#Casper I've given you everything you asked for and nothing I intended

[thelastwarriornun]

24 for avatrice?

Bang. Bang.

Beatrice’s ears ring with it in the absence of Ava’s shouting, or the shrill clicks and shrieks of the clicker. Beatrice’s breaths are a loud rasping thing, only  interrupted by the rhythmic wet tap, whether from the recently deceased clicker, or her own injuries Beatrice isn't sure. 

It comes back in fragments. Ava, patrol, the creek trails, all very routine. Nothing Beatrice would consider even a challenge. They’d found broken glass, and a fresh trail of blood leading them into a local minimart. Unusual certainly, but they were experienced with this. The building was old, rot having set in from all the moisture, another commonality. 

All very routine, until the floor had given way, wood shrieking and splitting as it collapsed, taking Ava with it. A gaping hole left in its stead. Beatrice remembers shouting, dropping onto her stomach with an outstretched hand as if she could undo the damage. She remembers sliding through the fractured wood, and dropping despite the height ignoring the ache in her knees. 

It wasn’t until Beatrice had landed, taking in the dark room around her, that she heard it. The telltale clicks and shrieks of a clicker. Beatrice's hand barely finds her holster before it’s there just two feet from Ava, Ava who’s groans come with tightly closed eyes, still reeling from the world falling out from under her.

It was too close. Too close to take a shot without putting Ava at risk. Too close to do anything except shield Ava from the fevered snap of jaws. It was an easy choice to make. It was the only choice. It doesn’t make it any less painful, Beatrice throwing herself into the shambling form, as teeth tear and rip through her shoulder, taking flesh and fabric indiscriminately.  Well this will be much harder to cover up with a chemical burn. 

Beatrice somehow manages to find her pistol, pressing the barrel against the clicker's head. Well head was probably overly generous, whatever once resembled a skull had given way now to the fungus blooming into something bright orange and ovular shaped. Beatrice fires twice, two shots in quick succession that spray blood and flecks of fungus against the ceiling. They fall together, and the clicker makes for a terrible cushion, smelling of rot, and full of varying lumps, manifestations of the infection. 

So Beatrice finds herself rolling off the infected, a groan on her lips as her back collides with cold tile, ears ringing. “Fuck.” It felt like an appropriate time for cursing.

“Beatrice.” Ava’s voice is faint, confused, likely still regaining her senses.  

Beatrice finds that pushing herself upright is a losing game, her right hand useless between the painful ache in her muscles, and the slick sticky puddle of blood now coating the tile. Right then, laying will have to do.  

“Beatrice!” More urgent now, and hands are on her. They’re gentle, as they pull Beatrice up, propping her against a nearby wall as Ava tries to fix something that can’t be mended. “This isn’t– it can't be– it’s from falling right? It didn’t bite you?” 

Beatrice laughs, a wet sound, ignoring the waves of pain that echo from her shoulder. Even she can see the distinct rows of teeth now memorialized in the cut of her shoulder. “Ava listen to me.” 

“Shut the fuck up Beatrice. Just give me a second to think.” Ava tears her flannel open, buttons scattering across the floor as Ava turns it into a bandage.

“That was one of my favorites.” Beatrice’s complaint is quiet, but Ava scowls all the same, tying the fabric in a tight knot against the open flesh, as Beatrice grits her teeth. 

“Now you want to be funny. You’ve barely said a word to me this entire patrol. But now you can’t seem to shut up.” Ava’s tone is harsh but her hands are gentle as they grip onto the front of Beatrice’s t-shirt. “That should slow the bleeding. Maybe I can buy us some time. They won’t come looking for a few hours–” 

“Ava stop.” Beatrice manages to catch Ava’s hands, hates the way they threaten to slip away between her own red stained fingers. Still Beatrice holds fast, and really this would be so much easier if the edges of her vision would stop blurring. “I have to tell you something, and I need you to promise me you won’t speak until I’ve finished.” 

“Beatrice there isn’t time.” Ava protests, and Beatrice can see it’s a losing battle, