herself, albeit with a different but equally difficult confession. “It's to say I’m sorry.”

Food in her mouth, Ava shows her intrigue with a tilt of her head. Beatrice has to smile, in her pajamas and with sleep-ruffled hair, Ava Silva still manages to look effortlessly beautiful.

“I was very abrupt with you. That night in Madrid, the morning you and I reunited, and yesterday as well.” Beatrice sighs, that earlier tendril of shame clogging at her throat and making it hard to speak. Still, she tries. “I recognize now that it was a pretty awful thing to do, leaving you there without a word. So, this is me officially apologizing. I should have at least woken you up to tell you, even if I’m convinced it would have made things far more awkward.”

Ava doesn't say a thing, long after Beatrice finishes. The tendril begins to collapse in and on itself, turning into heavy rocks sinking in her stomach. It's only when Beatrice sees the softness lingering in the corners of Ava’s eyes, not yet a smile but close, that she relaxes.

“What did you think of The Coffee House?”

The change of subject is odd, but Beatrice finds herself not off-set by it. 

“I loved it. It was cozy and everyone was very nice.” She pauses, then continues. “Caitlyn said to tell you hello. She was worried about you suddenly needing a bodyguard.”

Ava hums, currently chewing on a sandwich of bacon, sausage, and eggs. She swallows after a few seconds, during which Beatrice has helped herself to some bacon, easily the best part of her meal.

“I’ll send her a DM. Think I still got her Insta.” Ava looks at her latte, a beautiful calligraphy of her name scrawled atop the mouthpiece. “You didn't get any coffee for yourself?”

Beatrice shrugs. “I don't drink coffee, actually. Too much stimulation for my attention span. I prefer tea, as much of a stereotype it makes me.”

Ava chuckles. “The Coffee House has that too. You should try some next time.”

“I will.” Beatrice licks her lips, feeling ridiculously parched. “Are we okay?”

The nod that immediately comes after feels like a warm hug. 

“We are.” Ava nods again, in case Beatrice missed it the first time. “I understand. I can't say I’m happy about what you did, but I can say I understand and will not hold it against you anymore. As a matter of fact, I should have respected you enough to not demand an explanation. You don’t owe me that, but you gave me one anyway and for that I would like to say thank you.”

The bundle of nerves in Beatrice's throat turns a little wobbly. No one has ever forgiven her so easily. 

“You’re very welcome.”

“And if you want to put it behind us for good…” Ava trails off, leaving the blank for Beatrice to fill.

Beatrice is very good at filling in blanks. 

“Yes. I would like that. This mission, your safety, should come first. I can't be distracted.” Your safety means so much more than me and my feelings.

“I figured you would say that.” Ava smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She hides behind her coffee cup, bare lips stained with green. “How would you like to do this then? Any ground rules you may have for me?”

“I do, actually.” Beatrice wrote these up while staying wide awake into the late night, but Ava doesn't need to know that. “I need you to let me open doors for you, for safety purposes. Your car door, your front door, everything.”

Eyebrows arched, but Ava nods anyway. “Alright.”

Encouraged, Beatrice continues. “I need you to tell me where you go and who you’re going with. No exceptions. And wherever you go, I should accompany you there too.”

Ava starts to show signs of annoyance here, her eyebrows furrowed deeply. Beatrice doesn't blame her, but she's just doing her job.

“You’re going to take my phone calls too? And look through my emails?”

“No. No, I would never do that without your permission.” Beatrice promises, leaning back to lessen her intensity. She hasn't even noticed she started leaning in closer to begin with. “You can show anything you think is of concern to me, and precautions are important, but I will never do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. You’re supposed to be safe with me, in both the physical and mental scopes.”

Ava softens, much to her relief, before eventually sighing. Beatrice thinks the extra croissant Ava just found helps her case a bit more. 

“I know. And I do, for the record, feel safe with you. The rest, how about we see as we go?”

Beatrice smiles, pleased at having her way. “Of course. Thank you for being so receptive about it, Miss Silva.”

She’s about to eat another forkful of egg when Ava speaks again. “I have one condition, though.”

Beatrice pauses, tilting her own head in curiosity. Ava’s face is unreadable once more, but her posture is relaxed and there's no sign of fires in her eyes.

“Please call me Ava.” Beatrice blinks, and Ava takes it as cue for elaboration. “I understand your need for professionalism to draw a line between us, but Miss Silva is what they used to call my mom. And I’m sure you know what happened to her, if you already know everything there is to know about me.”

For the first time ever, Beatrice sees herself in Ava.

It's clear as day, that aching grief etched deeply in their brows and weight down their lungs. 

The kind of grief that heals but aches when the sun turns a little cold and the winds push them just a bit too hard.

Beatrice knows, the name is the face of a soul, and one as easy to love as Ava’s would be hard to detach, hard to forget, and so Beatrice should say no.

Beatrice doesn't say no. “It’s my absolute pleasure to protect you, Ava.” She even goes as far as to say, “And please, call me Beatrice.”

Ava’s smile is small, but her joy is ten feet tall. Beatrice lets her own smile grow unburdened, and when Ava extends a hand for her to shake, Beatrice is convinced they're going to be okay.

—

Chapter Text

It's actually astonishing how fast she took to assimilate herself in this new life.

There have been a couple of bumps on the road, and more promise to come in the future, but everything has been so far so good (famous last words).

One of the first things they tackled together as partners, as a team, was how incapable of not being in control Beatrice felt, and combined with Ava’s hyper independence, it had made for several shouting matches.

“You can't keep putting my stuff away without telling me, Beatrice! How am I supposed to find my thesis draft now?”

Beatrice, who was sulking while Ava ravaged the apartment for a single binder, could only try to defend herself. 

“Why would you put your thesis draft in with the newspapers anyway? You're lucky I didn't just throw it out with the recycles.”

It didn't matter that Beatrice eventually located the binder with the help of the sensors in her spectacles.

Ava had been absolutely livid, practically slammed her door shut and refused to talk to Beatrice for the next five hours while she was presenting it to her supervisor on Zoom.

Beatrice felt bad, of course, especially when this wasn't the first time Ava blew a gasket on her and her tendency to put away everything she deemed disorderly. 

She only wanted to help, and back then, during that period of time she wouldn't talk about with anyone, doing this sort of thing earned her a lot of graces with her peers and her superiors.

They liked that she made herself useful. They liked that they always came home to a squeaky clean house and takeouts on the table. They liked that Beatrice didn't need to be told what to do because they themselves wouldn’t bother anyway. 

Just when she thought the lessons she took from them would all be unlearned by now.

The problem was solved eventually, in that Ava actually had to sit Beatrice down for a nice, long talk. 

Beatrice almost expected Ava to yell, but she didn’t. Ava wouldn’t. Beatrice was ashamed that she even thought she would. 

So they talked. 

For hours on end, any sort of other responsibilities be damned, they just talked, with each of them cradling a box of lo mein to their chest and occasionally sipping on cups of milk tea during breaks.

Beatrice understands now that while Ava is appreciative for the help she is giving, Ava is also a hyperly independent individual, and what appears to be disorderly to Beatrice are actually a part of Ava’s efficient system. 

Ava didn’t go into details, she didn’t need to, the vague mention of having her choices constantly being taken away from her was enough for Beatrice to lay off.

In return, Ava reciprocated Beatrice’s cooperation in kind, doing her best to not constantly undress in the living room and leaving her clothes everywhere— (if Beatrice had conflicting opinions about this and the views it gives her then, well, she's only a useless lesbian, alright) and writing sticky notes on containers of food that are meant for later consumption and not promptly disposed of.

(Beatrice once threw away a pot of pho broth that was halfway through its 6-hour boiling process. She would have rather taken up fighting off a live tiger with one hand tied behind her back than ever making Ava Silva that angry ever again.)

Safe to say, it’s been an exhausting first week on the job.

On the bright side, she can safely say that it's easier for her when they're out and about, Beatrice knowing exactly what her job entails and what are the best ways to execute it in the most efficient and safe manner. 

Ava, who always hands over the reins, only shows her objections in the form of exasperated sighs and eye rolls. 

Beatrice isn’t offended, far from it, not when Ava remembers to look Beatrice’s way and while she knows Ava does that so she knows if it’s alright to go here or there, her being the center of Ava’s attention is always a spectacular experience regardless.

Ava does that now too, occasionally tilting her head back and shooting Beatrice a grin or a wink. 

Beatrice can only try to hide her blush by staring intensely down their grocery checklist, although she wouldn’t know the difference between a melon and a cantaloupe even if her life depended on it.

There aren’t exactly a lot on the aforementioned list stapled onto the handlebar of the cart Beatrice is pushing for her, just a week into their new situationship— 

(Camila taught her this word. Beatrice used it once during a check-in call with Shannon who promptly burst into laughter for some reason she just won’t tell her. It’s probably nothing.) 

—and Beatrice already knew Ava is more of the spontaneous genius in the kitchen type. 

Still, “I’m just saying, this would be a lot more time efficient if we had an actual grocery list to check things off.”

Ava rolls her eyes, like Beatrice knew she would, twirling back to face her with her hands still examining a box of coffee grounds with an intensity of a lab tech.

“My grocery shopping is a carefully curated process from years of trial and error, Agent Galahad, and it's not one that can be contained within a certain time limit.”

Suppressing her own eye roll, Beatrice opts for a sigh.

“Does it have to include us taking more than half an hour wandering aimlessly around the sauce aisle?”

“Ah, not aimlessly!” Ava whips around, pointing a menacing finger at her face. 

It’d be a lot more threatening if Ava could reach her shoulders without being on her tippy toes and not be wearing yellow duck slippers. Adorable. 

“Cooking is all about the spice and the sauce, Beatrice. It's the foundation to every food there is. You can't have a thick and juicy protein then proceed to waste it on the blandest sauce ever now, can you?”

As someone who spent years of her childhood dumpster diving for food, Beatrice really can't say she minds it either way.

She’s a bit more distracted by the way Ava says her name, exasperated and fondness in equal measures.

So distracted that Beatrice barely realizes she’s accidentally conceding to Ava’s point and grants her victory, if her smug smirk is any indication.

Huffing, Beatrice starts pushing the cart in the opposite direction, laughing to herself when Ava immediately bursts into whines.

“You’re mean.” Ava pokes her when she finally catches up, her breathing way too labored for a simple 2-aisle walk. “So much for being a gentleman, or am I just your exception to the rules?”

Bet you would love that, don't you?

“Since I'm quite literally being paid, I think I’m more obligated to be a gentleman to you than anyone else.”

“Right.” Ava keeps on sulking even as she matches pace with Beatrice. “You sound so disinterested. Don’t you have a favorite food too?”

Beatrice shrugs, gently tugging Ava close to make way for the elderly woman with diapers and formulas overfilling her cart. The woman gives her an appreciative nod, to which Beatrice returns with a smile. 

“Not exactly, no.” She answers, letting go of Ava’s waist. 

When she turns to face her, Ava’s cheeks look a little pink.

Maybe she’s finally getting warm in that thick cardigan like Beatrice thought she would. She looks really cute in it though, so Beatrice refrains from telling her to take it off.

“Really?” While the incredulous note in Ava’s voice is noted, Beatrice can’t do anything but shrug helplessly, again. “Don’t you guys get to eat fancy food all the time at your royal palace or something?”

“We don’t work in a palace, Ava.” Lilith would absolutely love to sit in a throne though. Beatrice entertains the thought of bringing this up the next time she sees her. “And yes, as our agents travel a lot, we get to taste various cuisines from around the world. But nothing has ever quite made an impression, I’m afraid.”

Ava’s brows furrow in pure confusion, almost annoyed that she can’t relate with Beatrice’s line of thinking. Beatrice has an almost irrepressible desire to smooth out Ava’s crinkle with her thumb. 

“That’s impossible. How have you lived your whole life not having at least one food that stands out?”

Ava’s hands wave as she speaks, clearly impassioned about this topic as much as she is about everything else.

“Everyone has it, the one food that always makes them soft and melancholy. The one food that they can’t ever forget no matter how long it’s been. The one food that feels like home, in whatever form “home” might have been for them.”

Normally Beatrice wouldn’t give more than two thoughts about this sort of topic, having read many poems of similar depictions and finding none that truly moved her.

And yet, something about the way Ava said it got Beatrice feeling very unsettled. 

Home, a fascinating concept in its abstractness and its physical manifestation.

What is home? What was the last thing that Beatrice referred to as home? And when was the last time she did so without being prodded about it?

Beatrice tries to think back, but it’s easier said than done when you’ve spent most of your life wovening false tales after false tales, either for survival, for the greater mission, or even for the peace of mind.

Tears start building in the back of her eyelids, the realization that she hasn’t had a home, hasn’t thought of anything or anyone as home in a very long time, is a truly devastating blow to her heart.

None of which makes it to the surface, of course, Beatrice is better about concealing her hurt than anyone else she knows. Still, she can’t quite get rid of the lump clogging at her throat, making it difficult for her to answer Ava’s question.  

“I…” Beatrice croaks, staring frozen at a can of peas. She can feel Ava’s presence by her side, mostly curious but clearly also worried. “I’m sorry, Ava. I can’t say I’ve ever had that.”

“That’s okay.” Ava’s assurance is soft and kind, like she knows they just crossed into a line that should have had yellow tapes strung all over. “Do you want to know what mine is?”

Lump still unmoving, Beatrice can only nod. 

Ava doesn’t need any more encouragement, proceeding to launch into a retelling that would have come off as rehearsed on anyone else, but actually authentic and sincere when spoken in Ava’s soft tone and starry eyes.

Beatrice listens to her every word as they navigate through the supermarket together, memorizing every ingredient that falls out of Ava’s mouth and, with a little help of the instant recognition tool in her spectacles, snatching them from tall shelves and frozen fridges the moment she can.

“The first day mom brought me home, she and Michael bought Vietnamese takeouts. There were strings of balloons and banners everywhere in our living room, welcoming me home like I’ve always belonged there.”

Chicken stock, rehydrated shrimp, dried squid, ginger, onion, and jicama.

“I couldn’t even walk then. I couldn't move at all, but I told them that if I could, I would give them the biggest hug.”

Chicken bouillon powder, salt, fish sauce, and rock sugar.

“Michael tried to bridal-carry me onto the couch. He fell, of course, and I fell with him, laughing our asses off while mom looked on the verge of hitting him for dropping me.”

Pork fat, pork mince, peeled prawns, clear rice noodles and quail eggs.

“All was well. We ended up putting on The Legend of Korra since it’s my favorite television show ever— I don't accept Korra slander nor criticism, thank you very much— as we ate. It was our first meal as a family, and for the first time in a very long time, I felt like I was finally safe.”

Spring onions, coriander, celery, chrysanthemum greens, bean sprouts and lemon wedges.

“It was magical. The orphanage really skimmed on our meal budget, so the only thing we got to eat was oatmeal and canned food. When mom fed me that first spoonful of savory broth, it spread warmth all over my body and it almost felt like I could move again.”

Cola. Pepsi. And Beatrice's personal favorite, Fanta. 

“The quail egg was so soft. Softer than a baby’s butt. And the minced pork was so full of protein, I felt like I could supercharge myself to doing incredible things. And the noodles! Gosh, the noodles. The texture was thin so I didn't have a hard time chewing, and I slurped that whole thing like you would bob for apples. Truly, a culinary miracle, and so underrated too.”

“Anyway, that’s all. So what do you…” Finally noticing the full cart, Ava turns to look at Beatrice, equally stunned and indignant. “You sly son of a bitch.”

“Language.” Beatrice says, trying really hard not to laugh at the jutting of Ava’s lower lip. Before she finds herself succumbing to that pout, or god forbid thinking about kissing it away, Beatrice spins on her heels and marches onward. “Let’s go. I believe I’m owed some hủ tiếu.”

Whether that squeak is for her perfect pronunciation of the dish or her agreement for them to have that for dinner, it’s probably none of Beatrice’s business. 

—

Another week goes by, and Beatrice finds, it does get better.

For today’s agenda, Ava and Beatrice find themselves at The Coffee House, the same cafe that Beatrice discovered was Ava’s favorite and also happened to be a popular study spot for Ava and her friend group. 

The first time they came, Beatrice had looked apologetically at Caitlyn for how their little group just casually took over the entirety of a long table. But Caitlyn had promptly waved her off and, in the same breath, assured her that the cafe works on a pre-booking system and this table was already reserved a day prior.

“You could have told me, you know.” Beatrice had grumbled to a clearly amused Ava, leaving to go to their table.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ava had said, rolling her eyes when Beatrice insisted on pulling her chair out for her. “Making the unpalatable Agent Galahad flustered is my new favorite pastime.”

Beatrice had nothing to say in return, although she assumed the flush high on her cheeks said plenty. Ava’s friends had the grace to not comment, even if they were all sporting their own variation of a secret smile. 

Today marks their fifth visit to The Coffee House for a group study session, a true testament to Ava’s dedication and hardwork, and Beatrice is bored out of her mind. 

Not wanting to disturb the clique of hardworking grad students next to her, Beatrice merely sighs, eyes absentmindedly moving another piece on the digital chess game she is hosting in her digital specs.

“Excuse me, am I boring you?”

“Yes. Your gameplays are droll and watching paint dry would excite me ten times more.” Beatrice replies lowly, allowing herself a tiny smirk at the offended scoff echoing from the other line.

“Screw you.” Beatrice doesn’t budge, knowing Lilith is just playing. “You might get your wish though. MIchael just finished work, we’re going home.”

Beatrice pouts, a bit saddened at being robbed of a chance to play. “I hate you.”

“I love you too. See you later, Galahad.”

“Stay safe, Percival.”

Beatrice lets out another sigh when Lilith hangs up, once again left to fend her boredom by herself.

That is, until she sees something slid over to her on the table. A roll of newspaper?

When Beatrice looks up, Ava is gesturing wordlessly at her to pick it up. Albeit confused, Beatrice obeys anyway, and the confusion grows tenfold when she reads what’s on the front page.

“Ava, why are you showing me a headline about some school community rallying against some new name selection?”

The eye roll Ava aims at her is so intense Beatrice almost rolls hers on instinct. “Open to the Arts section.”

Brows furrowed, Beatrice does as she is told once more.

Immediately her interest is caught upon the entertainment segment, and Ava’s chuckle telling her that her excitement is duly noted.

“The crosswords puzzle. Seems like a hobby right up your alley.”

Lowering the newspaper so Beatrice can look at Ava in the eyes, she prods. “And by my alley, you mean…”

Ava’s eyebrows quirk, her smile turning wicked and playful. Beatrice feels a certain something in her guts, but like always, she ignores it. 

“Grumpy and old.” Ava says, emphasizing the last word with a teasing wink.

Beatrice’s ears grow hot at the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and at the sound of snickering over her shoulder. Her mouth opens then closes, unwilling to lose this bout of banter. 

“Ava, I’m only 3 years older than you.”

Ava’s eyes brighten, and Beatrice realizes she just gave away personal information about herself, unprompted. Dangerous, her mind practically laughs in her face.  

“I didn’t know you’re my age too, Agent Galahad.” One of Ava’s friends, Chanel Lifschitz, says with a charming smile. 

Chanel is also twenty-six years old and a third-semester Master’s of Science grad student. She is the only child of a Danish and Argentinian middle-income family and pursues a side hobby in fashion with a self-run commentary social media account that she posts on every day. 

Beatrice likes Chanel the most out of everyone in Ava’s friend group. She always has something witty to say and her smiles are always genuine.

Exactly like Ava. It makes sense why they’re best friends.

“So I’m surrounded by hags, is that what you’re saying?” Ava smirks over her shoulder, laughing when Chanel shoves at her. 

Beatrice’s arms rise, ready to catch her, but Ava manages to spring back up with comical ease.

Sometimes Beatrice forgets just how fit Ava is, although she shouldn’t, Ava’s muscular biceps and firm butt have constantly been put on display in sleeveless tanks and booty shorts in the space of their home. 

Living with Ava has been both heaven and hell for Beatrice’s poor, gay brain. What an entertaining report that’d make.

Ava’s laugh persists in her eyes even as she gently taps at the crossword with a pencil, pulling Beatrice out of her daze.

“Work on that, and I promise I’ll make you your favorite food when we get home.”

Beatrice has to look away to hide the flushed delight showing on her face. She really loves Ava’s cooking, and she's been craving canh chua for months now, so what about it?

“Fine.” She huffs, holding the newspaper up to cover her smile. “Fine. Keep working.”

Grin widening, Ava gives a final, dorky salute. Beatrice can’t help but notice how she only uses her index and middle fingers. 

“Aye aye, boss!”  

They go back to their respective thing after that, Ava discussing with Chanel and her three other friends on who is going to make the PowerPoint for their presentation and who is doing the actual presenting, and Beatrice trying to figure out what's another word for encore elicitor.

By the time she got it, it was ‘round of applause’, Ava’s little group had moved onto a completely different topic of concern.

“Look, I’m not saying you're lying, Ava, I’m just saying that unless we have a citable source for this, we can't put it in the actual paper.”

Discreetly, Beatrice taps the spine of her specs, making it able for her to see through the newspaper without having to move it out of the way. 

She quickly identifies the source of irate as coming from Zori Vega, a 25-year-old full time lawyer and is taking grad school at night as part of enriching her career. 

Eyes dart over to Ava, who looks far more frustrated than one should be at a slight academic mishap.

“Why is it not enough that I’m the living proof for that claim? I would know the long-term mental health effects of recovering from emotional and physical neglect more than anyone. I fucking lived through it.”

“We’re not saying you didn't, we’re just saying the prof won't accept it if we just put it willy-nilly in there without a legitimate, certifiably reliable source. Like your mom, for example.”

Beatrice doesn't like the way Randall (surname Abold, age twenty two, not a grad student at King’s but a full-time art consultant and graphic designer at a tech startup, and also Zori’s boyfriend) emphasizes the mention of Jillian, too reminiscent of the resentment she's heard from various inferior evildoers. 

“Hey, if you want to add this so bad, why don't you give us access to your mom’s journal articles? You said she helped you heal when she adopted you, so she must’ve written something about the process of your recovery.”

The next one to add to the conversation is JC Ramirez, also age twenty two, the only son of a working immigrant mom and a neurobiology major just like Ava.

Beatrice will readily admit to having clashed with him at first, but it's not in any way her fault. 

Who on God’s Earth goes around and jumps on your women friends from behind like that? What kind of sensible man does that? He’s bloody lucky his wrist was the only thing Beatrice almost broke. 

The secret glares that got him to scamper off and put away that smitten smile he kept aiming at Ava afterwards though? Those Beatrice are less likely to admit, eventually chalking up to her instincts and how distrustful he came off.

Chanel, whose face has soured by the time JC finishes his suggestion, turns to snarl at him. 

“Ava is Dr. Salvius’ child, not her science experiment to be put under a microscope nor her moneymaker to be put on edu dot whatever for some change. The fuck, JC?”

“I didn't mean that!” He yelps, raising both hands in surrender. Beatrice’s eyes automatically roll at the puppy looks he shoots at Ava, practically begging for her to believe him. “Seriously, Ava, I don't mean that.”

“It's fine. I know you didn't.” Ava smiles at him, churning Beatrice's eye roll even further inwards. “I wish I could say for sure my mom did any record keeping of my recovery, but I don't.”

“Fantastic.” Randall grumbles, fiercely tapping what Beatrice assumes to be the backspace key on his laptop. “Any better suggestions then? One we can actually use in the paper as a source?”

Seeing Ava’s frustrated pout, Beatrice decides to chime in. Quickly, she taps the spine of her specs twice, summoning Merlin in less than half a second.

“Merlin speaking.”

“Catch.” Beatrice mumbles, receiving a confirming hum of the code word before speaking out loud again. “Why not include an article from Dr. Lena Kieran Luthor?”

Immediately, several articles about Lena Kieran Luthor start popping up on her screen, Shannon waiting for more cues to start narrowing down to what exactly Beatrice needs to find.

“Who now?” It's JC who asks, thick eyebrows furrow in question.

“Lena Kieran Luthor, the only surviving daughter of the Luthor Family.” Beatrice answers calmly. “You said you wanted papers on long term effects on one’s mental health after a long period of emotional and physical neglect by their guardian figures. Who’s better to quote than someone who has published several biographical articles about her own experience being the only survivor of the Luthor Cult?”

“Bloody hell, that was a wild one.” Shannon mumbles, hands flying all over the screen to compile what Beatrice just asked for. “There. A whole 4-part saga with a theme, an epilogue to her happy ending, and everything. This girl is amazing.”

Beatrice only blinks, continues to speak as the group of students is still gawking at her.

“Look her up. Dr. Kieran went into heavy details about the psychological trauma she suffered in Book 2, and then talked about how it wasn't until she met her wife, former basketball player Kara Danvers, and they dated that she realized just what that experience made of her and her inability to trust nor rely on someone else in Book 3.”

Zori, whose fingers have been fiercely gripping her pen as she takes her notes, beckons at Beatrice with her other hand.

“I remember watching the cult documentary and how their specific isolation of Dr. Kieran in her own community was what set her apart and pushed her to go to the authorities. Can you tell us if there's any mention of the hypothetical scenario where they happily accepted her into their own ranks? That would come in handy in the Discussion part of the paper.”

“Easy peasy. Page 23, line 10. Here you go, Galahad.”

Beatrice’s eyes move discreetly up and down, a rapid skimming, the movement disguised by a thoughtful hum that tells them she is rather choosing her words and not reading from a paper shown directly in her face.

“Yes, on page 23 and line 10 of Book 2. I vaguely remember her mentioning her co-writer for this biographical article series, who turned out to be her sister in law and is a practicing psychiatrist as well, had said that on the off chance of Dr. Kieran was treated with the same respect as her father, mother, and older brother, she would still be able to recognize the indoctrination, it’d have just taken her a bit more time.”

“How awfully confident of that co-writer. We should make a note of the potential bias in this relation.” Chanel says, earning a synchronized nod from Zori and Randall, who now work together to get all the bullet points down into a Word document. “Anything about how the hypothetical scenario would have affected her hyper independence and trust issue?”

“Page 30, line 30.” 

“Hmm, perhaps try page 30 or 31?”

“I got it!” Ava cheers, turning her laptop around and, true to her words, the same passage Shannon just highlighted is now bold and yellow on her screen too. “This is great. Dr. Kieran went into so much detail in the discussion too, so we have plenty to go off from.”

“Not to mention this is someone who almost won a Nobel Prize. We hit the jackpot.” Chanel says with a beaming smile, aiming it directly at Beatrice. “Thank you, Agent Galahad. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Logging off now.”

“It's nothing.” Beatrice shrugs, typing out a quick message for Shannon before she leaves. “tks”

“You’re welcome, squirt.” And there she went.

Eyes tired from all the rapid skimming, Beatrice temporarily takes off her glasses to rub at her eyelids. By the time her vision is back to being perfect again, Beatrice looks up and sees Ava staring at her very intensely.

Emboldened by her successful attempt to be helpful, Beatrice gives her a wink, surprised by the way heat blooms on Ava’s cheeks, her even wearing an uncharacteristically shy smile.

Oh. That feels good. She hasn't made Ava blush since… well, you know.

“Thanks again, Agent Galahad. We’re going to nail the outline presentation and the actual paper with this.”

Zori’s voice cuts through their moment, whatever nature it may have been of, and Beatrice is so glad that she lets a genuine smile split her mouth open.

“It's no problem, Miss. I’m just happy to help.” 

“What a gentleman, indeed.” Chanel says, her voice taking on a lower octave than usual. Beatrice isn’t dumb enough to not realize she’s being flirted with. “I can’t imagine how you’re still single.”

“Oh,” Beatrice laughs, feeling a faint heat on her cheeks. “I’m just not one for the dating scene, that’s all. Plus, I work too much to meet anyone new.”

Wearing a secretive smile, JC leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “You can change that right now, if you want.” Knowing he caught her interest, JC tilts his head to the side. “Over there. Behind the counter. That barista has been giving you looks for days now.”

Again, not to be shallow or vain or anything of the sort, but Beatrice had noticed it.

Of course she did. What kind of Kingsman would she be if she didn’t pay attention to her surroundings?

Beatrice always feels eyes on her when accompanying Ava out in the real world, something that had actually taken her a while to get used to when she first became a Kingsman.

Mary and Shannon were the ones who taught her how to grow out of her tendency to hide and shy away, and she makes a mental note now to thank them once again for all that they’ve done for her.

“Oh she’s hot. Like, absolutely smoking hot.” Zori chimes in, and Beatrice can’t exactly say she disagrees.

Putting her glasses back on, once more putting herself under the pretense of needing them to see, Beatrice lets the facial scan do its thing, analyzing deep brown eyes, tall nose bridges, and attractive smiles.

The results pop up with an almost soundless vibration, Beatrice begins to read while hiding her face behind her cup of tea.

Lucia Kweku, a 23-year-old Comparative Literature student at Kings’ College London, who works part-time at The Coffee House twice a week while undertaking her internship at Kensington Central Library. 

Zori isn’t wrong when she complimented Lucia’s beauty, because she’s definitely one of the most gorgeous women Beatrice has ever laid eyes on, and she’s encountered many women in her lifetime. 

Lucia’s eyes, deep and imploring in the most unsettling way possible, almost alights when she notices Beatrice looking her way, her smile turning a little coy.

In another life, Beatrice would have been interested. In this one, however…

“She’s gorgeous, yes, but I’m afraid I have no interest.”

Turning back, Beatrice expects a round of boos, which she does get, but what she didn’t expect is the downright soured look on Ava’s face.

Worried, Beatrice nudges at her side, unsuccessful in pulling Ava out of her daze.

“Everything alright?”

“I’m fine.” Ava barely grits out, eyes sharp like daggers. Beatrice follows her path, her heart dancing funnily when she realizes Ava’s source of ire is Lucia. The barista might not have taken the hint before, but she sure is now, spooked into returning to wipe at the counter. “Let’s take a break, guys. My eyes need a minute.”

Chanel hums, eyes twinkling with curiosity at Ava’s sudden behavior, but whatever she is thinking, she keeps it to herself. 

“Sure. I can use a refill.” Chanel says, taking one last gulp of her vanilla latte. 

“I’ll go order. I can also use another cupcake.” JC volunteers, already closing his laptop lid and standing up. He doesn’t leave just yet, looking at Ava with intentions. “You wanna come with me, Ava?”

Beatrice doesn’t even get the chance to be annoyed before Ava is slotting herself into her personal space, a clear refusal. Beatrice stiffens on instinct, but grows relaxed when she feels Ava’s hand gently cradling her bicep.

“Nah, I’m staying here with Galahad. I want to give this crossword thing a try.”

“Right. Because you’ve always been such a wordsmith.” Chanel teases, chuckling good-naturedly at Ava sticking her tongue out at her. “Whatever. I’ll go with you, JC.”

JC sighs, obviously upset, but doesn’t argue. Beatrice does her best not to gloat, as it's unbecoming. 

Before they can leave, being extra ccareful to not dislodge Ava out of her space, Beatrice reaches for her wallet and fishes out her credit card.

“Here. Order whatever you would like. The next round’s on me.”

“What— Galahad, you don’t have to.” Ava scolds, hand itching to take the card but never quite removing itself from its spot on her bicep. “JC got plenty of money.”

“It's the rules, I’m afraid.” Seeing Chanel hesitate, Beatrice insists. “Please, take it.”

JC and Chanel eventually leave, the credit card sitting snugly in between Chanel’s fingers. Beatrice sits back with a pleased smile, aiming said smile at a pouting Ava when she feels a pinch on her arm.

“You're so predictable.” Ava says, the little smile tugging at the corner of her lips hard to decipher.

Beatrice shrugs helplessly. “I suppose I am. Is that a bad thing?”

“Nothing about you can be a bad thing.” Before Beatrice’s brain could reboot, Ava is already moving on. “What the hell is a 3-letter word for a trauma center?”

Beatrice gives her the answer, Ava asks another question, and together they make their way through the rest of the crossword. 

So focused on her game, Beatrice doesn’t even notice that much time has passed.

In the midst of her trying to work out a 4-letter word for doing a really good job, Ava has excused herself to go to the bathroom. 

It’s only when she hears clanking that Beatrice looks up, frowning when all she sees is Chanel and JC coming back. She isn’t frowning at them, per se, but at the pile of food and drinks in their hands.

This indicates that their long wait at the pickup counter has just finished, since the cafe doesn't provide waiting services, meaning that it’s been a while since Ava said she was going to the bathroom.

And she still hasn’t come back yet.

“Has anyone seen Ava?” Beatrice asks, throwing the newspaper down the table. 

Zori, who’s been working non-stop on her part of the presentation, looks up.

“Didn’t she say she was going to the bathroom?”

“That was forty five minutes ago.” Beatrice’s heart sinks at Randall’s observation, fingers anxiously tapping on the table. “I just assumed she had digestive problems.”

“Damn it to hell.”

Not waiting for anyone else to recover or god forbid ask to tag along, Beatrice practically vaults herself over the table and makes a dash for the bathroom.

Aware of the many curious eyes following her, Beatrice does her best to make her stride as calm as possible, but still maintaining its original maddening pace.

When she finally finds the double doors that open to the women’s bathroom, Beatrice practically shoulder-checks it open, startling the two girls redoing their makeup by the mirror.

One of which includes Ava fucking Silva.

Lips still puckered in midst touchup, Ava turns to look at Beatrice over her shoulder, concern visible in her eyes.

“Wow, hey. Is everything okay?”

Beatrice’s teeth grinding in her mouth, tamper boiling inside her throat. She stomps it all down long enough to wordlessly beckon the other girl to leave, who does without questions, before storming over to where Ava stands. 

“Are you kidding me? Where the hell have you been?”

Ava blinks, evidently surprised at hearing Beatrice come close to cussing for the first time ever. 

“I— I’m here? I’ve just been in the bathroom, I told you before I went.”

“That was forty five minutes ago.” Beatrice practically seethes, reigning herself in when Ava takes an automatic step back. “You were gone for forty five minutes and didn’t think to give me a text?”

Eyes hardened, Ava rises on her heels, as if making herself look taller would also make her feel taller.

“I was performing a basic biology need, Agent Galahad, or do I need to let you into my stall and watch me every time I take a shit now?”

“I— no, of course not— but you could— I was—”

Beatrice has no idea where this panic even comes from and how it has so quickly taken over her. One minute, she was sitting around playing a game, and the next she was thinking Ava might be dead.

The thought is so painful that it immediately sobers Beatrice up, sending her staggering back against the marble countertop. Her ribs slam against the hard brick, but Beatrice feels nothing but the rising panic in her throat.

“I’m— I’m sorry, I didn't mean to— I got caught up in—”

Her eyes are beginning to blur. With what, she wonders.

Tears? You don't deserve to cry.

Memories? You're still hung up on it?

Visions? What makes you so sure you’re going to live till tomorrow to see them come true?

Her breathing starts becoming short, and even feeling the stray droplets of water on the countertop, can she tell her palms are beginning to sweat and clutching the marble like it's her lifeline.

“Hey, hey. It's okay.” Warm hands gently reach to cradle her cheeks, the familiar sensation of Ava’s scars and calluses against her skin the only thing still grounding Beatrice in reality right now. “I'm okay. I’m sorry. I didn't know I was going to worry you so much. Beatrice, I’m sorry, I’m okay. Breath with me, Beatrice.”

Ava takes away one of her hands and uses it to pry Beatrice's off the counter, then pushes her palms against Ava’s chest, where her heart is thumping and alive. 

“See? I’m all okay. No need to panic.” Ava softly murmurs, exaggerating her breathing so Beatrice can copy her.

And she does, slowly, synchronizing their every inhale and exhales with the calm heartbeats underneath her hand and echoing in her ear.

Beatrice eventually calms down enough to return her vision to normal. When she notices where her hands are, dangerously close to the opening of Ava’s shirt, she yanks it back and cradles it against her chest.

For a moment, it almost looks like a flash of hurt just passes over Ava’s face, but it's gone quicker than she can tell for sure, replaced by her more typical tight-lipped grin. 

“All good?” She says as she takes a step back, giving her some space.

Beatrice feels very grateful for that, for her. “I am. I’m sorry. That was… a lot.”

Ava shrugs, clearly trying to take the spotlight away from Beatrice's uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“It's all good. Though, we should talk about what just happened—”

“Maybe later.” Beatrice turns away, too ashamed to even look at Ava. “Later. When we get home. Just, try to let me know if you're ever out of my sight for that long again. Please.”

To her surprise, Ava doesn't argue further, even though the idea of having to constantly check in with Beatrice is clearly not sitting right by her. That display of weakness must have looked a lot more pathetic than she thought, earning not just Ava’s care but also her pity. 

Beatrice grinds down on her teeth as to not verbalize her frustration, lest Ava mistakes it as ire aimed directly at her, instead putting all of her focus into walking to the door and opening it for Ava. 

Ava goes willingly, but before she leaves, Ava places a gentle hand on Beatrice’s cheek. The action, despite just happening merely a minute ago, is still so shocking that it stops Beatrice dead in her tracks.

“I’m sorry.”

And then she leaves. 

Beatrice follows her soon after, Ava’s touch still stubbornly lingering and burning against her skin. 

Dangerous, her mind scolds.

Ava Silva, dangerous indeed.

—

One more week passes by, and before they know it, they have been living together for a full month. And against all the odds, Beatrice finds she is having a good time.

It's hard to imagine anyone who gets to spend every waking day with Ava Silva wouldn't be, although the thickening pile of violent and threatening letters would say otherwise.

Kingsman has intercepted the letters and emails alike from Jillian since the first day she came to them for help, and as Ava’s prime protector, Beatrice has volunteered to sit through the contents of those threats to remind herself just exactly what is on the line.

It's Ava, of course. Ava’s life, Ava’s smile, and Ava’s existence itself are on the line.

It helps keep Beatrice motivated and alert, each threat of mutilation and violence a fierce stab to her heart, sending a wave of rage so strong that it always makes her breaths feel short. 

She can't handle the thought of Ava being hurt, and she definitely can't handle trying to process why she feels everything so much more deeply when it comes to this girl.

Beatrice knows she shouldn't be like that. Knows that what happened inside the bathroom at The Coffee House must never be repeated ever again.

As a Kingsman, Beatrice must always be calm and put her mission as top priority, so as to make the most rational and logical decisions that puts her client’s best interest above all else.

Her client, being Ava. Her best interest, being her safety.

That's Beatrice’s priority. Protecting Ava is her priority, and she won't let anyone, not even herself, get in the way of that. 

“Come fucking on, you useless piece of machine. Had I known you would run slower than a mouse on crack, I would just splurge on the pro models.”

Chuckling, Beatrice pulls herself out of her daze, returning to the dire situation at hand. 

Protecting Ava from evildoers is easy. Protecting Ava from her overachieving tendencies proves to be a much more difficult venture.

Quietly, not wanting to interrupt Ava from delivering a very impassioned speech about the harms of capitalism in favor of profit instead of actual advancement to her audience of one, Beatrice makes her way out of the apartment unit.

Once outside, she carefully maneuvers the door so when it shuts, the fob doesn’t beep too loudly.

That particular portion of the mission a success, Beatrice quickly makes for the elevator, just in time for her phone to be chiming with a message from Oliver, claiming there’s a delivery waiting for her.

Beatrice promptly texts him back, promising to be down in a jiffy. She receives a single thumbs up, earning a chuckle. 

The elevator takes less than a minute to get to the ground floor, Beatrice swiftly darting out once the door opens wide enough. 

Right away, she sees Oliver in his usual valet get-up, wearing a curious smile as he holds up what is going to be her and Ava’s dinner.

Not that Ava even realizes it’s way past dinnertime. Poor thing’s been stuck to that coffee table since before lunch.

“Agent Galahad, your dinner.” Oliver confirms, raising both arms laden with takeout bags. “It’s a bit much for just two people, no?”

Beatrice laughs, graciously taking the bags in her own hands.

Oliver’s eyes glint with admiration when he notices how her arms don’t shake even as she holds them up just as high as he did.

“Ava missed lunch, so I ordered extras.” Beatrice explains, her nose taking a few sniffs to make sure there’s nothing alarming. All she smells is food, so that’s a good sign. “I got you a smoothie in here too, sir.”

“What— my god, you didn’t have to.” Oliver says, even as his hands are helping her maneuvering the said cup of smoothie out of the bag. Oliver is smiling ear to ear when it’s finally in his hands, not hesitating to take an eager sip. “My favorite flavor. You’re a blessing to all those around you, Agent Galahad.”

Cheeks pinkened at the praise, Beatrice can only laugh.

“It’s really nothing, sir.” Beckoning over her shoulder, Beatrice excuses herself. “I have to go back, lest Ava notices I’ve been gone. Please enjoy your smoothie.”

Oliver nods, shooing her away like one would a pet. He’s such a kind soul, and Beatrice likes him so much, even if his smile makes a part of her ache terribly.

“Tell Miss Ava to take it easy. She promised to teach my nephew how to play Lego the next time he visits, so she better not be dead before then.”

Believe me, I’m trying.

Shooting the man a thumbs up, Beatrice makes a path for the elevator.

Just like before, it takes her almost no time at all to reach the 17th floor again, her footsteps purposely light so as to not alert Ava.

Quiet as a mouse, Beatrice twists open the door to the apartment and steps inside, relieved upon finding out Ava has yet to stop her speech, only interjected in between by sounds of keyboard smashing.

For such a tiny thing, Ava sometimes has the rage of a mountain lion. It's honestly rather attractive.

Grimacing at herself for the inappropriate thought, and about her client no less, Beatrice aggressively shakes her head, dispelling all unsavory images before they can even think of conjuring. 

When that doesn't work, Beatrice turns to her favorite source of distraction.

“Ava, time for dinner!”

Right on cue, Ava screams back. “Not hungry!”

Huffing, Beatrice grabs her wristwatch. “Ava, come on. Put the laptop away.”

“But I’m so close to finishing up!” 

Beatrice rolls her eyes, concedes to giving her a few extra minutes as she brings the bags of food over, careful to not step on nor impede Ava’s sight of the flatscreen currently being used as a much more gigantic second monitor.

Beatrice's steps in navigating the war path that is filled with devices and papers alike are relatively smooth, having witnessed Ava going at this multiple times in the last month they've been living together.

The coffee table itself is rather small, so Ava has conquered the entire space for her main laptop and her wide arm spans. Sitting criss-cross applesauce on the carpet, sandwiching herself between her couch and the table, Ava looks like a mad scientist.

A gorgeous one, albeit, with her hair still dripping wet from her shower and an adorable pair of glasses adorning her nose bridge, but still pretty mad.

Beatrice puts the food down in one corner, snatching the towel Ava threw haphazardly on the couch and taking it upon herself to dry Ava’s hair.

She’s done this a couple times now, a lot of which in this exact instance where Ava is working too hard and forgetting to take care of herself, so she doesn't give any reaction aside from the tiniest squeak of surprise when Beatrice reaches over and starts squeezing her hair dry.

They don't talk, as per usual, which is all mighty fine with Beatrice, preferring to fully concentrate on making sure Ava’s luscious hair is cared for to her best capabilities. 

Sometimes the idea of running her fingers through them pops into her mind, but Beatrice kicks it off a cliff the minute it spawns.

She really can't afford to be thinking these thoughts, not when they’ve just tentatively formed what could be categorized as friendship in the eyes of those who don't know any better.

Ava trusts her now, inexplicably too.

She still makes a fuss about being careful, her love and compassion for the world endless and knows no mortal bounds, but Ava still lets her have the controls whenever she thought was necessary, and not once does she question it, fully trusting that Beatrice simply has her best interest in mind. 

And she does. 

Beatrice is self-aware enough to realize she is starting to loosen up around Ava.

Her main focus on being her protector still remains, of course, but it's hard to be stoic and serious all the time when Ava keeps turning around and looking at her like she is at all worthy of being the recipient to Ava’s light.

All Beatrice wants is to protect her and keep her safe. These cumbersome thoughts may be a slight hindrance, but in no way will they be a problem.

Thoughts of kissing and cuddling and telling her she's good, she's doing so good, also occur in most female friendships, so it's fine. Beatrice still has it under control.

“All done.” Beatrice says softly, giving Ava’s messy mop of hair one last pat. “Are you also done?”

“Not yet.” Just from the sound of her voice, Beatrice can tell Ava is pouting. “Just a little more. I’m almost done.”

“Ava,” Beatrice chides to no avail, Ava’s fingers keep on typing with a vengeance.

Out of options, Beatrice resorts to desperate measures.

Quietly, she twists the crown on her wristwatch, aiming it in the direction of the laptop and waits for the remote hacking function to activate.

1, 2, 3. Calibrating. Oh how she loves Kingsman technologies.

Beatrice taps two buttons, forcing the laptop to go into rest mode— not without saving all of Ava’s progress, of course. Annoyed all the same, Ava whips her head around, practically snarling when she sees just where Beatrice's gadget is aiming at.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

“You need to eat.” Beatrice shrugs, pulling herself up. Ava stubbornly sits still, face all scrunched up in annoyance. The nudged-up glasses only serve to make her look infinitely more adorable. “Please. You haven’t stopped except to take a shower for hours now. You need to rest before you crash.”

The frown slowly morphs into a pout, nostrils flaring as Ava undoubtedly smells the food Beatrice just brought her. 

Beatrice keeps her gaze steady, conveying just how serious she is about this and that Ava doesn’t stand a chance against changing her mind.

She once interrogated a man for seventeen hours straight without taking a single break and made it out still coherent enough to deliver her full report before collapsing right on her feet. 

There is no way in hell Beatrice will fold, even if she’s currently up against a weapon a hundred times more dangerous than anything she’s ever had to face in her entire life, and that is Ava Silva’s nuclear-powered puppy dog eyes. 

“Fine.” Ava sighs after a long while of them staring intensely into each other’s eyes. Beatrice thinks she sees Ava’s cheeks picking up a few colors, but that’s probably just her own eyes dehydrated. “You win, Sister Bossy. What are we having for dinner?”

Mentally regretting ever telling Ava about how she had almost entertained the idea of becoming a nun, Beatrice extends a hand for Ava to grab.

Distracted, Beatrice doesn’t realize just how much strength she put into her pulling Ava up, and so she practically yanks Ava by the arm and sends her falling against her torso. 

Quickly, before either one of them can lose balance and fall on their asses, Beatrice winds both arms around Ava’s waist and digs her heels into the carpet.

Thankfully, Ava manages to maintain her position too, grabbing at the shoulders of Beatrice’s shirt for more balance. 

Like a reflex, Beatrice’s entire body jolts into alert, the position they're in entirely too familiar.

Beatrice's arms wrapped around Ava’s waist, hands grazing the soft perfect skin that peeks out of her ruffed up tank top, and Ava is clutching at the fabric of her shirt.

Beatrice remembers. How could she not?

The last time they did this, they were kissing and sticking their tongues down each other's throats.

The last time they did this, they were screaming each other's name into the night.

The last time they did this… Beatrice had hurt Ava.

“Wow, that was close.” Ava’s laugh is a bit more high pitched, pink cheeks now stained even darker in colors.

Beatrice would have gotten lost in her staring, in ruminating over how long it’s been since she’s gotten to see her cute dimples and her freckles up close, had it not been for Ava tapping her cheek and pulling her back to reality.

“You okay, Beatrice?”

“Oh.” Beatrice coughs, pulling away and putting some distance in between them. “Sorry. I just— I thought I saw something.”

Confused and maybe even a little off-put at how abruptly Beatrice pulled away, Ava still gives her some grace and changes the topic.

“Okay. So, what did you get for dinner?”

Humming, Beatrice moves to grab the bags of food with one hand and uses the other to move Ava’s laptop somewhere else.

Eventually deciding on the little counter beneath the flatscreen, Beatrice carefully tucks the device in along with her own wristwatch, finding no need to be wearing it while she eats.

When she turns back, Ava is also walking back from the kitchen with utensils in her hands.

Beatrice would have been perfectly fine eating their food right out of the styrofoam, but the last time she proposed that idea, Ava had looked at her like she was crazy. 

It’s just styrofoam, geez.

Though she supposes anyone who cooks, no matter at an amateurish or professional level, would know about this better than anyone. 

“I got Korean food.” Beatrice cheerfully announces, pulling out boxes after boxes. Ava’s eyes grow wider the more she pulls out, coating Beatrice’s cheeks in heat. “I may have ordered a bit too much, but that’s okay. We can have these for leftovers or make a stir-fry out of it?”

“Good thinking. I’ve taught you well.” Ava hums in approval, unknowingly unleashing a colony of butterflies in Beatrice’s chest. Bloody praise kink, as persistent as ever. “What exactly did you get? I think we still got some of the pork we got last month for hủ tiếu, we can probably have a really big hot pot at the end of the week with this mega haul too.”

Beatrice nods in agreement to the hot pot idea, before pointing one by one at the boxes proudly displayed on the table. 

“Stir-fried glass noodles, or japchae. Ramen with ddeokbokki and omuk, or ramen with rice cakes and fish cakes. Budaejjigae, or army stew. Some mandu, both steamed and fried dumplings. Bokkeumbab, or tuna fried rice. Jjajangmyun, or black bean sauce noodles. There's some banchan like pickled radishes and kimchi as well. As for drinks, I got green tea for myself and fresh lemonade for you.”

Beatrice fully expected some sort of reaction once she mentioned fresh lemonade, as it was the same sweet and sour type of drink that Ava confessed to having a preference for on their first and only night together.

Taking a quick peek, Beatrice sees recognition clear as day on Ava’s face, painted with oil canvas on the arch of her brows and framed on the corner of her lips tugging upwards. 

Much to her relief, Ava doesn’t say a thing, instead volunteering to take the fancier drinks to the fridge for later enjoyment and pulling out a jug of plain cool water to help them wash the food down. 

Why are you surprised? She promised she wouldn’t bring it up again.

Right. Ava did promise that. But for a moment there, it almost felt like Beatrice wanted Ava to bring it up.

No reason to get all introspective during dinnertime. She can do that later when she’s back in her room with only darkness for a friend.  

Once Ava’s back, together they work in harmonic teamwork to unload all the food into appropriate dishes and bowls. When that's done, Beatrice picks up her chopsticks and gets ready to dine.

Only, she is stopped by one of Ava’s hands sticking underneath her chopstick. 

Beatrice frowns, almost pouting. “What?”

“Hold up, lemme take a pic and send it to JC.” Ava giddily smiles as she pulls out her phone, unaware of the sourness splattered all over Beatrice's face at the mention of that boy. “He’s been saying he's craving Korean food for weeks, he’s going to be so jealous.”

“Sure.” Beatrice scoffs, gripping her chopsticks tight so she doesn't accidentally throw them as a fit.

The point is moot anyway as Ava clearly notices her soured mood, if her widening grin is any indication. Defensive and definitely blushing behind her ears, Beatrice snaps.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Ava sings, gone were the days where she would have taken a second look at Beatrice's glare. “You just sound jealous, that's all.”

Ava says these things sometimes, playful and teasing, and not unlike that very first night in Madrid.

Beatrice can't tell if she's saying these things now purely because she really likes flustering her like she said or some other alternative motives. 

Regardless, it still makes Beatrice sputter and blush all the way from her cheeks to her chest. “I’m— there's no way I’m— I’m not jealous, and that's an absurd accusation to make.”

“Sure.” Ava dismisses her with a wink, giving her no opportunity to retort by sliding the plate of steamed mandu over to her side. “Let’s eat. I need to get back to my work soon.”

Albeit grateful for not having to defend herself from the baseless accusations, Ava wanting to dive right back into her work makes Beatrice worry. 

“Ava, it's almost ten o’clock.” She cranes her neck back to double check her phone in her pocket. “Scratch that, it's half past ten now. You should be sleeping.”

Lips pursed loudly, Ava dismisses her concern with her chopsticks, in which cradles a piece of ddeokbokki dipped in sweet sauce. 

“I’ll be fine for at least two more hours. I want to be more productive today.”

“Productive to do what?” Beatrice asks, grabbing herself some japchae and pickled radishes. “I don't recall you having anything urgent to rush through. You just finished your Literature Review, didn't you?”

“Well, yes, thank you for remembering,” Ava stammers a little, unreasonably shy for someone whom Beatrice was with the entire time she was chugging three separate jugs of instant coffee to finish the section. 

Beatrice was so close to calling an ambulance, but alas, after staying awake for an additional thirteen hours then crashing for another seventeen, Ava was back to normal.

“Of course.” She smiles, putting a piece of tuna onto Ava’s bowl of fried rice. Ava chirps in delight, quickly scooping a good chunk of rice, inserting the meat in the middle, and swallows it whole. “My question remains. What have you been working so hard on that you’re forgetting to take breaks?”

True to brand, Ava talks as she chews.

“I get that you're concerned, and I appreciate it, but I love learning and working. It gives me a purpose.”

Beatrice frowns, in worry or in chastisement of Ava’s poor table manners, who knows, really.

She makes a grab for the jug of cool water and pours into a glass, handing it over. “At the cost of your own health? I don't think that's wise.” Ava takes the glass with a smile. “You shouldn't put all your worth into your works, if that's where your mind is at.”

Water halfway to her mouth, Ava pulls the glass away to make sure Beatrice hears what she's saying.

“No. No, that's not— you got me all wrong.”

Beatrice merely tilts her head, wordlessly conveying her confusion. Ava eventually gulps down the water, chews all her food, swallows, before attempting to speak again.

Emphasis on the word “attempting”. Her mouth opens then closes, but finding the right words seems to be a little more difficult than usual.

She seems to be looking at Beatrice with more intensity than usual, searching for something that would make her feel at ease about opening up.

Whatever it is, Beatrice hopes she is giving it to her. Hopes that she’s given enough of herself, of her own trust, to have it be reciprocated in kind. 

Beatrice also gives Ava some time, content to keep slurping on her japchae as well as munching on the mandu. 

The food here is really good. She makes a mental note to leave them a glowing review later.

Halfway through trying to determine if she truly prefers the steamed dumplings to the fried ones, the texture of the latter always throws her off if not done perfectly right, Beatrice sees Ava take a deep exhale, and knows Ava just found her words.

“When I was seven years old, I lost my mama and the ability to move anything below my chest together in the same breath.”

The confession, rusty as it may seem, is like a knife straight into Beatrice’s heart. She already knew, of course, but it's different when coming from Ava’s own mouth. 

Ava’s crying face attached to the mangled x-ray Beatrice saw in her reports, and a lifetime of pain for the girl who deserved the world to go with the numerous medical reports in her hands.

“I was taken to the orphanage soon after that. St. Michael’s of The Disadvantaged Youth. It was horrible there. They were supposed to, but they didn't care for me. They abused me, they abandoned me, and I probably would have died in that room had it not been for my stroking graces of luck with the dude upstairs. I mean, what are the chances that I made it out of such a catastrophic accident that took my mama’s life and obliterated two thirds of the car with just my spines broken in half, right?”

Beatrice’s face scrunches, feeling her own hands twitching. Wanting to touch, to soothe, to offer help and comfort.

She can't be blamed, not when Ava looks the smallest Beatrice has ever seen her. For someone whose heart is larger than life, Ava’s body seems too small at times to contain it. 

In a different life, Beatrice would crawl over and help her carry some of that weight. She would tug her into her arms and let Ava borrow her flesh, be the placeholder for all of her pain and sufferings.

In this life, all Beatrice can do is listen. 

“For a long time, I thought life was just going to be a bed and the four walls around me. I thought that was it. I was going to rot in that bed and do nothing but watch helplessly from the sideline as life passed me by. But then one day, my mom showed up, said she wanted to adopt me, and everything changed for the better.”

Ava smiles, and puts a piece of kimchi in her mouth. Beatrice takes it as cue to keep eating, and for the next few seconds, the only sounds in the room is of them chewing and the utensils clanging softly against one another.

Beatrice is just about to put a spoonful of rice in her mouth when she sees Ava spins around and, to her surprise, unbuttons her shirt.

She places the spoon back down before she accidentally jabs it in her eyes instead of her mouth, already dry at the sight of Ava’s spectacular shoulders revealing themselves out in the open like that.

Wait. Something looks different.

That very first night, the two of them had been far too occupied with each other to even think about turning on the lights. While Beatrice remembers kissing along the line of Ava’s neck as she thrusts three fingers inside of Ava, she hadn't been able to see it in clear daylight.

She gets to do that now, and for the first time ever, Beatrice sees what appears to be a circular scar that etches deeply into the tissues of Ava’s skin.

Right in between her shoulder blades. A circular implant that takes up almost one third of her upper back. 

That explains why Ava never really wore anything off-shouldered, despite baggy clothes that show off vast amounts of skin being her preference above all else.

Perhaps sensing Beatrice's confusion, Ava begins to explain, craning one of her hands back to draw along the circle.

“This little thing you're seeing is my mom saving my life.” Ava’s voice takes on a more melancholy note, mixed in with a healthy dose of admiration and affection. Beatrice, too, is suddenly very grateful for one Jillian Salvius. “We talked about this long before the official adoption papers were even processed. Mom was cooking up this project in her lab, as she typically does, and when she shared it with me simply because she knew I was a little science nerd myself, I offered to be a volunteer.”

Beatrice hums. “I’ve never read about this in Dr. Salvius’ repertoire.”

“That’s because I’m the one and only human test subject.” Ava leans further against the table, Beatrice quickly pulling the tub of jjajangmyun back so none of it can get on her hair. “It was called Biomax. Using nanotechnology, Biomax was a deployable platoon of nanobots that were injected where my spines broke and reconstructed the bones back together. Giving me the ability to move again.”

Beatrice’s jaw drops, physically feeling her brain expanding in her head. “Oh my God, that’s brilliant.”

Ava nods, putting her shirt back on and returning to her meal. Beatrice feels a whine stuck in the back of her throat, but she wrestles it down and knocks its light out. 

“It was a lot of luck. The success rate was barely 20%.” Ava says, voice heavy with memories. Beatrice feels a bit faint, knowing Ava was ready to take on such a tremendous process and all for the slimmest chance of being able to move again. “But I insisted. I was happy with them. I would have been okay growing up paralyzed, as long as I got to grow up. But everyday it haunted me, and I decided I can't go on for the rest of my life knowing I didn’t try. The what-if would have killed me.”

Beatrice nods, understanding the mindset wholeheartedly. 

“Who else knows about this project?” Beatrice moves on, mind switching back to bodyguard and Kingsman mode. 

Perhaps this is why Ava is being targeted, and Michael is just a distraction tactic.

The technology may be aimed towards a niche demographic, people affected by paraplegia or quadriplegia, but still, if Beatrice knows anything about capitalism by now, it's that people will try to make money off of everything and anything.

“Just mom and me. The scientist and the test subject.” Ava answers, stealing another piece of beef from Beatrice's japchae. 

Hmm. Never mind then.

Still, it's a possibility that someone else knows about Biomax and is targeting Ava for whatever reasons. Beatrice will just keep a close eye on that.

She takes a bite out of a piece of mandu, approving it for its soft, tender meat and delicately seasoned soup pouring into her mouth.

“So what does this have anything to do with you cramming this late at night?” 

Ava’s chewing suddenly slows, the intense gaze she gave Beatrice earlier returning once more. 

Beatrice can only assume she looks like a dork right now, still all donned out in her siren suit, sitting criss-crossed on the rug, with her cheeks puffed out as she chews and eyes widened to show how harmless and trustworthy she is. 

Ava eventually finds whatever she was looking for, and finally answers the long-awaited.

“I’m working on improving Biomax.”

While that doesn't sound like anything too bad, something in Ava’s tone doesn't sound right.

“What are you not telling me?”

“I’m trying to work out if I can trust you to not rat me out to my mom.”

The words come out with none of the hostility Beatrice expects, but they still hurt her in some place very deep.

Beatrice hadn't expected anything, really. She's here to be Ava’s bodyguard, not her friend, of course there will remain something Ava won't fully trust her about.

She shouldn't feel like this. Beatrice has been teaching Ava to be more on guard, to trust people less, to try and protect yourself more.

She just didn't expect Ava to consider her to be someone she needed protection from too.

“It depends.” She replies, careful to make herself as devoid of emotions as possible. She isn't even looking at Ava, deeming the bowl of fried rice more interesting. Liar. “I have to report back to Kingsman occasionally. If it's something you would like for them not to know, you shouldn't tell me.”

Beatrice looks up, and waits, and waits.

Until Ava’s intense eyes soften, sincere and apologetic in equal measures. “I’m sorry.”

Talk about karma. 

“It's alright. You have nothing to apologize about.” Beatrice does her best to smile. “Can you promise me whatever you're doing isn't a danger to you or to anyone else?”

Ava nods immediately. “I promise.” One of her hands reaches over the table, and Beatrice takes it in hers before she can tell herself otherwise. Maybe this trust is enough. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Beatrice's heart skips a beat, because that's what she's doing too, isn't it?

It's not actually a sobering realization. As a matter of fact, it's so natural that Beatrice can barely feel it change anything at all.

They're friends. Beatrice trusts her. And Ava trusts her too, because why else would she say all that and know Beatrice wouldn't pry and make her feel uncomfortable.

Ava trusts her. Ava trusts her enough that she trusts her belief in her too. It's startling, boastful, and written so boldly on her face, and it makes Beatrice the happiest she's ever been.

Beatrice cradles that happiness to her chest as she watches Ava demolish the rest of their meal and letting out a burp so loud she surely woke their neighbor two doors down.

Beatrice holds it, feels her heart burn with inevitable and uncontainable affection, as she offers to take care of the leftovers and the dishes.

And if after all that is done and dry, Beatrice later finds Ava asleep on the coffee table and thinks, she will be sore, I can help, before picking her up gently by the back of her head and the back of her knees, then it's no one else's business but Beatrice's how Ava’s head falls into and nuzzles against her shirt.

“Bea…”

Bea. Yes. That sounds right.

Beatrice is not just Beatrice nor Agent Galahad anymore.

She's Bea.

And Ava is no one else’s business but hers.

No one's.

—

Chapter Text

“Ava? The cabbie will be here in ten minutes!”

“Okay! I’ll be right out!”

Beatrice chuckles, knowing that means she’ll take at least another ten to get ready.

Shannon knows it too, evidently, with her chuckling in Beatrice's ears. “How much more time should I give our cabbie?”

“Twenty.” Beatrice answers quickly, head tilting here and there to check if her sleeves are as perfectly cuffed as she wants them to be. “Ava will take at least an extra five to badger me on whether she looks nice of not. Might as well make it thirty.”

Shannon laughs, making Beatrice's own lips curl. “Alright. Texting the poor guy now.” Keyboard clanking can be heard in the background, as well as the sound of gentle jazz music. “You seem to have gotten to know each other pretty well. I’m glad to see that.”

“We’re friends.” If it comes out a tad bit defensive then it's not on purpose. “We’ve been living together for two months now. It's expected of me, as her protector and companion, to know her routines.”

“I never said otherwise, Galahad.” Shannon’s voice is gentle as it always is, inherently popping the tension out of Beatrice's joints. “I’m just happy that you made a new friend. God only knows you needed more of those.”

Beatrice pouts into the mirror, hands hanging in suspense. “Are you not my friend?”

“We’re your family, there's a difference.” Oh. Yes. She supposes there is a distinction there. “Speaking of family, I think it's my duty to tell you how dashing you look right now.”

The assurance is honestly just what Beatrice needs right now, feeling slightly out of her depth with her tiny change in style.

Beatrice has been wearing suits for a better part of her life, but this one, more a pantsuit than anything else, is a lot less formal and casual. 

She still has her trousers and her blazer, both of them dark black like her gelled-up hair, but the button-up she wears underneath is loose and not all form-fitting, draping over her shoulders in what could be considered a more Victorian-esque masculine style.

Or Mr. Darcy. Whoever that is that kept popping up on her Pinterest.

She doesn't give a fuck about gender and its associated societal norms. But she will admit, dressing up in what is clearly meant to be a masculine cut and not at all finding a trace of femininity in her form, it makes her feel very good about herself.

The pants also make her ass look really good. Shannon said so.

“You think so?” Beatrice tugs at the sleeve self-consciously. “You think Ava will like it?”

Shannon scoffs. “Of course she will. She’ll like it better if you can undo the top two buttons too.”

“Why would she want that?” Beatrice huffs, still, she unbuttons her shirt. Seeing her upper chest out in the open is actually so strange. Beatrice doesn't think she has seen her own skin outside the bathroom or bedroom like this in years. 

“Don't pretend like you don't know.” Mouth opening halfway to ask exactly what Shannon means by that, Beatrice is interrupted by the sound of her door creaking open.

“Hey, Bea! I’m all done. How are you doing in… here…”

It's not often that Beatrice, a collector of words in her own rights, finds herself speechless.

That's the only way to describe the phenomenon currently happening to her, though. With her mouth parting slightly in awe and her body automatically turning to perceive Ava in full view, Beatrice feels all the breaths in her lungs taken away in one clean swoop.

Take that, Zaheer. Maybe in another life, Ava is an airbender. It's the only explanation as to how she could suck all the oxygen out of the air and reduce Beatrice to this practically comatose state without even laying a finger on her.

And oh, what beautiful fingers does she have, encased in a delicate pair of white gloves that contrast beautifully with her sinful and tiny black dress. 

Against her own will, Beatrice's eyes dart down to take in gorgeous legs peeking out of the side slits. They’re so long and strong, they would be a great substitute for Beatrice's belt.

Going back up, Beatrice feels herself coming very close to drooling at Ava’s pronounced cleavage, beautiful bust held up tastefully by the dress sleeves, of which there are none, giving the rest of the world and all its unworthy peasants the absolute glory of witnessing her bare biceps flex and recoil with every movement.

Although no longer religious, Beatrice still doesn't like to use the lord’s name in vain.

With that being said, God hasn't quite accounted for gay panic in The Bible, and so it can't be helped that the only response that pops up in her head is—

“Jesus fuck…”

Judging by the snickering in her ears, Beatrice may have said those words out loud. Blushing beet red, mortified at the realization of Shannon witnessing her simpery in real time, Beatrice reaches for the spine of her glasses.

“Gotta go. Talk to you later, Merlin.”

Still snickering, Shannon barely chokes out a “Bye…” before Beatrice hangs up and lets her go back to her cackling.

One of these days, she will stop being these people’s primary source of entertainment. Today is, evidently, not one of those days.

“Was that Merlin?” Ava asks, striding into the room with a gait so confident and seductive, it's honestly amazing Beatrice is still standing right now. “Was she giving you fashion advice?”

“No.” Beatrice scoffs, looking away lest she wants to drown herself in Ava’s cleavage. Again. “We were just checking in. I told her to tell the cabbie to wait an extra thirty minutes.”

Ava’s brows, drawn and dolled up to perfection, furrow in confusion.

“But I told you I would be—” Realization hits, and so is Beatrice with Ava’s superpowered pout. “You meanie.”

Laughing, Beatrice turns around, facing the mirror once more. If only to get herself to stop thinking about wanting to wipe that pout away with a gentle thumb.

See, Beatrice is doing so good not thinking about kissing her— goddamn it.

“Can you blame me?” Beatrice laughs to herself as she fiddles with her collar, contemplating between propped  up or flattened down. “The last time you told me to wait ten more minutes, we got out of the house forty five minutes later and missed our reservation by a landslide.”

“Fucking Sister Photographic Memory.” Without even looking, Beatrice can tell Ava is kicking at the air, generally just being adorably petulant. “I'm still dying on the hill that since we got in eventually, thanks to yours truly, it doesn't count.”

“Language.” Beatrice tuts, more bothered by her collar situation than Ava’s cussing. She's more than used to Ava’s potty mouth by now. “And as much as I’m committed to the idea of never letting you die alone, I really don't think that's how that works.”

Expecting banter, Beatrice is surprised when she feels hands gently clasping on her shoulders. She doesn’t fight back, letting Ava turn her around, and if her breath hitches at how easily Ava just slots herself into her personal space then…

Beatrice’s only a lesbian. 

A lesbian that, on an spectacularly good day, will readily admit to herself that she’s head over heels for her best friend.

Today is coming very close to being a good day. It’s impossible for Beatrice to not have a good day when Ava is standing so close and looking up at her with eyes full of stars and a smile that rivals the sun.

Lord, she’s burning, and even when she’s nothing but ashes, there’s nothing she wants more than to be reborn in the fire of that sweet, strawberry vodka smile. 

“For someone who wears suits to sleep, you would know by now how good you look in them.” Ava teases, hands tugging at her collar.

Beatrice huffs, all smitten and happy at the touch and the praise. “I don’t wear my suits to sleep.”

“That’s not what eyewitnesses have to say.” Ava’s smile turns a little wicked, and even though they never mention it out loud, they both know they’re thinking of the same thing. Indeed, Beatrice was never out of that suit that night, was she? “Smooth it out, Beatrice. The people deserve to see your sexy neckline.”

Jesus Christ. “The people?”

Ava shrugs, humming noncommittally. Her hands are sprawled out against the lapels of her collar, smoothening them out like she just said. Only her hands don’t stop there, but keep moving down to caress Beatrice’s upper chest, dangerously close to her thundering heart. 

“Maybe it’s just me.” Ava whispers, pupils expanding as she looks at Beatrice and Beatrice only. 

“There’s nothing just about you.” Beatrice whispers back, and this time she knows the breath hitching comes from Ava, physically feeling it reverberating through her spines. 

Ava’s hips visibly twitch at the touch of Beatrice’s hands, burgundy lips parting in a low exhale. Beatrice’s brilliant mind helps her focus on both plump lips and the dress fabric, all smooth and velvet-like. 

What will it feel like if she holds firm buttocks with her whole hand? Will the dress pool on Beatrice’s bedroom floor like velvet too?

“I see you’ve already turned on your charming mode for tonight.” Ava laughs, sounding inexplicably winded for no reason. 

Beatrice smiles, incapable of not, lips then part in surprise when Ava removes her hands from her chest and reaches for her spectacles.

“I’ve always wanted to try this on.” Ava smiles, tilting the glasses this way and that. She looks back at Beatrice, checking in. Because god forbid Ava Silva is anything but careless when it comes to things that pertain to her best friend. “May I?”

A wordless nod is all Ava gets. Beatrice’s head continues to bobble at the sight of Ava wearing her glasses, throat parched like the desert. Her hands, still on Ava’s hips, itch with the desire to grip tightly and pull her in for… who knows, really.

There’s a lot of things Beatrice wants when it comes to Ava Silva. Not even Beatrice herself knows all of what they are. 

“Wow, this is so cool.” Ava gushes, eyes darting all over Beatrice’s bedroom. There’s a beautiful smile splitting her lips open, pearly white teeth so bright she can almost see her own reflection in it. “This is sick. I can even scan you for your personal information, Bea.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, not willing to move her hands but gesturing for Ava to do it anyway.

It’s okay. Beatrice trusts her.

Having gotten her permission, Ava starts scanning up then down. Beatrice almost feels like squirming, but she persists, not wanting to remove herself from their semi-embrace just yet. 

Having used the scanning function more times than she can count, Beatrice can tell what are the things that Ava is reading about her. 

Her real name, probably. Her age, height, weight, and body count. There is probably a mention of her achievements in there as well, intermixed with her associations, both old and new.

All of that, yet Ava chooses the one thing Beatrice doesn’t expect her to inquire about. “You have a tattoo?”

Blinking, Beatrice has to take a second to remember that, yes, indeed, she does have a tattoo. 

“I do.” She nods, surprised at how Ava willingly hands the glasses back. “It's a large phoenix running down my left shoulder.” Beatrice pauses, not knowing if she should continue, if Ava even wants to know, but an encouraging squeeze on her shoulder pushes her forward. “It’s meant to symbolize me burning for my past, rising from the ashes of my mistakes, and just generally doing better.”

Ava’s eyes, playful and wicked, turn a little soft at every word Beatrice says. Her hands, still distracting and burning against her skin, move to cradle Beatrice’s face.

“I understand that. I want to do the same.” A sigh escapes Ava’s chest, pressing their torsos closer against each other. Beatrice is too busy being hypnotized by the sudden melancholy in Ava’s eyes to notice. “I owe it, I think. I owe it to the world for this second life. I owe it to everyone who loves me to live it to the fullest. If I can be of help…”

“If I can help even just one person, all that pain and suffering would have been worth it.”

Ava smiles, eyes twinkling with stars and tears. Beatrice feels like crying too, feels so understood. 

“Yeah, exactly that.” Ava reaches to stand on her tippy toes, angling her mouth dangerously close to Beatrice’s. “And even if that one person is just me, it would have been worth it too.”

Hours later, Beatrice stands amongst the elites, head still fuzzy and skin tingling with the ghost of Ava’s lips pressed against the apple of her cheek. 

Luckily Ava isn’t here to see her brain short-circuiting itself, even if Beatrice would much prefer her company than that of her fellow Kingsman.

No offense to Lilith, who looks dazzling in her own fancy version of a pantsuit, the fabric sequined with subtle sparkles, hair done up and gelled back, all the while forgoing an undershirt entirely. 

Ava just has better puns. And better smiles. And better cleavage.

“I could put a knife in your throat right now and you wouldn’t even know.”

Taking two steps back, because there is indeed a small blade the size of a machete sliding against her skin coming from Lilith’s shirt sleeve, Beatrice rolls her eyes.

“Can’t you try to earn my attention like a normal person sometimes?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lilith smirks, pulling the blade back, disappearing into her sleeve with a metallic flick.

Beatrice can only assume Lilith finally got to try the prototype retractable sword and bracelet hybrid their lab has been working on for the past year. She isn’t jealous, per se, but damn if she keeps missing out on all the good deals while undercover. 

“You just seem like you have a lot in your head.” Lilith says, trying to be casual but coming off as anything such. 

One eyebrow raised, Beatrice tears her eyes away from her target for just one moment to look at her friend. “Did Guinevere put you up to this?”

“No.” Try harder. “Okay, maybe. She kept hinting at me about checking in with you more often. Is there something I need to know? What is it about this mission that got you both so… frazzled?

“I’m not frazzled.” Beatrice insists, even more fed up when she sees the look of clear disbelief aiming her way. “Seriously, frazzled is the last word I would use to describe my predicament.”

“So there is a predicament.” Goddamn it. “Spill.”

She sighs, knowing full well Lilith isn’t going to let this go. Hell, they’re trained to never let anything go until they reach a satisfying conclusion, for crying out loud.

Uncomfortable, Beatrice decides to seek out her one source of comfort, who is still making small talks with the other patrons of the gala. 

Growing up similarly, Beatrice is not surprised at all to find out charity galas are also on Ava’s list of agenda. 

Unlike Beatrice, who had huffed and kept her head down all the while her parents kissed other politicians’ asses for their sponsorship, Ava is doing a spectacular job of making everyone feel genuinely welcomed.

It helps that this is a gala held in ARQ-TECH’s name, specifically to raise funds for STEM scholarships for women and girls and other disadvantaged youth. 

Ava, who Jillian had liked to keep a low profile over the years, is starting to step up as her mother’s apprentice and the face of ARQ-TECH’s new generation of empowering women in charge.

Beatrice is so proud of her, if not a little smitten, watching how Ava effortlessly charms each and every guest into a thought-provoking but respectful conversation, somehow always ending with the guests smiling from ear to ear and promising to donate a cheque that is at least four digits long, decimals excluded.

Ava looks beautiful, wearing the velvet dress that hugs her curves like a glove and a smile that takes all of Beatrice’s breath away. Even when busy, Ava doesn’t forget about her, occasionally arching her gorgeous neck back just so they can grin dopily at each other when making eye contact.

Michael is there with her too, giving Beatrice and Lilith a small wave before rejoining their conversation, a protective arm wrapped around Ava’s shoulders.

Beatrice wishes she can do that. Beatrice wishes for a lot of things.

“Ah. I get it now.”

Head whipping back, Beatrice feels something awful clawing through the walls of her throat. “What?”

“You and Ava.” Lilith says, confidently. Obviously. Like even a blind man can see how terribly smitten she is for her. “What's stopping you?”

“What's stopping— there's nothing going on.” Beatrice says, and she means it. Just because she is close to falling, doesn't mean she will ever let Ava near the edge of that cliff. Ava is an angel who deserves to fly, and Beatrice doesn't give a damn if she has to burn in the process. “Ava and I are just friends. It's my duty as her bodyguard, as a Kingsman, to protect her.”

Lilith frowns, as if Beatrice is speaking a language she doesn't understand. “And?”

“The hell do you mean, and?”

“I mean,” Lilith rolls the word out like a carpet, waiting to usher Beatrice onto it. “You're saying as if you're not already doing both, loving her and protecting her.”

Beatrice’s heart squeezes, rapidly blinking away any tears that dare to fall. “I… I don't understand.” Has she really been that obvious?

“No, what I don't understand is why are you not doing anything about it.” Lilith says, discreetly reaching over to hold Beatrice's hand. 

They haven't touched each other like this since that last test for the mantle of Galahad, but Beatrice remembers clear as day how it feels to have their fingers slot between each other’s and know, without a doubt, whatever happens after, that she just made a friend for life. 

“What can I possibly do?” Beatrice asks, and oh, her voice is cracking. “Everyone loves her. I’m… I’m nothing. Why should she love me?” Why would she?

“Why wouldn't she love you?” Lilith repeats back. “You're so easy to love, and anyone who is lucky enough to be loved by you would say the same thing.” Lilith squeezes their joined hands. “There's no shame in it. We love as we live, even though one lifetime doesn't feel like enough with all the love we have to give. Why not seize that opportunity?”

“I… I đon’t… I’m supposed to be a Kingsman. The best Kingsman I can be.”

“And you're not already?” Lilith asks, sounding more affronted than she should be. “You're Galahad. You're one of the best Galahads we’ve ever had, and that's coming from Arthur, so you know she isn't bullshitting you.”

“Arthur said that?” Beatrice gushes, earning a gruff nod. “Do you think so too?”

For that, Beatrice earns an eye roll, void of any genuine hostility or annoyance. “Of course I do. Thought you’d known this by now.” Lilith’s face softens, gently pulling her hand back. “Vincent thought so too. He had you in his final moment, but if you keep closing yourself off like this, then who are you going to have, Bea?”

It's so simply put, and something she should have been thinking long about before this, constantly barraged by her well-meaning family who, after all, just wanted her to have some company, yet Beatrice feels absolutely floored.

Her mouth opens then closes, rinses and repeats, probably making her look the most unprofessional she has ever been.

Luckily, Beatrice is rescued by a gentle hand on her bicep, the smooth fabric of expensive gloves and how the palm molds precisely where her muscles are most prominent alerting her of its owner.

“Is everything okay?” Ava asks, clearly worried. She keeps her volume low to protect Beatrice's privacy, leaning into her personal space. “I thought I saw you look uncomfortable, so I came to check up on you.”

Oh. Beatrice hasn't ever been on this side of the fence before. 

It feels… actually kind of nice.

Distantly, Beatrice hears Lilith excusing herself, but her attention span is too laser focused on the tiny girl hugging her to notice.

“I’m alright.” She smiles genuinely, then frowns when she notices the trails of goosebumps riddling all over Ava’s gorgeous arms. “Are you cold?”

Ava shrugs. “A little? I can handle—” Beatrice doesn't let her finish, taking off her own blazer jacket and wrapping it over Ava’s shoulders. Ava is outright blushing when she steps back, Beatrice incapable of hiding a cheeky smile. “You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to.” Beatrice says, earning back a smile that's shy and adorable all the same. Quickly, before she does something stupid like leaning down and kissing her temple, Beatrice changes the subject. “Have you and Michael finished making small talk with the patrons?”

As if just waiting to be asked, Ava lets out the world’s most miserable groan. 

“I fucking wish.” Her lips curl, clearly waiting for Beatrice’s chastisement. She merely rolls her eyes, at which Ava huffs before continuing. “He’s off kissing ass with the city councilmen, while I’m tasked with entertaining the wives.”

Beatrice hums, gently bumping their shoulders together. Her words come out thoughtless and playful. “I didn't take you for such a womanizer.”

Brown eyes twinkle mischievously, grin widening even further when Beatrice finally realizes what she just said.

“I’m sure you didn't.” Ava’s smile keeps on growing while Beatrice's cheeks heat up. “Anyways, I just wanted to pop by real quick and give you a head’s up, so you don't freak out about not knowing where I went.”

“You make me sound like a controlling boyfriend.” Beatrice huffs, purely so she can earn the little giggle that always makes her smile. I kinda wish I was your boyfriend. “Go on, then. If you're gone for more than thirty minutes—”

“Text you where I’m at so you can come find me.” Ava rolls her eyes, not a speck of dismay in sight. “I know. Don't worry. Take some time and mingle.”

“The last thing I want to do in this crowd is mingle.” Beatrice's lower lip juts out in displeasure, earning yet another giggle. “Be free. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

Ava’s eyes soften, like they always do when Beatrice says something Ava deems sweet.

Rising on her tippy toes to place a featherlight kiss on her cheek, Ava waves Beatrice goodbye, wordlessly stealing Beatrice's jacket and her heart too.

Left alone with her feelings, and even though she has no jacket, no protection at all, Beatrice feels nothing but warmth.

Dangerous.

— 

Being a Kingsman is a job unlike anything else.

When she was first going through the tests to become Galahad, their Merlin at the time (not Shannon) had specified the process as “what is probably the most dangerous job interview in the whole world”. 

A full decade since the day she took on that mantle, Beatrice finds the saying never becomes any less true.

It is what led her to the current moment, in which Beatrice rose together with the sun and got herself ready to read some of the most brutal threats that have possibly ever been recorded in the history of mankind.

“Are you sure you want to be reading these, Galahad? I mean, I’m here, and these technically fall into my job description.”

She's been doing well, all things considered, going through every single post sent to Jillian Salvius’ inbox and diverted into the Kingsman’s internal communication hub.

Sometimes though, even her iron-clad stomach has to take a break after reading some of the more… graphic materials in the letters.

She probably wouldn't struggle so much had this been anyone else. A stranger. 

But this isn't a stranger. This is Ava.

Ava who deserves the world and more than anything Beatrice ever can give her.

Ava who is her best friend and has been through so much.

Ava who is pure, kind, and just overall a lovely human being.

To know there are bad people out there is one thing. To see the things in their sick minds that center around and thrive on the suffering and agony of the girl she would rather die than lose.

It makes Beatrice sick to her stomach, really.

“I’m fine, Merlin.” Beatrice insists, even if this one last paragraph makes her a little green in the face. “Is it me or are they becoming even more violent by the day?”

“It's not you. Arthur took a peek and had to excuse herself. For all my years working here, I’ve never seen that woman looking so pale and worried.”

Beatrice pulls her lower lip in by her teeth and bites, pits of worry turning into sinkholes in her stomach. “They're escalating, and I’m assuming we’ve made zero progress with tracing back to where these letters are from?”

Shannon sighs, utterly exhausted and defeated. Beatrice wonders if they are paying her enough, thinking back to that night when Shannon said she couldn't see herself doing this for the rest of her life.

“No. I’m sorry.” Shannon confirms in a clearly saddened voice. “Me and the tech team are doing our best, but so far, nothing.”

“I understand.” Beatrice tries to offer comfort, the words awkward and barely there, but she will do anything and everything for the people she considers family, and that includes being soft. “It's okay. We’ll catch them eventually. In the meantime, I’ll keep Ava close and Lilith will Michael.”

Shannon chuckles, Beatrice tries her best not to preen as she actually sounds a lot more lighthearted. “Okay, Galahad. I’m actually going to meet with them now before I have my check-in with Lancelot.”

Ah, right. Camila is still away for that mission in Asia Beatrice referred her to months ago. 

She hopes Camila will be back soon, because Lilith has been looking a little too sad and can use some sunshine cheeriness to perk her up again.  

“Please tell Lancelot I say hi, and good luck with your research. I’m going to go grab breakfast for me and Ava.”

“Will do. Take care, Galahad.”

“Be safe, Merlin.”

The call ends with a soundless beep, and Beatrice rises to dress herself to get ready for the day.

She is thinking about finally ordering that meat strudel from The Coffee House— another patron ordered it while they were there having another study session and it took Beatrice a huge amount of effort not to outright stare or sniff the air— and Beatrice is just tightening the laces of her shoes when she hears a door creak softly open.

Immediately, a smile unfurls on her lips, an automatic reflex whenever Ava is in her near vicinity by now. 

“Good morning. I’m running to TCH to get breakfast. What would you like to eat?”

“Oh. Thanks, Bea, but I’m probably just gonna eat at the gym.”

Brows furrowed, Beatrice makes quick work of tying the last knot on her laces before looking up. “What do you mean, at the… gym…”

Here's the thing, Beatrice is an excellent secret agent.

As Agent Galahad, Beatrice currently holds the agency-wide record of a jaw-dropping 15.47 seconds of withstanding electrocution without spilling even a single letter about Kingsman’ secrets. 

She knows what it feels like to have surges upon surges of electricity voltage squirming painfully through your every vein and lighting every biological cell in your body on fire, essentially turning your person into a supercharged lighthouse.

All of that, and Beatrice hadn’t made a single peep. Even Arthur was impressed, she told her so. 

With that being said, the sight she is seeing right now has about twice the sobering effect and ten times more appealing, even if it is short-circuiting every functioning brain cell she has ever had.

It’s just Ava. Then again, like she told Ava in that heated moment in her bedroom, there’s nothing just about Ava Silva.

“Bea, are you okay?”

No, Beatrice is not okay, but she thanks you so much for asking, even if you’re currently the source of her distress.

Insufferably smug smirk in place, muscular biceps bulging as she crosses her arms over her chest, Ava looks the epitome of casual sensuality in just a thin tank top and a pair of leggings that hug her curves so tight they almost look painted on.

Ava’s hair frames her small face perfectly, her careless half updo means there are smaller strands falling out of its hold, creating an almost halo effect around the most beautiful face she has ever gotten the pleasure to see. 

Beatrice’s eyes, already incapable of focusing on one single thing in this overall picture of temptation, eventually stray towards their favorite source of distraction.

While Beatrice herself is very accustomed to wearing sport bras, having sworn off underwires since before she even turned nineteen, Ava’s chosen brand always seems like a size too small, her cleavage constantly on the verge of spilling over for everyone to see.

A flicker of possessive anger temporarily seizes her vision, only to then immediately be distracted by the glistening of sweats already forming on those mouth-watering swells and beautiful golden arms crossing over chest and lifting them even higher and—

Holy mother of god and everyone up in heaven, thank you for creating the divine that is Ava Silva’s boobs.

“Are all Kingsman secret agents so easily distracted by a great pair of tits or is it just you?”

“What—” Beatrice finally looks up, flushing so hot she can feel the heat spreading through every patch of skin on her body. Ava is still smiling, mischief and perverted delight mixed together in a sweet and sour concoction, like that bastardous strawberry vodka all those weeks ago. “S— shut up.”

Even her polyglot has thrown itself off the seventeen floors of the building. Great.

Ava is giggling though, looking annoyingly cute and bright that Beatrice can't even find it within herself to be mad. She does worry though, once what Ava just said registers in her head.

“You're going to the gym?”

Nodding, Ava gestures to the towel wrapped around her neck and the gym bag laying at her feet, presumably containing the clothes she’ll change into after getting all hot and sweaty in her training gear. 

“Yep. I’ve been so busy I started slacking on my yoga. My physiotherapist, who I talk to once a year, said I should pick it up again when I can, and neither of us have anything scheduled today, so…”

Ava is right to assume that Beatrice wouldn't want to follow, considering the last time she did and ended up being so distracting that Ava couldn't at all focus on her routines. Beatrice is still clueless as to how her mere existence has led to such a result, but for her own sake, she hadn't questioned it. 

Still, with the letters fresh in her mind, violent and cruel to the point of churning the contents of her empty stomach, Beatrice can't help but not want Ava out of her sight.

Her mouth works faster than her brain, a little pathetic and a lot afraid. “Stay?” 

Ava visibly freezes, looking at Beatrice with her big, doe eyes. “What?” Then, finally seeing Beatrice's rigid posture and the way her hands are trembling slightly, Ava walks over with her hands outstretched. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” Beatrice blinks, trying to convince both herself and her friend. Ava looks like she’d rather believe the Earth is flat. “I'm okay, really. I’m just… can you work out at home, instead? Don't go to the gym.”

True to expectations, Ava frowns. “Bea, I’ve been looking forward to this all day yesterday. I made plans.”

“Please, Ava.” Beatrice says, not at all realizing she is standing up and walking until she finds her shoes grazing the tip of Ava’s sneakers. “Stay home. Trust me.” Beatrice throws all cautions to the wind, timidly reaching to hold Ava’s hands. “Can you do this for me?”

While not taking her hands back, Ava looks disgruntled still, her eyebrows furrowing and her mouth pulled down into an upset pout. It hurts Beatrice to do this too, she hopes Ava sees that, hopes Ava knows Beatrice would rather impale herself with a dull, rusted sword than ever willingly put this expression on her face.

But the letters… the letters.

Eventually, Ava sighs in defeat, her entire body deflating in what could only be considered as unadulterated disappointment. “Okay, Bea. I’ll stay home.”

“Thank you.” Beatrice smiles, relieved above anything else. The emotion is so huge that it slackens not just her body but also her mind, leading Beatrice to remove one hand from their little hold to using it to cup Ava’s cheek. “Genuinely, Ava, thank you for trusting me.”

The skin beneath her palm feels a little hot, Ava clearly doesn't know what to do with Beatrice’s sudden touchiness. “Yeah, sure. Of course. Anything— anything you need, Bea.” 

Beatrice says nothing more, fearing her gratitude and her affection will spill out in a way that no chalice can contain.

So, in a move typical of her modus operandi, Beatrice runs. 

Or walk, because while Oliver Wang is a sweet old man, he absolutely hates it when tenants of the building stomp loudly through the halls.

Beatrice makes sure to give him a wave on the way out, before making a mad dash to The Coffee House, already itching to get back to Ava.

Today’s breakfast order is more hearty than usual, as Ava will be exercising and in need of more proteins. Beatrice orders three meat strudels, a vanilla smoothie, and an Irish tea.

She and Caitlyn make easy conversations over today’s latest crossword in the newspaper while she waits, and before she knows it, Beatrice is on her way back home.

Home, Beatrice stops dead in her tracks. Then keeps on walking.

Home. Ava. An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.

Beatrice’s heart hums and sings, and yes, maybe she should freak out about this more, considering how hard she’s been trying to flee from it all her life.

But it's Ava. 

Being with Ava in every capacity that matters and don’t has always been comically easy. Beatrice hasn't stood a chance against that beautiful smile since the first day she laid eyes on her in that pub in Spain.

Once this is all over, Beatrice swears to herself, shaking a little as she hovers the fob over the elevator button.

Once this is all over, Beatrice will tell Ava how she feels, will tell Ava how much she wants to be the person that makes Ava happy.

The thought of Ava not reciprocating her feelings is there, but it's small and barely a flicker compared to the fire of her affection.

It doesn't matter. Beatrice just needs Ava to know that she is loved, and whatever happens after that is up to sappho.

For now, though, Ava’s safety and protection are her top priorities, and god forbid will she ever loosen up on that front.

“I’m home!” Beatrice announces, gently shutting the door behind her with one hand and taking off her shoes using the other.

“In the living room! And you better have bought an extra strudel to make it up to me!” Ava shouts back, and immediately the tiny smile on Beatrice's face grows tenfold.

See? 

It's so incredibly easy to love her like this. 

Ava should have come with a warning. Beatrice’s heart simply never stood a chance.

—

“You know, it's so unfair that you are practically gifted at everything, but this just takes the fucking cake. How the fuck do you do it?”

Beatrice, who has merely just made a passing suggestion, flushes like scarlet. Ava doesn't see it, tongue stuck out in pure concentration as she focuses on her turn with the Jenga tower.

They're having a girls’ day out, after spending several days trapped inside the apartment due to Beatrice's growing paranoia.

Ava has been a very good sport, but eventually she too got tired of pacing around within the same four walls and begged, begged, her to please let them have at least a half day out in the sun.

Beatrice wanted to say no, but then Ava brought out her super duper mega superpowered nuclear pout, and suddenly Beatrice finds herself being dragged into a pub.

It's not The Flying Graysons, thank god, but alas, somewhere equally as relaxing and fun. They also have decent-priced martinis and board games stacked on the corner shelf, which is a win in her book.

They picked Jenga as a compromise between Monopoly and Uno, two of which are too likely to ruin their friendship. 

Beatrice likes Jenga, personally, loves the rush of adrenaline flowing through her veins every time her careful calculation of force and speed pays off by flicking a piece of the tower away and it remains standing.

That's not to say they're not neck and neck. Ava’s pile of bricks is almost as tall as hers, and so Beatrice is trying her best to determine what's the next best move to make after Ava completed her turn.

It's a bit difficult, when her opponent is so distracting.

Ava looks as gorgeous as she always does, Beatrice thinks quietly to herself, admiring the leggings that compliment her strong thighs so incredibly well and the casual black tank layered over by a letterman jacket that she hung over her chair the minute they arrived, showing off her low-cut top and glorious biceps to everyone who dares to look their way.

On the opposite end of the fashion spectrum, Beatrice is wearing another one of her suits, dark black and formal, with a blazer and a full-blown tie. 

They had laughed wholeheartedly when they first came out of their rooms and saw each other looking like they dressed for two entirely different occasions. Beatrice had offered to change, but Ava had shook her head with a pearly giggle, and that was the end of that conversation.

After a long while of contemplating, Ava eventually makes her move, a careful nudging of a brick two floors up and teetering right at the edge. She lets loose a comical sigh of relief that makes Beatrice laugh, eyes crinkling behind her glasses.

“Seriously, Bea. Do they give you extra Jenga classes at the agency or what?”

“Not really.” Beatrice answers, staring into Ava’s sun-spun smile and thinks, and thinks, and— “I had someone special. He had a bookstore and would sometimes play with me when there were no customers to tend to.”

The words surprise Beatrice as much as it does Ava, the latter forcing herself to be calm even though she is clearly jumping up and down in joy on the inside at the rare tidbit of personal information given so freely.

Beatrice blinks once, then blinks again, then smiles when she feels no moisture behind her eyes.

“He was like a father to me.” So she continues, all the while avoiding Ava’s sparkling eyes and concentrating on finding the next Jenga piece to remove instead. “He never let me win, said I needed to learn to use my brain and not just my muscles.”

“You do have great muscles.” Ava winks, perhaps just to fluster her, but maybe also to lighten up the air thickened with memories.

Ava knows how it feels to drown. Ava is trying to help her swim.

“Thank you.” Beatrice smiles, hopes Ava knows her gratitude is for more than just the praise, even if it makes her preen and puff out her chest in pride. “And I did learn how to use my brain. Which is how I know this piece,” five floors up, the exact middle of a ten-story tower, she taps the sole brick left multiple times so it slides towards the middle, “holds the balance of it all.”

Once in position, Beatrice moves her hand back to the front, and mimes a flicking motion.

“If I can put in just enough power,” and she flicks, the piece flying out in one clean swoop, “then the rest will fall right atop and won't collapse.” and surely, the tower doesn't budge, remains strong and steady as it falls atop the bricks beneath.

“It's all about balance.” Beatrice smiles, doesn't realize there are tears in her eyes until they start dripping down her hand and soaking her skin.

For a moment, her tears look like blood. His blood.

But then she blinks, and more tears drop, and a callused hand gently reaches over to cover her hand.

“I miss him a lot.” Beatrice croaks one last time, and lets the pain drown out the sound of her heart cracking open.

Ava’s fingers swipe at her knuckles, like she's trying to heal over the crack with cement and affection. Beatrice only looks up when she feels ready, and yet still finds herself breathless by the sheer vastness of understanding and warmth in deep brown eyes.

They don't talk, Ava giving Beatrice the space she needs while never stopping being her moral support, and Beatrice wiping at her tears with her handkerchief.

Their hands never once separate, a gentle but not at all subtle declaration of them promising to be each other’s pillars.

It's a beautiful testament to an even more beautiful thing, formed by a single glance at a pub and strengthened through months of companionship and mutual trust

It's also one that, unfortunately, in an unjust world, also makes them a target.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Two dykes in their natural habitat, it seems.”

Beatrice's spine stiffens, and she quickly, but not harshly, removes her hand from under Ava. Beatrice goes to send her an apologetic glance, but Ava is occupied staring up at the burly man hovering above them.

Behind the man are his buddies, seven of them to be precise, each bulging one way or another and wearing a smile slimier than the last. 

“While I don't appreciate the usage of a slur,” Beatrice says, calmly, staring up at the man that just spoke. “May I ask what brought you to our table, sir?”

“Dress like a fag, talk like a fag.” The man snarls at her, then turns grimy eyes back at Ava, who clearly has all of his attention. “Just wanted to come over and make small talk with your pretty little friend here. We think we would like her to join us for a drink. How about it, cutie pie?”

The smile on his face turns even more gross when Beatrice notices his eyesight is not fixated on Ava’s face, but on her chest, his hovering giving him an advantageous view down her shirt.

Crossing her arms to protect her chest from his nasty leering, Ava’s returning smile is nothing short of sarcastic. “I’ve heard come ons more sophisticated from playing Fortnite at 4am. Why don't you and your buddy pals find someone else?”

“Oh, but that's no fun.” The man pouts, and unlike Ava, whose pouts always make her melt on the inside, his just makes Beatrice feel nauseous. “Come on. You don't wanna fuck a dyke. We got some real dicks for you to put in that pu—”

“I hate to interrupt,” She would rather die than listen to him finish the rest of his line, actually, “but I’ve just had a very emotional conversation with my friend, so we’d appreciate it enormously if you can leave us alone to process it together.”

Ava continues, face growing purple with annoyance. “My friend is too polite, so allow me to translate. She said, fuck off.”

The man, already frowning in offense, is only spurred to anger at Ava’s provocation. His hand reaches for Ava, but Beatrice is already moving out of her seat and shoves him back by the chest.

He stumbles back into two of his friends who catch him, the rest automatically crowding around Beatrice like a defensive pack of sharks.

“Galahad, don't.” Ava pleas from her seat, worried eyes following her every move. “There's too many of them. You can get hurt.”

Another man on her left spits in her face, “That's right, little girl. Piss off before you can get hurt.” before pushing her towards the exit door.

Beatrice only takes a singular second to wipe the spit off and straighten up her suit before walking away, ear picking up on Ava’s strangled squeak of surprise and the sound of a hand harshly slamming down the table.

“Now that the dyke is out of the way, how about we have our own little fun?”

Her heart thundering with every quick stride, Beatrice finally reaches the exit door. 

There's a glass of unfinished wine left by the table next to her. And her umbrella is firmly clasped in her hand.

Beatrice takes one last glance into the small mirror placed on the wall by the door to make sure no other patron is in here with them, at the same time keeping Ava and the pack of predators in her sight, before reaching for the lock above head.

“Manners…” She pulls down a lock, feeling all the men turning to look at her curiously, “maketh…” she clicks another lock closed, “...man.” and seals the last lock shut.

Beatrice squares her shoulders, looks at their reflection with poorly hidden distaste. 

Blinding anger is building in her, but with it the usual composure and expertise too.

She has been doing this for a decade. She knows what to do to channel said rage into something useful, something helpful.

Switching target, all eight men begin to march towards Beatrice, big bulky shoulders hunching to make them look frightening.

Beatrice can laugh. She so desperately wants to.

“Do you know what that means?” Beatrice waits, and when none of them answer her, looking around like idiots, she offers. “Then let me teach you a lesson.”

Faster than lightning, she twists the umbrella so the hook wraps itself firmly onto the unfinished glass of wine. Her arm then arches, sending the glass flying back with incredible speed, force, and accuracy.

As expected, the glass meets its intended target with a loud shattering, the man’s head oozing a vast amount of blood, particles of glass sticking out of his skin, before a gust of wind knocks him unconscious and is sent sprawling on his back.

Smiling, satisfied with herself, Beatrice turns around. 

Seven men left. One tiny bar. And Ava safe and sound in the corner table.

“You all stand between me and Ava. I offer mercy to those who walk away now. Stay,” Beatrice cracks her neck, her bone snapping loudly in the dead silence of the bar. “And you’ll never walk again.”

One man takes her up on her offer, springing from his sandwiched position in between his friends and comes swinging his fist at her.

His scream of rage doesn't even get to fully unfurl before she cuts his oxygen intake with a harsh full-hand jab to his throat, making him choke and stumble back.

“Pathetic.” Beatrice shakes her head, and knocks him out with a hard punch to his temple. Once the man is down and out for the count, Beatrice looks back at his friends, only six now. “Are we going to stand here all day, or are we going to fight?”

Chaos unfurls from then on.

Learning their lessons, two of them, Goon 1 and Goon 2, advance on Beatrice at the same time. 

Using the same umbrella, Beatrice lays it horizontally and pushes it up against Goon 1’s throat, sending him flying, all the while sending a powerful kick into the Goon 2’s stomach.

Hurriedly leaning back to avoid a flying fist from Goon 3, Beatrice takes the tail end of the umbrella and sends it smacking against Goon 1’s nose, successfully breaking it and rendering him unconscious.

Turning to Goon 3, who is pulled by gravity and is on his way to colliding face first into the bartop, Beatrice is quick to push her hand to the back of his neck, grips his flesh, and slams his head onto hardwood.

One smack. Two smacks. Beatrice then twists his collar tightly in her fist and arches her arm back, throwing Goon 3’s limp body bulldozing against an unsuspecting, still heaving Goon 2. 

Goon 4 and Goon 5 both pull out identical knives, blades gleaming sharply in the daylight. Beatrice roots her feet to the floor, and waits.

“Come on then.” Beatrice tilts her head, and barely has to wait before she is bending her knees and charging upwards, successfully slotting herself behind Goon 4 and making him her shield.

Goon 5, who has yelled in rage at her taunt, now looks utterly petrified as he is incapable of stopping before his momentum drives his knife drilling into the flesh of his buddy’s chest, both of them screaming like toddlers.

Beatrice doesn't linger, shoving them both to the bartop and letting them sprawl over to the other side. 

Goon 6 remains, and while he does not have a knife, he is holding a large bottle of wine. Beatrice swiftly twists the handle of her umbrella and aims the tip at his face.

Stun. Sleep. Aha, lightning.

When she presses the tiny, almost undetectable button on the handle, a metallic ziplock shoots out and wraps itself around his neck.

Clicking the small level atop the umbrella handle, Beatrice watches as Goon 6 is electrocuted to the point of unconsciousness, going down and taking the bottle of wine with him.

Shame. That's one of her favorites.

“Galahad, behind you!”

Ava’s voice, full of urgency and worry, pulls Beatrice back like a siren. Her torso spins quickly, and right away she sees the cause for Ava’s warning.

It's Goon 1. Barely conscious but snarling angrily and pulling out a pistol from his pants.

“Let's see how you fare against real bullets, bitch.”

Like child’s play. She thinks to herself, bending her knees just slightly more before unfolding the umbrella with a quick click of a button.

The bullets from the pistol are deployed and ricocheted back all the same, deflected by the bulletproof material of the umbrella. In the back, Beatrice hears Ava yelp as she ducks for cover, meanwhile she takes advantage of the slight chaos and twists the handle once more.

Lightning. Sleep. Stun, there we go.

Without further delay, Beatrice aims and fires, the large, solid projectile soaring through the air and smacking into the goon’s forehead, leaving what must be a huge indent and a large profit for some random future cosmetic surgeon. 

“What the fuck…”

Oh, darn. Beatrice had completely forgotten about the bartender, who looks about as close to peeing in his pants as an adult man can get, holding a ringing phone in his hand.

Sighing, Beatrice twists the crown of her watch to amnesia mode, guaranteed to put one to sleep and forget the events happening five hours prior, and shoots. The dart lands soundlessly on the bartender’s neck, lulling him to sleep and sliding the phone conveniently over to where Beatrice is kneeling.

Standing back up, Beatrice goes to hit the end call button, mentally congratulating herself on a job well done.

It's far from the toughest crowd she has ever had to fight off, but she got not a single scratch on her and Ava is safe and sound, so all things considered, it was brilliant work still.

Speaking of Ava, “Holy shit, Bea, are you okay?”

Beatrice doesn't even get to let out a single syllable of reassurance before she has to put all her functioning brain cells into good use and command her arms to hold out for Ava to fall into. 

“I’m alright.” Beatrice says, a bit stiff, but slowly relaxing once she feels how utterly relieved Ava is deflating against her torso. “Are you? Did they touch you at all?”

“No, I’m okay.” Ava’s words are muffled in her jacket, but then she leans back and, by god, Beatrice doesn't think she can ever forget this smile for as long as she lives. “You did great. That was so fucking badass.”

“It's just my job.” Beatrice smiles, hands not quite gripping Ava’s hips but merely hovering. 

She fears she might burn entirely if she gets anywhere close to that tantalizing peeking of naked skin from underneath her tank top. Which is not something she entertains trying to explain to Ava and in the middle of a destroyed pub no less.

“Still, it was so cool.” Ava repeats, and this time, Beatrice is forced to just nod and smile shyly in thanks. “We did kinda wreck the place though. That's not gonna be a problem, is it?”

Shit, right. Beatrice finally tears her eyes away from Ava and takes a look at her surroundings, wincing at easily a couple thousands English pounds worth of damage laying at her feet.

“It's alright. I’ll write them a cheque.” Beatrice says, gently removing herself from Ava’s hug. “Can you go grab your jacket, Ava? We should head home soon before anyone else can come in.”

“Roger that!” 

With a dorky salute, Ava makes a run back to their table, careful to skip over the heaps of unconscious and bleeding men. She does stop to give Goon 1 a swift kick in the head, which Beatrice tuts at but can't quite hide her amused smile.

On her end, Beatrice quickly walks over to the register and fishes out a cheque book. She is just about to pencil down the address of their faux finance department when notifications of an incoming call flashes through the screen of her glasses.

“Galahad speaking.” She answers, heart suddenly slowing down and her hands grow clammy with cold sweats.

Beatrice is a woman of science, and more often than not, her modus operandi is equally methodical and logical. 

As a Kingsman, Beatrice is taught to always trust her instincts more than anything else, as that will be the thing that saves her life more often than most.

Her slow heartbeats and sweaty hands are definitely a telling of something gone terribly wrong, but for the sake of not jinxing it, Beatrice pushes through.

That is, until she hears Lilith’s voice on the other line, practically screaming. 

“Galahad! Code red! I need backup, backup!”

“Percival! Percival!” Beatrice shouts back, hearing nothing but chaos on the other line. “Percival, answer me. Where are you? Where’s Michael? Where do I go?”

Beatrice can feel Ava’s worried eyes boring into the side of her head as she slowly approaches, her letterman jacket back on her torso.

She still can't make sense of anything on the other line, static and chaos mixing into one, with Lilith’s panicked voice ricocheting louder than all.

“Galahad! Please— you have to— we need— no!”

It's the most terrifying realization Beatrice can come to, because Lilith never screams.

Between the two of them, while Beatrice has thicker skin when in situations of physical and mental torture, Lilith is always the more composed soul, always keeping her head calm and cool in whatever states of danger.

Lilith is never this outright terrified. Something must be terribly wrong. 

“Percival, answer me! Percival!” At long last, the line cuts off, leaving Beatrice to stew in her frustration. “Percival!”

“Bea, what's going on?” Ava rushes over, big eyes staring up at her like she has the answer and not twice as many questions.

“I don't know. I don't know.” Beatrice pants, suddenly extremely winded. Her last coherent thought slips through the cortex of her brain with difficulty, but eventually arrives regardless. “We need to go. We shouldn't stay here any longer.”

“Are you sure? What about your friend, Percival? And my brother?” Ava questions, but she follows Beatrice out to the door anyway.

Beatrice swallows back a sob, trying to focus on getting Ava to safety first and foremost. Even if her heart is breaking at the thought of her friend in danger and not being able to help.

But the mission comes first, always.

“I’ll contact Kingsman when we’re in the car. Right now, we need to get you somewhere safe first.”

Ava clearly has something else to say, but Beatrice is already frazzled enough, forcing herself to be stern and pushing them towards the door.

Only, when Beatrice touches the doorknob, she gets a split second of hearing the distinctive ringing of a bomb remotely rigged to explode. 

“Ava, get behind the bar, now!” Beatrice screams, frantically pushing them back as far as she can.

The second she regains enough composure, Beatrice grabs Ava by her jacket and throws her over the bartop. Beatrice swiftly follows by vaulting over, assisted by Ava yanking at her collar and pulls her flushed down on top of her, just in time for an explosion to burst the door open, sending smattering bricks and woods everywhere.

Beatrice hugs Ava to her chest and pins her to the ground, letting her body shield every projectile thrown their way, not budging nor even making a sound no matter how painful. They hide in each other's arms and behind the bar, bravely enduring through the rest of the shockwave together.

Ava isn't shaking in fear, being so good and so brave, but her lips do let loose the tiniest whimper, and for that Beatrice holds on.

Over her dead body will she ever let anything harm even a single strand of hair on Ava’s head.

The explosion eventually dies down, leaving nothing but dust and hubris flying. Ava goes to get up, but Beatrice remains in her position, pinning Ava back down on the ground.

“Not yet, Ava.” Beatrice whispers, ears craned for any sort of unusual sound. “Lay there for me just for a bit longer.”

Sure enough, the moment Beatrice finishes her sentence, the door is kicked open with a ferocity she has only seen in someone with a clear mission. Most oftentimes herself.

Toggling her spectacles, Beatrice uses her x-ray vision to see through the hardwood material of the bartop, only to frown in confusion at the sight of a stranger neither she nor the facial recognition system can recognize.

It's a man, for starters, and he's wearing some sort of military black uniform. Behind him, clambering into the bar, is an army of identically dressed soldiers, decked out to the max in bulletproof vests and assault rifles. 

Beatrice doesn't even get to wonder what their goal is when the man in charge spells it out for her loud and clear. 

“Find Ava Silva and that bodyguard of hers. I want them both taken alive and in one piece, do you hear me?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

There's easily thirty of them in her sight and, knowing her own luck, there has to be at least one more backup platoon with snipers standing by right outside that door, ready to gun down anything that moves.

Beatrice bites down her lip so hard she starts bleeding, though that is the least of her concern. 

They need to get out. And they need to get out now.

—

“Bea, there’s a window in the bathroom. We can get out through there.”

God, if they weren’t in a life or death situation, Beatrice could have kissed her. “I could kiss you right now.” Gosh darn it.

A strangled squeak echoes from the body beneath her, but heaven forbid, Beatrice will rather dose herself in gasoline than look. Instead, she puts all her focus into quietly pulling them up, careful not to bump into any broken glass or anything that can alert the soldiers to their location. 

“Are you good to get on your knees?” Beatrice grimaces at herself and at the tiny snort that escaped Ava’s mouth. “I— you— you know what I mean.”

“Yes, Beatrice, I am very good at getting on my knees.” Ava answers, voice deliberately low and husky. Beatrice is going to explode any minute now.

Thankfully, or not, depends on how you look at it, sounds of thundering footsteps cut through their moment. Scolding herself for getting distracted, Beatrice goes to push Ava towards the back door.

True to her words, Ava manages to make zero noises as she crawls across the bar, with Beatrice hot on her heels. The minute they reach the door, Beatrice ushers Ava to hurry to the bathroom.

“What about you? Why are you not coming with me?” Ava asks, big brown eyes imploring and scared.

Beatrice tries to smile, if only to ease her best friend’s worry. “I’m just going to set a trap here so we have more time to run. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

Ava bites her lip, clearly conflicted, but eventually agrees. Beatrice watches her disappear into the shadows before turning to lie on her back. 

Taking advantage of the rare reprieve, Beatrice reaches for her comms, trying to get into contact with Kingsman once more. 

“Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?” Beatrice gives the spine of her spectacles a tap, then another tap, eventually sighing in frustration at the lack of answer and actual connection. “Freaking hell—”

“Hey, I think I saw something move over here.”

Shit. She has to hurry. 

Putting her hand in her pocket, Beatrice fishes out a small tube of gel. Carefully, making sure no one can see her, Beatrice sits up and starts spraying the gel all over the floor, making sure to get the entire surface of the pathway. 

Once that’s done, Beatrice wrenches her arm back and throws the tube in the air. A gunshot echoes and with it comes the explosion of the tube, creating a mist-like fog that blinds any person within a 5-meter radius. 

“What the fuck!”

“Who did that! I can’t see shit!”

Chuckling to herself, Beatrice performs a quick flip to get back on her feet and scampers after Ava. 

Beatrice spots her immediately, flagging Beatrice impatiently with her arm waving up and down like a very disgruntled New York taxi driver.

“What the hell did you do?” Ava asks, tugging at Beatrice’s sleeve and pulling her into the bathroom. “I heard screaming and cussing. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I managed to stall for more time with a little help of some super-glue. Courtesy of the Kingsman lab techs.” Beatrice smirks, earning a laugh. She tears her eyes away, and immediately spots their point of exit. “Is this the window? Where does it lead to?”

Ava hums, lips pursed in thoughts. “I jumped up to check. We should be right above the trash cans. If we can land atop the lids, then we can round back and make a quick and easy escape to the park.”

“Good thinking, Ava.” Beatrice says, not seeing the delighted flush on Ava’s cheeks as she is too busy taking off her blazer jacket. “I’m not going to fit wearing this. Can you hold onto it and I’ll give you a lift?”

“Oh! Like a Naughty Dog lift.” Beatrice has no idea what that means but sure. “I’m all in.”

Leaving Ava to fold up the jacket in her arms, Beatrice moves to stand underneath the window shaft, digging her strong thighs and solid feet onto the concrete. Clapping her hands together, Beatrice lowers her body so she is closer to the ground. 

“Ready when you are.” Beatrice says, receiving a nod and a thumbs up.

In a move that looks particularly well-practiced, Ava takes a few steps back before using the momentum to push her fast forward. Beatrice waits, effortlessly catches Ava’s feet with her little makeshift launchpad, and throws her into the air.

Immediately, Ava latches onto the window still with her hands, biceps undoubtedly flexing underneath her letterman jacket as she crawls through the small gap. Beatrice waits, again, for the sound of Ava’s body coming into contact with the trash can, before turning back and hauling herself up as well.

As expected, Beatrice’s feet also meet the lid upon first contact in her descent, but thanks to Ava’s quick thinking of sliding the blazer jacket underneath, there is minimal noise to be made.

“Ava, you are a genius.” Beatrice praises, quickly sliding down and coming to grab at Ava’s arm. “How did you manage to think of that so quickly?”

Ava shrugs, delighted flush now visible and up close and personal for Beatrice to see. “I watch a lot of movies?”

Beatrice chuckles, not giving it too much thought. It’s not like they currently don’t have a much bigger thing to worry about.

“Are you good to run?” Beatrice checks her watch, which also has a mini GPS screen. “We can make a dash to the Subaru in under three minutes if we sprint.”

“All those yoga practices have got to pay off somehow.” Ava smirks, eyes twinkling with something, something that may look like the flush on Beatrice’s own cheeks at remembering just how much she quietly appreciates Ava’s more… creative yoga poses. “Race you!”

True to her estimation, Beatrice and Ava make it back to the local park, where they had voted in favor for a leisurely walk after Ava got distracted by a stray cat and put the car in park, in less than three minutes.

Climbing in, Beatrice only waits for Ava to wrap the seat belt around her body before she twists the key and fires up the engines. Swiftly, Beatrice drives them out of the parking lot, and soon enough they are leaving the pub and its soldiers to eat their dust.

Or so Ava would say anyway. Beatrice is admittedly quite influenced by her video game language. 

“Where should we go? Back home?” Ava asks, eyes darting back and forth between her window and Beatrice.

“No. Those people know who you are and by name too.” Beatrice says, the previous rock in her stomach now becoming a landslide. “We need to go somewhere else. Somewhere no one outside of the Kingsman would know even exist.”

And so Beatrice drives, and drives, and drives, only slowing down when she sees the familiar steps of her brownstone. 

Putting the car in park on the sidewalk, Beatrice turns off the engines and looks over at her friend. Who, surprisingly, isn’t showing a speck of fear. Perhaps a bit nervous, but Ava looks solid as a stone.

Something tickles at the back of Beatrice’s mind, but she disregards it in favor of making sure Ava is one hundred percent safe. 

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.” Beatrice smiles, earning one equally earnest and sure right back. 

Together, they make their way out, staying close as they cross the sidewalk and heading up the small flight of stairs. Once there, Beatrice fishes out a key in her left pocket, buried deep in a secret compartment that only she and their tailor know about (god bless, Yasmine Amunet), and twists it inside the knob.

The door opens with a quiet click, Beatrice immediately ushering Ava inside. 

“Wow, Bea. This place looks so cute.” Ava gushes, eyes sparkling in awe. “Is this your place? Like, your personal home?”

Beatrice, occupied with the several locks on her door, takes a bit to turn back around and answer her.

“Yes, actually. I bought this place with the stipend Kingsman gave me over the years.” Beatrice explains, placing a hand on the small of Ava’s back, leading her towards the living room. “In all honesty, I’m not usually at home. I spend a lot of my time going on missions.”

“Workaholic Bea, who could have foreseen it.” Ava laughs, her teasing not at all malicious but playful and affectionate.

It makes Beatrice smile too, guiding Ava to sit down on her tiny couch. “What can I say, I really love my job.”

“Water is wet and the sky is blue.” Ava teases again, her smile slowly softening into that worried pout she’s been wearing since Beatrice took on those goons. “What are we going to do now, Bea?”

Reminded of her failure, Beatrice almost lets loose a curse. Alas, she just sighs, rounding up to her little desk on the other side of the living room, where she keeps a backup laptop.

It’s still there, much to her relief, hidden in a secret drawer that can only be opened by her biometrics.

“I’m going to try to establish contact with Kingsman again.” Beatrice answers Ava, practically flopping down on her seat and impatiently waits for the device to boot up. 

Right as the Kingsman logo starts materializing, Ava says something that makes Beatrice pause.

“I don't think you should do that.”

Looking up, Beatrice’s eyes narrow at Ava, who looks suspiciously emotionless. Unlike the Ava that Beatrice had come to know and adore. Ava is still sitting in a loosened position, which could mean she’s relaxed and not straining herself to lie.

“Why shouldn't I?” Beatrice asks, voice low and hands careful. 

Ava answers immediately, like she’s been rehearsing it in her head. “You said Percival was attacked, right?” Beatrice nods in confirmation. “So that means they know where Michael’s location is too. And as far as I know, only Kingsmen were let in on the details of our whereabouts every day, by your hourly and daily reports.”

“Yes, but…” Beatrice pauses, trying to listen to both her heart and her brain. So far, they’re saying a whole lot of nothing. “It doesn’t matter. This is proper Kingsman protocol. It’s best if we get into contact with someone who knows what to do.”

To her surprise, Ava scoffs, the action so uncharacteristic and condescending that Beatrice has to take a moment to make sure she is still talking to her best friend.

“Are you always this by the book?” Ava asks, and Beatrice’s heart seizes in her chest. “Did they not teach you agents how to improvise?”

And just like that, her whole world stops. 

Improvise. Improvise. Did they not teach you how to improvise?

Improvise. Improvise. Vincent had to improvise to save your life. I’m sorry. He’s gone.

Improvise. Improvise. You being there was unexpected. He did what he thought was right.

Improvise. Improvise. Vincent improvised. He jumped and took the bullet that was meant for you.

Improvise. Improvise. Cause of death, bullets to the arteries and the heart. Dead on arrival. There was nothing we could do.

Improvise. Improvise. Improvise. Farewell, Agent Galahad.

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

Beatrice doesn’t realize just how loud she is screaming until she feels blood spilling out of her mouth. Her hands slam painfully against the hardwood desk as she rises from her seat, glaring daggers into the person who dared to say such a cruel and careless thing without thoughts. 

Blinding rage and suffocating grief come together to blur her eyes and claw at the oxygen tubes in her throat, filling her veins with so much anger that she can’t even find it within herself to feel remorseful over the stricken look on Ava’s face.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Beatrice murmurs, explosive and unresolved devastation pouring out in waves. Her fists curl and curl, until her nails dig into the tender surface of her skin and make her bleed. “You don’t know what happened the last time someone did something out of protocol. You don’t know. You don’t fucking know!”

The last shout is what gets Ava on her feet too, hands raised in surrender and eyes spilling apologetic tears. “Beatrice, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I—”

Ava never gets to finish her apology. 

Beatrice is barely able to grab onto something solid, in this case being her slightly dented desk, before she feels the floor beneath her shake. Her grip is too loose, the mini earthquake knocking her off balance and sending her colliding straight into the wall, her head smacking into the concrete with a painful thud.

In synchronization with the shaking is the sound of Beatrice’s front door being blown to pieces, followed by the same ringing of explosives like from the bar just now piercing through her eardrums.

“Fuck, that hurts…” Beatrice holds her hands over her head, cowering as she tries to ride out the worst of what is undoubtedly a concussion. 

Occupied with her own pain, Beatrice fails to pick up on the sound of thundering military boots. It’s too late when she finally sees hostile shadows storming into her living room, their sole and precious target just lying there on the couch, almost too ready to be taken away.

“No, no, no—” Beatrice cries out, petrified in all the worst ways. “Ava, get out! Behind you!”

Thrown hazardously on her back, Ava tilts her head upwards, looking at the soldiers with vacant eyes. “Well, fuck me.”

Out of all the ways Beatrice had expected Ava to react, the most prominent one being to scream for Beatrice’s help, never in her life did she think of this.

This, being Ava skillfully performs a front flip that gets her back on her two feet.

This, being Ava pulling out a gun out of thin air and aims it at the platoon of equally stunned soldiers.

“I knew this would come in handy.” Ava says, then fires. 

Beatrice’s jaw drops to the floor as every single bullet meets its target, Ava’s grip steady and her aim even ten times more accurate. 

“The fuck! Since when does the heiress bitch know how to fight?”

Ringing finally settling down, Beatrice pushes her one million and one questions to the side, going to help her friend out. Sticking a hand beneath her desk, feeling the familiar sensation of yet another biometric scanning pad, Beatrice waits and spots over her shoulder the wall opening up to reveal a secret weaponry. 

While Ava is busy gunning the ones closest to her with what appears to be a revolver, Beatrice grabs a shotgun for herself, loading and cocking back bullets after bullets.

A rough hand lands on her shoulder, and right away Beatrice knows break time is over.

“Come here, you bit— fuck!” The soldier starts coughing blood at being suckerpunched in the guts with a shotgun butt, then knocked out cold when Beatrice skillfully twists her arm back to slam the same butt against his head.

With her head still buzzing, Beatrice forgoes making a headcount for every soldier in the room, instead focusing on taking down as many as she could. 

She suffers from a decent amount of injuries as a result of her sloppy fighting, still trying to recover from the head-splitting concussion and ringing eardrums. Her shirt is torn and pulled out of her trousers, and she's definitely bleeding in a lot of places that she doesn't even have time to do a headcount for.

Nonetheless, Beatrice holds up just fine on her own, better when Ava knows to swoop in and takes care of the soldiers who are being too out of her hands right now.

In the end, it’s her own carelessness that almost gets her killed.

Having forgotten the blazer jacket, yes, the bulletproof blazer jacket in her car, Beatrice has no chance of taking a bullet and lives to tell the tale.

But that’s what she does anyway, eyesight zeroing in on the last standing soldier, who is shakily aiming a gun at the back of Ava’s head, the latter completely unaware and mistaking the momentary peace for a mission success.

“Ava, look out!”

Without even sparing a second thought, Beatrice vaults over the couch and shoves herself in between Ava and the gunman.

A strangled gasp echoing from behind her, Beatrice closes her eyes and braces herself for the pain.

I’ll never be able to tell her I love her.

In the next life.

I’ll tell her in the next life.

The gunshot pierces through the air like a rocket, loud and screeching and approaching close. Beatrice grinds down her teeth, digs her feet deep to make sure she doesn't fall atop Ava when she is inevitably knocked out. 

I love you.

I’m sorry.

Beatrice waits, and waits, and waits. But the bullet never touches her.

Confused, Beatrice opens her eyes, jaw dropping in shock once more at the sight of Ava’s hand winded around her torso and catching the bullet straight on with nothing but her hand.

“What the fuck…” The soldier is obviously as stunned as she is, readying to shoot another round. Alas, he’s run out, and Beatrice sees Ava’s next move before he does.

Upon a closer look, Beatrice sees Ava’s palm is actually coated in a different skin color, almost silvery and shiny. 

Seemingly at her command, the skin starts reassembling itself back into the gun Beatrice saw she was holding just now, nanotechnology, and without a moment of hesitation, Ava shoots a bullet straight into the soldier’s head, killing him on the spot. 

Words are still hard, and everything hurts like a massive bitch, but Beatrice has to get this out. 

“Ava, what—” 

Ava cuts her off before she can finish, winding to her front and looking up at her with familiar, worried brown eyes. “Are you okay? How hurt are you?”

Gentle hands fly up to hold her face, but Beatrice steps back out of reach. Ava’s face drowns itself in hurt, and usually Beatrice would say sorry, but right now, she would much rather an explanation.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Flash of hurt still remains, even deepening after Beatrice's rare use of a cuss word and aimed directly at her no less, Ava’s face takes itself on yet another journey, this one full of trepidation and secret shadows.

Beatrice stands firm, her glare never once wavering. She's tired, of being hurt, being confused, and being kept in the dark. The least Ava can do is come out and confess whatever she is hiding.

Eventually, Ava sighs, sounding more tired than any girl her age should be.

A hand extends in her direction, and Beatrice would have grabbed it by instinct if she weren't so shocked by the next words coming out of Ava’s mouth.

“Agent Morgana of the Kingsman. It's a pleasure to finally make acquaintance with you.”

—

Chapter Text

“Agent Morgana of the Kingsman. It's a pleasure to finally make acquaintance with you.”

In the last two months of their companionship, friendship, situationship, or whatever the hell you call this relationship of theirs, Beatrice has suffered through a good number of brain short-circuits thanks to Ava and the random ass words she would say at unexpected moments throughout the day.

Beatrice never minds it. Hell, she even finds it adorable, and endearing, and something so incredibly Ava Silva that it adds onto the long lists of reasons why Beatrice thinks she, lowkey, might be in love with her.

Hearing Ava call herself Agent Morgana of the Kingsman is, by far, the top of the ludicrous ranking.

In front of her, Ava looks on the edge of suspense. Her bottom lip is snagged in between her teeth and her eyes, round and shaking pupils, are fully telling of her nerves.

There's a lot of things going through Beatrice's brain right now too, her state of confusion and shock not at all helped by the sluggish and injured state of her body and her mind.

Therefore, it sort of explains why the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, 

“Morgana? Morgana isn’t even an Arthurian knight.”

Judging by the incredulous quirk of Ava’s eyebrows and the wince stuck in her own throat, that might not have been the best thing to say.

But also, excuse the fuck out of her for not finding the right words when literally bleeding out and concussed.

“In most legends, she’s not. But we all know history is written by the victors and the misogynists.” Ava says, slowly, which would feel patronizing had Beatrice not known Ava is doing it to lighten the pressure put on her aching head. 

It just isn't in her nature to be malicious, even if she is clearly embarrassed at Beatrice not taking her hand. Though, what does Beatrice know about Ava Silva, really?

“I suppose.” Beatrice says curtly, eyes cold and staring dead ahead. “So, Kingsman?”

Ava nods, her hands fiddling nervously, looking as timid as the day they reunited at The Salvius Mansion.

Jesus fuck, was it even a reunion? Did Ava know who she was? Was that night even real or just a scoping mission? Has everything they went through been nothing but lies?

“It's a long story, which I will tell you once we’re in a safer place,” Seeing Beatrice's indignant expression, Ava rolls her eyes. “Surely you realize by now that whoever is attacking us knows about Kingsman. Your address, previously confidential and shit, was leaked. We’re compromised here. Why did you think I jammed the signal?”

Beatrice frowns, stubborn, even though she can admit to herself that there are merits in what Ava is saying.

That is until she registers the last sentence, and her anger just fires up all over again. “You… you jammed the signal?”

Sensing genuine anger and hostility, Ava takes a step back. In her jacket pocket, Ava pulls out a small device, barely the size of a mini Bluetooth speaker, and sure enough, Beatrice can hear the subtle vibrations and the tiniest hint of white noise. 

“I’m sorry. I had to. Our attackers could be a Kingsman insider. We can never be too careful.”

How fucking dare she— “Did you make it so I can’t call Percival and Merlin?” Ava nods timidly. “Why would you do that? You heard Percival scream for help!”

“I had no choice!” Ava screams back, fighting fire with fire. “You saw those army dudes. There was no way this wasn't premeditated from the insides somehow. I had to act quickly to protect us from harm’s way.”

“It’s obviously going so well for you, isn’t it?” Beatrice seethes, gesturing wildly at her ransacked home. “What’s next on our plan, then?”

Ava gulps, but stands her grounds despite constantly being yelled at. Beatrice has to give her credits for that.

“We can't stay here.” Yeah, no fucking shit. “The signal jammer prevents your house from being bugged and eavesdropped on, but it won't stop them from sending more men, especially after they find out we killed off their first troop. We can't go back to my place either. It’s too risky.”

Taking a deep breath, Ava’s voice turns softer, but not quite letting go of that commanding tone she just put on like a familiar piece of clothing. 

Beatrice's heart clenches painfully. What part of Ava has been a mask and what has been her?

“We need to run. We go to the only other person in the world who knows about Biomax, other than my mom and me. I’m sure that’s what they’re after. Everyone connected to Biomax is in danger, and since we can’t check on my mom right now, we should check on the other person. She has all the equipment we need to establish an undercover line of contact with Kingsman, then we’ll see what has happened on their side of the planet and go on from there.”

Biomax? Her? Someone else other than Ava and Jillian? What the fuck is going on?

“Please, Galahad.” The use of her title sends a wave of conflicting emotions in Beatrice's body, but it's the downright plea in Ava’s eyes that makes her pause altogether. “I know you’re very confused, and I don't blame you. I understand if you feel betrayed or lied to, but please, time is running out. You have to trust me.”

To be perfectly honest, Beatrice is exhausted.

In the span of approximately an hour, she’s been hatecrimed, kicked at, punched at, stabbed at, shot at, and nothing hurts more than the thought of the last two months having meant absolutely nothing to the girl looking at her like she is just impatiently waiting for her to catch up.

Beatrice is tired, and she is hurting. God forbid does she want detailed explanations right this second. And fucking hell if she isn't mad too.

And yet, at the core of her, Beatrice still trusts Ava.

For now, at least. “Okay. Lead the way.”

The way apparently means going back to the car, which somehow still sits in one piece on the sidewalk across the street. 

Beatrice is still awake enough to spare a few scoping glances around the neighborhood, quickly noting the absence of curious neighbors, though that might not last long.

In a role reversal that Beatrice absolutely hates, Ava graciously opens the passenger side door and gently ushers her inside. She flops hard down the seat, the impact of it rattling her aching skull.

Still, Beatrice doesn't let it show, schooling her face into a blank mask and staring dead ahead. 

Ava swiftly follows behind and situates herself in the driver’s seat, fumbling a little with the controls as this is the first time she’s driven her own car since the day Beatrice became her bodyguard.

“Alright, there we go.” Ava murmurs to herself, constantly shooting Beatrice half-hearted looks of worry, if the burning at the side of her head is any indication. “You good, Beatrice?”

Ava receives only a wordless nod, but apparently that's enough for her. 

Key turned, the two of them quickly get back on the road, and just like that very first morning reunited, the interior of the car is engulfed in a sea of awkward silence.

Unlike Ava, Beatrice has no desire to start up a conversation, at least not one that doesn't involve Ava’s backstory laid out from A to Z and Beatrice's own involvement from beginning to end. 

She knows better than to expect that in an environment as unsafe as a moving car, so Beatrice keeps her mouth shut. Her brain can use the rest anyway.

Sometimes, Ava looks like she wants to say something, mouth opening then closing again, but eventually she looks at Beatrice's emotionless face and decides to take it as a giant stop sign.

Smart, but equally infuriating nonetheless.

It's not until a while later, when Beatrice is jolted out of a small nap by the car pulling to a stop, that she realizes she never exactly asked where they were going.

Ava seems to know her craft, though, already stepping out of the car and rounding to Beatrice's side. Her face is all scrunched up in earnestness and concern, yet for the first time ever, Beatrice's heart is cold.

Opening the door, Ava doesn't get a chance to help Beatrice out before she does it herself, putting as much distance between them as possible. 

Ava, super agent or not, has always been terrible at hiding her disappointment, and it shows again now, lips pulled down in an upset pout.

Beatrice looks away, instead observes wherever Ava just took them to.

“A women’s homeless shelter?” 

“Yep.” Ava says, trying to sound like her typical upbeat tone. It's not working. “Best place to find clothes, medicines, and a spare room. I used to volunteer here when I was a kid, since the office for my physiotherapist isn't too far from here.”

Beatrice wants to ask why won't they just go to where that other person Ava mentioned earlier, but Ava is already walking ahead. Left with no other choice, Beatrice is forced to follow, every step like a needle hammering into her skull.

Ava does all the talking and leading, and soon enough, they both find themselves walking down a small corridor and opening the door to an even smaller, dark room.

So relieved at the sight of a bed and darkness, Beatrice doesn't at all notice how there is only one of them in the entire room, taking to flop down on the surprisingly soft mattress.

The sigh that escapes her is the only telltale of her hurt, which Ava picks up in an instance. Damn her and her keen observation skill.

Is that another Agent Morgana thing or just Ava Silva?

“Don't go to sleep yet. You should change. I’ll burn your clothes and then mine too, in case someone planted a physical tracker on us.”

“Good idea.” Beatrice murmurs absentmindedly, taking off her specs and rubbing at her eyes to hopefully shoo away all the spots. The thought of burning what is left of one of her favorite suits is left to be processed at a later time. “What about—”

“While you change, I’ll run down and grab some medicines along with a first-aid kit. I’ll be back in a jiffy, I promise.” Ava dashes away before Beatrice can object and they fall back into arguing, as if that's her goal all along. “Remember, don't fall asleep!”

The door closes with a soft click, another sign of Ava’s careful care. Beatrice grumbles, too busy being offended by the implication that she doesn't know how to treat a concussion.

Kingsman or not, Beatrice is still the one with more experience on the field, for god’s sake.

With that being said, Ava isn't entirely wrong, so Beatrice pulls herself up and drudges into the bathroom with much difficulty. She locates the clothes easily enough, a pantsuit that is only a size larger than usual, as well as some socks and a pair of white sneakers. 

Beatrice takes off her spectacles as well as her wristwatch, shakes off the exhaustion accumulating throughout the day, walks back into the bedroom the same time Ava returns from her scavenging mission, arms laden with plastic bags and a clearly well-used medical kit.

“Oh good, that’ll be easy to take off.” What— “Take a couple sips of water. I’ll change and be right out to help you with your injuries.”

“I hardly think it's necess— and she's gone.” Beatrice huffs in both frustration and exasperation, hands shaking slightly as she puts away her remaining belongings and reaches for the cold water bottle Ava also brought up in the bag.

It helps, the coolness healing over the blood and scratches in her throat. Beatrice sits with herself for a few more seconds, trying to remember the meditating exercise that Shannon taught her long ago.

This helps also, as Beatrice finds she is less likely to blow a fuse at the sight of Ava walking out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of jeans overalls with a red shirt underneath.

It hurts. It hurts that Beatrice still feels something in her heart at the sight of who she’s come to think of as her best friend, as the girl she loves, and instead of being unapologetic about it, her brain keeps coming up with ways to make it, her, hurt.

“Alrighty,” Ava smiles, faltering a bit when she realizes she is the center of Beatrice's attention. “Hey, are you… how are you feeling? I saw— I thought— do you have a migraine?”

She shrugs. “A concussion, more likely.” Beatrice nudges at the plastic bag. “What did you get?”

“Oh, um…” Ava gets on her knees and starts rummaging through her pile. One by one, she shows off her trophies. Gauzes, cotton balls, saline, banadages, antiseptics, medical gloves, some tylenols. “Will these be enough?”

Beatrice can do with just the tylenols, but her chest is starting to burn a little, fresh wounds chafed against the fabric of the pantsuit.

“They will.” Her hands reach for her shirt, but Beatrice stops herself before she can go through with the motion. “May I undress?”

Angry and hurt as she is, Beatrice would never deliberately make Ava uncomfortable. She would rather stab herself a hundred times in the heart with a dull sword.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Ava’s head bobbles in her motion to convey agreement, and this might just be her deliria talking, but it almost looks like Ava is blushing. “You, um… you do that. I’ll just get these in order. Yes, I’ll get right on that.”

Beatrice nods, then slowly undresses. Purple and yellow skin and painful-looking slashes of sharp objects reveal themselves per each button being undone, and even Beatrice, with all her years of experience, has to wince.

“Oh Bea, they look so painful.” Ava pouts, seemingly not noticing she just called her by her nickname again. “Okay. I can do this. I’ll take care of these then I’ll tend to your head wound. Is that okay?”

The thought of Ava’s hands all over her makes Beatrice want to light herself on fire, actually, but there's really no room for a gay panic right now, so she reluctantly nods and sits back further on the bed.

Ava is on her knees and in between Beatrice’s legs, tongue stuck out in concentration as she puts on her gloves, the loud snap echoing and in sync with the sheepish grin on her face. Ava then applies a good amount of saline onto the cotton ball, and picks it up using her hand.

Beatrice doesn't scream nor flinch at the first touch of disinfectant on her injury, but she does tilt her head back to look up at the ceiling, an age-old method of distancing herself from the visual helping with the pain.

For every searing touch of the disinfectant, Beatrice flexes her entire body to match. This is purely a gag reflex, one that Mary had tried and failed to beat out of her as it only further tenses her muscles and not doing her any good, but Beatrice can't help it.

She thinks her ears pick up a strangled sound every time she does it, which, in this state of mind, can easily come from her as much as it can from Ava.

Though what reason could elicit that sort of sound from Ava, she wouldn't be able to tell.

Beatrice has no concept of time, just sitting there obediently for Ava to patch her up. Ava finishes eventually, and Beatrice knows it immediately thanks to the little chirp of delight she lets out without knowing.

Again, best friend, the girl she loves, yadda yadda yadda.

“All good. Dare I say, I did a pretty good job.” Beatrice looks back down to see a boastful, if not exaggerated, smile on her face. 

Knowing Ava and her coping mechanisms, it's done on purpose to clear the tense air with a joke, and against her better judgment, Beatrice lets her lips curl up just a smidge. 

“Thank you.” She says softly, hands slowly moving to button up her shirt again. “My head?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Ava perks up, goofy smile replaced by the same serious expression as before. “Um, so… you can choose however we do this. Either I crawl behind you, which is a little disadvantageous seeing as you are bleeding from the front, but if you're not comfortable, I can do that no problem.”

Beatrice listens, processes the words in her brain, frowns in confusion, then asks for clarification. “What's the other option?”

Fascinatingly, Ava’s cheeks erupt in heat. Beatrice hasn't seen her blush this hard since that night in Madrid.

“Well… the second option is… you let me sit on your lap.” Ava says slowly, wincing with every word.

Beatrice’s mouth opens in understanding, then closes in what is definitely categorized as hurt.

“Am I so repulsive-looking now that the idea makes you severely uncomfortable?”

Ava’s eyes, already big, widen like saucers as she tries to defend herself. 

“No, no, of course not. I don't think you're repulsive as all. You’re still beautiful and handsome and just a little scratched up. I’m asking because I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh. Well then… “Okay.”

Ava blinks, Beatrice blinks back. “Okay?”

Beatrice nods, looking away in hopes of hiding her flushed cheeks. She hopes her ears aren't siren red. God why did she have to cut her hair so damn short.

“Okay.” Ava sighs, sounding mostly relieved. “Okay. Sit back? Like you did just now?”

Doing as told, Beatrice sits back on her forearms, still strong enough to hold herself up. While Ava preps, Beatrice takes a split second to assess Ava’s handiwork on her, quietly humming in approval.

Ava knows what she's doing. Beatrice can at least find solace in that if nothing else for the time being.

“Okay, I’m climbing up now.” Ava says, her voice shaking.

Beatrice is too, she's just better about hiding it. Wordlessly, she beckons her to her lap with an eyebrow, lip curling just a smudge at how utterly flustered Ava immensely becomes.

It makes sense. The last time Ava sat in her lap, Beatrice was three fingers deep inside her and Ava was moaning prettily in ecstasy and pleasure.

“Okay. Here we go.”

Slowly, Ava situates herself in Beatrice's lap, careful to hover and not actually sit on her legs. Beatrice's hands twitch with the desire to pull her flushed down against her, but she resists, because what is she if not good at denying herself things she wants so badly.

“This is definitely going to scar.” Ava winces, hands frantic but still gentle, so gentle, as she swoops up the bangs of Beatrice’s hair to assess the damage. “It’s not too deep, thank god. Some saline, bandages, meds, and constant rests should make you all better again.”

Beatrice frowns, softly, not wanting to dislodge Ava from her workspace. “We don’t have time. You said so.”

“I know.” Ava smiles, albeit sadly. “I know, but we’ll get as much rest as we can before the world comes crashing down on us. It’ll be okay.”

She highly doubts that, but no point in raining on Ava’s parade right now. 

Instead, Beatrice focuses on leaning back and closing her eyes. essentially surrendering herself once more to Ava’s careful hands. Like before, the saline stings, but she pays it no mind. 

It’s only when that’s done and Ava has to put on the bandages, making it a full lap around her head, that Beatrice has a semi problem.

The problem, being that with her eyes closed, Beatrice’s sense of smell becomes slightly more enhanced, and it doesn’t help at all when Ava has to lean forward and pushes herself further into Beatrice’s personal space to reach.

Ava never wears perfume. She told Beatrice that a long time ago during one of their first grocery shopping trips together, and while Beatrice had believed her, she is still able to pick out Ava’s distinctive smell, a hybrid of a beloved brand of shampoo and her own natural body scent.  

When they were hooking up in that pub, Beatrice had thought she tasted and smelled sour and sweet, and the same applies now, only more.

Like a warm meal, their life together is composed of broth made of familiar companionship and selfish comfort, meat marinated by late nights by the TV offering each other unconditional comfort and understanding, and sprinkled atop is seasonings of longing looks and careful, longing hands.

Suddenly, morbidly, Beatrice feels like almost crying. She wants that life back.

She doesn’t cry. She would never. But by god, does she want to. 

“There we go.” Unknowing, Ava chirps in delight, pleased at another job well done. Beatrice opens her eyes, blinks at the sudden onslaught of sunshines. “Just need to get some meds in you and you can take a nap. Thank god we ate breakfast before we left the house.”

Meds. Nap. That sounds nice.

Almost as if just waiting to be reminded, Beatrice begins to feel drowsy, barely able to keep her eyes open to watch Ava dump out all her findings onto the bed, picks out a few tablets and puts them on her palm, then hands them over with the water bottle she was drinking from earlier.

Beatrice takes them with the smallest thank you, swaying even as she is just sitting up. Ava helps her, grounds her by the shoulders, and keeps her in the air until Beatrice finishes swallowing all the tablets.

Then gently, too gently, Ava lets her go.

Beatrice falls back onto the mattress with a soft thud, slipping into the abyss.

The last thing she feels before blacking out is soft lips pressing against her temple. 

After that, darkness.

Home sweet home.

—

As ironic as it seems, the next time Beatrice opens her eyes, it’s to the heavenly smell of food.

The room they’ve been graciously and kindly given has only one window, and Beatrice has been sleeping directly underneath it, giving her a direct view of the sun disappearing beneath the clouds. 

So it’s been a couple hours since… since…

Would it be an exaggeration if I call it the end of the world?

It sure feels like the end of mine. 

“Hey, you’re awake.” 

Unfortunately. “Hi, is that food?”

From the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce, with what appears to be a steaming cup of instant noodles in her hands, Ava Silva looks like a sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah.” Ava says, voice low, careful as ever with her. “Do you want some? You should. Then you can have something in your tummy before you take your next dose of medicine.”

Secret agent in disguise and prodigy child, yet Ava likes to use the word tummy. It’s not anything too spectacular or worth-noting for most people, but it’s adorable and endearing and, well, Beatrice can’t help but smile, her heart lighter than it was a few hours ago.

The wonders of what proper rest can do. Suck it, past Beatrice.

“They smell good.” Beatrice says, more of an absentminded observation to herself. 

Ava seems to take it as a compliment, her body wiggling in joy. “They taste good too. The shelter has tons of these stocked since they’re cheap and easy to get in bulks. Plus, everyone likes soup.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Beatrice reaches for a cup with one hand, using the other to receive the still steaming kettle from her friend. “Thank you. How are you?”

Nodding, Ava sits back on her hands, cup of noodles temporarily forgotten by her legs. Beatrice should keep an eye out lest Ava accidentally knocks it over.

“I’m okay. I didn't get hurt and I took a nap too, and don’t worry, I didn’t crawl into bed with you. I wouldn't want to do that without your permission.” 

Ava chuckles, the sound more strained and awkward than anything Beatrice has ever heard from her.

Right. The elephant in the room. Beatrice had almost completely forgotten about it.

Surprisingly, she feels none of the anger that drove her just a few hours prior. Her heart still aches, but it’s just pure and unadulterated hurt, with a dash of betrayal, if you take a closer look.

Going through the automatic motions of adding boiling water to her cup noodles, closing the paper lid that she didn’t fully tear off and putting a random remote atop, Beatrice takes the leap.

Someone has to.

“Agent Morgana, is it?” She asks, voice steady. Ava blinks at the sudden address, but the conversation is past overdue, so Beatrice bulldozes ahead. “We should talk.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Ava’s head bobbles, timid. Beatrice’s heart grows heavy. “Can I start from the beginning?”

“That would be appreciated.” Beatrice replies, watching Ava as she tucks her knees up to her chest. Like she's trying to protect herself.

“Okay. Wow, I’ve never actually had to explain the whole thing to anyone.” Ava’s chest heaves with a huge inhale then an exhale. Her face, previously hesitant, hardens with determination. “You already know about Biomax, or its first version. What you should know now is that Biomax wasn't created by just my mom, but a joint project. The other name on the patent is of one Dr. Lena Kieran Luthor.”

Beatrice thanks gods and everyone else in charge that she does not have any noodles in her mouth yet, otherwise she would have spat them all out in shock.

Ava, seeing her surprise, chuckles. “I know. Fucking crazy, right?” 

A pause here, which Beatrice doesn't fill. Ava looks disappointed. 

“Um, okay so… Here's the thing, Biomax was originally patented by Lena, who works as Head of R&D at ARQ-TECH. She came up with the concept of a platoon of nanobots working to cure diseases from the inside out, then got my mom onboard. It never came to fruit, what with the gray morals of performing tests on human subjects.”

Me excluded, which goes unsaid. 

Beatrice nods periodically, showing she is listening even as she checks on her noodles and deems they're well-cooked enough to eat. Her hand shakes a little when she scoops the noodles up with her chopsticks, but she manages just fine.

Ava, who paused to shoot looks of concern, then continues with her story.

“After succeeding with me, the two of them decide to shelve Biomax away, but they keep working on it in their free time, hoping for a day they can make it safe enough to be introduced into a new research phase.” 

Ava’s eyes, lit with nostalgia and excitement, suddenly darken. 

Beatrice adds, trying to help. “Someone didn't like that.”

“The board didn't like that.” Ava confirms. “They considered it a huge opportunity to get ARQ-TECH to an even higher status, and I get it, the impact of Biomax on healthcare would be groundbreaking. Guaranteed billions that will feed them for the rest of their lives no sweat.”

Slurping on a bit of broth, Beatrice makes sure to clean her mouth with a napkin before she speaks. “But Jillian and Lena said no.”

“They said no.” Ava nods. “Until one day, when I was nineteen, I came down to R&D in hopes of asking around for college internships, and saw Lena pacing frantically in her office. I got curious, and I was a nosy kid, so I eavesdropped on her.”

Beatrice’s eyebrows quirk in amusement, at which Ava only shrugs. Like she can't see the self-satisfied curl of her lips.

“Lena was murmuring to herself about false reports and cyber break-ins. All of them coming from an internal source and targeting Biomax. False reports were fabricated to make it look like Biomax was ready to be announced to the public, and the break-ins were straight up attempts to steal her data.” 

Ava’s hands are waving wildly as she talks, her pace picking up just a smidge with her excitement. 

Beatrice quickly pulls away the noodle cup, lest Ava topples it over. Sending her a small thank you, Ava then continues.

“I’ve admired Lena long enough to know she won't go to mom about this unless she knew how to stop it, mom was busy enough as she was, so I burst into her office, scared her half to death, then made my proposal.”

Incapable of holding back a chuckle at such an Ava Silva-thing to do, Beatrice has to look away lest the dribbling broth down her chin is visible. Once cleaned, Beatrice turns back around, eyes automatically rolling at the smug on Ava’s face.

“How did you get Kingsman involved in this?”

“I'm getting to it.” It's Ava’s turn to roll her eyes, still smiling bright. “So I was down in R&D. After a long few hours of sweet talking, I managed to convince Lena to let me work with her in uncovering this mystery. As for Kingsman, it's actually a shorter story than you’d think. I knew Roxy Morton.”

Roxy Morton. Former Agent Lancelot. One of the many casualties of The Kingsman Bombings. 

“You… you knew Roxy?” Beatrice has to ask again to make sure her sickness isn't making her hear things.

“I did.” Ava’s eyes dim with sadness. “Roxy saved my life once. I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for her.”

Sensing that Ava might not be ready to get into this particular story, Beatrice moves the topic along. “So you knew of Kingsman.”

“I did. It was actually comically easy to track you guys down.” Ava says, her smug smile returning. “I approached Cat’s Cradle first, but due to my lack of proof, Arthur didn't take me too seriously.”

Beatrice winces, knowing where this is going. “So you hacked into the system.”

“So I hacked into the system.” Ava confirms with a proud grin. “I snooped all the way to HQ. Athur and Merlin managed to stop me before I went in any further, and they were so impressed they decided to hear me out.”

It's more likely that Shannon convinced Suzanne to humor her while intending on wiping out Ava’s memory with an amnesia dart, then throwing her body onto the doorstep of her apartment, but Beatrice digresses.

“Long story short, I made my case, Arthur agreed to have Kingsman work with me, and Merlin kinda sponsored me to become an agent out of impulse.”

Merlin as in Shannon? The Shannon she knew and loved had never done anything out of impulse. Hell, it's taking her months just to decide what color couch she wants.

Not noticing Beatrice's confusion, Ava steamrolls ahead. 

“I was all in. Being a Kingsman seemed fun, and I passed all the tests with flying colors. That's how I became Agent Morgana, and I’ve been doing this for about three years now.”

Three years. Three years. Three— “I was undercover.”

“Yep. But no one else but Arthur and Merlin knew either. They let me quietly work on missions while investigating who exactly is trying so hard to get to Biomax. It was only when this protection detail started that I started taking less intensive co-ops missions and stuck with you more.”

Beatrice nods, mind slowly clearing and building up a timeline. “You didn't succeed.”

Ava groans. “No shit, Sherlock.” 

Taking an aggressive slurp of her noodles, cold now, Ava continues. Beatrice momentarily entertains the idea of swapping noodles with her.

“Years and we found nothing. Eventually, Lena and I decided we should lock Biomax away for an indefinite amount of time. Keep it safe until we deem it's safe to be worked on again. Lena managed to convince mom somehow, and since no one but my mom knew Lena had a hand in it, the board went completely berserk on her. In the end, Biomax was put away in a safe vault with extremely tight security that only Lena, mom, and I knew about.”

“What happened next?” Beatrice asks, heartbeat slightly picking up as they're close to the current.

“Six months later, mom started receiving threatening emails and letters.” At Beatrice's wide eyed look, Ava laughs. “Yes, I knew about them. I came into work the night of my mom’s visit and Arthur and Merlin told me everything.”

The night of Jillian’s visit. That means… 

“I wasn’t there. I was at home after being put on mandatory breaks.” Ava says nothing, only nods to confirm. “So… did you know?” Ava tilts her head, Beatrice pushes herself to ask the question. “Did you know that I was Kingsman the night we met?”

“I didn't.” Beatrice’s lungs grow new holes, so inexplicably relieved. 

Being kept in the dark is one thing. Had Ava known and still approached her that night under omission, it would have pulled Beatrice’s trust issues into the swamp and shattered her into pieces.

“I only knew during the meeting, as I was telling Merlin and Arthur to humor my mom’s protection detail requests, when they showed me yours and Percival’s pictures. I understand that it's a crazy coincidence, but I swear I approached you purely because I think you're beautiful and I wanted to get to know you more.”

Nodding, Beatrice has nothing else to say. Weirdly enough, Ava looks disappointed at this too.

“Athur, Merlin and I agreed then to play along, as I didn’t think it was a pure coincidence that these threats were coming barely six months after Biomax was put away. By then, it’s been so long since we started the investigation and without anything to show for it, we were desperate enough to do anything. Hence, this super super secret agent ploy.”

Beatrice nods, asking the next most logical question she could think of. 

“Then why didn't you tell me? I’m a Kingsman too. I could have helped you with your investigation and we could have worked together to get to the bottom of this.”

Ava’s mouth opens, then closes. Beatrice's heart pushes itself close to tethering the edge again.

“I wasn't sure if I could trust you. I’m sorry.”

And catapulting off the ledge it goes. 

She is only telling me now because she had to. Not because she wanted to.

Can you blame her? Do you not remember the way you acted when you first saw each other again?

Only a fool would trust you.

“Oh.” The single syllable is not spoken but murmured, a hurt, pathetic little thing. Beatrice nods once, twice, looking down at her steaming hot noodles. Suddenly she has lost all of her appetite. “I see.”

All that time.

Everything I did, to make it right, none of it was enough. 

Or perhaps I wasn’t enough. 

I should have known. I should have known I would never be enough for anyone. Not even her.

I love her. 

I gave away myself and my trust.

And she never felt anything back.

Ava tries to make another point, her voice wavering just slightly. Beatrice almost wonders what she sees. “There's more to it, I promise. I will tell you, I just need to tell Arthur and Merlin too.”

Beatrice honestly doesn’t believe that one bit, but what does she know, right?

“You… you seem to really know what you're doing.” The laugh that escapes her is low and bitter, and Beatrice hates it, hates herself for even being upset. “I feel so stupid.”

“What? Why?”

“You knew all along.” Beatrice says, doing her best to not sound miserable. “You knew all about being a Kingsman and what to do when under threats, and I rambled that first day about ground rules. I feel like an idiot.”

“Oh Bea,” Her heart doesn’t even jump at how soft Ava just uttered her name. She has an inkling it might be dead. “It helped, really. It’s not like I’ve been a Kingsman for as long as you, so this sort of situation is new to me, still.” Gentle fingers come to wrap around Beatrice’s chin and lift it up, forcing her to look at Ava and her sorrowful eyes. “I’m really sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Beatrice shakes her head, shaking off Ava’s touch too. She doesn’t want to hear it, she doesn’t think she can do it. 

So she runs. Typical Beatrice. This is why you’ll never be happy. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

Standing up, Beatrice makes for the door, is forced to a stop when a hand reaches to grab at her wrist. Ava rises alongside her, her beautiful face paints a familiar picture of heartbreak.

“Beatrice, wait—”

“Don’t, Ava.” Beatrice commands, pleas, not allowing herself to look back, fearing she might crumble or, worse, give in. “Please, let me go. I need some time to myself. I’ll be back in a moment to accompany you wherever you need to go.”

Beatrice doesn’t wait, instead wrenches her hand out of Ava’s hold and makes a blind dash for the door, edging dangerously and pathetically on the verge of tears.

Right before she can take a step outside, Ava goes to say. “Our friendship was real. All of it. I never once lied to you about that.”

Beatrice allows herself a disbelieving laugh, one that shakes her shoulders, and off with it the last speck of delusion for happiness.

She’s made a fool of herself enough times already.

—

When Beatrice came back to the room, the first thing she told Ava was, 

“We should go. It’s getting really dark outside.”

Not a single mention to the conversation they just had. Not a word about how utterly heartbroken she felt.

Which is fine by her. Beatrice is here to do her job, and no matter what hurt Ava causes her, she is still her job first and foremost. 

Beatrice is a better Kingsman than she is anything else, and if she has to die trying to prove it, she will. 

Ava hadn’t tried to say anything either, just quietly followed Beatrice out of the room. Beatrice remained mum as Ava sought out for the owner and thanked them for allowing their brief stay, and kept herself to the shadows even when they were walking back to the car.

“I’ll drive, if you don’t mind.” Beatrice politely says, her tone even and professional, hand already on the driver side’s door. 

Ava wants to argue, Beatrice can tell by the light in her eyes, but it’s immediately clouded over by guilt, and Beatrice doesn’t know how she should feel about the fact that Ava is doing what she asks purely out of guilt. 

Doesn’t matter. Beatrice is just here to do her job. 

Her heart is as good as dead if it’s not pumping blood. 

“Lena’s home is a bit outside the city, somewhere in Surrey, Kingston upon Thames.” Ava says as she inputs the address into the GPS, receiving only a noncommittal hum. “You sure you’re okay to drive? I mean, you just recovered from a concussion.”

“I will be fine, thank you.” Beatrice answers curtly, shutting down Ava’s attempt to care before it gets to spark alight and sets her entire self aflame alongside it.

Just like the one from her home here, which is probably a wreckage now if not further dug apart by the mercenaries looking for them, the drive is swallowed in thick, awkward silence. 

If Beatrice wants to look on the bright side, the peace and quiet are actually helping her concussion heal over, and the methodical driving helps keep her brain active, something she remembers to be encouraged for patients with concussions. 

Ava probably knew that too. She was just wor— never mind.

Knowing there’s still a possibility of them being tailed, Beatrice does her best to be careful, going the long way, making sure to always drive directly into the blind spots of street CCTVs if she could, and generally avoid using her blinkers unless necessary. 

It helps plenty that Ava’s Subaru is a matte black color too, giving them a much easier time to blend in with the darkness.

It doesn't take too long for them to finally reach River Thames, Beatrice easily pulling into Surrey, then Coombe Hill Road. The GPS beeps with an incoming notification of them almost arriving at their destination, but it's Ava who points out exactly which house they're looking for.

“There. The white house with the enormous backyard.”

Beatrice nods, quickly pulling their car up the also enormous driveway. Rich people, her eyes rolling at the extravaganza.

Once the car pulls to a stop, Beatrice steps out and, as per usual, rounds over to Ava’s door.

Only it's already open by the time she gets there, her and Ava meeting each other's eyes in an awkward half-there, half-here position.

“Sorry. I wasn't sure if you’d still open doors for me.” Ava grimaces, then perks up. “I can slide back in and let you do it. If you want.”

Beatrice sighs, too tired to entertain her. “It's fine. You can just come out.”

The light in Ava’s eyes grows dim, and damn if Beatrice’s heart doesn't squeeze painfully in her chest.

Distracting herself, Beatrice looks towards the front door of the mansion. With her spectacles in her pockets and her umbrella left behind at her house, Beatrice has only the wristwatch left as a weapon.

Squaring her shoulders and willing herself to focus, Beatrice asks Ava. “Do we knock?”

“Uh, I guess so.” Seeing Beatrice's incredulous look, Ava shrugs. “We had no plan for this, okay? I’m just going by the flow.”

“Terrific.” Sighing, Beatrice begins walking, Ava hot on her heels.

When they get to the front door, Ava is the one that knocks. Beatrice slyly pulls out her spectacles and twists the dial, readying herself for anything.

It's a good thing she did, because right when Ava decides to knock a second time, a hand comes flying from inside the house.

A split second from colliding into Ava’s face, Beatrice catches their wrist just in time, yanking them out and manhandling her weight to push them up against their own door.

They're strong, Beatrice will give them that, with bulging and coiling muscles that are doing a generally good job fighting back. 

Had she been at perfect health, Beatrice is convinced she would be able to predict the lightning quick painful kick to her shin. The accuracy and force behind it is so skillfully put that it pulls a scream out of her, forced to kneel on the ground and whimpering.

“Galahad! Galahad, are you okay?” There are soft, familiar hands at her back, Ava’s voice growly and unmistakably worried. “What the fuck, Kara? What did you do that for?”

“Shit, shit, shit.” The stranger, or Kara, murmurs in quick succession, their voice a lot closer than Beatrice expected. “Golly, that looks painful. I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just defending myself.”

“It's okay. It's okay.” Beatrice grits out, physically forcing her body to dispel the pain. Opening her eyes, and lo and behold, Kara fucking Danvers in the flesh. “Professor Danvers, hi.”

Professor Kara Luthor-Danvers (35 years old, former basketball player and current associate professor with a penchant for eating competitions and her volunteer work as a freelance citizen journalist) —or so it says on the popup screen of her spectacles— is a ruggedly handsome woman dressed in casual office-wear. 

Just like Beatrice, on the bridge of Kara’s nose is a pair of glasses, though perhaps less for military purposes and more optical. Bright blue eyes shine beneath them, glistening with concern, while their owner extends a hand out to help her up.

“I’m so sorry, again.” Kara gushes, face genuinely apologetic.

Beatrice, realizing the humor in the situation, only laughs and waves a dismissive hand. “It’s alright. That was a spectacular kick though. You should give me some tips.”

“Ah, well, it’s all part of my old warmups for my ball games, I’m afraid.” Kara smiles, eyes moving over to Ava. “Stop glaring at me. I told you I was sorry.”

Curious, Beatrice looks over, and oh, Ava looks absolutely furious. More than she’s ever seen her. 

Eyes shaped like daggers and her small body almost trembling, Beatrice's heart gives an involuntary shiver knowing, knowing, this display of anger is purely for her.

“You could have majorly hurt her. She’s still recovering from a concussion and god knows what else, for fuck’s sake.” Ava says, each word almost grit out and not spoken. 

From beside her, still helping her stand up, Kara frowns in confusion, understandably not knowing why she's getting yelled at for a simple mistake. Wanting to settle this for good, Beatrice steps in, removing herself from Kara’s grip

“Morgana, I’m fine.” Beatrice says, her hand moving faster than her brain and gently clasping around Ava’s wrist.

“You could have not been!” Ava retorts, her eyes widening when she realizes just who she raised her voice at. “I’m sorry. I’m just… a little on edge.” She looks away, suddenly not wanting to meet Beatrice's eyes. God she really hopes she's not crying. “You protect me all the time, I just want to do the same for you.”

Oh. Oh that's…

“This is really sweet and all to watch, and I’m really sorry for interrupting, but we have a much bigger problem to worry about right now.”

Silently thanking Kara for the exit, Beatrice gives Ava one last look before turning back around.

“I’m terribly sorry. My manners are just absolutely horrid today.” She extends her hand, immediately receiving Kara’s return. “Agent Galahad of the Kingsman. And this is Agent Morgana.”

“Kara Luthor-Danvers. Good to meet you, Galahad. Again, super sorry for the kick. I’ll send you some great pain pads in the post.” Kara turns to Ava, smiling bright. “And we’ve met, Ava and I.”

“Only in passing at ARQ-TECH.” Ava supplies, beckoning to the house. “We should go inside and talk. By the look on your face, I can tell some shit went down.”

“No kidding.” Kara sighs, heels spinning and ushering them in. “Come. Follow me.”

The inside is just as big as Beatrice had expected, interiors tastefully decorated and quiet luxuries in the crooks and crannies. It's definitely more suitably categorized as a mansion than a house, but all things considered, Kara and Lena aren't living it up like most wealthy families Beatrice has met. 

The prodigy heiress next to her excluded, of course.

On their way to the living room, Kara suddenly turns around and holds up her hand.

“Could you wait here for a few seconds please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Kara sends Ava an appreciative nod before skedaddling away, presumably heading towards the source of the blinking shadows Beatrice is seeing on the wall. “Are you ready?”

Beatrice looks over, confused. “Ready for what?”

Ava has a grin on her face, one that usually means Beatrice is in for the time of her life (not). 

She was wearing this expression the last time she made Beatrice sit in front of a changing room of a lingerie store and practically manhandled her into giving her opinions on each new set.

Safe to say, Beatrice had broken a lot of brain cells that day.

“To meet the cutest thing you’ll ever see in your whole life, of course.”

Her mind whirrs with the different possibilities, the most logical one being that the Luthor-Danvers have a pet, a very adorable pet. 

It's hard to narrow down what sort of pet animals Ava would consider cute, because this woman would domesticate an eagle and a raccoon in the same house had Beatrice let her. She even had to rope in Oliver and make him pretend like there was a clause in the rental contract that forbade the specific combination of an eagle and a raccoon in a unit.

Beatrice decides to just wait and see. When Kara comes back with her arms full, she has never felt happier to be wrong.

“Hiya, Lori! It's me!”

At the sound of Ava’s voice, Lori— or Lorelai Luthor Danvers, turning two in April, and the shining beacon of pride for both her moms— perks her head right up from her dozing on Kara’s shoulder.

Lori looks so small for her age, with her tiny hands pawing at the air in their direction.

“Aba! Aba!” Her little mouth moves, eyebrows all scrunched up and annoyed at how Ava just won't come to her already.

Laughing wholeheartedly, Ava quickly strides over, taking Lori in her arms with an ease that makes Beatrice's eyes go round.

“Hey baby girl,” Ava gushes in Lori’s face, hand tickling her bare feet and earning a high pitched giggle. “You gotta start learning my name, sweetheart. As much as I like hearing you call me daddy in another language, your mama would use my head like a basketball if this continues into adulthood.”

“You have six months left until I start polishing my old shoes.” Kara threatens, not at all serious with the way her eyes are dripping honey at the sight of her little girl laughing with pure joy in Ava’s arms.

They spend a few seconds just quietly watching them, Beatrice's heart doing something funny at the visual of Ava smiling all soft and with a baby in her arms. 

Goodness gracious, Beatrice doesn't have a milf kink, does she?

“Mama, mama,” Lori chirps, or babbles more like, all the while chewing on a mouthful of Ava’s hair. “Mommy, mommy.”

“I think that’s my cue.” Kara says, suddenly all stern as she turns to look at Beatrice. “I should probably tell you now that my wife has officially gone missing.”

“What?” Beatrice asks, but it’s Ava who practically shrieks the question. Lori, thank heavens, is too busy playing with Ava’s hair to notice a thing. “What happened? How did you know?”

From the inside of her pocket, Kara pulls out her phone. On the screen, laddens a text message.

“Lena and I established long ago a protocol to be implemented in times of danger.” Kara explains, eerily calm. Beatrice knows better, is close enough to see the gentle trembles of her hand cradling her phone. “I didn’t think it was necessary. I teach at a local college and she works in R&D, but Lena has been like this since the day I met her, at group where we both were learning to heal from our childhood traumas, so I wasn’t going to flatout invalidate her feelings.”

Beatrice nods, feeling her heart ache in sympathy for the genius woman who is clearly just trying to live her life, a better life, with the family she builds upon by scratch. It’s a terrible shame she had to be dragged into this mess too.

“When I was on campus, I received this text message.” Kara says, now showing it to Ava who has to squint a little to read. “It’s our doomsday protocol. It means she is in danger, I have to get my daughter somewhere safe by our private jet, and I need to tell you that Biomax has been stolen.”

“No…” Ava’s eyes bulge in shock, Beatrice not exactly faring any better. “No, that can’t be… we put it somewhere safe. We even made sure—”

“None of that matters right now.” Kara cuts her off, politely and sternly all in the same breath. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think my wife was taken from her office alongside Biomax.” 

Biomax… was put in her office?

In the most obvious hiding spot that no one will think of finding. 

That’s… controversial. 

“In the message, Lena said she sent out a distress signal that would not only allow you access into her computer, where you will be able to establish contact with Kingsman, but also alert them on their side as well.”

“So they knew to converge over to protect my mom right away.” Ava deducts, face looking slightly pale. “Maybe she’s okay. Maybe Kingsman sent someone.”

“I’m sure they did.” Beatrice tries, but even she herself highly doubts it. Concentrating on one thing at a time, Beatrice turns back to Kara. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“You guys go to Lena’s office. Here’s your key.” Kara says, fishing out a small physical key from inside her pocket. Her hand visibly trembles as she places it in Beatrice's palm, blue eyes finally showing frightful tears. “I’m going to go pack for me and Lori, but when you’re done, come meet me so I can give you guys a lift. I’m sure you’ll need it.”

“Thank you so much, Kara.” Ava says, handing a slightly whining Lori back to her mother, who, as if finally processing the severity of the situation, now looks shaken as she cradles the back of Lori’s tiny head in her palm. “I’m so sorry for this. I really am. But we’ll get Lena back safe and sound, I promise.”

“You better.” Kara orders, no longer smiling.

They go their separate ways from then on, Kara and Lori to their living quarters and Ava and Beatrice going in the opposite direction. 

Beatrice is only following Ava’s footsteps, protectively flanking her side as they walk down the hallway. Unlike before, where she had been all smiley and confident about knowing what she's doing, Ava looks positively shaken too, sticking her hands in the pockets of her overalls as she walks. 

“This is bad. This is really bad.” Ava mumbles, almost to herself, if not for the way her eyes stray towards Beatrice’s concerned ones. “Beatrice, I… I didn’t foresee this. No one was supposed to know who Lena was. I thought Biomax was safe. The vault is very tightly secured, and to open it, they’re going to need both Lena and my mom. Do you think Kingsman could have sent out someone in time?”

Ava’s sad face makes her want to lie, makes her want to say and do everything and anything in the world just to keep her happy, but Beatrice has too much respect for Ava, both as her best friend and as a fellow knight, to keep her in the dark like that.

“They’ll do their best, I’m sure.” Beatrice eventually settles, and she knows that’s not the best thing to say, so she tries to distract her instead. “What are the specifics of that safe vault?”

Nose scrunching, Ava tilts her head upwards, a practically adorable habit of hers whenever she tries really hard to recall something. 

“From the outside, it’s an aluminum steel suitcase. Guaranteed bulletproof, fireproof, and waterproof. Not sure about bombproof.” Ava begins, holding up a hand and folding her fingers as if counting. Beatrice is doing her best not to laugh. “As for the actual security, there’s a physical padlock and a biometrics padlock. The physical padlock has to be opened by physical keys, mom has one and Lena does too.”

Beatrice momentarily stops, face blanching. Ava sees it, nodding grimly in her confirmation. 

“It’s the key mom wears as a necklace, exactly. She must’ve thought it was clever, hiding in plain sight.”

That’s… so incredibly stupid. “Ava…”

“I know. I know. We’ll talk to her about proper safekeeping later.” 

Ava flips down another finger, signaling going back to the topic at hand. Beatrice huffs, off-put at how she is quickly and successfully shut down.

“As for the biometrics padlock, it’s a bit more complicated. Think Charlie’s Angels, sort of. There are three steps to get it open. The first requires Lena’s left thumb print and mom’s right index be put on the trackpad at the same time, not a millisecond later. The second requires a synchronized scanning of Lena’s left eye and my mom’s right. As for the last, it’s a voice passcode only they know.”

Nodding, Beatrice immediately goes to memorize all of it by heart. Thinking they might come in handy in the future. 

They eventually stop at a beautiful hardwood door, half the surface covered by random colorful stickers of animals, science equipment like goggles and microscopes, and the smallest cut-outs of Lena’s name.

Undoubtedly Lori’s work. How cute.

“You got the key?”

Holding it up, Beatrice goes to insert the key in herself, admittedly paranoid at what they’d find in there.

Her concern is moot, as Lena’s home office is just like every other typical working room of an average workaholic, with papers strewn all over the desk and massive bookshelves surrounding them. Beatrice would know that better than anyone.

“Okay, to the computer we go.” Flopping her butt down on the chair, Ava wastes no time in turning on the CPU. After closing the door, Beatrice goes to stand behind Ava, ready to help if needed. It doesn't look like she will be needed, as the computer performs a successful startup without difficulty. 

The first thing they see is Lena’s homescreen wallpaper, a beautiful family portrait of Kara, Lena, their little Lori, and about ten more other people.

Their extended family, Beatrice can only assume.

“Aw, how cute.” Ava smiles, hands already speedily typing on the keyboards. “Give me just a second. Lena and I made this so long ago I kind of forgot how to work around it.”

“What is it, exactly? If you don't mind me asking.” Beatrice asks, not at all worried she’d be a distraction.

They did this exact same thing on the carpet in their living room all the time, with Beatrice taking care of Ava one way or another and Ava’s eyes entirely glued to her laptop.

Her heart aches in longing. What she wouldn't do to go back.

Unaware, Ava keeps on working. 

“Basically, it's a gateway into your— our now, I guess— internal communication hub. I managed to secure a line after the first time I hacked into the system and found my way to the UK HQ.”

Incredible. She's so incredible. 

Having started their journey with distance, at some point in the night, the hurt that drove her here melted into resignation. Beatrice isn't a creature of hate or resentment, no matter how hard life tries to beat her into succumbing to that fate.

Beatrice is made to love, even if she never gets to experience any of that love in return. She's okay with it, she’s made peace with it, if only to make this little life worth something while she's still here to enjoy it. And while living is exhausting, loving Ava has never been.

It's a losing game, Beatrice knows that too, putting that much distance between herself and Ava and trying to fight against it, her nature, her love.

And honestly, Beatrice is tired. 

She is so tired. 

“And we’re in!” Ava chirps in delight, turning to look at Beatrice with giddy eyes and an even brighter smile. The Kingsman logo, golden in honor, shines a beautiful light on Ava’s profile, and by god does she keep effortlessly take her breath away. “Bea, did you see?”

Of course she does. It's been there right there in front of her this entire time. 

“I did.” Her hand hovers, still battered and bruised and afraid, then lowers. She isn't there yet, even if she loves this woman with everything she has. Beatrice thinks she’ll get there, they'll get back there eventually again, but for now, she at least deserves to brood. “Thank you for your work, Agent.”

You did marvelously. I’m so proud of you. I’m so lucky to know you. 

She resolutely looks only at the monitor, so as to not see what face Ava is wearing. 

She's not strong enough to see Ava upset and not wanting more than anything to make her happy again. Not yet.

The sound of a notification arriving pings and almost startles her. Beatrice blinks, concentrating on reading the blinking lines on the screen.

No way.

“That's… that's not Morse Code, is it?” Ava asks, confusion clear in her voice. Beatrice can see her little scrunched up pout without even looking.

“It's a Kingsman thing.” Beatrice explains, fingers tapping along the beat of the blinking light, trying to remember the stenograph system she learned years ago. 

In her head, echo the excited voices of Mary and Camila, who proposed this at a random meeting, followed by Suzanne’s reluctant sounds of agreement and Shannon’s humoring laughter.

“Morse Code has become a bit mainstream, so our sector took it upon ourselves to come up with something a bit more unique. It was in the early stage of development when I last used it, so I’m probably rusty, but I can still make out words if I concentrate hard enough.”

“If anyone can do it, it's you.”

Focus, Beatrice. Don't let yourself get distracted.

For the next few seconds, the only sound in the room is the rhythmic tappings of Beatrice’s fingers. The relief that floods her when she realizes all of this is simply like learning how to ride a bike again, her brain and the movements of her hands synchronizing to create an almost solid visual in her mind. 

Tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap.

The brief feeling of joy didn’t last long. The little smile creeping up on Beatrice’s face, one out of pride and tentative hope, begins to slip for every word she manages to configure.

Ava, who clearly notices, gently tugs at her sleeves. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like that?” Her head swivels between Beatrice and the emotionless screen, nerves picking up again. “Bea?”

“I…” Beatrice opens her mouth, finds her throat with the same treacherous lump. “They said HQ is compromised, and sent us another location to rendezvous at at our earliest convenience.”

“That can’t be all.” Ava counters, eyes boring into Beatrice’s. She truly knows her too well. Her grip on the fabric of Beatrice’s shirt tightens, any more and she’ll grow claws. It’d hurt less than having to tell her, honestly. “Beatrice.”

Tell her.

She’ll know sooner or later.

Don’t disrespect her by keeping her in the dark like they did to you.

Nodding, Beatrice steels herself. Gently, she takes apart the claws on her shirt and intertwines their fingers. Not allowing herself to get lost in the intoxicating sensation of their hands fitting together like gloves, Beatrice confesses.

“They’ve got them. Jillian and Lena both. The Kingsman agent sent to help them was too late, and she’s MIA as well.” As she expected, Ava gasps in horror, eyes blown wide with tears. “That’s not all. Michael and Percival are both in critical condition, they’re not sure if they’ll… if they’ll…”

For a second, Beatrice mistakens the piercing sob to have come from her own throat, the only moisture left being her tears held back.

It's not. It's from Ava, who slips and falls onto the ground as her whole body trembles with shock, tears pouring down her cheeks and showing no signs of stopping.

Beatrice doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to do in the face of her love hurting like this.

In the end, there's nothing else Beatrice can do, other than sitting down and gently, achingly gentle, pulling Ava into her arms and letting her cry her heart out.

Soon she won't be able to. Soon they will have to plunge head-first into the mission.

Soon, they will face the real threat and do whatever it takes to right this wrong, together.

Until then, Beatrice gives herself away one more time and hopes, hopes, this time she will be enough.

—

Chapter Text

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Personally, Beatrice thinks she has gone through more surprises than what could be considered mentally healthy in one day, and she would much prefer the next one to happen no sooner than her own birthday.

Alas, it appears that the universe still has some tricks up its sleeves.

Beatrice has half the mind of beating up whoever’s in charge.

“Ava…” Her name is all Beatrice can croak out, mouth dry and quite literally rendered too stunned to speak.

“Yeah, I see it.” Ava looks like she wants to laugh, and to be honest, Beatrice is too. “I sure as hell see it.”

Ava’s eyes too are round in shock, her hair disheveled and wild due to the fading winds of the rotor blades of Kara’s helicopter jet, now taking off after a heartfelt farewell kiss on the cheek (Lori) and an even more passionate wish of luck that sounds almost like a threat (Kara). 

“You didn’t… well…” Beatrice grimaces at the look of indignant shot at her. “I’m sorry. I had to ask.”

Ava’s brows furrow, but soon smooth out in pure resignation. She looks away, lips pulled down, and her hands, curled against her sides, tighten into fists. 

“The fact that you felt like you had to ask…” The words are mumbled, clearly not meant for ears other than her own, but Beatrice’s are more well-trained than the regular person’s, and it means she picks up on her hurt and her shame. Her own heart aches at the sadness on Ava’s face. “No, Beatrice. I didn’t know. I was just here to wind down and see my friend.”

I wouldn't do that to you. Not again.

Beatrice nods, smiling, trying to show Ava she believes her. Trying to convince herself she believes her too. “Thank you for telling me.” 

She is helping, she thinks. Clouds in dark brown eyes begin to make way for sunshines again.

Head turning back to the taunting sign above their heads, The Flying Graysons a bright blue with white neon stripes standing out against the Spanish starry night sky, Beatrice takes a deep breath. 

Her hands, also hidden away in her pockets, shake with trepidation. 

Just how are they going to know to find their fellow knights here without making it awkward for themselves and everyone else involved?

Not to mention the memories that will surely pop up. Oh lord.

“Come on. The clock is ticking.” She beckons with a head tilt. With a quick glance, Ava follows her inside. 

The bar is as busy as it was that night, meaning there are barely any people swaying on the dance floor and even fewer drinkers on the stools. 

Also like that night, the first person to greet Beatrice is Jamie, who is conveniently already sitting behind the bar top, seemingly making his way through a book. 

Whether it's a bartender's instinct or generally good spatial awareness, Jamie’s head had snapped up the minute they walked in. 

“Took you long enough to show up.” He says as he closes his book with both hands, legs hopping off the stool and, in one clean swoop, parkouring over the bar top. 

Beatrice and Ava turn to each other, both looking about equally as confused.

“You… have been expecting us?” It's Beatrice who asks the question, spine straightening in full defensive mode. 

They’ve had way too many surprises already, Jamie turning out to be an evil mastermind wouldn't be that far-fetched.

“Yes.” Jamie says curtly, striding over to them in his typical casual gait, both hands in pockets and fluffy jet black hair bouncing atop his head. “I’m going to need the password though.”

“Password?” Ava frowns, incredulous and clueless, but Beatrice already knows what this is about.

“Oxfords not brogues.” 

Previously stoic, Jamie’s face blossoms into a wide grin. 

“That is correct.” He swirls around like a pirouette, already walking away without waiting for them. “Keep up, ladies!”

Beatrice goes to follow, but a tug on her sleeve holds her back for a moment. “Yes?”

“Oxfords not brogues?” Ava repeats, eyebrows halfway past her hairline. 

Laughing, Beatrice tugs again, quietly pleased at how Ava immediately follows. 

“It's an old saying circulated by former Agent Galahads. It started off as a way to distinguish Kingsmen as being more superior, of the upper-class, but it became outdated by the time I joined because someone, cough Merlin, hated the baseless prejudice against a perfectly good pair of brogues.”

“Oh. That's cool.” Ava’s eyes shine in the way that means she is genuinely interested, if not a little moved by what she's just heard. A bit odd considering Beatrice was just talking about shoes but, “Thank you for sharing, Bea. I know it's not as easy for you after…”

Oh. Right. She forgot.

“It's nothing.” Beatrice settles, after a long while of contemplating silence, as they keep walking into the bar.

She has to wonder if she's the only one who feels slightly awkward being led into the exact hallway, where Beatrice had shamelessly watched as Ava swayed her magnificent ass in that sinful green dress.

Let it be clear, Beatrice is in love with Ava’s heart and soul first and foremost. But by god does she really, really, love her body too.

Perhaps it's not just her. 

With Jamie at least already a jog ahead, Ava too gets a chance to take in her surroundings, and even in the dimmed and romantic lighting above head, Beatrice can see her eyes darting back and forth to Beatrice and away, her cheeks flushing an adorable shade of pink. 

As if actively laughing in their faces, the universe decides to make Jamie walk right up to the door of the room they had stayed in that night.

It’s Beatrice’s turn to blush, hands almost twitching at the memory of groping Ava’s firm butt while she tried to open the door. 

Ava, mercifully, never looks her way, instead tries to make conversation with Jamie.

“Hey, man. What gives?” Jamie turns to look at her over his shoulder, wearing a perfectly innocent expression that does not at all amuse Ava. “You and I are supposed to be bros. Why the fuck did you not tell me you knew I was Kingsman?”

Not so nice when it's done to you, is it?

Stop that. That's not very nice.

“Do I look like someone stupid enough to outright ask a secret agent if they're working for an undercover intelligence agency?” Jamie raises his hand before Ava can answer. “And if you're going to say something slanderous, I will leave you here to find your own way.”

“My own way to where?” Ava throws her hands up in the air, a classic picture of exasperation. Beatrice, despite the circumstances, is having too much fun just watching her. “Our own people gave us nothing but the coordinates of this bar.”

Jamie claps his hands, scrubbing them together like an evil witch. He does dress in a lot of black, he could be one for all they know. 

“That's because your people trust yours truly.” He says, pointing his thumbs at himself. Add a dopey grin and her beautiful face and Jamie will look exactly like Ava on one of her iconic sugar trips. “I knew of Kingsman long before you two met, I promise. It's so easy to tell you lots apart when you set foot into my bar.”

Beatrice frowns, admittedly taking slight offense in the dig at her coverts. “What do you mean by that?”

Shrugging, Jamie turns back around and, to their relief, makes a right turn into a hallway they had never seen before. 

They had better things to look at that night, alright? Piss off.

At the end of the hallway is a simple metal door. Fascinatingly enough, there are no knobs visible, but there is an almost round-shaped glass window taking over half of the entire surface. 

“Is that… a Spongebob door I’m looking at?” Ava asks, sounding incredulous. 

Beatrice’s jaw drops, realizing that it does, in fact, look like the Spongebob door.

“It's for practicality, shut up.” Jamie grumbles, fists knocking a specific rhythm against the hard surface. 

Ava and Beatrice send each other a quick look of confusion, which then turn into twin faces of delight and relief. Because appearing behind that glass is Shannon, who is waving joyfully and bursting out the second the door opens.

“Oh thank heavens!” Shannon says, her long arm strides more than enough to wrap both of them in one group hug. “You're alive. You’re alright. I’ve been out of my mind with worry.”

Sinking into her arms, Beatrice is incapable of stopping herself from letting out a relieved sigh. She doesn’t know what she’d do when it comes the day she loses her. 

“We got here the fastest we could.” Ava says, giving Shannon a gentle pat on the back before pulling back.

Beatrice stays in her embrace for just a bit longer before separating too, her nose bridge suspiciously spicy at the tears in Shannon’s so light-brown-it’s-almost-jade eyes.

“How are you? How are Percival and Michael?” Beatrice asks slowly, watching Shannon’s face turning more and more stoic by the second. “And Guinevere?”

To the naked eye, Shannon would come off as uncaring and militant. 

It’s easy to reach that conclusion when, after hearing Beatrice’s question, Shannon straightens her back and hardens her gaze. She may have stepped down from being a knight, but the knight has never actually left her.

But Beatrice knows better. Beatrice loves Shannon, so she sees the corner of Shannon’s lips trembling and her head tilting at a certain angle, something she only does when she’s trying really hard not to cry. 

“Percival and Michael are still in critical condition and currently under observation.” Shannon answers, eyes boring too intensely into Beatrice’s. They flash in sympathy at the pain reflecting back. “But we have the best doctors money can buy taking care of them.” 

They don't make false promises to each other. Not in this line of work. Beatrice will just have to trust that they're doing their best.

A gentle hand comes up to squeeze her bicep, Shannon wordlessly asking her to have faith. Beatrice doesn’t want to keep faith, wants to know if her friend is safe and sound, but that’s not up to her to decide.

So she nods. Beatrice turns to her side, where Ava is, once again, looking at her with concern. 

“I take it you’ve already met.” Beatrice says, looking at both Ava and Shannon. The latter has a grin on her face, while the former has somewhat of a hybrid between a smile and a grimace.

“We have, indeed.” There's a quiet apology in her words, and Beatrice finds she is no longer mad, if she ever was. 

It's all a part of the job, she understands that more than anyone. Ava was an exception, in ways Beatrice doesn't want to dive too deeply in at the moment.

Shannon’s other hand reaches for Ava’s bicep, giving it a soft squeeze. “Come on. As much as I love to talk, we have business to attend to.”

“And that’s my cue to leave!” Jamie, who has just been standing in the corner all this time, gives them each a snarky salute. “Merlin, Galahad, Morgana.”

“Bye Jamie.” Shannon returns him a wave, then frowns at the identical look of confusion on both Beatrice’s and Ava’s faces. “What?”

“You want to tell me how he knows about Kingsman?” Ava says it first, Beatrice in quiet agreement. “I’ve been friends with him for years and I didn’t know shit.”

Shannon chuckles, pulling them behind the door as she says. “Did he give you that “I can just tell” thing he does?”

“Yes. And he was being super annoying with it too.” Ava grumbles, unconsciously leaning against Beatrice’s side as they walk into an unknown area.

Just like what they always do when accompanying each other outside the little safe haven of an apartment they called home. Because Beatrice always wants her close and safe and Ava doing everything she can to not make her worry.

Good god, Beatrice is never going to have a moment of peace of mind at this rate.

“Jamie isn’t wrong, per se.” Shannon says, her gait fast-paced and smooth as always. 

The three of them arrive at yet another door, although this one doesn’t have a window like the last.

Unlike Jamie, who couldn’t open it from the outside, this one only requires Shannon to input a series of passcodes onto the digital pad attached to the wall. 

When a small beep echoes, the door also opens, Shannon once again leading them further in. 

“Long story short, Jamie hooked up with a Kingsman here. She kinda slipped and let Jamie in on the secret. He went to bat for her when it came time for her to be punished, as you know Kingsman’ secret is sacred. In return, perhaps in a moment more sympathetic than most, Arthur made a deal. This bar becomes our sanctuary when the time comes, and Jamie sort of becomes an informant, mostly to keep an eye out for our sapphic agents when they travel to this part of Europe.”

“Who knew there were so many fellow women lovers in this agency.” Ava laughs. Beatrice’s own lips curl in amusement. “I say it’s the glasses. I knew those were gay as shit the first time I saw them on Roxy.”

“I know right. Thank the god of Sappho and Emily Dickinson for the sapphic wonder that was Roxy Morton. You’ll be dearly missed.”

A part of Beatrice feels at odds with this familiar and easy dynamic between Ava and Shannon, two people whom, before today, she had thought were of two completely different worlds.

But it's also nice, in a way, seeing two of whom she loves the most get along so well. 

Beatrice briefly wonders what would Mary say about this when she finds out, but then she remembers just how long before her were Mary and Shannon both working in this line of work.

They're married for life and have been each other's partner for what felt like almost equally as long. Surely they must've known what compromises needed to be made in order to keep their trust intact.

Tuning out of the rest of the conversation as well as her own introspective thoughts, Beatrice takes to instead examine the new area they just set foot into. 

It’s modest, as far as first impressions go, a spacious room with white walls that look like a stock image of a typical 9-5 office building. The only thing that stands out and makes clear to anyone who steps inside that this is a Kingsman playground is the amount of weapons and gadgetries decorated on the walls.

She twitches with the urge to steal one of the umbrellas. It feels awfully unsettling not to have one in her hands for so long.

“Galahad. Morgana. It’s about time you got here.”

Eyes diverting from the wall, Beatrice’s heart gives a tremendous shake, almost falling to her knees in relief at the sight of Suzanne. 

Even though not smiling, her joy at the sight of them is visible in the way her eyes light up.

“Hey Arthur, nice dig you got here.” Ava squeals, waving her hand all comically in greeting. 

Unlike Beatrice and Shannon, who can’t resist the urge to smile at Ava’s goofiness, Suzanne’s stoic face remains as strong as the click clack of her cane as she walks around a small desk towards them.

“Apologies for the tardiness, Arthur. We had to temporarily reroute to recover from the ambushes.” Beatrice says, her head bowed in genuine respect and remorse.

Shannon takes Suzanne’s approach as the official start of their briefing, striding towards the little working station she had set up for herself.

It's minimal, in all senses of the word, just a simple desk you can find at any IKEA and a large pane of glass window above head. 

Reaching her hand inside one of the desk drawers, Shannon fishes out a pair of spectacles and wristwatch.

While Beatrice’s frames are more round and her wristwatch is silver, these glasses are a bit thinner and squared, and the wristwatch is almost brown in its light gold color.

“Here, Morgana. Your gears.”

Ava, who has been quietly assessing the working space with a little frown on her nose, undoubtedly doing some heavy judging in her head, brightens in delight as she takes them from Shannon.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Chirping, Ava wastes no time and puts them both on her person. “I know it’s only been two months but man, I’ve missed these bad boys.”

Beatrice can't do anything but blink, watching in real-time as Ava Silva becomes Agent Morgana. So much for her quiet theory about her being high on mushrooms and developing hallucinations.

Mistaking her blinking for confusion and not genuine bewilderment, Ava goes to explain their absence. 

“I gave these back to Merlin when our thing started. We live in the same house, it’d be a bit too careless if I just have these with me.”

Perhaps Ava thinks the honesty road is best to get back into Beatrice's good grace. And while it does hurt, the reminder of being lied to even just by omissions, Beatrice can appreciate that Ava is trying to be transparent.

“I understand.” Beatrice says, hoping Ava knows she means it in more ways than one. She turns to Suzanne, who is looking at them with an indecipherable expression. “Status report?”

Suzanne nods, nudging at Shannon’s shoulder. Taking it as cue to start, Shannon commands. “Glasses on, gentlemen.”

All three knights do as told, tapping the small button on the spines, and look towards the direction of the glass pane, now appearing a digital screen filled with various pictures and reports. 

“After almost four years, our mission has come to an unfortunate climax.” Shannon says, pulling up footage of what Beatrice recognizes to be Lilith and Michael’s battle for survival.

In the video, Lilith is trying futilely to fight back mercenaries who have Michael’s throat in a chokehold, all the while holding onto her ribs, visibly bleeding out onto the floor. 

Shannon mercifully freezes it to a singular frame and shrinks it down, instead maximizing real-time photos of Lilith and Michael recovering in some hospital beds. 

Hopefully somewhere far away from here. 

Next to her, Ava emits a low, almost inaudible whimper. 

“We know now that the attack on Agent Percival and Mr. Salvius is a distraction.” Shannon continues, and they all pretend like her voice isn’t shaking when she pulls up another series of pictures of Lena Luthor and Jillian Salvius. “All in order for the mercenaries, whoever they are, to swarm into Dr. Luthor’s office and retrieve Biomax for themselves.”

“Dr. Salvius and Dr. Luthor tried to fight back to no avail, and soon they were taken hostage along with the safe vault that contains Biomax.” Suzanne says, gesturing at Shannon to move on. “At the same time this was happening, you both were also ambushed by another platoon of the same mercenaries.”

Recognizing the prompt to speak up, Beatrice’s chest puffs out as she tries to account for all that’s happened in the last twenty hours.

“Agent Morgana and I were at a local pub for what we call a girl’s day out.” Beatrice starts, voice stern and steady. Next to her, Ava also straightens up in solidarity. “At the time, I was handling a group of men who were harassing us and wouldn’t leave when we politely told them to.”

“Remind me to go scrub the security footage if they have any.” Shannon says, hands flying all over her holographic green keyboard, the resounding beeps not merely as fast as her typing speed. “Also download it for myself. You must’ve looked badass.”

“Galahad was very badass, I can confirm.” Ava says, winking at a smiling Shannon.

In her head, Beatrice thinks about how Ava could have very well protected herself without her help, but she digresses. Even if fully capable, Beatrice will still want to protect her. She loves her, of course she would.

Ignoring her own blushing cheeks at the praise, Beatrice continues with her report.

“Luckily, the men were easy to subdue, but by the time I was finished and was going to write up a compensating cheque for the bar owner, Percival contacted me for help.” Beatrice has trouble speaking with that pebble-sized lump forming at the memory of Lilith’s screams, but she pushes forward anyway. “We were about to leave, when I heard the ringing of a bomb rigged to explode from outside.”

Trying to be helpful, or perhaps taking pity on how Beatrice visibly struggles here, Ava takes over. 

“We managed to find cover behind the bar, thanks to Galahad’s quick thinking and lightning fast reflex. We waited for everything to settle down, also Galahad’s thinking, and soon heard those mercenaries stomping inside, their commander loudly ordering to take us both in alive.”

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Beatrice asks Ava a question of her own. “Is that when you start using your signal jammer?”

Ava nods, the cloud of remorse the smallest speck in her eyes. Beatrice gives a subtle head shake, assuring her it’s alright. 

“I had my doubts about there being an insider amongst us, so I took the safety precaution.” Ava explains, looking directly at her. Like Beatrice is the only one who Ava cares to believe her. “After that, Galahad took me to her personal home, and my suspicion was further confirmed when they began kicking down her doorstep too.”

“That was actually a brilliant move, Morgana.” Shannon says, pulling their attention away from each other and back to the screen, where there sits the aftermath shots of the bar and Beatrice’s own home. “You managed to stop them there before they could follow you anywhere else, like…”

“A local homeless shelter and then Dr. Luthor’s house.” Ava supplies. “Kara, Lena’s wife, gave us a ride using their private helicopter, and she’s probably on her way to safety with their daughter right now.”

“Professor Danvers and Lori Luthor-Danvers are currently safe and sound with Professor Danver’s foster mother in the US. I had my contact at Statesman confirming that for us.” 

Both Ava and Beatrice let out the biggest sigh of relief at that, turning to look at each other with soft smiles.

“As for the insider,” Shannon says, looking over her shoulder at them. “We finally found them.”

While Beatrice stiffens in anticipation, Ava looks like she’s about to jump out of her own skin. 

“Who is it? Is it a fellow Kingsman?” 

Shannon sighs. “Thankfully, no.” 

Her finger glides across the trackpad, does a couple taps, before pulling up a specific profile. 

“This is our insider. Shining candidate in the falsifying sensitive reports, attempts of data thievery, and the orchestrator of the attempted murders of Michael Salvius and Agent Percival and the kidnappings of Jillian Salvius and Lena Luthor.”

Breath held in her lungs, Beatrice can’t say she is at all that surprised to see the picture of the man whodunnit. 

Evidently, the same cannot be said for Ava.

“Kristian?” Ava practically shrieks, feisty hands gripping tightly onto the back of Shannon’s chair. “That fucking son of a—”

“Agent Morgana.” Suzanne cuts her off, not all too gently and with a stern reprimanding gaze to boot.

Thankfully, Ava knows to stand down, sheepishly apologizing to Shannon for the tussling. Waving her off, Shannon moves forward with her presentation.

“This is how we found out.” On the glass screen, Shannon conjures up a video footage, in which there are two familiar figures fighting for their lives.

Beatrice has to tilt her head for a split second before the realization hits her. 

This is it. This is when Jillian and Lena were kidnapped.

“We received a distress signal from Lena shortly before this.” Shannon explains, face solemn as she watches the events unfold along with the rest of them. “Once we did, we quickly activated the secret hidden camera in the walls, installed by Lena herself, and were able to watch the whole thing going down.”

Emotions are put on a rollercoaster as they watch. 

Nervousness as Jillian and Lena talk amicably with each other, smiling with cups of tea in their hands and smiles on their faces.

Fear as the door burst open and stormed in easily forty soldiers, all equipped with masks and weapons.

Suspense as Jillian and Lena gallantly tried to fight back with all they’ve got.

Anger as Kristian sat in one corner watching everything.

Elation as Mary, in all her suits and glory, ran into the room with a full-blown double barreled shotgun.

Devastation as all three of them were eventually outnumbered and subdued.

Anger again as Kristian pulled out his phone and pretended to make a distress call of his own to Kingsman, moaning and making a general spectacle about how they were taking him too.

Absolute rage as Kristian followed the mercenaries out of the room, hugging the Biomax suitcase to his chest with a big cackle.

For everyone’s sake, Shannon turns the live feed off here. 

“How the fuck did I not see this? He was right there this entire time, and right under our nose.”

With Ava clearly stewing and ready to explode, a very valid reaction considering how much she knows about Kristian’s relationship with Jillian, her entrusted COO and longtime business partner, perhaps someone who Ava has come to consider a dear family friend, Beatrice is quick to try and change the subject.

“How could he have known about the confidential information at Kingsman? Isn't he just a COO at ARQ-TECH?”

Resignation painted clearly on her face, Shannon shrugs. 

“I can only assume he bugged our briefing room at Cat’s Cradle on the first and only day they paid us a visit. He had access to such discreet technology, remember?”

“So that's why you relocated all the way over here.” Beatrice nods in understanding. “Do you have any idea what he would want with it? Last I heard of Biomax, it's not ready to be advanced to the trial phase yet, least of all prepared for public consumption.”

Shannon opens her mouth, but Ava gets there first. 

“It is if you get your hands on the right accessory.”

Everyone wears the same expression of confusion at Ava’s cryptic tone, all turning equally alarmed when Ava practically sits herself down onto Shannon’s lap and begins to type feverishly on the holographic keyboard.

“Morgana, this is really—” Shannon tries to complain, obviously disgruntled at being used as a glorified cushion. Alas, the second she registers just what exactly is Ava pulling up on her screen, all occupants in the room go mum.

Specifically Beatrice, whose lungs constrict in pure terror.

Because right there on the screen, moving pictures with a scrawled date at the bottom that indicates the footage they’re seeing took place less than twelve hours ago, is their home.

Their home where Ava had made room for Beatrice and where Beatrice fell in love with her.

Their home where their lives started separately but grew to become parallel then intertwined lines. 

Their home, where there Kristian Schafer was.

“What the fuck?” Beatrice murmurs, not even noticing she had let slip such crass language. “What is he doing in our home?”

Ava doesn’t look like she heard her at all, eyes boring into Kristian’s pixelated form as he casually strides into their living room. 

“We should have gone back.” Ava mumbles, almost too quiet to be heard by civilians but more than loud enough for three seasoned Kingsman knights. “We should have gone back. Fuck, they were banking on us seeing the obvious and not caring to look deeper. They knew we wouldn’t go back lest we handed ourselves over on a silver platter!”

Ending her rant with a fierce smack onto the table, Beatrice itches with the urge to console her. 

Alas, she, Suzanne, and Shannon are too occupied trying to figure out what Kristian just took from Ava’s room, cradled preciously under his arm, then ran out of the door with it. 

As expected, it’s Suzanne who makes the order, voice stern and no-nonsense. “Agent Morgana, what is the meaning of this?” 

Beatrice comes closer, feeling utterly helpless at the cloud darkening Ava’s face unlike anything she has ever seen. 

“Is this what you were saying that you couldn’t trust me with?” Beatrice asks, gentle despite the accusation behind her words, putting a hand on Ava’s shoulder. She is shaking, Beatrice realizes. With what, Beatrice doesn’t know. “Tell us, please.”

Ava lets out a shaky breath, sheepishly crawling out of Shannon’s lap. Beatrice’s arms hover, but she doesn’t even get to graze the denim material of Ava’s overalls before Ava moves away.

All of them watch in poorly-contained anticipation and an equal amount of impatience as Ava visibly tries to pull her nerves together, looking not unlike a scared little kid preparing to give her presentation at school. 

At one point, Ava does look up from her feet, automatically zeroing in on Beatrice. She doesn’t know what Ava is looking for, but she smiles anyway, hoping to give her at least a drop of courage.

It works, Ava letting out one last exhale before she speaks. Beatrice tries really hard not to delude herself with it. 

“I’ve been working on an extended project of Biomax by myself.” Ava says, the opening to what is going to be a hard-hitting revelation. “Lena doesn't know, nor does my mom. Galahad’s the only one I’ve ever told, even if I never actually told her what exactly I was doing with it.”

“What were you doing?” Shannon asks, looking like she’s ready to take notes. 

Ava takes another deep inhale, hands wringing, before continuing. 

“When it came to my specific case, Biomax was a platoon of nanobots that went inside my bloodstream via the mouth. Mom, alongside Lena, remotely controlled them from afar and performed bone-reattachment surgery directly inside my body, specifically, on the broken bones of my spinal chords, caused by a major blunt force trauma, in this case, the truck that ran into us.”

Beatrice has heard about this before, but not the remote control part. That makes this whole thing even more incredible, and further blows her mind at the potential of Biomax and how it can be used to change the world for the better.

“Later, as I was studying for some random class I can’t even remember now, I started looking into the cases where the bones were permanently damaged and beyond repair.” Ava says, putting her hands on her hips as she paces. “It didn’t feel right. Those people deserve to be given back their bodies the same way I was given mine. So I got to work. I read every book I could get my hands on, I spent day and night reading research articles and playing with 3D simulations of human anatomy, and I even snooped into my mom’s hard drive for some of the more delicate findings.” 

“You came up with an alternative.” Suzanne says, a question but too affirmative to be one.

Ava confirms it. “I came up with an alternative.” She takes one hand out of her pocket, uses it to tap where Beatrice knows is her childhood injury. 

She shows them her index finger, pokes at her injury with it, “With Biomax 2.0, the platoon of nanobots will theoretically not go to your source of injury,” and slides up to the top of her head. “but straight to your brain.”

Beatrice blinks, not quite understanding. Shannon seems to, if her gaping jaw is any indication. 

“In theory, Biomax 2.0 will be in the form of a microchip that is permanently installed in the cerebellum, the area that is responsible for the human’s fine motor movements, balance, and the ability to determine the position of the limbs.” 

Ava moves her hand back, tapping at her other forearm with the same index finger. “If you have a stroke in the cerebellum, it can lead to paralysis or jerky movements.” She demonstrates by flexing and shaking her arm dramatically. “Biomax 2.0 is based on that.”

“Like a mind control piece of technology?” Shannon asks, shaking her head in clear disbelief.

“Not really…” Ava trails off, looking timid and scared. “It’s not supposed to affect the rontopolar cortex or the cingulate cortex, which controls free will. It’s only supposed to help you command your brain to move every joint and limb you want, no matter how severely damaged they are.”

“What about the pain level?” Beatrice asks, grimacing. “If I had a broken arm and commanded the chip to tell my arm to move, wouldn’t it bring me a tremendous amount of pain?”

Ava shakes her head, clearly having thought this through. 

“Theoretically, Biomax 2.0 would detect the injury beforehand and deploy a small group of nanobots to sever the pain nerves in the area of the injury. So, you wouldn’t feel any pain at all.” 

“This cannot be medically advised.” Shannon says, shaking her head in clear disapproval. Ava’s face suddenly looks stricken. “You’re not supposed to manhandle your nervous systems like that. Suppressing your pain will only lead to catastrophic results such as CIPA, congenital insensitivity to pain and anhidrosis.”

Beatrice is starting to worry, as Ava looks more and more like a defensive deer, all but about ready to run at any given moment now. 

Unknowing, or perhaps uncaring, Suzanne keeps up with Shannon’s lecture, looking at Ava with so much disappointment in her eyes.

“Meaning you can cause self-induced hyperthermia or extremely elevated body temperature. Or even worse, someone can be bleeding out from an artery and they wouldn’t even know to seek treatment because they don’t feel a thing.”

“I… it’s only supposed to be a draft… I was still… I was working on it—”

“And where is it?” Suzanne says, suddenly alert. Beatrice swivels her head back, dizzy at the suddenly thickening tension in the room. “Agent Morgana, where is this secret project of yours?”

Ava blinks, blinks again, before ducking her head. Her answer comes out so quiet, mortified and clearly humiliated. 

“It’s in my laptop.”

“You mean the same laptop Kristian Schaefer just carried out of your house?” Ava nods, her confirmation only serving to make Suzanne angrier, rounding up on Ava with a vengeance. “What the hell were you thinking? Working on such a confidential project on a flimsy laptop? And on such a flimsy public network?”

“I never told anyone!” Ava yells back, trying to get the upper hand by squaring up against Suzanne. Big mistake. “I had full-proof security. I made sure to be careful with where I work. I kept it a secret even from the most important person to me!”

Suzanne outright growls. “Agent Morgana—”

“I didn’t think anyone cared!” Ava throws her hands up, eyes wet and burning with self-righteous fire. “I was going to tell you guys so we know the possible implications of what Biomax can do in the future. It’s not anywhere near ready. I’m not a full-on scientist, for fuck’s sake.”

“But they have two of the world’s most brilliant minds in their hostage and will resort to any measures they can to make them make sense of your research.” The realization hits Ava as hard as it does Beatrice, shaking as she now truly understands the severity of the situation. “How can you be so stupid? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? What this sort of technology could mean for the rest of the world if fallen into the wrong hands?”

“I was trying to help…” Ava pleas, fat tears streaming down her cheeks in abandon. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was just trying to help, please…”

“Well you didn’t help anyone. Doing something so incredibly stupid, I might as well take away your Kingsman title right here and there.”

“Arthur—” “Arthur, wait—”

Before any of them can blink, Ava is storming off, her teeth biting down on her lip to try and suppress the heart wrenching sobs forcing themselves out of her chest. 

Following Ava’s footsteps soon after, Suzanne walks away too, her cane clanging just as loud as her furious declaration of “I need a drink.”

Once the door is closed shut, or rather slammed shut, Beatrice and Shannon are left looking at each other with identical grimaces.

“I would say that could have gone better but perhaps not.” Shannon groans, pinching her forehead with her fingers. “Did you really not know about this too?”

Beatrice shakes her head, trying really hard not to think about the most important person to me.

“No. Ava said she wanted to tell you both at the same time.” 

“I figured.” Shannon sighs, sinking into her chair like she wants it to swallow her whole. “This is bad, Bea. With that sort of tech in their hands, primitive or not, who knows what they can do.”

“We’ll just have to find them and stop them. I know we can.” Beatrice nods, trying to convince both herself and Shannon. “Speaking of, what about Lancelot? Did anyone contact her about Percival?”

The grimace on Shannon’s face morphs into quivering lips, the face she wears when she is actually close to tears. 

“We left a message saying she should get back as soon as she receives it. Knowing her, she’ll be on the first flight home, or maybe hijack a jet because we can't exactly fly her out from here.”

Slowly, Beatrice bends her knees so she is at eye level with her fellow knight. Her voice is careful and soft as she inquires. 

“You're worried about Mary.”

“I am.” Shannon nods, long were the days they couldn't find comfort in confiding in one another. They're not always as close as Beatrice and Mary, or Mary and Shannon, but Beatrice will readily fight everyone and one more for Shannon Masters just the same. “I shouldn't be. Mary has been in this business for as long as I have. She's incredibly capable. I’m just—”

“Worried, I get it.” Had it been Ava, Beatrice wouldn't know what she wouldn't do to get her back. “Can I ask you a random question?”

Shannon merely nods, eyes listening. 

Beatrice decides not to stall and takes the leap. “Why did you sponsor Ava to be a Kingsman? From what she told me, she said you did it on impulse the first day you met. But I know you. You don’t do anything on an impulse.”

Although not quite surprising, Beatrice still blinks at Shannon’s responding laughter.

Rough hand reaches and cradles her cheek, Beatrice surrendering herself to the touch and affection of someone she’s come to consider her big sister, her family.

“In part, it was because of how brilliant she was. We would be dumb as bricks if we let such a genius go to waste and not snatch her for ourselves.” Shannon’s thumb rubs at her cheek, then at her forehead where Ava’s careful work of bandaging proudly sits. “But mostly, I vouched for her because she reminded me so much of you.” 

What? “What? How?”

Shannon pats her cheeks twice in succession, wearing a secret smile that promises her nothing but a future full of affectionate teasing. After the past day, it honestly sounds like the best thing ever.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Not giving Beatrice a chance to retort, Shannon stands up, pulling Beatrice along with her by her shirt. “Go and be with Ava, I know you want to. In the meantime, I'll try to talk Arthur down. Morgana did something really stupid, but I believe she is at her most rightful place here.”

“As a knight of the Kingsman. With us.” Beatrice says.

“And with you.” Shannon smiles, then walks away. Leaving Beatrice agape.

What the hell does that mean?

—

While Beatrice hadn't known where exactly Ava had gone, she had a feeling. 

Here she is, standing outside the same room all those weeks ago, where everything started and almost seemingly ended. 

Beatrice hesitates, something so unlike her, but after all of what just transpired, she can't be blamed for wanting to treat Ava with a little more care.

Her heart aches at the memory, feeling the piece of organ squeeze like a lemon when picturing Ava’s blotchy cheeks and Ava’s sorry eyes and Ava’s sobbing lips—

Beatrice shakes it off. Does better with her time.

Deciding to leave the choice up to Ava, a selfish and selfless move in equal measures, Beatrice tentatively knocks on hardwood.

In yet another act of mercy, Ava allows her entry.

Beatrice twists the knob with an unbearable gentleness, pushing for her feet to work and usher her inside. She doesn't yet look at Ava, turning around to lock the door again, scared of what she might see.

Biting bullets, Beatrice turns her head, and irrevocably feels her heart shatter into pieces.

There, on the same bed they laughed and kissed, is Ava.

Spectacles and wristwatch nowhere to be found, presumably put somewhere safe, Ava looks the epitome of disheartened and disheveled. 

There's no sparkling joy in her eyes, nor the typical grin drawn across her lips. 

There's just Ava, looking so small and helpless, curling into herself with her knees tucked to her chest and rocking, not unlike a child who is trying to self-soothe.

Beatrice just wants to pull her in her arms and never let her go.

“Hey.” She says, stupidly.

“Hey,” Ava returns, not as stupid, peeking out from her little makeshift cocoon, formed by the walls of her arms atop her knees. “Are you here to hand me my two-week notice?”

“No.” Beatrice answers immediately, assured in something completely out of her hands. That's what love does to someone. “You will be okay. Arthur wouldn't do that to you.”

“I have a hard time believing that.” Ava cries quietly into the flesh of her elbow, looking away. 

Beatrice does too, eyes straying towards the rest of the room. Never let it be said she has great people skills.

Everything is the same as it was. 

There's the flatscreen on the wall, the tall wardrobe adjacent to it, beside it the small desk with a modest lamp, and in the corner, there's the matching set of chairs and a coffee table in dead center.

Beatrice gulps, remembers that table. 

She remembers sitting there, the Spanish morning sun just about to rise above the clouds, tearing out a piece of paper from the notebook she found in the desk drawer, and writing out what was meant to be their definitive goodbye, all the while Ava was dozing, naked, blissfully unaware, in the bed.

It keeps her awake at night sometimes, wondering just what had gone through Ava’s head when she woke up, alone.

Had she felt confused? Had she felt upset? Had she felt… felt… used?

The thought alone makes Beatrice feel sick to her stomach, acid on her teeth and molten lava in her lungs. 

Beatrice had left Ava then. God help her, she will never leave her again.

“Ava,” Ava doesn't give any indication she is listening, but she isn't outright telling Beatrice to piss off either, so. “May I sit with you?”

She almost fears Ava would say no, wouldn't at all blame her for doing so. Beatrice has been distant, she knows that.

It seems Ava needs her more than she wants retaliation, and for an Ava who needs her, Beatrice will do just about anything.

The little cocoon, pardon her cuteness aggression, adorably scootches herself further on the bed, making plenty room for her to sit.

Beatrice does, with great amounts of gratitude and care, shivering when their shoulders touch over the fabric.

She doesn't know how to do this.

She doesn't know how to be like the people that she needed the most back then, when the world was cruel and unforgiving.

The world is still cruel, and for the girl she claims she loves so much, the least Beatrice can do is try.

“How are you feeling?”

Your non-existent therapist would smack you upside the head.

Ava doesn't smack her upside the head. She laughs, albeit weakly and teary.

“Like an idiot.” Ava sniffles. “I know. Karma, right? I just single-handedly put the whole world in danger.”

“You were just trying to help.” Beatrice says, trying her best to sound self-assured.

Ava only laughs, a disbelieving, dismissing chuckle. 

“What good that did for me. I was so confident, so cocky, in my skills that I failed to see what's been right under my nose the entire time.” Her lips quiver hard, pressed deep into her flesh to suppress the painful sob violently wrenching itself from her throat. “Maybe Arthur is right. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a Kingsman.”

Beatrice’s lungs constrict, feeling the pain in Ava’s heart like it's being inflicted on her. Her hands twitch with the urge to soothe, but not yet. Ava is vulnerable, and there isn't a universe where Beatrice will dare take advantage of that.

“You don't believe that.” Beatrice says softly, trying to catch Ava’s eyes to no avail. 

“I don't know what to believe in anymore.” Ava’s confession flows out like water, acid water all the same. But she does turn to look at her, eyes imploring and sad. “Do you hate me?”

Shaking her head feverishly, Beatrice is adamant. “I don't. I would never.”

“I don't understand why not.” Ava says matter of factly, like she isn't hurting Beatrice for even just entertaining the thought. “I lied to you. For weeks. Even just by omissions. Frankly, I don't understand why you kept on trying to protect me after all I did.”

There's more to it. There's more to it than this overly calloused perspective of her own self-worth, this correlation between abandonment and what she can do for other people. 

Beatrice has to get to the bottom of this, but she needs to get one thing out first.

“Ava, I need you to listen to me carefully. You don't deserve me abandoning you, not protecting you, just because what you did hurt my feelings. You don't deserve to be hurt at all, least of all at my own hands. That's just an awful thing, for anyone, to do.”

Ava chuckles again, that same humorless, bitter sound. Beatrice hates it. Never had she thought she would come to hate the sound of her laughter. 

“You’d be surprised at the things I see people justify because I didn't exactly make them happy.”

Blinking, Beatrice’s brain conjures up a memory. Of Ava sounding near tears as she poured her heart out, japchae and soondae cold on their coffee table.

“They abandoned me. They abused me.”

“The orphanage?”

Ava’s slow nod confirms it, and with it, sends another sledgehammer straight into Beatrice's chest.

“Yeah. They didn't treat me well, as you can tell, and worse when I was ‘disrespectful’.”

Did she think she would… oh god… oh god. “I would never do that to you. No matter how mad I got.”

“I know.” Ava says quickly, as if seeing the flood of hurt in her eyes. Ava, too, is clearly sick of hurting Beatrice. “I know, Beatrice. Which is what confuses me the most.”

Beatrice’s mouth opens, to say what she herself doesn't recall, but all syllables cease to exist before they can even form on the tip of her tongue, as Ava fully turns her body around to face her.

There's a quick, barely there glance, before Ava timidly shortens the distance between them. When she sees Beatrice doesn't object, she inches even closer, actively pressing their kneecaps against one another.

They're so close. Beatrice can close her eyes and feel exactly where Ava is.

Small hands shake as they gently clasp over hers in her lap, Beatrice doing everything she can to stay there, to be what Ava needs. 

Sad eyes duck down and fixate their joined hands. Beatrice wonders what she sees. Does she see blood too?

“I hope you know that I trust you fully, Bea. With my everything.” Ava begins, in what yet sounds to be another devastating speech. “More than anyone in this world, you are someone I feel utmostly safe around. But, when it comes to Biomax 2.0, there's this thing… it makes me…”

“Take your time.” Beatrice says, smiling, even going to intertwine their fingers. Praying that the connection helps ground her. 

Ava smiles too, a little dopey, squeezing their handhold. Her face then hardens in determination, lips set in a straight line. She's beautiful without even trying.

“When it comes to Biomax 2.0, I kept it to myself for very, very selfish reasons.” Ava's voice remains miraculously steady as she speaks. “I was afraid I was going to be told I’m naive and I can’t actually achieve what I wanted. The nuns at the orphanage told me that all the time, and try hard as I did, I couldn’t get their voices out of my head.”

Beatrice's lips part, her mind laying out what is going to be the foundation of the puzzle that is Ava Silva’s heart.

“One of them was particularly crueler than the rest.” Ava’s squeeze slowly tightens with every word. “Her name was Sister Frances. I was her ward, her only ward. Makes you wonder what she did to not have been assigned any more children.”

It's not an image Beatrice wants to entertain in her head, as steely as she is regarding the topic. But for Ava, Beatrice would do anything.

“Sister Frances was not the nicest person, least of all nun.” The smallest curl of Ava’s mouth tells her it's a huge understatement. “She degraded me for sports. She constantly told me how lucky I was to be alive, how grateful I should be even though I was paralyzed and confined to my bed, how the lord had wasted a miracle on someone like me when there are others far more deserving.”

Burning anger pours like lava in her chest, making her nostrils heave not unlike a protective dragon breathing fire. Ava notices, looks up with a smile.

“You would have hated her.” Ava says, half jokingly, but Beatrice nods anyway. Ava’s smile turns a little soft. “Yeah?”

“I would have kicked her ass.” 

The crass language is worth making Ava laugh, a small, sudden little thing.

“You would have, easily.” Ava agrees, smile melting off again as she continues her story. “The abuse stopped when mom adopted me. Of course it did, mom loves me more than anything. But in my head, I kept hearing her voice.”

Beatrice holds her hands tighter, feeling them tremble.

“During physical therapy, I would hear her tell me that I’m only here and capable of doing these incredible things, walking, running, swimming, because of the nanobots in my spine.” Ava releases a shaky breath that wrecks her whole body. “She kept telling me that I didn't earn it. That I was just lucky enough to find someone who would use me as a guinea pig. Everything I do wasn't because of me trying, but because of this stupid thing on my back.”

Looking away, Ava’s eyes go from sad to vacant. It's frightening, how someone so full of life can look so empty and disconnected, lost in her memories, in her abuse, in her pain.

It's a sight scarier than any horror Beatrice has ever seen. What would Beatrice do if one day she loses Ava to herself?

“Frankly, it destroyed all my confidence. I know that sounds so unlike me, with everything I achieved and how I act, but not once has her voice not popped up in my head and convinced me these were not all pure products of luck or the people around me humoring me.”

Imposter syndrome, her brain helpfully provides. 

Beatrice doesn't let what she knows of the phenomenon affect how she sees Ava. The last thing she wants is to put Ava in a neatly labeled box, when Ava herself, not just her trauma, is clearly so much more than that.

“Biomax 2.0 is just amongst the many that I couldn't tell you, or anyone, about. Not because I don't trust you, but because I don't trust myself.” Ava sighs. “I ran myself ragged doing everything I could in hopes that one day, the voice would stop. I go to school and get perfect grades, I learn two types of martial arts freshly coming out of quadriplegia, I make friends everywhere I go, and so on. All of that, in hopes that one day, I would no longer feel like this life is something I have to prove worthy. All of that, just so I no longer feel like I should compensate for this blessing I’ve been given.”

One day, I would become worthy, quiet and between the lines but echoes far louder than anything Ava has ever said up until this point. 

As painful as this has been, Beatrice can tell Ava feels lighter, the burden of a pain unfairly given and long-held easing on those beautiful shoulders.

She wants to help her carry it. She wants her, in her sadness and at her happiest. 

“As for the Kingsman secret, it really is just for the sake of the mission.” Unaware, Ava continues her explanation, one by one unraveling the ball of mixed feelings in the woman by her side. “And I planned on telling you, I promise. Right when I saw the threats starting to escalate, I was practicing how to break it to you, mostly because I knew how much they were bearing on you, and in part because I didn't want to leave you out anymore.”

Beatrice opens her mouth, but once again, Ava’s eyes on her makes all the words evaporate.

“We could have used your help.” Beatrice would have helped. Beatrice would have given Ava anything she wanted. “I didn’t expect the attack to come so suddenly. It ruined everything I planned.” 

Tears springing back, Ava gently removes one of her hands out of their grip and, heart-stoppingly, places it on Beatrice's cheek.

“I’m sorry. I should have done better. I should have been better.” Every word feels so sincere and genuine that it feels like they're carved straight into Ava’s heart. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to endanger the world. If only I knew, maybe I could have stopped them from taking my mom too. I’m sorry, I failed you. I failed everyone. I just wanted to help.”

“If I could help just one person, all of it would have been worth it.”

If I could be of help, I would be worth it too.

Looking back, Beatrice would describe the emotion that courses through her veins in the moment to have the impact of a truck running her over.

It makes sense now. Their connection. Beatrice's desire and lust for her companionship. Shannon’s cryptic saying. Hell, even the stars make fucking sense.

They're the same. Two sides of the same coin. Two pieces of the same soul.

While Beatrice lives her life trying to right the mistakes of her past, Ava is doing whatever she can to make it so she is worthy of this better future.

They're the same. They just want to help. They just want to feel worthy.

They're the same. Beatrice has never felt more understood.

“And if that one person is just me, then it’ll be worth it too.”

That one person should be me. I alone would make this worth it.

Oh. Is that it? 

Is that what everyone has been trying to tell her this entire time?

Oh. She gets it now.

She finally gets it.

“We cannot change the past. Only what will be.”

Where is she going with this, Beatrice has not a single clue. But it makes Ava tilt her head in question, and suddenly, Beatrice has more she wants to say.

“There's more to it than you're telling.”

Beatrice laughs. She can cry. She can jump in joy and kiss a girl and scream over the edge of a cliff about how much she loves this little life. “There's always more.” This is it. There's no going back. “Will you listen?”

Ava nods, easy as breathing, breathtaking as the moon that controls the tides and the waves of affection flooding her veins in place of blood.

Beatrice has the sun in her hand, Ava’s trust and Ava’s affection and Ava’s confidante, and she is going to let herself fall without fearing the crash, for there are steady hands already waiting to catch her.

Here goes nothing.

—

“When I was fourteen years old, I was kicked out by my parents for being a lesbian.”

In the time between Ava composing herself and Beatrice readying for the heavy task she is about to take up, they’ve unanimously agreed to move even further up the bed, and further into each other’s personal space.

In what so happens to be a deja vu moment of their very first night together, Beatrice and Ava find themselves in a familiar position, with Beatrice’s back against the headboard and Ava’s own head on her chest. 

Beatrice can say anything she wants about the practicality and tactical advantage of this cuddling they’ve engaged in, all the while keeping mum about its familiarity with blushing cheeks and shy eyes, but in truth, Beatrice just wants comfort.

Ava doesn’t mind, never once opposed, laying her head gently down on Beatrice’s chest and ear pressed against her, for now, calming heartbeats. 

The first sentence is the hardest one to get out, and Beatrice is rewarded for her efforts when she feels soft lips pressing against the quivering surface of her skin. 

There’s a hint of teeth barely scratching the surface. A consolidation and a declaration of anger on her behalf, all in the same breath. Never say Ava Silva isn’t an overachiever. 

“I had nowhere else to go. My parents, big on appearances and the political figures as they were, didn’t want to risk anyone finding out about the scandal.” It’s me, I’m the scandal. “So they went and pretended like I was dead.”

Ava, previously tranquil, perks up in a move that can only be translated as pure indignation. “The fuck?”

Beatrice can only shrug helplessly. “They’re very dramatic?”

“Bea— I— we need to talk about your definition of dramatic. Later.” Ava huffs adorably, flopping back in the nook between Beatrice’s head and shoulder. 

“Alright.” Like Beatrice will ever deny Ava anything again. Within reasons, of course. “Again, I had nowhere else to go. I survived on the streets for a while, bouncing between dirty alleys and homeless shelters. I had no friends, no distant family, and especially no one who would stick their necks out to help me out had they known.”

Taking a split second to laugh at Ava’s grumbling about rich people and how she’d kick their asses once she has the chance, Beatrice continues. 

“I made it for half a year before I eventually succumbed to petty crimes. I started pickpocketing rich tourists, dumpster diving for food, breaking and entering into restaurants for food scraps, stealing from fellow homeless and poor people, and so on.” Jesus fuck, you were a major asshole, weren’t you?

“That explains a lot about your disinterest in food.” Ava mumbles, almost to herself, but Beatrice hums in confirmation anyway.

“Another half a year later, I stole from the wrong people.” Her voice becomes a little strained here, the wound raw and hurting from never being addressed nor taken care of. “Till this day, I’m not sure who they were, I just knew they were very scary people. I stole what was hard-earned for them, and for that I was punished.”

Ava’s hands, previously rubbing up and down the fabric of Beatrice’s shirt, clutch at her in suspense. Like she's trying to protect Beatrice from the hurt that has long passed.

“I don’t know a lot, but I knew that organization was big.” Beatrice’s mind whirrs as she tries to navigate the paths in her mind, picking out what she can talk about and what she would rather leave for another day. “They hurt innocent people, that’s all I knew, but I was kept in the dark about the rest. I was just a handservant who did whatever they asked.”

A shaky breath escapes her lungs, her hands almost tremble at the reminder of adrenaline running through her veins. 

There was so much blood and depravity. Beatrice honestly doesn't know how she survived through it all.

“I was made to spy on people. I was made to rat them out. I was made to fight. I was made to hurt people too. But I kept telling myself I needed to do it to ensure my survival.” One of Ava’s hands moves up her cheek, undoubtedly feeling the vibration of Beatrice’s quivering lips. “I kept telling myself all that nonsense, but in the end, every blood that was shed was on my hand too.”

“Oh Bea…” Ava sounds pained, like she is hurting purely because Beatrice is too. “I’m sorry. I kept you in the dark too. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t hold that against you anymore.” And she means it with her whole heart. “Like I said, I didn’t know anything aside from the world I was held captive in. I wonder, though, would I have tried to leave sooner had I known.” Beatrice’s heart begins to lighten, coming close to the one thing about her past that she would never exchange for anything. “Another year went by, and one day, as I was out running errands for my superiors, I met Vincent.”

This, Beatrice is very happy to remember. His smile and his voice, even though it still tears a hole in her heart with how much she misses him still.

“Vincent. Your special someone.”

Beatrice nods with tears in her eyes, the love still stored in her heart driving her to duck and press her lips oh so gently against the top of Ava’s head. She graciously pretends like she doesn’t see Ava’s ears turning pink. 

“He was the Galahad before me.” From the back of Ava’s throat, comes the quietest sound of surprise. “I met him at a bookstore, like I told you. He was actually there undercover to expose the organization that held me captive.”

“Holy shit.” Ava gushes in her neck, clearly invested.

“I had no idea. I just thought he was this kind old man who really loved Jenga and a novice fan of R. L. Stein.” Beatrice chuckles, uncaring about the wet streaks running down her cheeks. “I was very closed off, at first. You can’t not be in an environment where your trust means next to nothing and every favor is done with transactional values in mind. But he tried so hard to get me to open up, and he did, using nothing but board games and his words of wisdom.”

“Duly noted.” Ava snarks playfully, grinning when Beatrice’s hand slightly squeezes at her hip. 

“As I was saying, he was like a father to me.” Beatrice leans down, comforting herself by the scent of Ava’s shampoo, trying to get through the hardest part of the story. “About a year later, a huge operation went down. As usual, I was not a part of it, explicitly told to stay in my quarters and nowhere else.”

Flashes begin to run through the forefront of her mind, vividly recalling the boredom that drove her out and the curiosity that drove her to her death.

Her almost death. 

“I only meant to peek, to see what all the hubbub was about, but I got careless.” Beatrice can’t control it anymore, forced to let the sobs escape her chest lest she’d explode inside out. “I went out, I saw him, and the next thing I knew, I was pushed at least a whole yard away and he was dying out on the floor right in front of my eyes, a bullet hole in the dead center of his forehead.”

By now, the tears are uncontrollable, but Ava holds her through, pushing her head deeper into her neck and wrapping strong, loving arms around her waist.

“It's okay, Bea. It's okay, you don't have to say anymore.” Ava says, her words are genuine, and her care burns even more.

Still, Beatrice pushes herself to finish, feeling indebted and way past overdue. 

She is doing this for Ava, for herself, but more than that, she is doing this for a hurting seventeen year old Beatrice who never got to grieve too.

“When the cops stormed the place and arrested everyone, I was taken in too. I was so scared, I didn't want to go back to that old life anymore. I didn't want to steal and hurt hurt people just so I could find a crumb of bread to eat. I was so scared, Ava.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry you were so scared.” Ava sounds on the verge of tears too. “I wish I was there to protect you.”

Beatrice shakes her head, not even wanting to think about the person that she was anywhere near Ava’s goodness.

A distraction it is.

“It's okay. Because not half a day later, I was being bailed out.” Ava looks up at her, eyes shining with tears and curiosity. “It was Mary, or Guinevere, as you will, standing in front of the police station, wearing a literal leather jacket over her suit and casually sipping on a flask of alcohol.”

“I like her already.” Ava grins, exaggerating the movement so it makes Beatrice want to smile too.

And god dammit, if she doesn't succeed with comical ease. “She got me out and, not even a minute later, was driving me to Cat’s Cradle.” 

The laughter that explodes from her is tremendous and dosed in disbelief, half at Mary and half at how they just swiveled into clown town after having just tethered on the verge of a breakdown. 

“It was so weird, Ava. Some random grown woman just scooped me up in a car, a literal seventeen year old, and drove me to some random tailor’s shop without even a word of explanation, and then proceeded to tell me about a secret agent organization where you wear suits 24/7 and walk around looking like elitist snobs all the bloody time.”

In the end, it's her own joy that's infectious, turning Ava into a giggling mess, grinning lips pressed softly against her skin.

God Ava looks so pretty when she smiles. Beatrice wants to kiss her so badly.

“I would have paid good money to see that.” Ava is too busy wiping tears, the good kind, off her eyes to see Beatrice's dopey smile, which, thank heavens. “That's how you became Galahad?”

Shaking her head, Beatrice grants Ava’s wish of knowing more. 

“I had to go through tests, just like you. Remind me to interrogate you on your own tests later.” Ava salutes her, like a goof, and by god Beatrice just can't stop smiling anymore. “I actually competed against ten other people. One of which you are already familiar with.”

Lips pursed in deep thoughts, Ava’s eyes soon sparkle with recognition. “Percival?”

What smart girl.

Nodding again, her heart aching just slightly at the fate of her friend, Beatrice elaborates. “Her real name is Lilith. Don't tell her I told you that.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to wait and use it at the most inconvenient time possible.” Why is she even surprised? This is Ava for peace’s sake. “Wait, I remember this now. When I was awaiting my own fate after making my proposal, I remember Arthur telling Merlin about how her old mantle, Percival, already has its new successor, thus why they shouldn't take me in.”

Not having yet heard this from Shannon or Suzanne, Beatrice urges Ava to keep going.

Ava does, with a familiar smug smile that makes Beatrice half want to kiss her and half want to fight her. 

You can do both during—

Not now, brain. Not now.

“I scored so high Merlin fought for me to have a new title. She said I was the first Morgana in the history of the Kingsman.” 

“That's true.” Beatrice nods. “Even Guinevere was a later addition, having only about one predecessor before Mary. You are the first, and I can't think of anyone more worthy.”

She almost doesn't realize what she just said, if not for the way Ava gasps quietly in her arms, her lips parting like she is in desperate need of oxygen.

Suddenly, like a switch being flipped, the atmosphere around them thickens with tension, electrifying in every direction.

That can't be right. There has always been this sort of tension around them, prancing and dancing around their every move, their every touch, and their every glance.

Beatrice can't stop herself from licking her lips, similarly parched. Her heart, a bastard and a traitor, starts to race at the undeniable flicker of Ava’s eyes down to her mouth.

Is it hot in here or is it just her?

“Can I try something?” Ava asks, a quiet, breathy little thing.

“You can.” Beatrice replies, forcing her hand not to grip too tight. 

Ava pulls her hand away from Beatrice’s waist, a smirk undoubtedly unfurling at the smallest whine Beatrice can't stop from escaping.

Her eyes follow the hand with an intensity that's usually reserved for on the battlefield, heartbeats gradually picking up as Ava extends her palm in her direction and… asks for a handshake?

Confused still, Beatrice takes her hand anyway. There's no life in which she wouldn't.

“Let's start over.” Ava says, wearing a bright smile, eyes twinkling with mischief and something palpable, something meaningful, something more. “Hi, my name is Ava Silva. I’m studying for a Master of Science and working full-time as a secret agent for this intelligence agency called Kingsman. My codename is Agent Morgana, I love cooking for the people I care about, I like you so much, and I would love it if I can have a chance to make up for all the hurt I brought you.”

Already breathless, Beatrice’s heart almost seizes in her chest.

I like you so much.

I like you.

I like you.

So incredibly touched and endeared and grateful, she honestly doesn't know how anyone can live with this much affection in their chest and not spontaneously combust into confetti.

She loves her. She loves her more than anyone or anything.

Shaking with one hand, trembling and sweating all the same, and placing the other on the back of Ava’s head. They're both shaking in anticipation, the only sounds in the room are their labored breathing and the beating of Beatrice's absolute bastard of a heart.

“Hello, Ava.” Beatrice starts, in what can be categorized as both the beginning and the end. “My name is Beatrice. I’m also a full-time secret agent for the British intelligence agency known as Kingsman. I go by the codename Agent Galahad. I’m five foot seven, I have a penchant for board games, my life hasn't been the same since I met you, and if I may, I would love to kiss you.”

In the end, no one knows who leans in first.

Beatrice, personally, knows her hand is flexing and gripping and pushing and pulling, but semantics and syntax and time itself become nothing but meaningless at the first touch of their lips reuniting.

Ava’s lips, full and plump, mold into hers as easily as the first night they did this.

Her hands bunch up the denim on Ava’s hips, tilting her head so their mouths slot together more comfortably.

It's Ava who moans into their kiss first, that Beatrice is sure, because she sounds so pretty and needy and tastes so fucking delicious that Beatrice can't help but pry her mouth open and push her tongue inside.

The minute their tongues graze, starbursts explode behind her eyelids. 

Her insides are on fire, but Beatrice is all willing to be a pile of ash if it means getting to do this for the rest of her life.

“Bea—” Ava moans again, visibly taken aback by Beatrice's forceful kiss. She slows down, not wanting to make Ava uncomfortable, but the hands on her neck are clutching the fabric of her shirt and pulling her back in and— “Don't stop. Don't stop kissing me. Please, Bea, I’ve been thinking about this for the last two months.”

Oh that just stroke her ego like a wildfire. “Yeah? Have you been thinking about me?”

“Yea, yea,” Ava answers, panting against the smirk adorning Beatrice’s lips. She doesn't mind, taking Ava’s lower lip in her mouth and sucking it in between her teeth. Never once stopping their kiss, Ava moves to climb into her lap, grinding down on her thigh. “Fuck— yeah, god you're just as good of a kisser as I remember.”

Well now she’s done it.

Lightning quick, Beatrice wrenches both hands under Ava’s thighs, her fingers scratching at the denim as she thrusts her hips up.

The sound that leaves Ava’s mouth is filthy, her leg coming into contact with Ava’s crotch and making her arch.

Ava releases a startled squeak when Beatrice, taking advantage of her momentum and her aerial position, flips them over.

Ava falls back on the mattress with a yelp that Beatrice immediately swallows, engaging their tongues in another passionate dance like they never separated in the first place.

“Fuck, that's so hot.” Ava pants into her mouth, beautiful and muscular arms winding around her neck to pull her in closer, to kiss her deeper. “You're so sexy. You drive me crazy, Bea.”

“And you're beautiful. So beautiful.” The praises pouring out of her feels as holy as the bible verses she used to learn, but none more divine than the girl she is kissing and the way she moans at every push of Beatrice's thigh against her crotch. “I missed this. I missed you. I can't tell you how many times I have wanted to do this on our couch.”

Beatrice thrusts her leg once more, deeper than before, and pulls out a whimper so desperate and needy it definitely drenches her own panties.

“Fuck— that's so hot—” Ava pants, their lips separating with a loud pop as Beatrice takes one quick gulp of air and instantly moves to kiss down Ava’s neck, unbearing to part for longer than necessary

The only sounds in the room are Beatrice working her way down and marking Ava’s chest with love marks as well as Ava’s labored breathing and crescendoing whimpers.

Ava’s hands are entangling themselves in Beatrice's hair, nails scratching at her shaved sides and making her feel so good.

She really hopes they're far enough that Shannon and Suzanne can't hear a thing. But honestly, who cares.

“Bea, Beatrice—” Ava moans particularly loudly at the sensation of Beatrice's mouth sucking at her pulse points, the denim suspender of the overalls pulled down to her elbow and her red shirt stretched out to reveal marvelous golden skin.

“That's it, darling. Keep saying my name like that.” Beatrice adds onto the command with a little nip, Ava tasting as sweet and sour as that goddamn vodka all those nights ago. 

Strong thighs, at some point coming to wrap around her waist, quiver in pleasure. Beatrice grinds her hips down faster, harder, earning yet another beautiful whine.

“I love hearing you say my name. You sound so pretty, so pretty, and all for me.”

“Fuck, this is too—” Suddenly, Beatrice feels hands pushing at her shoulders. 

Startled, Beatrice wrenches herself back, her lips swollen and lungs contracting too fast to be healthy. 

“Is everything okay?” Beatrice asks, eyes widen in pure fright. “Did I do something wrong?”

Did she read this wrong? Did Ava not like her back? Did Ava not want this? Did Ava have regrets and want nothing to do with her as revenge?

“No, no, no.” Ava babbles, both hands reaching up to cradle Beatrice's face. Immediately, the tension coiling in her deflates, but only slightly. Beatrice won't be okay until she knows Ava is okay. “You didn't do anything wrong, baby. I’m just… I just want…”

“Take your time.” Beatrice whispers, more focused on easing Ava’s panic then tending to her own thundering heart at the pet name. “I can get off, if you want?”

Ava immediately shakes her head, arms winding back to wrap around her neck. As if making sure Beatrice can never leave again. Like she would ever want to.

“Stay, please.” Ava pleas, pouting up at her, and lord heaven above Beatrice is not strong enough to resist leaning down and kissing it away. 

Swollen lips part ways for her again, Beatrice taking the time to enjoy the euphoric sensation and realization that she is, indeed, kissing Ava Silva on the mouth.

They trade a few more kisses like this, with Beatrice pressing Ava against the bed and Ava arching up her chest so their torsos would touch, until Beatrice once again feels hands pushing at her shoulders.

Knowing it's not anything serious, Beatrice pulls back with a slow but agonizing drag of Ava’s bottom lip in between her teeth, releasing it and admiring how beautiful crimson it looks.

Even the moonlight outside is nothing compared to the beauty of an obviously disheveled and horny Ava Silva.

“Baby…” Ava pants, breathing so hard her cleavage peeks out from underneath her shirt. Beatrice's eyes follow it like a magnet, flushing scarlet when a slender finger comes to her chin and lifts it back up. “Beatrice.”

If that's as stern as she can get, Ava has a very long way to go if she wants to order her in bed.

“I’m sorry.” Beatrice apologizes, feeling her ears growing uncomfortably hot on the sides of her head. 

Admittedly, she has let her desire and her libido spiral out of control, but she can't possibly help it, not when she has such a beautiful creature in her arms like this.

Beatrice loves her, for crying out loud. 

She also loves when Ava is on her back and her shoulder is all marked up and her lips are swollen and her eyes are dilated and her chest is heaving and she wants to sink in between that valley and stick out her tongue and—

“Beatrice No Last Name, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Eyes darting back up from um… well, wanting to drown herself in Ava’s breasts, she supposes, Beatrice finds herself on the receiving end of yet another pout. “I’m sorry, darling. You're just so beautiful. I can't help myself.”

Ava’s adorable face, cheeks flushed pink with her hair sticking up everywhere, scrunches up in a whine.

“You can't be charming when I literally just caught you red-handed staring at my tits.”

Beatrice blushes too at the callout. “Can you blame me?”

“Oh my God, I can't—” Ava’s fists, previously still on Beatrice's chest, punch at her shoulder blade. “Shut up. I’m trying to be romantic. Stop making me horny.”

Ava wants to be what now? “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ava huffs, and swear to god, Beatrice is utilizing all of her steely determination, the same one that got her through that torture by electricity only slightly scathed, to not kiss her again. “I want to say we should wait till after our first date to have sex.”

“Oh.” Admittedly, that does catch Beatrice by surprise. “Is this a courtesy type of sort? But hadn't we already had sex?”

“No.” Ava pouts even harder, which Beatrice had thought was impossible but here they are. “We just met, remember? I told you my name just fifteen minutes ago or something.”

Ah. She gets it now.

Unbridledly, Beatrice lets loose the burst of laughter in her chest, outright giggling like a schoolgirl. Beneath her, Ava is undoubtedly still pouting, but Beatrice is feeling too giddy to control herself.

All that Kingsman training and one chivalrous offer from the most beautiful woman in the world has her giggling. Giggling. Shannon and Mary would never let her live it down if they knew.

“Alright, darling.” Eventually her laughter trails off, replaced by a smile that, even without looking, Beatrice can tell makes her look absolutely smitten. Her hands, previously on Ava’s hips, move to hold Ava’s face, the precious, beautiful thing that she is. “I can’t wait for our first date.”

“Me too.” Ava looks up at her all dreamily, equally smitten and endeared. Swollen lips suddenly curl up in a wicked smirk, an image so foxy that it makes Beatrice let out an audible whimper. “That doesn't mean we should stop kissing though.”

Beatrice laughs, helplessly in love, and dives right back in.

She is going to kiss her until the stars remember their names.

—

Chapter Text

Their morning had started off better than most. 

For Beatrice, it is a good morning purely for the fact that she is, once again, in the same bed as Ava, who, at the time of Beatrice opening her eyes due to the sun pouring into their little guest bedroom, is snoozing on her shoulder.

Beatrice lays there in silence for a good few minutes, wondering, frightened, that this was all a dream, and the minute she moves, or the minute she blinks, all of it will be taken away from her again. 

Ava, whose senses are better than Beatrice had given her credits for, catches her red-handed about five minutes in, dark brown eyes twinkling with stars that never seem to go away, wearing a smile that’s a perfect balance between teasing and affection. 

Beatrice, who once read that there are two types of encounters, one that you bring with you for the rest of your life, and one that you regret comes the morning light, finds herself no longer the latter, no more and never again.

They don’t get to enjoy each other nor this new thing, both familiar and not, in the most beautiful ways, for long, as when Beatrice is just getting comfortable carding her fingers through Ava’s hair, and Ava is headbutting against her palm like an adorable, sweet kitten asking for pets, both of their glasses, placed on nightstands of opposite sides of the bed, begin to beep in warning.

“Duty calls?” Ava asks, her voice low and husky in the early morning.

Beatrice resists the urge to make her her siren, focusing on putting on her glasses to verify the incoming transmission. 

“Duty calls.” She reads through the messages at lightning speed, gathering just enough information to know their agenda for the day. “They’ve got news, and they want us in the briefing room as soon as possible.”

“Man, I was hoping for at least another ten minutes.” That’s an offensive estimation of my skill— “It’s my first time getting to cuddle you this freely for fuck’s sake.” Oh. 

Coughing, hoping Ava doesn’t see her face turning the shade of a ripened tomato, Beatrice offers. “We’ll have time, darling. After we save the world.”

Ava, who has been pouting with her legs swinging over the edge on her side of the bed, looks over her shoulder at Beatrice. 

Behind her, the floor-to-ceiling glass wall is just about to welcome in the first sunshines of the day, and Beatrice’s breath audibly hitches at how utterly divine and beautiful her girlfriend is. 

Girlfriend. They’re girlfriends, right?  

They haven’t gone on a date yet, sure, but that’s the general and most logical assumption, right?

Lord, how do people do this dating thing. Five minutes in and she is already stressing the bloody fuck out. 

“Bea? You’re staring again.” 

Blinking, Beatrice sees Ava crawling across the bed, an imagery that shouldn’t look as sexy on someone wearing a duck-patterened pajama set, courtesy of Jamie stocking extra clothes for guests, but by god does Ava pull it off.

“Baby,” Ava breathes out, low and sensual, her sleep shirt missing a couple buttons and giving Beatrice a gorgeous view of two something bouncing. “We’ve really got to work on your fixation with my tits.”

Blinking again, this time determined to stay in reality, Beatrice tries to defend herself. 

“I can’t help it when you keep them on display for me. I’m only human.”

“Is that so?” Ava asks, head tilting like she doesn’t know what she’s doing to Beatrice’s poor brain cells. “If it works out so well, maybe I should be using them as a distraction tactic on the field.” She sits back on her hind legs, looking down her own shirt, and smirks. “What do you think, Bea? Will it work on all the bad guys?”

Admittedly, Beatrice is a tad bit distracted by following the path of Ava’s hands crawling up her body and sprawls out against her chest, holding up her breasts for her viewing pleasure. 

Then, Ava’s words register in her brain, and aside from that flicker of possessiveness, Beatrice lets herself plummet into that oh so tempting lustful haze.

Grabbing Ava by that same shirt, fucking ducks, Beatrice yanks her to sit in her lap, not awaiting any objection but duly noting the surprised squeak that escapes her. 

Once situated, Ava’s arms clutching her shoulders and her hands gripping Ava’s hips, Beatrice tilts her head up and smashes their lips together.

As always, Ava is the first to moan, a dramatic reaction all things considered, as they’re merely kissing, but Beatrice isn’t complaining, loves knowing that just the simplest press of their lips can make Ava make such pretty sounds.

Beatrice lets herself get lost in the pleasure of kissing Ava, enjoying the unfading burns of her hands as they keep finding new places to explore. 

Ava is clearly having fun as well, slotting their lips together like one of those puzzles she likes to watch Beatrice play, occasionally letting out a moan or a whimper that makes Beatrice grow dizzy.

They’re enjoying themselves. So enjoyable that they’ve completely lost track of time and have to rush through their hygiene routines when later both their spectacles beep a loud, startling warning. 

While Ava is grumbling with toothpaste in her mouth, Beatrice skedaddles to the door, having just read another message about special deliveries. 

When she opens it, Beatrice’s feet collide against a box. Confused and a bit paranoid, Beatrice kneels down and checks it for herself, only to let out a silent squeal of joy.

“Ava!” Beatrice whoops, hurriedly bringing the box back inside. Rushed out at the urgent sound of her voice, Ava looks at her with confusion, toothbrush still in her mouth. “Someone sent us our bespoke suits and shoes.”

If only she had a camera or was wearing her own spectacles. Beatrice would have loved to have that beautiful smile splitting Ava’s face wide open in picture form forever. 

They get dressed separately, modest about each other’s privacy still.

In a turn of event that surprises everyone, mostly Beatrice, it’s Ava who finishes getting ready first, loudly yelling on the other side of the door for Beatrice to hurry up.

Rolling her eyes, the action drenched in so much fondness she almost fears some would drip into her suit, Beatrice fastens her wristwatch as the final step of her process. 

Walking out, Beatrice braces herself for whatever she may see, and yet, at the first sight of Ava— no, Agent Morgana, in her bespoke suit and glasses, Beatrice is still so floored, a breeze can slip through the vent and knocks her over like a bowling pin.

“Darling, you’re gorgeous…” She gushes, her heart squeezing tight in adoration. 

Ava, or Agent Morgana, merely grins back at her. 

On her beautiful face is the same pair of glasses as yesterday, compared to Beatrice’s, are slightly more squared and darker in color. 

Wearing the light gold wristwatch, Ava is also adorned in one of the most beautiful suits Beatrice has ever seen, a black shirt that purposefully leaves a couple buttons undone layered over by a dark blue blazer jacket and trousers of the same color.

The whole world can crumble down right this very second and Beatrice would have been perfectly happy, knowing the last thing she saw was an angel.

“Thanks, Bea.” Ava’s cheeks are flushed, and she’s visibly squirming at the intensity of Beatrice’s adoring gaze. She’s so beautiful. “You look handsome too. I’ve always thought you were, in whatever clothes you put on.”

Beatrice, falling impossibly deeper by the second, can only stride over and slide her arms around Ava’s waist, just needing to be close for another minute.

Ava knows. Ava understands, winding her arms around Beatrice’s neck and taking a deep breath. 

Once they walk out of that door, it’s going to be a whirlwind. Soon they’ll have to be Agent Galahad and Agent Morgana, and their only focus is saving the world and nothing else. 

Beatrice doesn’t agree with that. Not one bit.

“We’ll make it.” Beatrice tells herself, tells the universe. Praying to the god she once believed in and the god of her heart. 

Ava hums, sweet and kind and someone Beatrice will burn the world down to keep. “We will. Nothing can beat us, Bea. Not together.”

Beatrice takes the reassurance and stores it in her heart, takes one last sniff of the scent of home, of her, and takes a deep breath.

It’s time.

—

“Well, well, well. Look at what the cat finally dragged in.”

At the sight of curly hair and bright grin, Beatrice can't help but let out a sigh that makes her whole body tremble in relief.

“Lancelot, you're back.”

Camila, also in her suit and wearing her glasses, looks like a sight for sore eyes. Beatrice automatically opens her arms, and Camila makes no hesitation to run into her embrace.

“You're okay, thank god.” Camila pushes her face into Beatrice's shoulder, her shaking subtle enough to go unnoticed by anyone who isn't literally holding her upright. “I was worried sick. Everyone suddenly went off grid and then Merlin told me about Percival and you were missing—”

“I’m alright, Lancelot.” Beatrice reassures, hand gently rubbing up and down the slope of Camila’s back. “I’m alright. Morgana took great care of me.”

“Oh?” Camila pulls back, watery eyes turn mischievous faster than she can blink. “Morgana?”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, twisting Camila around so she is snuggled underneath one of her arms, wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Don't pretend like you don't already know what's going on.” Beatrice huffs, earning a cheeky shrug.

“No bodyguard ever went so out of their way to make their client breakfast, Galahad.”

“Shush, you.” Embarrassed, Beatrice turns her head, pout melting back into a smile when she turns around and meets Ava’s eyes. “Come here. I want to introduce you.”

Ava, who doesn't even bother trying to hide the fact that she's been shamelessly watching them the entire time, puts on a grin and strides over.

Beatrice extends a hand, which Ava takes with zero hesitation. Their fingers easily intertwine, and Beatrice tries really hard to resist the urge to put Ava’s knuckles up against her mouth for a kiss.

“Morgana, this is Lancelot, or Camila. She was our youngest Kingsman, but I suppose that changes now with you here. She is also our cyber warrior extraordinaire and record-holder for best marksmanship.”

Camila also reaches for a handshake, doing a strong two pumps that makes her feel absurdly proud. 

Ava returns it with equal enthusiasm and a jubilant, “Hiya!”

Clearing her throat, Beatrice gestures back at Ava. “Lancelot, this is Morgana. Newest edition to the Kingsman and my Ava.” 

It takes Beatrice much longer than necessary, which is approximately two to three seconds, to realize what she just said. By the time she did, it was too late, her eardrums were already being blown out by Camila’s excited shrieking.

Soft hand tugs at hers, and when Beatrice turns to look, Ava looks like she’s about to burst into tears right then and there. 

Oh. Oh, she said that. 

She actually said that.

“Was that okay?” Beatrice mouths, checking.

Ava nods, eyes still suspiciously glistening. “More than okay.” Ava squeezes her hand, then does what Beatrice was too shy to do, lifting her knuckles to her lips and bestowing upon it a featherlight kiss.

Now it’s her turn to tear up, lower lip quivering despite her best attempt to control herself. 

“You two are so cute!” Camila’s squeak, sounding straight out of a teen romcom, manages to pull their attention away from each other. “On a side note, Morgana, are you a hugger?”

“Uh… sure. Yes. I love hugs.”

Ava barely gets to finish before Camila is pouncing on Beatrice’s poor girlfriend, who, credits where credits are due, easily catches their firecracker in her arms, offsetting their combined weights by spinning them both in circles.

Beatrice, admittedly, is having too much fun watching them.

“Finally a new face.” Put back on her feet, Camila still doesn't let Ava go, even going to squeeze her tighter. “I can finally enact my moral obligation as a senior knight to bully the newbie.”

“What—” “Lancelot, behave.”

The warning comes from Shannon, who is just now walking into the briefing room with Suzanne in tow. Beatrice could have sworn there's a tiny smile on Suzanne’s face as she watches Ava and Camila goof around, but Suzanne catches her eyes and suddenly all traces of her mirth are gone.

Still, Beatrice knows better. Knows Suzanne and her heart all the same.

“I see the gang's all here.” Shannon smiles, bumping into Ava's hip and ruffling Camila’s hair. 

Everyone ignores her indignant squawking, more focused on Suzanne mutely beckoning them over to the control center. They do just that, each knight falling into formation like they've been practicing.

Shannon in her usual seat, Suzanne to her left and now accompanied by Camila, with Ava and Beatrice to Shannon's right, secretly holding hands under the desk.

“Glasses on, gentlemen.” While Ava and Beatrice tap the spines of theirs, Suzanne and Camila fish their spectacles out from their pocket and put them on. “Let's start off with some good news. We think we’ve found out just what exactly Kristian Schaefer has in store for Biomax.”

Above head, a chain of private digital correspondence is pulled up the screen. Beatrice squints, quickly skimming through, immediately understanding the situation.

Shannon goes to explain her findings in a concise and straightforward manner. 

“As you can see, these are private emails between Kristian and a throwaway account. To give you context, Kristian was seen auctioning Biomax out to a pool of bidders, whose identities remain unknown for now. After fleeing London, we managed to track him down to a small town in Ireland. Thanks to him popping by to browse in a local cafe and use their public wifi, I successfully hacked into his phone and got all of his emails.”

“All this trouble and he couldn’t get himself an encrypted phone and a VPN?” Camila scoffs. She is very passionate about cybersecurity. “Loser.”

While Ava doesn't bother holding back a snort, Camila does receive a reprimanding glare from Suzanne. Beatrice, well, she is a little occupied fantasizing about beating Kristian up to a bloody pulp.

Shannon continues like there was no interruption. God only knows how she manages this composure when there is usually nothing but chaos in their line of work.

“The throwaway account you see here is the winner of the auction, as seen claiming to have purchased Biomax for the price of twenty thousand Euros.” 

“Excuse me, Biomax is worth so much more than that.” Ava scoffs in offense, earning another glare from Suzanne. “What? I’m a literal walking miracle, I would know.”

“I would say it’s more of the fact that this remains a dangerous and untested piece of science, Agent Morgana. Wouldn’t you know that better than anyone here?” Suzanne says, a hint of steel in her voice. 

It’s more than enough to get Ava to sober up and cower, a cloud of shame passing by her lovely face. Beatrice swipes her thumb across Ava’s knuckles, hoping to restore a smile. 

It works, Ava sending her the smallest grin, and suddenly Beatrice feels almost ten feet fall.

“Anyways.” Shannon jumps back into her presentation. “I pulled an all-nighter and did some digging. It was hard, throwaway accounts are meant to protect your identity, but Lancelot got here just in time to help me out. While we can't exactly make out who created it or running it, we traced it back to a cybersecurity division of a company called Firstborn Children.”

On standby, Camila goes to swipe a finger on the trackpad, pulling up another window.

Immediately, Beatrice’s hackles rise. It’s not an uncommon reaction whenever she sees a man, but there’s something about this one that really gives her the chills.

“Firstborn Children LLC. is a children’s toy company owned by one Adriel Miller, an aspiring entrepreneur who built the company from the ground up with the money he made from monetizing his Youtube channel.”

“I know that creep.” Ava says, narrowing her eyes at the picture of the bearded man with wise eyes. “He shows up at a lot of functions and events for children. Namely charities for disadvantaged and disabled youths.”

Beatrice frowns, trying to keep up with Ava’s trains of thoughts. 

“Does it not make sense for him to be there, as a toymaker?” The seed is already planted in her head, so Beatrice goes ahead and adds. “Furthermore, what could a toymaker want from Biomax?”

“Terminally sick children.” Shannon says, face darkened. “His company is already a well-established name in the market, plus his products are sold at a very affordable price. With the lack of funding in so many countries’ healthcare, it is only a matter of time before his toys start circulating widely in the ICUs.”

“By the time that happens, he is already one foot in the door.” Suzanne continues. “With his name now positively known, he can make a breakthrough from the toy industry to selling medical devices and every other healthcare sector that exists.”

Shannon nods. “The implications of what else he can do with Biomax can only go downhill from there.”

“Terrific. We have a psychopathic Peter Pan on our hands.” Ava grumbles, fingers tapping anxiously against Beatrice’s knuckles. “Adriel has always given me the creeps whenever we bump into each other. He has this unsettling, would indoctrinate you into a cult, drink your blood like it’s wine, recruit you to be his child bride, kind of vibe.”

Suzanne, Shannon, and Beatrice turn to look at her in incredulity. Ava is just about to defend herself when Camila jumps in.

“I would say he’s more of a psychopathic John Kramer, to be honest.” 

Beatrice has no idea who that is, but everyone seems to. If their gobsmacked expression is anything to go by.

Realizing she’s the new target of their attention, Camila elaborates. 

“The toys FBC is making right now are marketed as smart toys. Complicated contraptions and puzzles that are meant to stimulate a child’s critical thinking and problem solving skills. They’re very tame so far, but Adriel’s original toys, still on his channel by the way, are… questionable, to say the least.”

“Hmm. Good to know.” Shannon’s grimace doesn’t at all look like she wanted to know that, but sure. “Moving on. While Lancelot and I did find a meet-up coordinate in the emails, we unfortunately do not have the equipment needed to make contact with our satellite to figure out its location.”

Beatrice misses Cat’s Cradle and their HQ, a sentiment seemingly shared by everyone in the room.

“So instead, we combed through the FBC’s list of daily agendas, thankfully circulating internally amongst managers and staffs.” Camila does a couple more taps, and soon pulls up a picture of what appears to be an internal memo. “A good amount of their private security force is said to have arrived at a building owned by Firstborn Children LLC. under Adriel’s name.”

On the screen, Shannon pulls up the world map, fingers spreading across the trackpad and slowly zeroing in on a specific country then city. 

“Ooh nice, I’ve always wanted to go to Japan.”

Shannon hums in agreement, echoed by the rest of the knights. Beatrice personally has been to the land of sakura a few times, but never long enough to be considered a traveler. 

“Hidden in between the mountains of Miyazaki, Kyushu Island, the building was bought by Adriel Miller almost a decade ago.” Shannon explains, pulling up more demonstrative pictures as well as blueprints. 

A typical part of their training, every knight in the room knows to give each other a moment of quiet to perform their assessments on the architecture, anticipating different inputs about potential entrances and exits.

As far as Beatrice can tell, the building only has two floors. One for administrative purposes and the other a factory. 

The short and spacious design is perhaps to match with the mountain terrains they’re built upon, meaning they’ll be far away from civilians, which also means they won't be perceived by curious passersby and any damage they make will less likely end in unfortunate casualties.

Picking the pace back up once more, Shannon pulls up two freeze frames, one of which depicts Adriel with his typical army of escorts, security and staff alike, and Kristian trying to look discreet as he climbs aboard his economy seat.

“Without access to our regular technology to triangulate their flight paths, we had to resort to classic espionage. Our former Kingsmen at EASA, European Union Aviation Safety Agency, and Civil Aviation Bureau confirmed that both Adriel’s private jet and Kristian’s flight are landing in Kyushu Island just an hour from now.”

With a location and an approximation of time, albeit too close for her liking, this mission is becoming more positive by the second.

Beatrice can feel the familiar rush of adrenaline running through her blood, making her heart beat faster in anticipation. Next to her, Ava’s palm is sweating too, but her calm facial expression makes it impossible to tell.

“So what’s the plan?” Ava asks, voice eerily monotonous. 

“For starters, working with the assumption that Kristian has had more than enough time to make Lena and Jillian open the briefcase, we need to talk about what’s inside it.”

Ava nods, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. 

This is Agent Morgana, Beatrice has to remind herself, feeling an exceptional shortage of breath for no reason.

“Once you make it past all the security measures, you’ll find that Biomax 1.0 is in the form of a sphere.” Ava makes a large circle with her hands, visualizing the size and shape for the rest of them. “There’s a couple ports, meant for easy data input and output. They're in the shape of tubular thorns, a convenient and aesthetic design.”

“Is it possible for them to copy the data from the sphere to another external device?” Camila asks.

“Yes, using the appropriate cables.” Ava nods solemnly. “Getting our properties back won’t be enough. In order to make sure Biomax is no longer in their hands, we need to wipe it clean off of their network.”

Beatrice quirks an eyebrow, hearing a small uptick. “You sound like you have a plan for that.”

Ava smiles finally, the smallest gleam of confidence returning to her eyes. Beatrice hasn’t seen it since Shannon and Suzanne successfully bury her self-esteem to the ground yesterday, and frankly, she is all the more glad to see it now than ever.

Turning to Suzanne, who looks surprised at suddenly being addressed, Ava says. 

“I’m really sorry for what I did. It was stupid, I recognize that now, but I can make it right.”

Suzanne quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Go on.” The rest of them perk their ears up in full attention also. 

Grinning, Ava turns back around. 

“In the event that my research didn't go anywhere, from the very beginning I had created a self-destruct virus that, when activated, will wipe out everything Biomax-related, even a single Word document, off of an entire network. Kristian and Adriel will already be working to negotiate contract clauses and transferring the data from the Biomax sphere by the time we get there, so as long as I can get my hands on a computer connected to their wifi, it will be a done deal.”

“And this self-destruct virus is in your laptop.” Ava nods at Shannon, who gives an impressed rasberry. “Good, you can do your thing right at the scene of the crime then.”

“Just to be clear, the virus will delete everything Biomax 1.0 and Biomax 2.0?” Ava nods again, shyly returning Camila’s fist bump. “Brilliant. Is that everything?”

“Not yet.” Beatrice jumps in. “We still need to find and rescue Jillian, Lena, and Guinevere.”

Suzanne hums, tapping at her chin. 

“We’ll split up. Two agents take care of Adriel and Kristian, and the other two are locating our captives.”

“How are we locating them?” Beatrice asks, then spots Shannon’s fingers beckoning her to look at the screen. “Oh. Well, that’s awfully convenient.”

The convenience here lies in the live feed of a security camera inside Adriel’s building, undoubtedly Camila’s and Shannon’s hacking prowess combined, in which shows all three of their captives being escorted through the gate. 

“Once you’re there, locate these two buffoons.” Shannon instructs, zooming in so all of them can memorize the captors’ faces. “You find them, you find our girls.”

Two guards for such valuable captives?

That's… odd.

“Good enough for me.” Ava smirks, confidence pouring out of her in veins. “Team A with Adriel and Kristian, and Team B with the rescue mission.” Frowning, like she just realized she forgot something, Ava adds. “Who is Team A and who is Team B?”

She's so adorable. Beatrice can't help but keep smiling like a doofus.

This part of the briefing, delegating and knowing which agent is most perfect for which mission, is usually left in the hands of Suzanne, thus explaining the reason why every head in the room turns to her.

“As Merlin is staying behind for supervision and provision of intelligence, that leaves the four of us.” Suzanne says, gesturing at them all. Beatrice doesn’t even get a chance to process the fact that Suzanne, who has been working off the field for so long, is joining them in battle, before the decision is made. “Morgana, you're with me in Team A. Lancelot and Galahad, you're Team B.”

“Oh yes! I haven't had a chance to work with you before, Bea.” Camila cheers, offering another fist bump.

Beatrice returns it happily, even if a part of her is saddened that she won't get to be with Ava.

A part of her understands and simultaneously dreads Camila’s joy, as it has been a long while since she worked with anyone else other than herself and Shannon in her ears.

Shannon notices, because of course she does, giving Beatrice a reassuring smile in the corner of her eyes. Beatrice smiles back, ready for anything.

“You want to be my partner, Arthur?” Ava wiggles her eyebrows teasingly, and it's no surprise to anyone how deadpan Suzanne looks in return. “Morgana and Arthur on the same side, that's actually pretty rare in history, did you know that?”

“Weren't you all almost lovers in the show?” Camila points out, receiving a heated glare from Beatrice. “Oh relax, they were actually related.”

“I could have done without the reminder, thank you.” Shannon grimaces, alongside her is Beatrice and Suzanne. 

Ava is just outright gagging like a dork. 

“The fact that they did that to her twice.” Ava’s nose scrunches, looking the epitome of disgusted. “When I first watched it, I couldn't even move my arm to give the TV a middle finger. Even though I really wanted to.”

“To be fair, that last bit was the actor’s fault.” Camila points out again, earning an offended gasp. 

Beatrice would roll her eyes at the dramatics if she weren't so terribly smitten with her. 

“How dare you. Katie McGrath is automatically absolved from all crimes.”

“Because she's hot?” Shannon asks, one hundred deliberately as her eyes are glued on Beatrice, clearly wanting a reaction.

Too bad. She's not getting one.

“I have a thing for smart and handsome brunette knights, sue me.” Ava ends with an obvious wink, awakening some very inappropriate feelings in Beatrice’s guts.

What was that about not getting a reaction? Because as much as she tries not to, her face is already pouring out so much heat they can possibly fry an egg on her cheeks.

Desperate for a change of topic, Beatrice looks to Suzanne. “Are you sure you want her as your partner? She's going to drive you insane.”

Suzanne’s first response to her question is a tired sigh, earning a pouty “Rude!” from somewhere, but then comes her actual answer.

“Every team should have a good offense and a good defense. It just so happens that you and Morgana are the best offense we have in the agency.”

“Really?” Camila asks with round eyes, similarly having not seen Ava in action.

“Really.” Suzanne nods then turns back to Ava, who tears up just a bit. Beatrice squeezes her hand, and Suzanne’s face softens too. “You made a mistake, so I’m giving you a chance. Prove to me you're Kingsman worthy.”

“I will.” No one makes a mention of how her voice cracks. “I will, I promise. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Suzanne nods sternly, signaling the end of the conversation.

Moving along, Beatrice asks the question that's been plaguing her mind for a good ten minutes now.

“How are we getting there if we no longer have access to HQ or our other equipment?”

“Oh that's easy.” Camila answers with an unusual amount of excitement, slapping a hand down the control panel, all the while ignoring Shannon’s stink eye. “We get to ride in this bad boy!”

Looking up at the screen, Beatrice now realizes why Camila is so excited.

“Kara lent us the helicopter? Sweet! I loved riding in that thing.” Ava cheers, exchanging hi-fives with a grinning Camila. “Dude, you gotta see the interface of that thing. It looks so cool!”

Content to let the two geek out for a moment, Beatrice turns to Shannon. “When shall we leave?”

“As soon as possible, squirt.” Shannon says, smiling softly at her. “Be safe.”

Beatrice nods, reaching for Shannon’s hand. “We will bring them home.”

They will. She is sure of it.

With Ava by her side, Beatrice genuinely believes she can do anything. 

—

“You will be landing in five minutes. How are we feeling, Kingsmen?”

“Rocking and ready for rolling!”

In the midst of tightening her shoelaces, Beatrice has to let a smile grow on her face, widening when she feels Ava’s eyes on her. Her fellow knights react with less enthusiasm, sadly, with Shannon groaning in their ears and Suzanne deadpanning. 

At least Camila has the courtesy to give a polite giggle, one that makes Ava turn to her and ask for a fist bump, her other hand held tenderly in Beatrice's grip.

They're going to get along like a house on fire. There's a very huge chance that house is Beatrice's.

“Okay, Cady Heron. Your enthusiasm and atrocious puns are duly noted.” Shannon drawls, obviously only teasing. 

Ava is pouting though, so Beatrice squeezes her hand. “I thought it was cute.”

“Yeah?” Ava asks, pout melting off into a soft smile. Ava has a lot of smiles, this one is surely Beatrice's favorite, because it's only ever directed at her. “See, guys, Bea thinks I’m funny.”

“Bea would laugh at you reading a phone book.” Camila points out, which is… not particularly false, as Ava tried that once while doing a horrid impression of Kiera Knightley, and Beatrice laughed so hard she spit all over their couch.

Seeing Ava’s mischievous grin, Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “We swore a secret oath.”

“Aww,” Ava deflates, robbed off her joy. She sighs, oh so dramatically, turning to Camila, whose snickering is just as amusing. “Sorry, dude. The lady said no.”

“The lady— Agent Galahad, have you become domesticated?”

“I’m not a pet!” Beatrice yelps, feeling her cheeks flush. Even Suzanne is looking teasingly at her, bloody hell. 

Ava hums, mischievous and beautiful all the same. “I mean, we can look in— hmp!”

Suzanne, who has been quietly watching the humiliation of Beatrice unfold, merely sighs. Next to her, Camila is giggling behind her own hand. Beatrice truly will never live this down.

When Mary and Lilith join in too…

Is throwing herself into an active volcano too much? Asking for a friend.

“Not that it matters, but T-minus 2 minutes till landing, Kingsmen.”

Like a switch has just been flipped, the atmosphere in the jet immediately changes. 

Gone are the smiles and lighthearted jokes, replaced by calculative eagle eyes and mouths uttering quiet prayers under their breath.

For Beatrice, she doesn't have a specific routine pre-mission, so she turns around and faces Ava, looking and admiring and memorizing.

Just in case. 

Ava, whose eyes just closed as she mumbled something to herself, opens them to look at Beatrice. 

The urge comes almost as suddenly as Shannon’s announcement, but for once, Beatrice doesn't fight it. Feels it wash over her like a calm wave and, unlike with the ones before her, Beatrice knows how to swim and knows too that Ava will never let her drown.

“I love you.”

Ava blinks, like she wasn't sure she heard her right, but then the words click, and stars burst behind her eyelids. 

“I love you too.” Ava places her hand on Beatrice's cheek, tender and loving. “You better come back to me in one piece, so I can take you on that date I promised you.”

Beatrice nods, more assured than ever. “I will.” Can't help herself, she says it one more time. “I love you.”

Ava’s smile brightens impossibly more, a bit of tears leaking in the corner of her eyes. The look of someone who is equally grateful and disbelieving, who can't yet comprehend that they are worth all this. 

Beatrice understands that completely. 

She will spend the rest of their lives proving to her that she is.

—

“There should be a side entrance for the janitors. You can go in from there.”

“Copy that. Thank you, Merlin.” Beatrice receives only a hum, turning to Camila. “You ready, Lancelot?”

Camila’s grin widens, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “I was born ready.”

And off they go.

Suzanne and Ava heading in an entirely different direction, presumably going to the fire escape that will lead them directly to Adriel’s office, Beatrice and Camila are tasked with investigating the lower floor, in search of their captives. 

“And we’re in.” Camila announces, Beatrice coming up right behind her. “Awfully careless of them, don’t you think?”

Beatrice hums, examining their surroundings with her spectacles. “You spoke too soon.” She points at the double-door in front of them, silhouettes of heads hovering behind the glass. “One for each?”

Camila nods, twisting the ring on her right index finger. Beatrice twists the one on her left ring finger. Low voltage of electricity starts to pulsate in the air, sending a small vibration throughout her body. 

Holding up her other hand, Beatrice counts down.

One. They silently walk towards the door. Two. They each place one hand on the bar. And three.

“Hey, what the—”

“Agh!”

It’s always hard to describe the feeling of sending jolts of lethal electricity into someone else’s body, watching as their mouths open in a helpless, quiet scream, feeling them thrash and thrash in your arms like a fish out of water.

Beatrice doesn’t hold longer than necessary, removing her signet ring from the guard’s neck and gently lowering his body down on the ground. 

Besides her, Camila is doing the same thing, adding a comical and lighthearted note by shushing nonsense in his ears, like a mother cradling her child to sleep. 

“Very funny.” Beatrice comments, her own lips curling up as she flips the guard over to see his face. “Not our guy.”

“This one ain’t it either.” Camila replies, standing back up and brushing the dust off her suit. Her head swivels, trying to figure out where they should go. “Left or right?”

It’s Beatrice that possesses a near photographic memory, so she leads them left. “Here. The right leads to the recycling center. We’d have better luck finding our two persons of interest in the lounge.”

“The lounge?” Beatrice shrugs. That’s what it says on the blueprint. “Pretentious techbros. Why am I surprised.”

“What else would you call it then?” Beatrice asks, the sounds of their heels clunking in synchronization helps keep her calm. 

Camila purses her lips. “A living room. Duh. Lounge, patio, parlor. Rich people can’t pretend to be normal even if they try.”

Briefly participating in such a lifestyle for the first twelve years of her life, Beatrice finds she has no argument against it. 

Even if she did, she wouldn’t have time to say them out loud. As the minute they round up the corner, Beatrice and Camila come face to face with exactly who they’re looking for, casually playing balls.

In the live footage Shannon showed them, there was a moment when one of the two guards, the blonde one, shoved Mary so hard her head bonked against the wall. Beatrice remembers it, memorizes it, and uses it to fuel her, stomping over and catching the ball in midair. 

“What the— who the hell are you?” Blondie asks, face scrunched up in confusion. “And give that back. We weren’t done with it.”

Hearing footsteps from behind her, Beatrice looks over her shoulder. “What do you think, Lancelot? Should I give it back?”

Camila hums, mischievous and beautiful. “All up to you, Galahad. If I may recall, however, playing ball games during work hours is a violation of the internal code of conduct.”

“Is that so?” Beatrice asks, smiling when she sees Blondie’s eyebrow twitches. “Do you have anything to say to that, gentlemen?”

Blondie rolls his eyes, already fed up with their antics. “Just give it back, bitch. Go back in the car and wait for your hubbie to finish his meeting like a good girl.”

“Yeah.” The other guard, whose only distinctive identifying mark is the gigantic mole on his mouth, says. 

There’s a leer on his face, aimed at Camila and definitely not at her face, that makes Beatrice want to slam his head against the wall too. 

Still, she is a gentleman. She has better manners than that.

“Hey what— ouch! Fuck! What did you do that for?”

The same cannot be said about Camila. Firecracker, reiterated. 

While Camila has Mole handled, Beatrice turns to Blondie, whose eyes widen at the sudden drop of the courteous smile on her face. 

Beatrice winds her arm back, gripping the ball from earlier in her palm, and throws. It doesn’t even get a chance to graze the wall on either side of Blondie’s head before his skull is being banged against the concrete, shoved up against it thanks to Beatrice’s strategically-placed throat jab.

“Okay, okay! Take the ball, take it! I don’t need it back!” Blondie whines, already winded by Beatrice’s palm pressing in on his oxygen tubes.

“I’m not asking for the ball, you dense buffoon.” Beatrice growls, pressing harder. “Tell me where the captives are.”

“The what? I don’t know who— fuck! That hurts!” Blondie cries, his complexion growing paler and paler by the minute. Beatrice can end his life right here and there with a twist of her wrist, but she preserves. “Okay, okay! They’re in Room 3C!”

“Good boy.” Beatrice smirks, pulling her arm back.

Blonde gets a split second to inhale before Beatrice slams her entire elbow against his nose and knocks him unconscious. Turning back to check on Camila, it can’t be said that Beatrice is surprised to find Mole also knocked on his ass, only sporting two more bruises than necessary.

Seeing Beatrice’s quirked eyebrow, Camila defends herself. 

“It’s not my fault. He made me uncomfortable first, and my feet just… slipped.”

“Slipped.” Beatrice repeats, holding back a chuckle desperately trying to escape. “Is that what we call it now?”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I accidentally kicked him in the shin and broke his nose and dislocated his shoulder. But again, not my fault.”

Their communication line is down right now, Shannon possibly occupied with guiding Ava and Suzanne upstairs, but Beatrice knows Shannon would have let out a tired sigh. Alas, Beatrice isn’t Shannon, so she asks for a fist bump with only her eyes crinkling in laughter.

Camila returns it in kind, then smoothly spins on her heels and walks away. “Room 3C, was it?” 

Beatrice nods, catching up to her easily. 

“Room 3C. On the blueprint, it’s said to be a demonstrative area. I’m assuming that’s where people test out the toys.”

“It depends.” Camila responds, quickly skimming the convenient map on the wall and making the appropriate turn. “Is it a testing ground for the developers, for the shareholders, for the designers. There’s a lot that goes into making toys.”

“You seem like you know a lot.” Beatrice says, earning a noncommittal hum. “May I ask?”

“You may.” Camila’s tone contradicts her words, Beatrice will be the last person to point that out. “Long story short, my mom worked in one of these toymaking factories. She passed away in it too. Allegedly, one of the conveyor belts sparked fire due to poor maintenance, and instead of trying to help each other, the workers were pushing and shoving for a way out. Mama’s shirt got stuck in one of the wheels.”

A lump forms in Beatrice’s throat, making it hard to speak. Still, Camila is her friend, her little sister, as a matter of fact, so she tries.

For the people she loves, Beatrice will do anything. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

It’s perhaps one of the most cliche and useless responses to someone grieving, but Camila’s eyes express enough sympathy and understanding that Beatrice relents on torturing herself with that sort of thinking. 

Her family doesn’t love her less just because her love is a little different from theirs. Even years later, Beatrice has difficulties learning that, still.

“Room 3C, there we go.”

Beatrice taps her glasses, activating her x-ray vision. Only to find out she can’t.

“What the…” She tries again, still seeing nothing. “Lancelot, is your x-ray working?”

“Nada.” Camila confirms, sounding equally confused. “Must be made of lead bricks and covered in lead paints. Our x-ray can’t look through lead.” 

“Isn’t the latter outlawed?” Beatrice asks, holding back a grumble. “What are they hiding in here that requires both lead bricks and lead paints?”

The question remains rhetorical, but as they both know, the danger lies on the other side is real. 

Taking a deep breath, Beatrice glances at her partner. “You ready?”

“I was born ready.” Camila nods, putting one hand on the door. “On three?”

“On three.” Beatrice copies her position. “One, two, three.”

Here goes nothing.

—

Little did Beatrice and Camila know, they’re fucked the minute they take a step inside. 

Later, Mary would take the credit of trying to warn them, but Beatrice and Camila both would have to point out the fact that they heard the beep underneath their boots before anything Mary said.

“Shite.” Camila grimaces, looking helplessly at her feet. “Is that what I think it is?”

Beatrice gulps, nods wordlessly, before wiping away the cold sweat dripping down her forehead. Can't be too careful when you just literally stepped on a landmine.

“Wish I could say it was nice to see you again, but alas.”

Temporary distracted from the dire situation at hand, Beatrice looks up, face splitting in a grin at the sight of her other big sister.

Taking a split second to assess the room, Beatrice’s eyes bulge with every new thing she finds. It’s definitely spacious enough to be a testing ground for destructive toys, as seen with piles of dangerous, sharp objects and connecting wires littered everywhere.

Attached to the wall across from them, wearing some sort of collars around their neck, are Mary, Jillian, and Lena in the flesh. There are wires connecting the collars to the ceiling, on which, in the dead center, there hangs a sole physical key.

Ignoring that for now, Beatrice moves forward with her assessment of their hostages.

On the bright side, Jillian and Lena look relatively unharmed. Their faces are slightly scratched up, and their clothes tousled up, but otherwise they appear untouched.

Mary, on the other hand… “Hey, I know I look a little roughed up, but you don’t have to look at me like I’m a kicked puppy.”

Beatrice winces, embarrassed at being caught red-handed. In her defense, Mary does sport three separate black eyes just on her face alone and who knows what else underneath her clothes.

“Sorry.” Wearing a sheepish smile, Beatrice goes for a wave. “Dr. Salvius, Dr. Luthor, I hope we haven’t kept you waiting for long.”

“Hello Agent Galahad, I think you’ve made it right on time.” Jillian smiles, still exceptionally beautiful despite the mess of a bird's nest that is her hair. 

Next to her, Lena gives a cordial nod.

“I think you all have a much bigger problem to worry about.” Lena says, eyes glued to the landmines beneath their feet.

Right. She did forget about that.

“Bea?” Camila turns, looking at Beatrice with pure fear in her eyes.

Beatrice opens her mouth, ready to spew some bullshit reassurance, all just to buy some time to figure something out, when a crackle interrupts her. 

At once, all heads in the room swivel in the direction of the noise, which Beatrice registers to be coming from the flatscreen slowly lowering down the ceiling. They wait impatiently for the screen to stop its descent, all but flinching when it suddenly flickers on.

“Who the fuck is that?” Mary curses, only to immediately be shushed by Lena elbowing her in the ribs.

Beatrice knows who that is, how could she not. It’s Adriel Miller in all his glory, wearing a white cloak with his long wavy hair cascading over his shoulders. 

Perhaps Ava was onto something when she said he gave off cult vibes.

“Hello, Kingsman Agents. It is my pleasure to welcome you to Firstborn Children. I hope you’ve had a wonderful stay so far.”

“I could use some more complimentary coffee— ouch, hey, I get it. Stop hitting me, woman.”

“Guinevere, shut it.” Beatrice scolds lowly, turning back to the screen before Mary can retort with another sassy banter. “What do you want, Adriel?”

Adriel’s face is unchanged at her question, proving Beatrice’s theory that this is a recording and not a livestream. 

Next to her, Camila lets out an audible grimace, no doubt reaching the same conclusion Beatrice just did.

If Adriel’s not here to torment them in person, he must be occupied with the other two Kingsmen. And while Beatrice has the utmost confidence in both of them as an individual and as a duo, after seeing the deadly-looking contraptions littered in this room, she can’t help but fear for the worst.

“I’m going to go ahead and assume your main reason for visiting is these lovely ladies right here.” Adriel says, slimy smile persistent and, well, slimy as ever. “Unfortunately, I can’t just let you leave, at least not without consulting you on a game I’ve been working on.”

“Oh my God, he really is a more psychopathic version of John Kramer.” Camila says under her breath, but still loud enough for Mary to hear, whipping around despite the chain clearly limiting her head movements.

“Lancelot, tell me you did not just jinx us with a literal Saw reference.” Mary almost seethes, not even flinching at yet another elbow to the ribs by Lena.

“It wasn’t on purpose!” “Can you all be quiet!”

Note to self, ask Ava what is Saw and who is John Kramer. It sounds like a movie, they can maybe make a whole night out of it after their first date.

Blissfully unaware, Adriel continues his speech, the rest of them quieting down after Lena’s chastisement. 

“As you can see, on the ladies’ necks are my specially designed collars. The only way to get them to open is using the key you see hanging on the ceiling, but be careful, for there is liquid acid dosed around the metal. You wouldn't want to get your precious hands seared off, would you?”

Adriel tuts his tongue. Beatrice has half the mind of yanking it out of his mouth and wrapping it around his neck. 

“Liquid acid?” Camila mouths over.

Mary nods, tilting her head back to expose more of her collar.

Indeed, now that they're looking closer, there is a distinct shine on the material, and if Beatrice's last experience with liquid acid is anything to go by, stupid evil circus clowns, those are absolutely deadly.

“You might be thinking, oh wow a key and three locks. Adriel’s made it really easy for us.” Adriel chuckles, clearly thinking himself hilarious. “There wouldn't be any stakes then, would it. So, allow me to officially start the game.”

Ding.

All eyes rush towards the corner of the room, where there sits a giant digital clock that proudly displays 00:00.

Beatrice and Camila let out a simultaneous gulp. This cannot be good.

“That clock right there will remain at zero until you manage to get the key down from the ceiling. Once you do, there will be a 20-second countdown. In those 20 seconds, you Kingsmen must use it to manually unlock all the collars on our lovely ladies. Fail to oblige, and there’ll be confetti!” Adriel winks, giving everyone the shivers, and not the good kind. “I trust that you’ll figure out the landmines. Good luck, Agents.”

The crackle appears once more, and with it, disappears Adriel. 

“Well shit,” Mary sighs, sounding exhausted for the very first time since they got here. “I hope you all got something cooking in your brilliant heads. Especially you, Galahad.”

As inappropriate as it is, Beatrice can’t help but smile.

“You bet.” Turning to Camila, who also looks eagerly to her for guidance, Beatrice steels herself. “Lancelot, you’ll be the one yanking the key down and unlocking the collars. Can I trust you to do that?”

“Of course.” Camila answers immediately, then glances down at her feet. “I don’t suppose you have a solution for this?”

“Who do you think I am, of course I do.” Beatrice winks, pulling out a metallic canister from her jacket pocket. 

Carefully, slowly, Beatrice bends her knees and lowers herself to the ground. But it’s not her landmine that she is aiming at, it’s Camila’s.

“Gently now, Lancelot, tip your toes up for me.” Beatrice instructs, shakes the can with her hand and starts spraying. “This spray will freeze the trigger mechanism of the landmine, which will then give us a split second to—”

Quickly, before any of them can blink, Beatrice sends a roundhouse kick into Camila’s hips, successfully sending her stumbling back. In that split second, Beatrice maneuvers her body into a split, craning her left leg to cover Camila’s landmine while maintaining her right one on her own. 

“What the fuck— are you bloody insane?” Mary almost shouts, hissing when she feels the acid on the collar burning at her skin.

Beatrice pays her no mind, looking up at a similarly bewildered Camila. “Lancelot, the floor is yours.”

“I can’t even tell if that’s a pun or not.” Camila’s only answer is a wink, which should tell her plenty. “Okay. Okay, here we go.”

While Camila finds her momentum, perhaps vaulting onto the wall behind them, Beatrice turns to look at their three hostages.

JIllian and Lena look absolutely petrified, which, in the current context, is very understandable. Mary just has a sad smile on her face, like she’s proud but she’s also not daring to raise her hopes up.

That’s unacceptable. They will get everyone out of here alive no matter what.

“It’ll be okay.” She mouths, and smiles when Mary nods.

Turning back, Beatrice sees Camila’s feet just now flying off the ground. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself once more.

“I got it!”

The moment the key is snapped off the wire connecting it to the ceiling, the digital clock starts counting.

00:20 

00:19

“Hurry! Get the collars out!”

Camila practically flies over from across the room, reaching Jillian first. 

00:18

“Fuck! It’s burning my skin too!”

“Grind down on your teeth and get to it!”

00:17

00:16

“There!” Tossing Jillian to the side, Camila rounds up on Lena. “Now you.”

“You’re doing great, baby girl.” Mary encourages.

00:15

00:14

“Done!” With Lena smartly ducking out of the way, Camila rushes over to Mary. “Okay, last one.”

00:13

00:12

“Lancelot, hurry!” Beatrice screams, feeling her arms starting to shake with how much strength she is putting in to keep herself above ground. 

Deep breath, Beatrice.

You can do this.

Ava is waiting for you.

“Done! Done!” Camila whoops, throwing the collar all the way across the room. “Galahad, what now?”

Beatrice’s head swivels, the ticking of the clock increasingly making her panic. Come on, come on. 

00:11

00:10

There. The window. “Crack the glass and get out! I’ll be right behind you!”

00:09

Camila and Mary both take off their jackets, bunch them around their fists, and get to smashing the glass window right away. Beatrice’s arms are starting to buckle, her own legs slipping. 

00:08. BANG BANG.

00:07. SMACK SMACK.

“Why won’t this thing break!”

“Jesus fuck— oh hey you got an axe.”

Lena, indeed having found an axe from somewhere, starts helping out.

00:06. CRACK. CRACK. CRACk.

00:05. CRACK. CRACK.

00:04. SMASH

“We’re out! Galahad, let’s go!”

Summoning one last burst of strength, Beatrice reaches for the spray canister once more. Carefully, though not slowly, she sprays the last bits on both landmines then tosses the canister away.

00:03. Here we go. Beatrice takes one last inhale, strains her biceps to lower herself a bit more. 

00:03. Beatrice twists her hips, jams her feet straight into the wall and, using the momentum and the solid surface, makes a launchpad out of it. 

00:02. Beatrice stumbles back in a roll but quickly digs her palms and her heels into the ground. Turning around, her legs work as fast as they can, sending her flying across the room and vaulting over the broken glass window.

Right before all of her limbs make it past, 00:01, there’s excruciating heat at her back.

00:00

Then everything turns black.

—

“Bea? Bea, you okay? I swear to god, if you die, I’m going to dress you in a sparkling sequined corset and put you in an open casket. Even the tech labs will laugh at you all the way to heaven.”

Sputtering, mostly due to being out of breath, partly due to being threatened, Beatrice opens her eyes in a glare. 

“You can just say thank you like every normal person would, you know.” 

Above her, Mary looks a wreck. There are shards of glasses sticking out of her hair, her usually immaculate braids messed up and her face, bruises aside, is now littered with scratches that ooze fresh blood.

Mary laughs mockingly, even if there are happy tears in her eyes.

“If I was normal, I wouldn’t be working this fuck ass crazy job with you knuckleheads now, would I?”

“Language.” Beatrice chides, smiling weakly as Mary helps her sit up. “God I missed you. I have so many things to tell you.”

Strong arms gently wrap around her neck, pulling Beatrice’s face into Mary’s shaking shoulder. “I can’t wait to hear them all, kiddo.” Mary doesn’t linger, allowing Beatrice to retreat after a second or two of indulgence. “What’s the plan now?”

“Depends.” Beatrice swallows, trying to shake off the rush of adrenaline still making her body shake. Turning to her side, Beatrice checks on their other two hostages. “Dr. Luthor, Dr. Salvius, what happened to Biomax?”

Leaning against Camila’s side, Jillian lets out a tired sigh. “They got it. Lena and I had no choice but open the vault.”

“We tried to fight it, but…” Lena trails off, eyes haunted with painful memories. Lena is quick to hide it when she notices Beatrice looking, for that Beatrice has an immense amount of respect and sympathy. “Did you get my message? About doomsday protocol?”

Beatrice nods, trying to smile. “We did. Ava and I got there yesterday.”

“Wait, what does Ava have anything to do with this?” Jillian asks, but she doesn’t get an answer, for Lena is bulldozing ahead.

“And my wife? My Lori?” Lena asks, close to grabbing Beatrice’s sleeve and shaking her for an answer. “Are they alright?”

Nodding, Beatrice lays a gentle hand on Lena’s shaking one. There are calluses and scars all over her knuckles, just like her Ava. “They’re safe, Dr. Luthor. Our sources have confirmed Professor Danvers and Lori are safe and sound with Dr. Danvers in Midvale.”

Lena sighs in pure relief, almost sinking into the floor beneath their feet. Meanwhile, it’s Jillian’s turn to panic.

“Agent Galahad, what do you mean by Ava? What does my daughter have anything to do with this?”

Beatrice grimaces, spotting Mary’s curious look from beside her. “I would love to tell you, but right now we’re a bit short on time.” Not waiting on Jillian to object, as understandable as she is, Beatrice turns to Camila. “Lancelot, I need you to get them to the helicopter.”

Camila has a questioning frown that soon clears. “You’re going to help Morgana?”

Nodding, Beatrice pulls herself up with the help of Mary, swaying slightly on her feet. 

“Yes. You can go ahead and fill Dr. Salvius in on everything she needs to know. Get ready to be on standby if we need you, alright?”

“Will do.” Camila nods, wearing a reassuring grin. “You’re probably going to need to take that jacket off. You’re kinda on fire, and not in a good way.”

Beatrice sighs, wincing as she takes her blazer jacket off. Mary helps her get the arms out, heaving her own sigh of relief when she sees Beatrice’s back is unharmed, aside from the smoke lingering on her white shirt. 

“That was so close. Probably a personal record.” Mary mumbles, exchanging her jacket for Beatrice’s. She needs something to hold and ground her to reality, and Beatrice can use another bulletproof vest, so she happily accepts the offer. “You sure you got this handled, kid? I’m a bit scuffed up but I can help.”

Shaking her head, Beatrice stands firm. 

“You have three bruises on your face. You’re limping on both feet. And I’m pretty sure your shoulder is dislocated since you groaned in pain when I leaned on you just now.”

“Busted.” Camila says under her breath, squawking when Mary reaches over to smack her.

“Smartass.” Mary grumbles, perhaps addressing them both. Turning to an increasingly panicking Jillian and a surprisingly calm Lena. “Come on, doctors. Let’s go and get our injuries looked at.”

Camila stays behind as Mary ushers Jillian and Lena off in one direction, which just so happens to be the right one, looking at Beatrice with pure concern.

“Be safe, Galahad.”

Beatrice nods, asking for a fist bump that is returned in kind. “We’ll see you soon.”

Waiting till their little group disappears behind the corner, Beatrice taps at the spine of her spectacles, wordlessly asking for assistance.

“Merlin speaking. Are you okay, Galahad?”

“Hey, I’m fine.” Beatrice says, then winces when she feels her hips creak slightly. That’s what happens when you don’t do proper warmups before performing such a dramatic split. “How are Morgana and Arthur?”

“They’re… okay?” The hell is that supposed to mean?

Frowning, Beatrice continues to work through some more stretching exercises, at the same time checking to make sure what other weapon she has on her person. 

Unknowing, Shannon continues. 

“Well, sort of. Arthur is staking outside the meeting room while Morgana is handling Adriel and Kristian. I can’t seem to contact Morgana, and Arthur is busy fighting off like thirty soldiers at the same time, so if you want to go lend her a hand, chop chop.”

Chop chop indeed. “Point me in that direction, I’ll be right there.”

According to Shannon’s ping, the aforementioned meeting room is on the far East of the building, meaning Beatrice just has to climb one flight of stairs and she’ll be right where she needs to be.

Her heart thumps in her chest, a frantic rhythm that matches well with the leftover adrenaline making her shoulders shake, but Beatrice hides it well.

She is, after all, one of their best. She must prove it one way or another.

It doesn’t take long for her to hear sounds of firearms, intermixed in between by screams of pain and the familiar thwackings of Suzanne’s lethal cane that is also an incredibly sharp sword in disguise.

Pulling out her own collapsible staff, the sound of it unfolding attracting the attention of the soldiers scattered far away from Suzanne, Beatrice immediately joins the fight.

With a quick assessment using her spectacles, Beatrice makes a note of there being five goons heading her way, while Suzanne is battling off another two. The rest of them are already on the floor, either dead or unconscious, Beatrice cannot care less.

Goon 1 storms over to her with a hurrah, frantically shooting at least five rounds of ammo at Beatrice with his assault rifle. She easily counteracts them all with her staff, which also unfolds into a shield, advancing forward with no hesitation.

Once close enough, Beatrice closes the shield and returns it to its original shape, a dull metallic tip that slams into Goon 1’s head. 

Not giving his buddies a chance to breathe, Beatrice swiftly sends the butt back towards Goon 2, who has been trying to creep up on her from behind, hitting him straight in his mouth and breaking several of his teeth, if not his entire jaw. 

Hearing another enraged yell from her left, Beatrice switches to using only one hand to hold the staff, thus Goon 2, and winding the other back to retrieve her pistol attached to her belt. 

BANG. BANG. That’s Goon 3 and 4 down in one quick blink. 

The last one, Goon 5, stands far away with an assault rifle and a petrified look on his face. Beatrice has to smile, give the man a wink, before shooting him dead too. 

Goon 2 is left standing, begging through a mouth full of blood. Beatrice has no patience, clicking the tiny button on her bo and sending a burst of electricity that knocks the man out cold, his body thrashing pathetically on the floor. 

That’s all done, Beatrice heads over to help Suzanne.

Turns out, her help isn’t needed, as Suzanne is just finishing up as well, smacking the butt of her cane into a goon’s crotch, then his knees, then smacking it hard against his skull. 

The sound of his body meeting the floor with the blood squirting out against the wall weirdly makes for an entertaining sight. 

“Arthur, that was brilliant.” Beatrice says as she strides over, tucking the pistol and the bo back on her belt. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Galahad.” Suzanne replies, a little curtly for her liking, but it makes sense when Beatrice notices there’s a large cut on her face that runs from her eye halfway through her cheek. Suzanne notices her concern, rolls her eyes. “One of them got lucky. I also have a stab wound but that’s easily treatable.”

Swallowing, Beatrice pulls herself together, resolutely not distracted by her overwhelming need to take care of who she has come to associate as her mother figure. “You should get to Lancelot then. We’ve got them all out and in the helicopter for treatment.”

“Agreed.” Shannon chimes in, earning another eyeroll. “Come on, Arthur. Don’t be stubborn. I want to go see my wife, and Galahad sure as hell won’t leave hers.”

The idea of getting to call Ava her wife. Oh. 

This is too fast even for a lesbian. Nope. Put it away. 

Embarrassed at her thought, Beatrice can only retort sulkingly. “Shut up.” 

“Well, whatever you want to call Agent Morgana, you best make sure she’s alive for you to talk about it together.” Suzanne says, teasing glint in her eyes, then gives Beatrice’s shoulder a pat. “Good luck.”

Beatrice nods, grateful. When it comes to Suzanne Superion, Beatrice is grateful for a lot of things.

“We’ll be right back.”

She stays to watch as Suzanne disappears behind the corridors before she turns back. 

Making one last check of her weapons, pistol and bo right where they should be along with several others tucked into her pockets, Beatrice takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

Immediately, she sees heat. 

“Galahad, duck down!”

—

Beatrice often refers to her fate as willingly being burned in the fire of Ava’s smile. 

When the metaphor slipped through her mouth, Beatrice was referring to something a little more metaphorical and poetic and definitely not the ball of fire missing her hair by a mere centimeter.

What is up with her luck with fire today?

“Galahad, look out!”

Oh. Right. Mission time.

Beatrice comes back to herself just in time to bend her knees and dodge the mean left hook that was aiming for her temple. She catches a quick glimpse of Kristian’s snarling face before something else hits her on her side, sending her sprawling against the wall.

“Galahad! Are you okay?”

Ava’s voice and some ringing deafening in her ears still aren’t enough to disorient Beatrice entirely. Her body is swaying with the dizziness and her ribs feel like they might be bruised yellow and blue, but her mind is still sharp and it registers Kristian wearing what appears to be a gigantic glowing gauntlet on his right arm.

Oh she's actually lucky to not have her rib puncture her spleen if she was hit with that.

“What the fuck?” Beatrice asks, incredulous, dashing away before Kristian’s punch smashes her skull instead of the concrete. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“A little souvenir from Lena Luthor’s lab, of course.” Kristian smiles, cocky and smarmy, his gauntlet smoking as it seemingly recharges. Beatrice counts three seconds in her head for the machine to whirr in reignition. “Girl is a genius, but she is absolutely terrible at keeping her equipment secured.”

“That’s because she trusted you, you son of a bitch!”

Beatrice’s one step back happens at the nick of time, as Ava is sent flying in Kristian’s direction, in her hands holding a glowing blue sword. 

Did everyone get a new toy except for her? How rude.

“You’ve always been so naive, Ava.” Kristian chuckles, wisely also taking two steps back and using his gauntlet to counterattack Ava’s blade. “I was right there the entire time.”

His words are plenty successful in angering Ava even further, leading to her getting distracted and not seeing the ray of laser aimed right at her head.

“Morgana, move!” Beatrice shoves Ava in the ribs, incidentally giving her more strength and dominating her fight with Kristian, all the while Beatrice is deploying her bo shield once more to not get disintegrated into a bunch of atoms. 

When the laser finally stops, Beatrice peeks over the brim of her shield, only to let out an incredulous shout.

“A fully automated exoskeleton? The fuck?”

In front of her very eyes, there is Adriel with his slimey eyes and smarmy smiles, wearing a legitimate full-body exoskeleton suit that hugs his every body part like a glove. 

He stands in between two desks, one for him and one for his staff. Tall and proud in his armor. Glowing an ominous shade of green are what appears to be laser cannons protruding out of his gaunlets.

Beatrice could have become fried seafood. Twice.

Oh she's so calling her therapist again when they're home.

“They were supposed to be for disabled construction workers!” Ava shouts, her blade constantly clanging against Kristian’s gauntlet. “They fucking stole it!”

“Ah, steal is such a harsh word. I would consider it more as borrowing.”

Gosh even his voice gives her the creeps. “You’re not getting away with this, Adriel. We’re shutting you down, once and for all.”

In response to her threat, Adriel merely laughs, a spark of unsettling wisdom appearing from behind his eyelids. 

“We’ll see about that.” He says, definitively, which Beatrice understands immediately after she sees him raise his armor and loads up the cannon. “Since you made it out of my trap, let's see how you fare with actual lasers.”

“Jesus fuck—” 

Quickly, Beatrice dives under the long table, one that's presumably reserved for yearly reviews meetings and such. She gets there in the nick of time, as Adriel’s laser beam just barely grazes at her arm, burning through her sleeve and making it catch on fire.

Frustrated, Beatrice takes it off, putting as many trinkets as she can where she can reach.

Speaking of. “Merlin! Merlin, help!”

“I’m here, Jesus Christ. I’ve been here the whole time.” Shannon spills out in a hurry, sounds of frantic typing audible in the background. “I’m trying to get into ARQ-TECH and find the blueprints to this thing to know its off switches. Hang in there in the meantime.”

“What do you mean hang in— fucking hell!”

Such brilliantly delivered cuss has to be put on pause, as Beatrice is forced to find a new hiding place when Adriel, in all of his robotic armor glory, lifts the entire table up in the air and exposes her hiding spot.

“Where do you think you're hiding, agent?” Adriel bares his teeth at her in a smile so diabolical she's genuinely terrified.

Beatrice crawls back, trying to force as much space between them as possible.

“I was just looking for a place to smoke, mate. Would you like one?”

Without waiting for a response, Beatrice throws down one of her smoke bombs. She doesn't linger, immediately spinning back and bolting the fuck out from under the table.

Beatrice runs blind, only thinking about needing a second to compose herself and brainstorm, therefore is admittedly startled when a body slams into hers.

Thankfully, Beatrice knows all too well the slope of Ava’s hips in her palms and the way Ava presses her hands against her chest. Instead of pushing away, Beatrice tugs her even closer, shushing in her ear to make sure Ava knows it's her.

“It's me. It's Bea.”

“Oh thank fuck, I thought I lost you.” Ava’s sigh of relief is evident in the puff of warm air blowing against Beatrice's neck, unintentionally making her shiver. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Beatrice shakes her head, not wanting to get into it. “Nothing to be worried about now. We need a plan and fast.”

“No shit. I’ve been wracking my brains out and nothing.” Ava bites in frustration, her fingers curling against the fabric of Beatrice's shirt. Despite the circumstance, the little needy gesture makes her smile. “I couldn't even touch the laptop to start planting my virus. What does Merlin say?”

“Still trying to find the blueprints. Hang in there, you’re our best.”

Shannon comes as abrupt as she goes, making Beatrice let out an identical sigh of frustration.

Ava feels it, even in the fog Beatrice can feel worried eyes tracking her every movement. Beatrice can only wish she can hack into her own facial muscles and conjure them to not show any—

That's it.

“Ava, does your watch still work?”

Ava nods immediately. “They knocked my glasses off somewhere earlier so I couldn't call you or Merlin. But my watch still works.”

“Do you think you can hack into Kristian’s gauntlet and steal it for yourself?”

Had they not been in a life or death situation, Beatrice is halfway convinced Ava is going to pounce on her and kiss her till she can't breathe.

Alas, they kinda are, and the fog is beginning to clear with the two men’s angry shouting surfacing up again, Beatrice knows they need to get going.

Gently, Beatrice places a hand on Ava’s cheek and smiles. “Go make me proud.”

Ava’s eyes sparkle as she grins and presses her lips against her skin. “I’m going to lure you to your knees for me, watch.”

Beatrice’s chuckle doesn't even get to form halfway before Ava is sheathing her blue sword, they need to talk about where she got that, and marches straight to Kristian.

Left with Adriel, Beatrice’s brain starts working overtime again. Pulling out her pistol, Beatrice waits for the fog to clear up some more.

The second she sees his oily hair peek out, Beatrice squeezes the trigger and fires.

Sadly, because bad things keep happening to her, the bullet not only does not touch a hair on Adriel’s head, where she assumed would be vulnerable since that's the only part not covered in armor.

Alas. Again. “A fucking invisible helmet, you have got to be fucking me.”

“It's for respiratory issues!” Ava shouts from where she is sitting on Kristian’s shoulders, her small fist ramming into the side of his head. “So construction workers don't inhale toxic fumes— you son of a bitch!”

Not having the time to worry about Ava being yanked by her leg and thrown across the room, Beatrice has to duck yet another laser beam, pulling out her bo even though she has no idea what to do with it.

Fuck it. She charges forward, nimbly darting more bursts of lasers, until she finally reaches Adriel and sends a loud thwack of her staff against his armor.

As she predicts, the metals only clang then bounce back, the armor far too strong to be penetrated by a mere bo.

Still, Beatrice's expertise is in melee, so she stays close and keeps her eyes out for opportunities.

Beatrice is just about to swing her third attack onto what she hopes is a weak point, aka the kneecaps, when her glasses signal an incoming call.

“Merlin, please tell me you got something.” Beatrice murmurs, sliding in between Adriel’s legs and sending a harsh kick to the back of his knee. Never mind, ouch, that’s pure steel she just jammed her big toe into. “Merlin!”

“I got them! I got them!” Shannon shouts in elation. “Though I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

Frustration at an all-time high, Beatrice shrieks. “Are you kidding me— holy shit!”

In hindsight, Beatrice will later thank Adriel for performing an almost perfect pirouette and slams his new weapon onto her shoulder. 

It’s a plasma sword sticking out of the cannon, whose hinges Beatrice barely catches just in time.

Having put too much focus into catching the plasma blade, Beatrice loses her balance and slips, falling on her back and bringing the sword back down with her. Still, she doesn’t loosen her grip, baring her teeth in a growl as she desperately tries to hold it back and away, bulking biceps from her hard work coming in majorly handy. 

“I’m going to squish you like a bug.” Adriel snarls at her, drools coming out of the corner of his mouth. “Silly little girl. Should have stayed at home playing with your toys instead of trying to fight the big boys.”

Growing up the way she did, both in the house of the elites and with the gang, Beatrice is all too familiar with misogyny. She is looked down upon all the time, and even when she joined the Kingsman, she too experienced thinly-veiled doubts about her abilities when it came to her male colleagues.

So it isn’t that what Adriel is saying is bothering her, per se. It’s the fact that it stirs up a memory that, in hindsight, should have been at the forefront of her mind.

Beatrice was just telling Ava about this. And she remembered the day Vincent said it to her like it was yesterday.

She was small then. Scrawny. Barely knew how to throw a punch, and she just got a black eye for disobeying one of her superiors.

She had come into the bookstore sniffling like a child, or at least someone much younger than she deserved to be, and Vincent had come right over to cheer her up.

Beatrice told him about everything, about the big man who didn’t like hearing no and thought of Beatrice as worth nothing more than a servant girl, and servant girls don’t get to be treated with gentleness.

Vincent had done nothing but sigh, before walking away and coming back with a tub of ointment in his hands. His eyes, she remembers, were pained at every wince she gave. 

So Beatrice tried to be brave. She held in every cry and stood perfectly still. In the end, Vincent had still looked at her with sad eyes, before he sat her down and taught her the first of the many lessons he will come to pass down to her even in his death.

When you come across an opponent much larger than you, you must know to use your brain. Identify what is their center and strike. An opponent is only big in that he splashes harder when he falls. Remember, little one. It’s all about balance.

Center.

Their center. The exoskeleton’s weakness. 

The bigger the opponent, the harder they fall.

Strike them where it hurts most. Their center.

That's it.

For a machine as heavy as this, there has to be some sort of magnetic forcefield attached to keep it defying gravity and standing up straight without extreme efforts from the wearer. 

“Merlin, find me the compartment where the exoskeleton's magnetic pulse is.”

“What does that have to— oh my god, you're a genius!”

With Shannon’s frantic typing in her ears, Beatrice takes another deep breath, her arms beginning to shake. The sword is getting closer and closer by the second, now just an inch away from her nose. 

Come on, Shannon. Come on.

“Got it! It's the secret panel on his right chest, right where his heart would be!”

Perfect. Now we're getting somewhere.

Wrapping her thighs around Adriel’s waist and successfully locking him into place, Beatrice takes advantage of his surprise and sits straight up.

Ignoring the painful slash of his sword burning into her shoulder, Beatrice pulls out her bo. She holds it up for Adriel to see, for the realization to register in his brain and knowing he can’t escape, no one can escape from Beatrice’s steel thighs, before she makes the bo unfold, smashing into the plastic panel with ease.

At once, the exoskeleton suit freezes up, the plasma sword retreating, and Adriel's invisible helmet opening and exposing his head out in the air.

Adriel’s scream of pain when she clicks the button and sends a round of electrocution in his body, is so loud, it hurts Beatrice’s ear. Still, she persists there, taking advantage of his pain to reach back for her gun. 

“Game over, Adriel.” Beatrice grits her teeth, aims the gun right at his head.

And she fires.

Adriel’s body goes limp, and so does the exoskeleton suit. 

Beatrice uses her other shoulder to push him off and rolls away before she can be trapped underneath all those pounds of steel, breathing heavily and in pain at the searing slash on her shoulder. 

“Galahad? Galahad, are you okay?”

“I’m all good. Just tired.” Beatrice pants, ducking her head down and trying to gain back her breath. She can hear hurried footsteps rushing over to her, and without even looking, Beatrice knows Ava won her fight too.

Of course she would. Beatrice has more faith in Ava than in anything and anyone. 

“Bea? Bea, are you okay?” Gentle hands come to cradle her cheeks, Beatrice is so tired she practically almost sinks into Ava’s arms. “Shit, you’re hurt.”

“I’m okay… I just need…” Beatrice does a couple more inhales and exhales before opening her eyes. God, Ava looks beautiful from this angle. “Hello, darling.”

Ava laughs, more startled than anything at the sudden use of a pet name, but she presses their foreheads together all the same. “Hi, baby. You did so well back there.”

“I did?” Beatrice asks, suddenly flushing shy. 

Humming in affirmative, Ava leans up so she can kiss Beatrice on her forehead. “You did. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Beatrice’s smile grows uncontrollably as she stares up at her beloved, surely looking like a goofus. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Ava says it back, means it too, what with the way her eyes are dripping honey and her mouth curls with unconditional affection. 

Beatrice is so incredibly lucky. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate a good action romcom, but we’re kinda running out of time, kiddos.”

Startled out of her daze, flushing cheeks growing even hotter at the realization that Shannon has heard them the entire time, Beatrice looks away. 

“Sorry, Merlin. We got… distracted.”

“I’m sure you did.” If Shannon was laughing in any sort of capacity, she had the mercy to not mention it. For now, Beatrice knows she’ll get a handful later. “Let’s put the virus in and go home. I’m tired and I miss my wife.”

“How relatable.” Ava chuckles, not noticing Beatrice’s eyes widening like saucers and her heart doing the Samsara dance in her chest. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Nodding, Beatrice allows herself to sit down and takes a couple more deep breaths. She closes her eyes, attempting to steal a few seconds of peace.

Who knows what’s going to happen, right? Beatrice needs this. 

“Lalala, lalala, me inputting the virus that will destroy your network and get my property back, lalala.”

Beatrice’s lips curl up, as always amused by her girlfriend’s quirks. 

All seems well and ends well, until…

“All done— wait a minute. Those fuckers installed a self-destruct countdown!”

Eyes comically popping open, Beatrice immediately gets back on both feet. “They did what?” She yelps, limping over Ava’s side as fast as she can. Seeing the gigantic clock counting down, Beatrice too feels like screaming. “What the fuck?”

00:30

00:29

“I can’t— I can’t do anything—” Ava smashes the table in frustration, the countdown screen stubborn and unchanging. “We need to move. Otherwise we’ll be toasted bread in seconds.”

Nodding, Beatrice taps her glasses and sends the rest of the knights a ping of her location. “Lancelot, get the helicopter up here now!” Turning back to her girlfriend, Beatrice commands. “Morgana, can you sound the alarm for the entire building?”

“I can. But… Galahad… a lot of people are here. They won't make it in time.” Ava sounds so sad, and it breaks Beatrice’s heart to hear, but… 

“I’m sorry, Morgana. But we need to go. Let’s just do what we can.”

Ava hesitates, clearly torn, but eventually nods. Beatrice tugs her in for a gentle kiss on her hair, silently grateful for Ava’s easy cooperation.

“You get everything we need. I’ll help make a path for us to get to the jet.”

With a salute, Ava dashes back to the desk, fingers flying everywhere on the digital keyboard installed right there on the desk. 

00:25

00:24

In the meantime, Beatrice rushes towards the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Immediately, from the far distance, Beatrice sees the rotors of the helicopter slowly starting up, so she needs to act quickly.

Taking a deep breath, Beatrice raises one of her legs up and kicks.

00:20. CRACK. 

00:19. CRACK. 

00:18. CRACK. 

Fuck, this is too slow. The bomb will go off at any moment. 

“Galahad, use Kristian’s gauntlet!”

Fuck. That’s right. Why didn’t she think of that.

Hurriedly, Beatrice runs back to where Krisitan is lying face first on the floor, a gaping slash across his throat that is clearly made by Ava’s sword blade. None too gently, Beatrice yanks the gauntlet out of his hand and puts it on. 

00:13. Startup level one, complete.

00:12. Startup level two, complete.

00:11. Startup level three, complete. 

“Morgana, stand back!”

Using all the power she has left, Beatrice winds her arm back and—

The gauntlet works like a charm, bursting through the glass window in one single punch. Uncaring about shrapnels falling onto her, Beatrice turns back for Ava.

“Morgana, quick!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Ava screams back, in her arm the Biomax sphere and her laptop. They’ll have to leave the rest behind, Beatrice makes a mental note to apologize to Lena later. “There! The jet!”

00:07. Camila's and Mary’s head pokes out, arms outstretched. “Guys, you’re going to have to jump!”

00:06. “Can’t you get any closer?”

00:05. “Bitch, any closer and your head is flying right off your neck. Just get in here!”

Fuck. No time to waste then. 

00:05. 00:04. 00:03. 

“Are you ready?”

“Bea, I’ve been waiting forever to ride off into the sunset with you.”

Beatrice smiles. Ava does too. 

00:02. 

Beatrice’s heart feels like it’s about to jump out of her chest. Ava’s is somewhere in between her throat doing the meringue.

00:01. “Here we come!”

Sounds of feet thumping. Sounds of cheers ringing. Sounds of bodies flinging themselves over the edge. 

00:00. 

BOOM.

And everything is rubble. 

—

“Did anyone get that on tape? That was so fucking cool.”

“Language, Guinevere.”

“I got it, babe. Movie night when you're home.”

“Now this is why you're my wife!”

—

“Hey, where did you get your blue sword from, by the way?”

“Oh that was amongst what they stole from Lena too. It's supposed to be nth metal. Which technically doesn't exist anywhere on Earth yet.”

“...”

“What?”

“Am I supposed to just brush past the implication of an extraterrestrial chemical element?”

“I mean, I figured you would be more interested in cuddling with me all the way home.”

“...Touche.”

—

Chapter Text

“Ava, I’m all ready!”

“Okay! Just give me five more minutes!”

Truth be told, Beatrice is feeling quite nervous.

When Ava said she was going to take Beatrice out for a date, she really meant it, murmuring ideas into the crook of her neck every night before they drift off to sleep.

Yes, they sleep together in the same bed now. Has been for the last three days.

On the same night they came home, after spending a few days at The Flying Graysons to treat their wounds and have one last mission debriefing, Ava had pouted and tugged at Beatrice’s sleeve, quietly and adorably asking if they could have a sleepover. 

Ava claimed she got used to sleeping next to Beatrice and could potentially have a nightmare if she didn't keep doing it.

Beatrice knew only fifty percent of it were the actual truth, but she was weak, and forever will, for her girlfriend’s pout, so she said yes.

They’ve only slept in the same bed twice, but no one would be able to tell by how easy and seamless their bedtime routines together were.

Beatrice had just laid down on her back and Ava already knew to tuck her head in underneath her chin and wrapped an arm around her waist. The concept of her side of the bed be damned, Ava was determined to make Beatrice her cuddle buddy.

They slept what was probably the best sleep they've ever had in the last two months, purely for the fact that, when the morning came, Beatrice got to comb her fingers through Ava’s hair and Ava got the pets she kept headbutting Beatrice's hand for.

And soon enough, it became their normal. Beatrice briefly entertained the thought of inquiring Ava about her room, now left empty, but refrained. 

It’s not completely useless, what with Ava currently using it as a changing room as she gets ready for their date, having smirked all suggestively and secretly when they parted ways.

Even without physically being here, Ava Silva still manages to make her heart skip several beats. It feels good, it makes her feel alive, no matter how medically inadvisable.

“You look very charming, Bea. Stop fussing.”

Grumbling into her mirror, Beatrice’s hands fiddle with her collar, conflicted on whether or not she should pop it up or smooth it out. Once is an accident but twice is a pattern, you know.

Ignoring both Shannon and her pestering inner voice, Beatrice continues to fuss. “This is our first date, Shan. I just want to look nice. Is that such a terrible thing to do?”

“Well, yes, if you’re going to drive yourself to a cardiac arrest before you even get to go on said date.” Shannon retorts back with snark. 

In the background, there is no sound of typing or her typical jazz music, just the crackling of a fireplace. Beatrice takes a second to smile, remembering how Mary and Shannon had promptly moved into their new apartment barely a day after they got greenlit for a week-long break. 

(Beatrice had tried to advocate for a 3-day vacation like last time, but then Suzanne looked at her like she was about to throw her into a cage full of starving lions, and Ava followed up by murmuring into her ear about something special she had in store for her, and suddenly Beatrice was all in.)

(Beatrice also tries to tell herself it’s in the best interest of the tech labs dutifully performing maintenance work on the servers, making sure there are no more surveillance bugs. 

Alas, the image of something red and lacy has been stuck in her head for days. Not even she is that much of a hypocrite.)

“I just…” Beatrice sighs, suddenly close to tears. The collars lay pathetically flat, resigned like their master. “I just want to be perfect for her. She is always gorgeous, Shan. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She looks sexy even wearing a duck-patterned pajama shirt and sushi decorated boxers. And I’m just… me.”

It's been a long time since she had thoughts like this, retreating back into the shell of a pathetic little girl who thinks she is worth nothing if she can't provide anything.

Her lower lip quivers in terrifying unison with the trembles of her curled fists, nervous and petrified beyond reasonable measures.

She just… she just wants…

She just wants to be worth it. Worth her.

“Okay, that's enough of that.” The sudden sternness of Shannon’s voice bleeds into her ears via her spectacles, startling Beatrice out of her spiral. “In case you guys haven't told each other this enough, which I highly doubt, Ava loves you dearly, Bea. And she thinks you're beautiful without trying.”

“Really?” The word comes out in a croak, needy in a way that makes Beatrice cringe inwards. “I mean, I guess so.”

“No. There’s no guessing of any kind, I know for sure Ava thinks the world of you, and not in the way that your parents used to think of you, that you could do no wrong until you did what they thought was wrong.”

Beatrice’s breath catches at the mention of her parents, her heart seizing altogether. Shannon hears it, because of course she does, voice softening immensely. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring them up so carelessly.”

“It’s okay.” Beatrice isn’t even sure if she believes that herself. “You… did you want to finish?”

“I think I said enough.” Shannon says, and Beatrice knows she would have tried to pat her head had she physically been here too. “Bottom line is, enjoy yourself, Bea. It’s not often that you get to have a first date with your girlfriend who is also your best friend. Seriously, I can’t even find materials as good as this in fanfiction.”

Chuckling, Beatrice quietly goes to wipe the bastard tear that escaped. It’s a good thing she isn’t wearing makeup, otherwise something would have smeared beyond salvation. 

“Thank you, Shannon.” She pauses, the words hard to come out, but holding them back weighs immensely heavy on her heart all the same. “I love you.”

“I love you too, kiddo.” Neither of them mentions the audible crack in her voice, Shannon bulldozing over it immediately after. “Mary and I are going shopping for some more interior decorations. I’ll keep you updated whether or not we get that white couch.”

“Please do. Take care.”

“You too, Bea.”

Just in time, as the moment Beatrice hangs up on her call and tucks her glasses on her shirt, the door to her bedroom is creaking open. 

Once again, in a moment of deja vu, Ava’s adorable head peeks through the door, mouth already spewing excitement and joy. 

“Hey, Bea! I’m all done. Are you… holy…”

Maybe there is some truth and merit to what Shannon said, about how Ava thinks she’s beautiful despite the clothes she wears.

Because the last time they were in this position, Beatrice was wearing a tuxedo suit that easily cost three months of an average worker’s rent in New York City, with her hair perfectly styled up. 

Today, however, her clothes are casual in the truest way possible, a simple pair of dark chinos and a beloved jade green shirt. Beatrice had left her natural hair unattended, the bangs flopping over her eyes in a manner she hopes is charming. 

Judging by the way Ava can’t look away, Beatrice dares to think she has succeeded.

“Oh, Bea. You look so dashing.” The smile on Ava’s face is soft, so much so that it mirrors itself on Beatrice’s own face. 

The smile promptly slips off the second she sees Ava fully walks into her bedroom, transforming into a gasp, looking spectacular in a way that no language in the world can ever come close to describing. 

Hair curled and done up in her favorite half-up half-down updo, Ava wears the same yellow sundress that took Beatrice’s breath away all those weeks ago, the day they reunited at The Salvius Mansion. 

Just like then, Beatrice’s attention immediately zeros in on the abundance of cleavage and bare, gorgeously-sculpted biceps. But she doesn’t linger, as Ava’s smile feels immensely more hypnotizing than ever, and Beatrice realizes with a jolt, this is what being in love with someone does to you.

You’re not just attracted to their physical attributes, even if they’re insanely beautiful, but also the littlest things. Like the twinkle in Ava’s eyes as she strides forward, the curl of Ava’s lips as she gets all breathless at the sight of Beatrice, and so many other things.

Beatrice doesn’t know nor does she understand how poets and writers do it. How they can possibly put into words these feelings that feel impossibly larger than the world they’re living in.

Beatrice doesn’t understand, but by god does she want to. It’s the least she can do, being looked at and adored by someone as magnificent as Ava Silva.

“I can say the same for you, darling.” Smiling wide and opening her arms, Beatrice gladly receives Ava in her embrace, the two of them swaying gently. “You smell nice.”

Now why did she go and say that—

Ava giggles into Beatrice’s neck, who tries to seem unbothered despite the flush of mortification crawling up her cheeks. 

“Again, I don’t wear perfumes, but thank you anyway.”

Beatrice shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. “That’s the point. I think you smell nice just on your own.”

The adorable head tucked underneath her chin looks up, magnetism in her eyes pulling Beatrice’s head down as well. 

“We haven’t even made it out of the apartment and you’re already working on charming my pants off?”

“Technically, you’re wearing a dress.” Beatrice teases back, affectionately, hands stroking up and down the slope of Ava’s back. “I think that calls for technicality.”

Ava huffs, all jokes and fondness. “You’re a dork.”

“Hmmm,” Beatrice hums back, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. The smile that splits her lips open is outrageous, but she can’t help it, not when she can not only hear but also feel the hitch in Ava’s breath. “But I’m your dork.”

Trembling, goosebumps spreading all over her skin, Ava can only reply in a low, husky whisper that fries all of Beatrice’s brain cells. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Who is Beatrice to deny such a request, really?

Selfishly, Beatrice keeps her eyes open for a split second longer, just to see the way Ava eagerly closes hers and leans forward, mouth puckered and waiting.

There. There’s your proof. Ava wants you the same way you do. Ava wants you like you want her.

The chuckle catching in her throat sounds too much like her choking up in tears, so Beatrice promptly squashes it down and puts all her energy in closing her eyes too and smashing their lips together.

Surprised by the sudden intensity, Ava squeaks into their kiss, but gradually trails off into happy sighs as Beatrice slows down and deepens their dance. 

Arms winding around her neck and pulling her closer, Beatrice allows her hands to roam as well, smirking when her palms near the small of Ava’s back and receives a needy whimper in return. 

“Aren’t we supposed to go to dinner, darling?” Beatrice asks, one hundred percent teasing, pulling back for a quick breath before diving back in again.

Ava allows it, reciprocating her kiss in kind, before gently pushing Beatrice’s shoulders back. She laughs when she sees the smallest pout forming on Beatrice’s lips.

“We are, actually.” Ava smiles, using her thumb to wipe away the lipstick smear on Beatrice’s lips. 

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.” Beatrice says, almost like a sulk. Happy to be childish in the presence of someone who would never punish her for feeling comfortable enough to do so.

Eyes crinkling in amusement, Ava’s hands move to cradle her cheeks. She always makes Beatrice feel so precious, how does she do it?

“It defeats the purpose of a surprise if I tell you beforehand. You wouldn’t want me to break my promise to you, would you?” Beatrice sighs, shakes her head forlornly. Doing her best to keep up the sad act. Maybe she’ll get another kiss. “I can allow for one squeeze of my ass before we go— oh!”

What? She said she could. 

Ava’s cheeks flush a delightful pink, mumbling under her breath while knowing full well Beatrice can hear her. 

“No one believes me when I tell them you’re the horny one in this relationship.”

“And they never will.” Beatrice chuckles, ducking down for a soft kiss on Ava’s cheek. The flush persists but there’s now an adorable, shy smile accompanying it. As far as Beatrice is concerned, her mission is complete. “Come, let’s go have our date. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Ava smiles, the admission like an arrow dosed with honey. Beatrice feels it too, how it drenches her mouth in sweetness. 

“Then I’ll make it the best one you’ll ever have.”

Taking her own words as a challenge, Ava proceeds to give Beatrice the best experience of her life.

In a fashion untypical of first dates, Ava takes Beatrice to a food market. The food connoisseur that she is, Ava seems to have yet let go of her dream of helping Beatrice find the food that will remind her of home.

Ava is smarter than that, though. Surely she must already know Beatrice's home is her. 

No matter. Beatrice won't ever turn down the chance to try new things, not when Ava is always by her side, pointing excitedly at a stall that smells absolutely divine.

Beatrice learns a lot about food and how they make her feel that night.

How in awe she is of Ava when Beatrice is taught the proper way to eat a marinated crab, by slurping and scraping out the meat in the carcass, juicy and tangy in the way seafood always is, then use the crab as a makeshift bowl and scoop in some rice, mixing it together with whatever leftover meat they couldn't extract.

How proud she is of herself when she buys Ava a delicious egg tart and tells her about the best egg tart she has ever had, a complimentary dish at a foreign wedding that she was secretly at to keep an eye on the groom who was suspected of running a chain of inhumane sweatshops all across South Asia.

How interested she is when Ava orders a plate of musakhan, quietly telling Beatrice about the history of the national Palestinian dish and what it represents; a true reflection of the culture of Palestinians and how community-oriented their society has maintained, the dish becoming the literal celebrative fruit of a year of harvest and to be eaten all together during the olive harvest season. 

(In a way, the dish reminds Beatrice of Kingsman and how admirably they rebuilt, vowing to be better than ever before after the mass bombings that sadly took out some of their best agents.)

How in love she is at the taste of soup dumplings that, with a bright grin, Ava promised to try and make for her, simply because they are her favorites, before pressing that exact grin against her lips and licking around the corners, because she deemed her “delicious with all that soup on your mouth”.

Is food play a thing? 

Does she have a thing?

Are aliens real?

Who am I?

So many questions, so much love, and only one lifetime.

Hmm. That's not quite true, is it? 

There's no scientific evidence that says there is only one life you can live. Maybe, in a different life, Beatrice and Ava could be childhood best friends. Or super beings with superpowers. Or academic enemies turned lovers. Or a nun and an atheist.

No, that one is a bit much. 

Beatrice would rather not be married to a man, bleh, before she would fall for Ava. Imagine being both a nun and a lesbian. That sounds like an awful lot of paperwork, not to mention the combined trauma.

Regardless, the point Beatrice is trying to make, lost in her head all the while Ava is gloating about how easily she mesmerizes her, is that maybe they don't have just this one life.

They can have the next, and the one after that, and the one after that.

Beatrice can love her as much as she pleases in this one, without worrying about her life running out before her love does, because they're going to meet and they're going to fall in love again in the next.

They have to. They must. What is Beatrice if not someone whose heart belongs with Ava.

“At first, I was flattered, but you're starting to worry me. Are you okay, Bea?”

Startled out of her thoughts by a hand gently patting her cheek, Beatrice winces. “My apologies, darling. I was a little lost in my head.”

Ava’s brows furrow. Even all the way from the other side of the table, Beatrice can hear the wheels in her brain turning at full speed.

“Was what I did not okay?” Ava asks, timid and nervous. This is the first time Ava’s shown signs of any emotion that isn’t sensual confidence and sweet charms, Beatrice realizes with a jolt. “Do you want to talk about public displays of affection? Because I’ll listen, I promise. You know I’m naturally touchy, but I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable in any way, Bea.”

Beatrice shakes her head no, immediately dispelling such a ridiculous notion. To emphasize, she extends her open palm, and grabs onto Ava’s when she places hers atop.

“I love it when you touch me.” You make me feel more alive than life itself. You're beautiful. You make everything else so beautiful. I love you so much. “I was just thinking, that's all.”

Ava’s head tilts, but otherwise she is quiet. Entirely leaving the decision to share in Beatrice's hand.

Beatrice is so grateful, but… “Later. I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay.” Ava nods without hesitation, without a smudge of hurt or personal offense at the choice Beatrice makes for herself. “You want to help me finish this ice cream? It's strawberry, your favorite.”

Smiling, wondering if she’ll ever tell her about strawberries, Beatrice takes the offered bite.

The two of them linger there on the picnic table for a few minutes longer, idly exchanging casual observations about the food, the atmosphere, and the date in general, before Ava finally decides it is time.

“Time for what?” Beatrice asks, looking up with the last spoon of ice cream halfway into her mouth. 

Ava winks, light and beautiful. “You’ll see. Eat up, Bea. We don’t want to be late for this.”

“As much as you hackle on me about my list, you sure are insistent on sticking to your agenda by the minute today.” Beatrice teases, putting the ice cream in her mouth and licking the remnants off her spoon. 

When she is done, Beatrice looks up, finds Ava’s eyes glued to the general area of her mouth and the spoon. 

“Ava?” An unconscious habit she’s learned from Ava, the curious head tilt. 

“Huh?” Ava blinks once, then twice. Her pupils look a bit dilated, and there’s a flush crawling up her gorgeous chest, and— oh. Oh. “Sorry. I um… I got distracted, can we go now?”

“Distracted, you say?” Beatrice grins, equally shy and proud. It’s a really nice shirt she picked out, Beatrice knows it. 

“Shut up.” Ava outright blushes, leaping out of her chair and rushing over to her side, tugging at her sleeve. 

The gesture is not unlike that of a child, and again, Beatrice marvels at just how comfortable they are around each other to let their inner child shine so brightly like this. 

As children, they both suffered so much. To get to be this way with each other without fear of punishment, it feels like a gift larger than one can comprehend. 

“Alright, alright. Let me just toss these away.” Beatrice laughs at the whine echoing at her back, her other unoccupied hand rounding up all of their containers and neatly depositing them into the disposing bins. “All done. Lead the way, darling.” 

Like a child hearing the word candy, or perhaps a pup hearing the word fetch, Ava’s legs start zooming. 

Beatrice keeps up with her easily— a feat only possible due to their now identical training routines— maneuvering past other patrons of the night market. 

It doesn’t take long for them to get to where they need to be, or so Beatrice assumes. 

At first glance, Beatrice thinks Ava has taken her to the garden area for a casual stroll under the moonlight, which is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for her, period, but her theory quickly dies after seeing Ava’s pace hasn’t slowed down even once they’re past the entrance gate. 

Resigning to her fate of cluelessness, Beatrice takes to admiring their surroundings a bit more, her food baby not stopping her from appreciating the straying smell of what she is sure to be some very unhealthy fried food. 

They could bring some takeouts home. Ava would love tacos and burritos for breakfast.

“Oh my God, finally! Felt like we’ve been walking forever.”

The hyperbole is accompanied by an all too dramatic sigh of exhaustion, meant to elicit a laugh or perhaps a snort, but Beatrice is too occupied taking in what is in front of her to even utter a word.

“Are those lanterns?”

The lanterns, she finds, are shaped like animals. Specifically, a dragon and a phoenix, with wing glides and feathers in various shades of orange, red, and yellow, a stark contrast image compared to the starry night sky of London.

They're majestic, certainly not exactly as beautiful as the woman by her side, but man, they come pretty close.

“Yeah, do you like them?” Ava asks hopefully. 

Beatrice nods. “I do.” She looks down into bright eyes. “I love them. I haven't seen them in so long.”

“I’m glad, Bea.” Ava grins, pearly teeth brighter than the moon. “Shall we sit?”

Beatrice does as told, slowly bending her knees and letting Ava guide her the rest of the way down.

Her hand comes into contact with something wet, Beatrice realizing with a jolt it's just grass. They're sitting on a patch of grass with families and loved ones around them, all looking up at the sky in similar degrees of adoration and wonder.

Quickly, before Ava can fully sit, Beatrice takes off her jacket and sprawls it out on the grass. She then tugs Ava gently down, smiling when Ava immediately curls up into her side.

Beatrice wraps one arm around Ava’s shoulders, successfully pulling her closer and flushed against her chest, hoping her heart isn't beating too fast and disturbing Ava’s peace.

“You know, you’re not my bodyguard anymore. You don’t have to be so gentlemanly.” Ava says, even as she burrows even deeper into the crook between Beatrice's neck and shoulder.

“I know.” Beatrice hums, running her fingers through Ava’s hair. 

She feels soft and precious, and Beatrice is struck once more with that feeling of in this life, of in the next, of mortality and love that transcends the fabric of space and time. 

All of it forms a ball that bounces inside her chest. 

One can call it a heart. Beatrice calls it Ava’s. 

Wholly and divinely hers. 

“I just like taking care of you. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, Bea. It’s perfectly alright.” Ava mumbles, almost sounding like she's dozing off. 

Beatrice knows she isn't, knows her too well, knows that Ava is only enjoying the warmth. Beatrice is too, can't ever imagine being this cold when holding her literal sun in her arms.

Maybe that's what makes her brave. Or maybe it's just Ava.

Either way, the words come to her now. Maybe when Beatrice loves Ava a little longer, not harder, the words will come easier. 

“I didn't expect this.” Ava hums in curiosity, cold nose squished against her neck. Beatrice laughs, partly startled, but mostly at the irony. “Do you remember that letter I wrote you that first night?”

Ava nods, her own lips curling in an amused smile. Morgana is my favorite. “What a crazy coincidence. I still think about it sometimes.”

“Right?” Rewinding back the night in her head, Beatrice grimaces. “I’m sorry, again. It really wasn’t my best moment.”

“It’s okay.” Ava punctuates the reassurance with a soft kiss to her jawline, smiling when she feels Beatrice give a subtle shiver. “I think of that night fondly regardless.”

“I’m glad you do.” Beatrice hides her smile in Ava’s hair. Almost afraid the moon and the stars will see and punish her for it. “I didn't expect to see myself fall so hard for you. All of this, since the start, has only been a job.”

Here, Ava looks up, tilting Beatrice's chin down with a gentle finger. When Beatrice looks into her eyes, she sees nothing but a question already answered.

“Just your job?”

Beatrice shakes her head. “And my pleasure.” She tucks a strand of hair behind Ava’s ear, her hand brushing against Ava’s cheek, grinning when Ava can't stop herself from smiling at her touch. “I can't think of a world where getting to be with you and falling in love with you would be anything but a pleasure.”

“Bea,” Ava gushes, looking at Beatrice like she just gave her the world. “I love you too. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you.”

Not awaiting her response, and Beatrice has plenty for that remark, Ava tugs on her collar and pulls her down, their lips colliding in a heated kiss.

It doesn't matter that the stars know their names by now. It doesn’t matter that they, like everyone else, will want to punish Beatrice for her happiness. 

Beatrice wants to kiss her, wants to love her, and so she does.

They don't linger for too long, as this is still a public area with people around. When they pull back, both of them are breathing heavily, the kiss merely a preview for what is coming later tonight.

Smiling with swollen lips, Beatrice tugs Ava’s head back in her shoulder, almost driven to tears at the sound of Ava’s content sigh.

And to think. Beatrice once thought she could never be this happy.

“Thank you.” For so many things. For everything. “For taking me here. It really has been so long since I got to see the lanterns.”

Ava only hums, pulling one of Beatrice's hands away from their hold to give it a kiss. “You're welcome. When was the last time you saw them?”

It's an innocent question, and there should be a simple answer to it.

But Beatrice's life in the before has never been simple.

Or perhaps it was. It was a very simple choice for them to have thrown her into the streets like she was nothing but trash.

It was ridiculously simple, in fact, how easy it was to let her go.

She only wishes it was as easy for her to let them go.

“A month after I was thrown out, I crawled back to my parents.”

The warm body pressed against hers freezes solid, Ava immediately catching onto the topic and its sensitivity. As if knowing she needs the strength, Ava squeezes their hands tight, letting Beatrice know she is there for wherever Beatrice decides to go.

Beatrice moves forward. 

“It was this time of year too, right around Lunar New Year. I remember thinking it was particularly cruel of them to give me one last bit of warmth, of family, before letting me go. In hindsight, they probably just wanted to make sure the extended family saw me alive and well one last time. Giving them an alibi of sorts.”

The grip on her hand tightens impossibly more. Any lesser person would have winced in pain, but Beatrice honestly doesn't mind.

After all, her heart hurts a lot more. Even after all these years, it still hurts unlike anything she has ever experienced.

“I was so hungry and cold. I think I caught the flu or something because the weather was beginning to warm, like it has been tonight. I took a bus back home using the little money I was kindly given by strangers, thinking if I told them I could change who I was, if I told them I was sorry for loving someone so deviant, for being someone so deviant, they would take me back.”

A shaky exhale escapes beautiful, downcast lips. Beatrice can tell because Ava still has them pressed against her neck, a little assurance that she is here and she will hold Beatrice through it all.

“They didn't.” Ava gasps quietly, angrily. “I didn't even get to beg. I got home— well, not home, per se. I got there and on the pedestal was my portrait. Meaning, they already had my funeral.”

“Jesus fuck, Beatrice.” Ava downright growls, finally pulling back from their hug. 

Honestly, she lasted longer than Beatrice had expected her to, what with Ava’s usual brand of explosive protectiveness that she’s come to recognize in recent days.

“I don't know what to tell you. It's what they did.” Beatrice confesses, only realizing there are tears running down her cheeks when Ava goes to wipe them away. “I ended up leaving. I went to the park and I saw people flying their lanterns. And they looked just like this.”

Beatrice shudders, remembering that night with spine-chilling vividness. 

“I was so cold and hungry. I thought if I were going to die that night, looking at the lanterns was a good way to go.” Ava’s mouth drops in horror, and Beatrice's heart sinks. “A family there took pity on me. They gave me their leftovers and their picnic blanket, and so I lived on for a few more days.”

And you know the rest, goes unsaid.

“Oh thank god. Thank god, thank you.” Ava mumbles under her breath, clutching her heart with her hand.

Beatrice's smile is full of tears and heartbreak.

“They just… I didn't expect much, you know, and I understood, they were under a lot of pressure to conform and— and— but… seeing that has— it was—”

The lump, sudden and painful, completely blocks out her oxygen and her words, leaving Beatrice a panting, sobbing mess.

Ava’s own face is also scrunched up in sympathetic pain, mouth quivering as she tries, still, to make it better.

“Oh baby, come here.” Ava shushes sweetly, maneuvering so she is sitting on Beatrice’s leg and pushing her head into her shoulder. “Cry it out, Bea. You can let it all out. I can help, I can hold your hand throughout it all.”

Ava does exactly that, reaching to intertwine their hands together, holding her so tight. 

And Beatrice, well, what is she to do in the face of such unconditional affection and kindness.

Beatrice has been deprived of it for so long, she is frankly unprepared and unequipped. But Ava says she can cry, she should cry, so she does, and by god it feels good.

It feels so good to just cry into the soft skin of Ava’s chest, letting herself be held while her nose is constantly assaulted by Ava’s natural scent, both a reminder and a comfort.

Throughout it all, Ava never once wavers. She doesn't even show any sign of wanting to stop, to go back to watching the pretty lights. Instead keeps on running her fingers through Beatrice's hair, mouth constantly running very creative curses that she would like to inflict on them should they ever have the misfortune of meeting and gently shushing sweet nothings that actually mean everything.

Beatrice is foolish to even think she would leave. 

Beatrice needs to do better. Needs to learn how to trust Ava, trust her love and her care more.

Beatrice can start small. The words are hard, the world is crueler, but for the girl who means everything, Beatrice will just about do anything.

“Thank you for taking care of me. For loving me.”

Ava laughs, like she's being silly.

“Oh Bea, loving you is the easiest thing in the world. You have to believe that. You are so incredible, so special, and none of it is because of what you can do. Please believe me.”

I will. 

One day, I will.

Please don't give up on me until then.

As if reading her mind, Ava continues, pressing her lips atop her head. “Even if it takes forever for you to get there, I will be here. We’re going to be saving the world a few more times, and I want you with me, always.”

Beatrice nods, wanting her to know she agrees, wanting her to know she promises the same.

But the words don't come out. But it doesn't matter.

Ava understands. Nothing else matters but her.

Absolutely nothing.

—

To say their drive home is intense would possibly be the understatement of the century.

After spending some more time watching the lanterns in each other's embrace, pointing out what particular flying pattern that impressed them most and exchanging what could only be categorized as the dopiest looks ever been in the history of mankind, Beatrice and Ava decided to call it a wrap.

Ava had quietly asked Beatrice if this was a good first date, clearly thinking otherwise after having to hold Beatrice as she cried for a good half an hour. Beatrice, once again running out of words, only kissed her soundly, murmuring several thank yous and I love yous that got Ava blushing scarlet and, her favorite, smiling like a goof.

They made a quick pit-stop by the taco stand that had caught Beatrice’s attention beforehand, Ava expectedly eager to have them for breakfast after just one quick whiff. Holding hands the rest of the way, they made their way back to their car together, chatting amicably about everything and anything.

Getting into the car and starting the ignition had been no problem as well, Beatrice opening the door for Ava and earning an appreciative kiss on the cheek that, embarrassingly, made her preen like an idiot. 

It all started when Beatrice asked a very innocent question.

“Did you ever find out how Adriel and Kristian found out about your research on Biomax 2.0?”

Honestly, Beatrice cannot believe that the question had only just now come up. The sentiment is reciprocated by Ava, if her startled giggling is any indication.

“Um, yeah.” Crooked smile beaming, Ava leans back against the headrest. “I tried asking, actually. I was holding a gun to Adriel’s head and asked him straight-up. To no one’s surprise, he didn’t give me an answer, just laughed and said something cryptic like, ‘hold your enemies close but your friends even closer’, which is not how that saying should go, right?”

Beatrice frowns, carefully pulling out into the road. “It’s not. That is odd.” Making sure there is no car on either side, she turns the wheel. 

“Is it?” Ava asks, her voice pitched how it normally does when she’s genuinely curious.

Shrugging, Beatrice sets the speed to a regulated forty miles per hour. 

“Oh well, let it be a lesson for you to not conduct secret and sensitive research on your own network anymore. You’re brilliant and a genius but let’s leave this to the lab techs.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ava laughs, slyly taking one of Beatrice’s hands for herself. “I’ll talk about handing them over in the morning when we go back to work.” 

“Good girl.” Beatrice says, rather absentmindedly. She doesn’t notice her word choice, nor the way Ava’s eyes darken and pupils expand like crazy, and she wouldn't have if not for the way Ava’s next sentence completely halts all means of operation in her brain.

“You can always punish me later. I’ve been bad, I know.”

Oh. 

Is that what they’re doing?

And they’re doing this right here in the car?

Jesus sweet Christ.

Beatrice hums, trying desperately to seem unaffected. Like her palms aren’t squeezing the life out of her steering wheel and her thighs aren’t squeezed together, lack of friction only further increasing her frustration.

Ava notices. Of course she does. Beatrice can feel the heat of her smirk from a mile away.

“Is that so?” Beatrice asks, voice low and husky to match Ava’s energy. “Any suggestions?”

Smaller hands still playing with her own, Ava draws a pattern on her palm with an index finger, smiling and never once looking away. “Oh I have plenty of suggestions. Are you ready to hear them?”

Throat dry, Beatrice can only nod, all the while doing her best to keep her eyes on the road. Whatever fun they’re having, it’s not worth putting them or anyone else in danger. Beatrice trusts that Ava will know when to stop as well.

Another hum escapes her girlfriend, melodic and provocative in the most sensual way. 

“We can start off light, with you telling me how bad I’ve been.” Here is where Beatrice’s brain promptly ceases to function. “I’m more of a physical person, you see. I learn best by touch.”

“Any examples?” Beatrice asks, closer to a whimper. Mind running wild with filthy scenarios.

“You can spank me.” Oh fuck— “You can lay me out on your lap and spank me. You can choke me while I ride your fingers to orgasm. You can pound a strap into my pussy. Either way, I think you’d enjoy it too. That way, it's a win-win.”

If Ava’s expecting Beatrice to have the ability to speak a word after that then, truly, she thinks way too highly of her.

What she can utter is a single strangled sound, one that elicits a raspy pearl of laughter that echoes in the car and reverberates through her bones.

“I don’t want to make you crash our car,” Beatrice can’t even be offended by that, because she very well might. “So I’ll stop here. But I hope you’ll keep thinking about it.”

Oh.

Alright. Challenge accepted.

“Oh I will.” Beatrice replies, eyes dark and voice purposely stern. In the mirror, she sees Ava gulp just slightly. “I will be thinking about it all the way home.” She ends with smoothing her hand, still held in Ava’s, along the fabric of her dress, shivers and goosebumps exploding across Ava’s skin not at all subtle.

Beatrice licks her lips, and the sigh that escapes Ava’s pretty mouth is loud and proud.

What a novelty. To have someone want you so badly, they’re proud about it too.

It’s beautiful. It’s precious, and by god isn’t it also incredible.

—

They stumble into their apartment with their lips fused together.

In Beatrice's defense, she had tried really hard to be a gentleman and waited until they finally got inside to initiate anything, even if her hands had twitched with desires no less than twenty times as she watched Ava’s hips sway and her smile growing more and more wicked while they were in the elevator going up.

However, in a turn of events so surprising it would forever be imprinted on the back of her mind, Ava acted first.

Beatrice has just started to hover the key fob over their apartment’s scanner when she felt familiar lips lightly kissing the back of her neck. 

“Ava,” Embarrassingly, her hand slipped. Any lesser person wouldn’t have caught the key in time, but Beatrice is a free-wheeling, secret, ass-kicking, Kingsman agent, goddamn it. “What… what are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything.” Ava replied, low and husky, hands roaming where she shouldn’t while they’re still in a public space. A shaky exhale escaped Beatrice’s lungs, barely able to squashed it down from a squeak, when she felt Ava’s hand reaching down to her butt. “Hmm, this feels nice.”

“Ava, please.” There was no other way to categorize the sound that just escaped her as anything but a plea. At that, Ava paused all of her administrations, fully alert and afraid she just crossed one of Beatrice’s boundaries. 

She didn’t. She was just… making it really difficult for Beatrice to focus. 

“Is this okay?” Ava asked, gentle, lips hovering just enough away so she wasn’t forcing herself on her, but also making clear of her desire to stay.

She cares. She really cares about me.

Why did they tell me I would never have this?

I do. I get to be loved too. 

Overwhelmed by her affection and her desire, Beatrice made a swift turn, the bag of takeaway tacos making a not-at-all smooth landing on the floor. Ava’s eyes widened at the sudden movement, then softened with relief when Beatrice’s hands came up to cradle her cheeks.

For once not having anything to say, or rather incapable of finding words that felt adequate, Beatrice simply leaned in and kissed her. 

Ava readily kissed her back, arms staying right where they were on her waist. Beatrice slyly slid the fob over the scanner, fully ready for the way the door would burst open, and skillfully caught Ava in her arms when she got surprised by the lack of a solid surface behind them.

Thus, the stumbling.

Tossing the key fob elsewhere, perfectly landing on the hook of the coat hanger, Beatrice moves both hands back to cradle Ava’s face, their lips never once part amidst the hecticness.

They kiss like teenagers in the hallway, without a care in the world but all the gentleness for each other. Their shoes and heels thrown haphazardly in the corner, Beatrice slowly begins the process of tugging Ava to the nearest horizontal surface, in her mind, the couch.

But when her socked feet touch the oh so familiar rug, Ava pulls back from the kiss, hands on Beatrice's chest with the smallest of pressure.

Beatrice stops instantly, not even daring to breathe. “Ava?”

“I want this. I want you. I want so badly to be laid down on my back and have you devour me from beginning to end.” Ava says, every word escaping accompanied with a quiet whine of her own. Beatrice doesn't understand the dichotomy, if Ava wants this, then… “So I want you to listen to me carefully, as I’ve planned this out.”

“Alright?” Beatrice asks, still not quite getting it. “Whatever you want, darling. I don't want to push you.”

“You're not, baby.” Ava smiles, presses said smile against Beatrice's lips in a small, barely there kiss. “I just want to make this special for you. For us. So can you freshen up and meet me in my room? Actually, wait. Let me freshen up first then you can. Wait in your room till I give you the signal and then you’ll come out. Once you're done, get your handsome face in my room. Okay?”

Truthfully… “You sound like Agent Morgana.” Beatrice’s laugh is small at first, barely a chuckle, but it turns into giggles as Ava’s slowly forming pout. “I'm sorry. I should take you seriously.”

“You should.” Ava says, with an adorable foot stomp. “You want your present or not?”

Still laughing, Beatrice tugs Ava in for one more kiss, thankful that Ava still returns it in kind. She pulls back not long after, enjoying the adorable flush of Ava’s cheeks. 

“Darling, you are my present. You're more precious than anything I’ll ever receive.” And more worth it than anything I can ever give.

As she's come to be familiar with, Ava immediately tears up. Beatrice thinks it's such an endearing, if not heartbreaking, habit, that Ava cries whenever someone outright expresses how much they appreciate her. 

Beatrice doesn't like seeing her cry, no matter how pretty she still looks, but if it's for a good reason then…

“Why are you making me cry, we're supposed to be all horny and sexy.” Ava whines, pouting, eyes shining far brighter than the moon cascading upon Beatrice’s back and reflected back to her on Ava’s cheeks.

“This is sexy, what do you mean?” Beatrice teases, deliberately dragging her eyes down Ava’s body. Predictably stopping at her favorite part, bare supple skin peeking out gloriously for every breath Ava takes. “Oh yeah, they're very sexy.”

And that is the story of how Beatrice goes out to retrieve their forgotten food then gets banished to her room, laughing wholeheartedly all the way.

Once inside, Beatrice does as she is told, pulling out a tank that exposes her arms and a bit of her abs, as well as a loose non-descriptive boxer shorts. 

Since Ava told her to wait for her signal, Beatrice decides to indulge herself in reading just a bit of her newest book, Her Body and Other Parties, an intoxicating memoir about an author’s experience of being in an abusive same-sex relationship.  

While not as much of a horror fan as Ava— who was absolutely delighted to introduce Beatrice to the Saw franchise, only for them both to highly regret it as Beatrice had looked green in the face the entire time— Beatrice still finds herself utterly mesmerized and in awe at how effortlessly the author interwoven pre-existent classic horror tropes with bone-aching metaphors for soul-splitting thoughts.

Briefly, Beatrice entertains the idea of putting soul-splitting thoughts of her own onto papers. She’s probably nowhere near good enough to have it published, but if it helps her with this transition into this new life with Ava, then Beatrice will highly consider it. 

Luckily, she is just about wrapping up a relatively light chapter, or as light as Carmen Maria Machado can get anyway, when her phone dings with a text message. 

“All yours, baby.” The text reads, accompanied by a cute kissing emoji. Beatrice smiles to herself, shaking her head in pure fondness, before taking her clothes and walking towards the bathroom.

Anticipation at an all-time high, Beatrice moves lightning quick through her routines. Beatrice doesn’t do much, she never does, but she does make sure her hair at least looks nice and her breath smells minty fresh. 

Closing the bathroom door with a gentle thud, Beatrice makes her way over to Ava’s room, heart thundering with excitement.

Steel heart as it is, there is nothing in the world that could have prepared Beatrice for the sight behind Ava’s door.

“Holy moly…” 

While the exclamation does its job of conveying Beatrice’s surprise, it does not at all encapsulate the two-headed monster of prideful fulfillment and ravenous hunger that stirs awake in her belly. In a manner not unlike the dragon and phoenix they just came back from watching. 

The pride comes from knowing that this display of breathtaking beauty is all for her. And the hunger comes from, well, wanting Ava for herself, and only herself.

“You like what you see, baby?”

Like?

Like doesn’t even come close. As a matter of fact, it’s the furthest thing in the world. 

Beatrice is feeling so many things right now, most of them positive, and they are what drive her to move her feet forward. 

Ava, sprawled out on her stomach with her sculpted arms holding herself up, grins wider at the sight. Her body, her beautiful body donned in a dark purple lingerie set that, honest to god, drives Beatrice completely insane. 

Not knowing where to look first, Beatrice’s eyes dart everywhere they can. 

Her mind decides to go from top to bottom, meaning she first feasts her eyes on that beautiful smile she wants to kiss off, then her gorgeous hair tousled to perfection. Bare shoulders out and proud, Beatrice’s throat continues to dry to the point of being painful as she travels further down, salivating at the line of muscles decorating her bare back, only to then come to an immediate stop at what has to be the world’s flimsiest pair of thongs.

One that barely covers Ava’s perky ass. If it actually even meant to cover anything at all. 

All of that, and Beatrice is wearing a tank and boxer shorts. This is so incredibly unfair. 

“Ava…” Beatrice calls, frozen solid at the foot of the bed. Completely immobilized and overwhelmed by her desires.

This has never happened before. Because she has never loved someone as much as she wanted them.

Ava, who senses the change with eyes sharper than an eagle’s, simply eyes of a woman in love, pushes herself up by her forearms, spectacular as they are, and begins her slow, agonizing crawl across the bed.

“Yes, honey?” Ava asks, voice deliberately low and husky to pull Beatrice’s attention back to her. 

To make sure she doesn’t get lost in her head. To make sure she is comfortable in this thing they're about to do together.

“You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Beatrice manages to say, the words simultaneously easy to come out and hard to produce.

Ava appreciates them though, each praise hitting her with a vivid wave of satisfaction and pride. Her eyes twinkle as she finishes her trek, now sitting up on her hind legs as she reaches out for Beatrice.

Beatrice follows, of course she does, and allows Ava to wind her arms around her waist. Her own hands coming to rest atop Ava’s head. 

“Don’t be nervous. It’s just me.” Ava says, smoothening her palms across the rigid line of Beatrice’s back. Immediately the tension deflates, leading Beatrice to sink further into her embrace. “See? That’s my Bea.”

Breath hitching, Beatrice swallows back several other sounds. “You’re going to kill me.”

“What a way to go.” Ava grins back, hands slowly looping their way under her tank to feel the skin underneath. “Oh yes, there’s the muscles I’ve missed.”

Beatrice knows Ava feels the deep shiver running across her body, as Ava’s wide grin grows impossibly more wicked. 

That’s it. Anymore and Ava will have the ego of an inflatable balloon, and Beatrice cannot have that on her reputation. 

So, to rectify this, Beatrice simply grabs her face and kisses her soundly. Beatrice is wild and frantic in her movements, quite literally throwing herself at Ava, all the while Ava gladly opens up and lets herself be kissed to oblivion.

The kisses don’t stay chaste for long, as Beatrice gets impatient and, frankly, too riled up to control herself. She slides her tongue across Ava’s lower lip, asking for entrance, and is granted almost immediately. 

“Hmm, baby,” Ava moans, tongue darting out to meet hers. Her hands are roaming the broad of Beatrice’s back, tussling her tank further up with every second. “Take this off?”

Beatrice nods, pulling back from the kiss with a loud pop. She gets slightly distracted by the sight of Ava’s heaving chest and slick wet lips, but there are hands tugging at her tank pulling her back to reality. 

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous…” Ava praises, pupils dilating so much Beatrice can’t see the dark brown she loves so dearly anymore. 

She is aware too that this is the first time Ava has ever seen her naked, their first time in Spain happening in an almost-unrequited fashion, with Ava naked throughout and Beatrice only taking off her jacket and her pants. 

Ava can save the ogling for later, as Beatrice has better things to do, like tugging Ava back in for another kiss, this time taking advantage of the momentum and pushing Ava down on the bed. 

They fall onto the mattress with a soft grunt, one that is quickly swallowed by their lips melting against one another. 

“Bea, oh…” Ava moans at every stroke of Beatrice’s tongue, wiggling her legs to wrap them around Beatrice’s waist. “Fuck, you’re such a good kisser. You really are.”

“Is that so?” Beatrice asks, smiling into their kisses. “You have great lips. Always look like they’re begging to be kissed.”

Ava moans again, Beatrice knows now that praises work wonders on her girlfriend in so many ways. Ava’s hips have started to move against Beatrice’s, leading her to reciprocate the wordless request for friction with a slow, casual rhythm of her own.

When their crotches meet, Beatrice's vision temporarily goes white, the brief flash of pleasure almost too much to handle after holding herself back for so long.

Two months. Two so very long months. 

“Oh fuck, that feels good already.” Ava’s fingers run through her hair, their mouths never once separating. 

Beatrice’s ears grow hot, entire body flushed with pleasure, deciding to further escalate their little makeout session. 

Quietly, she takes one hand and slides it down Ava’s body, enjoying the little whimpers of pleasure that transform into a high-pitched squeak when she nears the top of her thongs.

“Are you wet for me down there, darling?” Beatrice asks, finally taking mercy and moving her lips to the slope of Ava’s neck. 

Ava’s large inhale of air is slightly stunted by a strangled moan, feeling Beatrice’s tongue licking her neck and circling around her pulse point like a wolf with its prey. Her hips move imperceptibly faster, one of the many signs of her growing neediness. 

Beatrice’s own fingers twitch with the desire to just slide into that wet spot and make Ava feel good, make her feel so good she’ll scream Beatrice's name until she physically can't anymore.

“Yeah, Bea. I’m, I’m so wet.” Ava pants out, her chest heaving and pressing against Beatrice’s own. “Touch me. You’ll see.”

Permission granted, Beatrice slides her hand further down, and the pool of heat and moisture meeting her there makes her want to faint, dizzy with desire.

“Gosh, you are soaked.” Beatrice husks, moving her lips down to Ava’s upper chest, intent on marking her anywhere she can. Her hand diligently keeps its pace, circling around and gathering wetness on her digits. “You want me to put my fingers inside you, darling?”

“Yes. Yes, Bea. I need you. I need your fingers— oh fuck that’s so good—”

Beatrice pulls back, wanting to watch. 

Beneath her, Ava is writhing in pleasure, hair wild and chest heaving, her hips moving frantically as she tries to almost suck Beatrice’s fingers into her wet, dripping pussy. 

A whine escapes Ava when Beatrice pulls away from their kiss, but it morphs back into a symphony of angelic moans when Beatrice begins to move her fingers faster. Her face scrunches up in pure pleasure as she gets fucked by Beatrice’s long fingers, easing in with just one then two. 

Her long neck stretches, skin glistening with sweat, her chest arching as she writhes. Beatrice doesn't have any other word to describe this other than that she feels so incredibly lucky. 

“You’re so tight.” Beatrice gushes, feeling herself growing wet in between her legs. She keeps up with her mantra and her speed, pushing her thighs together for the smallest friction and pleasure. “So tight. So beautiful. You’re taking me so well.”

“Bea, Bea, fuck me please— harder, harder, baby—” 

Wanting to give her the best of both worlds, Beatrice maintains her pace with her fingers stretching out Ava’s cunt, all the while moving to flip down one of her bra cups. 

Even she can’t help herself from moaning out loud at the sight of a perfect, hardened nipple, just so eager to be sucked.

Beatrice ducks, swallowing the bud in her mouth and lapping at it with her tongue. Immediately Ava’s reaction grows ten times more intense, almost thrashing wildly on the bed.

“Fuck! Fuck! I’m coming, I’m coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

At long last, Ava’s first orgasm comes with a squeak and a long, full-body shudder. 

Beatrice doesn’t let the momentum go to waste, gently pulling her fingers out and yanking Ava’s thongs right off her body, all before replacing her hand with her head.

“Oh fuck, Bea, hang on—” Ava curses, clearly tired and struggling to catch her breath. 

“Take your time, darling.” Beatrice says, tongue dutifully lapping up the cum that soaks Ava’s inner thighs, earning another startled moan from above her. “I just want to taste you. I’ve missed how delicious you tasted. How delectable you are.”

Ava doesn’t object, occupied with running her fingers along the lines of Beatrice’s scalp, scratching, earning a pleased moan that echoes in between her legs. 

“You look so pretty like this, Bea. Your head in between my legs, my cum on your mouth.” Beatrice opens her eyes and looks up, breathless at Ava’s look of sensuality and blatant desire staring back at her. “I’m ready. You can… you can go back— oh fuck, yeah, yeah that’s it!”

While her mouth is busy with sucking Ava’s clit, Beatrice doesn’t let her hands go idle, moving to cradle Ava’s beautiful breasts. They’re so full and feel so good, Beatrice can almost die in happiness right then and there.

Alas, she needs to concentrate on making Ava feel good, so she drives her tongue faster and takes one of her hands back to assist Ava with her second orgasm. 

Slowly but surely, with her tongue working in overtime and her other hand toying with a perky nipple over the fabric, Ava’s gorgeous thighs wrapped around her head begin to shake, Ava reaching her orgasm with a quieter, but no less satisfied series of moans.

Not wanting to push her too hard, though Beatrice highly doubts Ava won’t be able to take it, Beatrice slowly moves back, wiping at her chin with the stub of her wrist. 

For some reason, Beatrice decides to stick out her tongue for a taste, humming in delight at the sweet and sour tingling her mouth. Ava always tastes the same everywhere, but the knowledge of where she went and what she did to get this particular variation just fills Beatrice’s inside with butterflies.

“Bea…” 

Her name jolting her out of her daze, Beatrice looks back up to a pouting Ava. 

That's not quite right. Did she do something wrong? “Yes, darling?”

“You're still clothed.” Ava says, almost whining, tugging and glaring at her boxers like they just gravely wronged her. In a way, she supposes it did. 

“And so are you.” Beatrice smiles, teasing, only to have the tables flipped on her own head when Ava simply flicks a finger at the front claps and tosses her bralette to the side. 

Even if she’s seen one just now, having both glorious breasts, sweating and heaving, right there in front of her is just… 

“Ah-ah, you don’t get to suck my tits if you don’t take off your boxers.”

Blinking, realizing she has been leaning back down to, indeed, suck on Ava’s breasts, stopped by a hand palming her forehead, Beatrice can only sit back and pout.

If anything, Ava looks even more offended at her reaction, crossing her arms and hiding her bosoms away.

“Nuh uh, mister, you get your pants off or no boobs for you.”

“But…” Beatrice pouts harder, jutting her lower lip out exactly like how she’s seen Ava done it. 

Alas, unlike Beatrice who would always fold for Ava’s every whims, Ava has an otherworldly sense of resilience. 

Resigning to her fate, Beatrice goes to remove her boxers, anxiety growing at the thought of showing her bare private underneath.

Ava wants this though. So she’ll do it.

Her hands go to her waistband, prepared to pull them off, when suddenly gentle, smaller hands come to grasp her wrists.

Looking up, Beatrice meets concerned eyes.

“Wait, Bea. Are you really uncomfortable with this?” Ava asks, somehow having teleported all the way from the top of the bed to almost sitting in Beatrice’s lap. “You don’t have to. Really, I was just messing around. I didn’t know this was so serious.”

“It’s not.” Beatrice snaps, regretting immediately when a flash of hurt passes over Ava’s face. “Shit, no. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Ava shakes her head, trying for her typical sunny smile. “It’s okay.” It’s not, how can it be? When her smile doesn’t at all reach her eyes? “Do you want to tell me?”

“Yeah.” Beatrice sighs, shuffling so she actually brings Ava into sitting in her lap. A part of her unease melts at the smallest squeak escaping Ava’s mouth, which then morphs into that familiar pout Beatrice loves. “Sorry. I just want you close.”

“I’m already naked, you can stop flattering me.” Ava says, smiling like a goof with her cheeks flushed in delight. Her arms move to their familiar spot, winding around Beatrice’s neck and tugging so their foreheads press against each other. “I’m here. Tell me.”

Beatrice takes a large inhale, comforting herself by Ava’s natural scent, heightened by a layer of sweat. 

“It’s really nothing big. I’m just not a fan of receiving, and taking off my pants always makes me feel pressured to let my partner reciprocate.”

It sounds silly in her head, even sillier spoken out loud, but Ava doesn’t at all act like it is. She listens, she nods, and then she tilts her head up by the chin.

“You know that’s okay, right?” Beatrice blinks, wordlessly asking for clarification. “That you don’t like being touched like that. You deserve to be comfortable any way you want, without being burdened by someone else’s expectations.”

“I… I know that.” She does. She really does. “It’s just… Ava, most people I’m in this situation with, I wouldn’t see them more than once. So I would rather not disappoint them too much.”

Ava frowns, like what Beatrice just said makes absolutely no sense. 

“That makes zero sense.” 

See? 

“And no, I don’t mean it like I’m invalidating your feelings. I do, I understand where you come from, but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel that way. This isn’t just sex for us, Bea. This is us making love. I would rather we don’t do this at all if you can’t be here with me fully.”

Beatrice swallows, suddenly afraid. “What… what do you mean?”

“I mean…” Ava emphasizes, soothes the burning ache before it even sparks, leaning down for a brief, gentle kiss. “I want you to be at your most comfortable. So you can keep your boxers on if you want. Sex is supposed to be fun and enjoyable for the both of us, Bea. I won’t push you just because I think you’re crazy hot and would like to see you naked.”

There wasn’t really a reason for her to be worried, and yet, what Ava said at the end still makes Beatrice sigh with relief, her breath hitting Ava’s lips and making her giggle. 

Suddenly, an idea pops into her head.

“What would you say to me wearing a strap?” Beatrice asks, only getting back a bewildered blink. “You mentioned it earlier. Is that something you’re interested in?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Ava nods several times, adorably eager.

Beatrice smiles, unease melting away again. “I can wear a harness, that way it’ll feel like I’m still wearing my boxers—”

“—and I’ll get to make you feel good too.” Ava finishes for her, body wiggling in anticipation. “That’s a great idea. I have one in my drawer.” At Beatrice’s quirked eyebrow, Ava shrugs. “I like to experiment, and they’re cleaned every month, I promise.”

Deciding not to think about that for too long, lest she gets distracted again, Beatrice gently picks Ava up off her lap then slides off the bed. 

Having never been in Ava’s room before, Beatrice fumbles a bit finding the right drawer, but eventually locating it with Ava’s instruction. 

Like Ava said, the strap is snugly put in one of the many drawers of her wardrobe. Only, Ava has failed to mention just how many toys she has in there.

Again, trying to not get distracted, Beatrice zeroes her eyes in on the singular black strap and its accompanying harness. Having not had a lot of experience, Beatrice struggles a bit to put on the harness then inserts the actual dildo, but ultimately finding the experience not at all uncomfortable.

She just hopes she doesn’t look ridiculous with a plastic dick sticking out of her.

Turning around, Beatrice braces herself for Ava’s reaction, whatever it may look like. 

“Fuck, Bea. I’ve always thought you were hot, but wearing that, you look downright delicious.” Ava downright gushes, her jaw dropped halfway to her chest, her cheeks flushed and her chest even heaving in clear breath shortage.

Well. That is certainly a positive, left-no-room-to-interpret-otherwise, sort of reaction. Exactly what Beatrice was hoping for, but almost didn’t dare to think she would get.

“You really think so?” She asks, one arm crossing to hold the other elbow. It’s not a self-hug, not quite, but the closest Beatrice will ever get to this sort of indulgence.

Whether she senses her insecurities or not, Ava doesn’t show it, eagerly nodding like the adorable, hyper excited ray of sunshine she always is. 

“I love you.” Ava says, earnestly. Beatrice is almost taken aback by how sincere and heartfelt that feels. “I love you, and I would love you no matter what you wear, Bea.”

When Ava says it like that, looking like she means it so wholeheartedly, then what else can Beatrice do but say it back.

“I love you too. More than anything and anyone.” Beatrice says it back, climbing onto the bed and once again pulling Ava into her lap.

Ava goes willingly, mouth parting at the first graze of the dildo against her entrance.

Beatrice watches, almost mesmerized, as Ava takes the dildo in her own hand and aligns it right, before slowly sinking herself down onto the strap.

“Fuck, that's good. That's really good.” Ava pants, legs slowly working her hips, a hypnotizing motion that gets Beatrice almost dizzy with desire. “I love you, Bea. I love you so much. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.”

“I love you. You make me feel brave.” Beatrice praises, eyes trying to take in everything at once, the heat in her belly rising alongside the other end of the dildo sliding into her as well. “Fuck, Ava, darling…”

Her hips rocking, Ava ducks down for a kiss that Beatrice gladly returns, the only sounds in the room being the quiet squelching of their hips smacking together and their passionate kissing.

Beatrice's hands start to roam, freely enjoying the vast expanse of skin offered to her. She reaches behind to hold onto Ava’s ass, to squeeze her perky ass cheeks and dig her nails in to drive Ava’s hips faster.

“Fuck, fuck, that's it, baby. Keep touching me like that.” Ava pants, still unwilling to part from her lips. “I love you. I love how you touch me, how you care for me, how you protect me, how you make me feel so good, so good.”

“Yes, yes, I love you. I love making you feel good.” Beatrice pants up, winded and breathless for two entirely separate reasons. Her hands move on their own accord, sending a resounding smack on Ava’s ass cheeks. “You like that? You like being spanked like that?”

In response, Ava moans louder, her bouncing growing more and more frantic. 

“Yes! Yes! Again, please, spank me, spank me raw— oh fuck!”

Ava’s moaning is getting so loud and broken that they can't keep on kissing, Ava needing her mouth to breathe as she keeps bouncing on Beatrice's strap. 

Instead, Beatrice finds better use of her mouth, trailing down the slick wet line of Ava’s neck and traveling to her favorite pair of breasts.

Optimizing all three for maximum pleasure, Beatrice sucks a hard nipple in her mouth the same time as she sends another smack onto Ava’s ass and thrusts her hips up in a particularly deep curve.

The result is immediate, Ava arching her back and coming violently, moans of primal pleasure ripped out of her throat like they hurt.

Beatrice isn't done, graciously letting Ava take a bit of a break before sitting up, rounding Ava in her arms and pinning her to the bed.

“Fuck, Beatrice…” Ava yelps, though her intention is made clear with how she immediately moves her hands down to grip Beatrice's ass. “Fuck, what a tight ass. God, I can touch you forever.”

Emboldened by the praise, Beatrice gets on moving, thrusting her hips and driving the strap into Ava once more.

“Yes, yes, right there, baby. Fuck, harder.” Ava keeps on chanting, synchronizing it with every squeeze of Beatrice's ass. “Pound that into me. That's it, that's it, baby. God you look so fucking good, you feel so good inside me.”

“Ava, Ava— I’m coming, I’m close—” Beatrice pants, her own forearms buckling and having to lean into Ava’s neck. Her hips don't stop moving, driving the strap into Ava’s pussy in an unforgiving pace, the other end having a similar effect on her approaching orgasm, made all the more intense hearing Ava moan deliciously in her ear. “Ava, Ava—”

“Right there, right there!” Ava winds one arm around her neck, scratching her nails against her scalp. “God, fuck, fuck, Beatrice, Beatrice— come for me, baby. I want to see you come with me.”

And Beatrice does, with a quiet whimper of Ava’s name and her vision going white.

Ava holds her throughout it all, leaving gentle, petal kisses on her face, her own release equally as shattering as the last.

Ava holds her and onto her just the same for the rest of the night, their lovemaking only growing more and more passionate and skillful as the moon rises high.

It’s not until very late that they both decide to call a timeout, and despite how much Ava whines and huffs about it, Beatrice insists they clean up properly before they sleep the rest of the night and the most part of next morning in each other's embrace.

After two very quick, separate, showers, as well as tossing the soaked bed sheets into the laundry, in a routine that feels just as practiced as the last, Beatrice slides in underneath the blanket and immediately Ava follows, head tucked comfortably in the crook of her neck.

“I love you.” Ava says one more time, already halfway to dozing off.

“I love you.” And Beatrice lets her sleep, for soon she will join her in her dreams, where they’ll get to live out even more lives side by side, never to be apart again.

In this life and the next.

—

(“Hear me out.”

“For the last time, we’re not having sex wearing our glasses, Ava. Think of Shannon.”

“I just think Shannon would appreciate the tips.” 

“Ava!”)

—

As scheduled, Beatrice and Ava go back to work precisely a week later.

It should be the heated topic of the month as to how Beatrice hadn't managed to crawl her way back into Cat’s Cradle sooner, but it looks like everyone and their mother is caught up on her new relationship status as well as her new mailing address, if the lack of teasing in her inbox anything to go by.

Beatrice has a suspicion they're all just waiting for them to meet in-person again, which just so happens to be today, to start.

Which is also why Beatrice makes sure to swing by The Coffee House to place an abundance of orders, all about ready to stoop low into the land of bribery if it means she won't get teased to death at eight in the morning.

Ava has been giving her looks of amusement ever since they set foot into the cafe, paused for a brief moment to chat with an ever-so cheerful Caitlyn, before going back to it once they step back out with bags of pastries and drinks ladened in their hands. 

Handing a croissant to their cabbie, who takes it with a familiar grateful smile, Beatrice then sits back and turns to Ava, who, still, is staring at her. 

“What is it?” She asks, leaning against the seat. 

Ava takes it as automatic permission, which it sorta is, and scootches closer. Navigating the boundaries between domestic partners and work partners is promising to be tricky, so Beatrice and Ava both have decided on testing the waters together, preferring to be professional when in official business.

The cabbie is, apparently, not official business, thus Ava snuggling in under her arm. Honestly, Beatrice doesn’t mind, even if their cabbie is giving her meaningful glances from the rear mirror. 

He’s seen too much. She should kill him.

“Bea?” Her name is what pulls her out of her homicidal thoughts— not a sentence she gets to say every day, for the record— looking down into curious brown eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Beatrice frowns, apologetic. “I’m sorry, darling. I was in my head. What was your question?”

Ava’s brows furrow, her nose scrunched up all adorably. “I was asking, if this is what you do every time you return to work.” 

In case the message didn’t go through, Ava gestures to the spread of goodies neatly stored in a concealment secret drawer in the wall of the cab. Beatrice lets out an oh of understanding, followed by a light chuckle.

“It depends. I believe I told you I was undercover for quite a while just before I met you?” Ava nods, confirming. “Well, even before that, I didn’t spend a lot of time here in England. It holds a lot of bad memories for me, so I try to get out as often as I can.”

A sympathetic, albeit sad, smile stretches Ava’s lips into a thin line, one that Beatrice really wants to kiss away. She would have, had it not been for eyes watching. 

Gossips, all of them.

“Besides,” Beatrice starts, contemplating whether she should say the rest of her thoughts out loud. Ava picks up on her hesitation, perceptive and considerate as always, strokes across her biceps, offering silent comfort.

They're both wearing their bespoke suits to work for the first time today as well, ash gray and dark blue with their spectacles folded on their breast pocket. 

Beatrice has always thought of Ava as attractive, unbelievably so, but seeing Ava donning an outfit that Beatrice has come to consider her second skin, it fills Beatrice's insides with schools of butterflies and moths alike.

Ava’s beautiful, and Beatrice gets to do this thing, living their best life and saving the world, together with her.

“It can't hurt bribing them so they would give us a new mission together.” Beatrice just hopes their time together brings Ava the same amount of joy as it does her.

Proving her right, Ava’s eyes almost sparkle in elation. “You really want that? You want to keep going on missions with me?”

Beatrice nods, knowing what Ava is asking for. “I do. You're brilliant and witty, not to mention extremely resourceful. I like spending time with you regardless, but getting to work with you has also been a genuinely wonderful experience. I don't know how much experience you’ve had working with other agents,” 

Ava shakes her head no, mouths zero. “Oh. Well then, I hope I make your first experience a pleasure all the same.”

“Bea, you're always a pleasure.” Ava grins, her smile teasing but her eyes saying so much more. The double entendres does nothing to hide how much it means for Ava that Beatrice recognizes her as a capable agent as well. “And I feel the same. Working with you is a blast, and plus, you're especially sexier while on the field.”

That last bit is emphasized with a wink, one that is the perfect combination between saucy and cuteness that it makes Beatrice cave in, bringing their mouths together for a gentle kiss.

It's totally worth it to see the cabbie driver giving her a sly eyebrow wiggle, if only for the way Ava’s cheeks flush pink and eyes so incredibly happy.

The light atmosphere persists even as they arrive at Cat’s Cradle. 

Hand in hand, Beatrice and Ava make their way up to the dining room, after handing Yasmine her own bag of goodies and promising to entertain her questions about their relationship at a later time.

The reaction that they get from their fellow knights right upon the entry point is simultaneously shocking and not.

“Hah! I bloody knew it! Hand me my money!”

What was that saying about manners maketh man? Because while she does not see a man in this room, Beatrice also can't find a single shred of manners.

Stretched out in their familiar chairs, Mary on the left, Suzanne at the head, and Camila and Lilith on the right, the first of which is leaping out of her seat with her index finger pointing at a disgruntled third.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Lilith’s mouth drops in indignance, the full force of her scowl aimed at Beatrice and Beatrice alone. She just got here, for crying out loud. “Galahad, I cannot believe you would do this to me.”

Sighing, Beatrice gently ushers Ava in, deliberately ignoring her own girlfriend's amused stare and giggle.

“Before I get into whatever's going on with you,” Pushing in Ava’s chair for her, putting her next to Camila, who immediately extends a hand for a fist bump that is instantly reciprocated, Beatrice goes to distribute the bags of TCH goodies. “How about some breakfast and coffee?”

Lilith hums, her facade holding on for a mere second longer before snatching her bag right out of Beatrice's hand. “This is bribery.” 

“It's a croissant and your regular black coffee.” Beatrice corrects, sliding another bag of egg tarts and steaming hot matcha over to Camila, who mouths a thank you, and an iced latte for Ava, earning an air kiss that makes her preen. 

Turning back, Beatrice moves around the table, two more to go. “Arthur, Guinevere, these are yours.”

Another black coffee and a sandwich. “Thank you, Galahad.” 

A sausage strudel and hot Irish tea. “Nice. Thanks kiddo.”

Satisfied, Beatrice goes to sit down, intending on starting on her own steaming cup of tea.

Her lips just barely touch the rim when familiar footsteps echo from the door, the newcomer’s presence pulling all attention from everyone in the room like magnets.

“Good morning, knights.” With Shannon’s gentle smile washing over them, the effect is immediate.

“Good morning, Merlin.” Suzanne greets first, followed by everyone with similar variations of the same saying. “On time as always. Please come in.”

As Shannon makes her way, Beatrice takes a moment to take in the statuses of her team.

It's nice to see that Lilith and Mary both are recovering well, the former still sadly having to wear a cast on her shoulder and the latter’s face bruises gradually fading away. 

Camila, whose hands are still wrapped in bandages, no longer looks like she's struggling to move around, and the scar on Suzanne’s face is also healing nicely, making her look even more intimidating. Which, in Beatrice's experience, can only mean a good thing in their beloved mother figure’s eyes.

“I believe I was overhearing about a certain bet as I was getting here.” 

Attention pulled back, Beatrice aims a scowl at everyone present. “What I can't believe is you all betting on my love life like a bunch of middle schoolers.” 

Shannon huffs, hand on her chest in pure offense. 

“Excuse you, I had nothing to do with this. I only just found out this morning that you and Morgana hooked up that night at Jamie’s.”

“And I only knew it because she knows it.” Lilith points, clearly annoyed she was kept out of the loop. Her ire moves towards Mary and Camila, who are suspiciously quiet when Beatrice knows for a fact they knew beforehand. “And you two?”

“Actually Galahad told me and I told Merlin.” The only word that can describe Mary’s smile right now is smug, rightfully earning the plastic fork Lilith throws at her face.

“I honestly don't know how you guys didn't know.” Camila says, munching happily on her egg tart. Next to her, Ava remains the personification of quiet amusement. “They've been eye fucking each other the entire time.”

At such a blatant callout, Beatrice's entire face flushed red. “You didn't even meet Morgana until recently!” 

Not at all helping, Ava joins the rest of them in laughing at Beatrice's slowly reddening face. Even Suzanne is laughing, albeit more polite.

Camila turns to her with the most disapproving, deadpan look she has ever given, almost making Beatrice want to shrink in her seat.

“Galahad. Beatrice.” Hey now, is the real name necessary? “I could hear it in your voice. You don't do all that cooking and grabbing coffee takeouts to make it up to a simple client who you accidentally upset. You were down bad from the get-go.”

While Mary and Lilith howl in the background, Ava looks at her with a faux emotional pout.

“Aww, Bea. Ever since then?”

“You shush.” Like you don't know I fell for you the first second we met. I just didn’t allow myself to fall for you until way later. “Point is, whatever you win from your bet, half of it goes to me.” Beatrice pauses, purely for suspense and dramatic effects. “So I can take Morgana out on a date.”

Shannon squeals, like a schoolgirl, then frowns. “Wait. Didn't you just have one?”

Beatrice opens her mouth, pauses as the flush comes back with vengeance. “Morgana took me, actually.”

Lilith’s howling intensifies, while Mary poorly tries to cover hers with her hand over her mouth.

“Domesticated.” Mary coughs, earning an elbow to the ribs. “I’m right, dammit!”

At long last, Suzanne intervenes, wearing an expression so tired, it's honestly a miracle she hasn't aged ten years older in the last ten minutes.

“Language, please. Where is the decorum in this building.”

“It went out via the fire exit the day you hired this one, I’m afraid.” Shannon teases, nudging at Mary and earning an endeared squawk. 

“You all love me like this.” Beatrice opens her mouth to refute that, but Mary is bulldozing over her and switching targets. “And you, Morgana, square up and get yourself ready for a shovel talk later.”

“A what—” “Okay!”

Betrayed and bamboozled, Beatrice whips her head around to find a sweetly smiling Ava.

“Percival is texting Michael. Michael is texting Dr. Salvius.” Camila informs, or rather, tattles. 

Lilith doesn't seem to mind, nodding solemnly. 

“Galahad will get a PDF of sorts in her inbox soon, knowing Jillian. That woman might be a bit slow on the self-defense uptake, but my god she is protective of her children.”

“What would you know about Jillian’s protectiveness? Me and Lancelot got a major earful for just telling her Morgana is, well, Morgana.” Mary points out with a grunt, sympathized by a nodding Camila.

Beatrice actually hasn't heard a lot about that. Ava did end up staying on the phone for a while with Jillian the morning after they first came home, but she didn't know if three hours were cause for concern. 

Regardless, the point remains. Which is that— 

“You all are insufferable.”

As the room once again bursts into laughter, Ava juts out her bottom lip.

“Aww, Bea, come on. I think they're pretty sweet.”

“Hard agree, brother.” Camila giggles, offering another fist bump, reciprocated with a toothy grin in company. 

Beatrice huffs, once again betrayed, by her own family and girlfriend nonetheless. “See if I’ll ever get any food and coffee for you again.”

“Don't kid around, we all know these are bribes so you would get assigned on duo missions with Morgana.” 

Beatrice opens her mouth to refute this false, baseless accusation, even though she literally was just telling Ava this was her intention from the get-go, but Shannon cuts her off.

“And while they are appreciated, they are also unnecessary, as we’ve got a brand new mission for you.”

Immediately, everyone in the room straightens, ears perked and eyes laser focus.

Shannon nods in approval, that familiar gleam of delight never once fails to boost their morals as a team.

“Glasses on, gentlemen.”

Despite the prompting, Shannon doesn’t immediately go into details of what their next mission would be. Beatrice doesn’t mind, loves hearing what her fellow knights are up to next, quietly relieved that Lilith won’t be sent out into the field right away, but instead relegated to a cargo escort mission from Newcastle all the way to The Carribeans. 

Mary and Camila will also be traveling the world once more, the former going to Sweden for some corporate sleuthing and the latter to follow up on a previous case in Scotland, presumably gone cold but the new trail of evidence states otherwise. 

“And last but not least, Morgana and Galahad.” Shannon says, smiling a little too meaningfully. “Your mission is to escort a little boy who’s been taken far away from his family and now wants nothing more than to be reunited with them.”

Beatrice nods slowly, wondering what’s the catch. Ava doesn’t seem to notice the unusualness, eagerly looking on in excitement.

Then, Shannon turns to Beatrice.

“Galahad, do you perhaps remember the teenaged boy that you hugged goodbye on your undercover stint in Greece?”

Blinking, the memory spurs back to the forefront of her mind like it was yesterday.

Reinforcements had just arrived shortly after Beatrice had gotten the train to stop. She was just helping unload the captured children from their prison car when Diego, scrawny and lanky as he was, tugged on her sleeves and shyly asked if he could give her a hug.

Normally Beatrice wouldn’t stay long enough to be requested of such a thing, but something about Diego’s dark brown eyes, sad and in need of affection after being deprived of it for so long, tugged at her own heartstrings.

So she knelt down, dirty pantsuit be damned, and hugged Diego tightly. 

Deciding to give a short answer, Beatrice simply nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Truth be told, Beatrice hasn’t thought of Diego in a while now, too frenzied with Ava’s protective detail and everything that happened afterwards. She had hoped that he would be returned home safely or at least be taken somewhere he would be well taken care of, but knowing this new mission, perhaps something else had happened.

The thought makes her heart hurt.

Shannon continues, unfazed.

“Well, you appeared to have made quite an impression, as he specifically requested you to be the agent that brings him home.”

“Oh. Alright. I’d be honored.” Beatrice says eagerly, nodding several times to express the sentiment.

Smiling, Shannon nods at her in approval. “Good.” 

Then, Shannon looks down at Ava, whose eyes are bright with curiosity and excitement all the same.

“Agent Morgana, I know you will want to join Galahad anyway, but this is also a mission you wouldn’t want to miss regardless.” 

Ava’s brows furrow in confusion. So do Beatrice’s.

“I appreciate the opportunity to work with Galahad like I wanted, but what makes you say that latter part?”

At the question, Shannon’s smile blossoms into a grin. Beatrice takes a quick look at Suzanne, whose face frustratingly betrays nothing.

What are they up to?

“Well, it’s interesting how small the world works.” Shannon says, hand hovering over her digital tablet, the screen behind her still showing Camila’s mission details. “I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten the name St. Michael for The Disadvantaged Youth?”

Frown slowly deepening, Ava replies. “I remember. That’s the orphanage I grew up in. What about it?”

Shannon nods, not at all affected by Ava’s increasing impatience. “Does the name Diego ring a bell to you?

What did she just say? 

“Yes. Diego was my best friend. We lost contact after Jillian adopted me. I heard vaguely that the orphanage had to shut down a few years later due to the government conducting internal investigations into the sisters’ abuse and pulling out funding as a result.”

Whatever flabbergasted look that is there on Beatrice’s face must be attention-catching enough that Shannon readily pauses her speech to let her cut in.

“Morgana, did you just say your childhood best friend’s name was Diego?”

Ava nods, blinking wildly at Beatrice now. “Yes, what does that have to do— no fucking way.” 

Ava may have said the last part out loud, but Beatrice echoes it all the same underneath her breath, the two of them shell shocked as they look up at the digital screen and see for themselves, a portrait of Diego’s smiling face, a little worn-out but undeniably healthier since the time Beatrice saved him.

“Exactly.” Shannon nods. “The boy Galahad saved was, in fact, Morgana’s childhood best friend. You last saw him when you were twelve and he was five. Diego is sixteen now. Thanks to that one techie in our lab who found out about this.”

That’s eleven years in between. Oh god, what happened to him throughout all that time?

“Does he know?” Ava asks, eyes brimming with tears. “Does he know that I’m…”

After a long while of silence, Suzanne finally speaks up.

“We did not let him know. We figured this would make a nice surprise for the boy, if you’re up to delivering the message yourself, Agent Morgana.”

Almost leaping out of her chair, eyes definitely sparkling too much to not mean actual tears, Ava can only nod in succession. Beatrice’s heart feels like melting, breaking even, when she looks around and sees nothing but the softness in her own eyes reflected back in the faces of everyone she loves.

It occurs to her then, how much it means to have the people she considers family to adore the person she loves more than anything. She would have never had that had she stayed with her parents. 

In a way, Beatrice is glad for everything that happened the way it did. No matter that it hurt, it hurt so badly that made her feel like the world was genuinely coming to an end, for this, for her, Beatrice would go through it all over again. 

That’s right. Ava looks at her, eyes shining and heart alight. Beatrice’s own heart quivers in return, nodding, hoping it says more she can. I wouldn’t change this for anything.

“As a disclaimer, I should hope you both know to not engage in any funny business on the jet. I wouldn’t even know what to say to the cleaners.”

And just like that, the tension in the room pops like a balloon, familiar rings of laughter spreading like wildfire. 

It’s enough. This is enough.

To live. To laugh. To love. Even getting to save the world a few times in between.

What more can Beatrice possibly ever ask for?

—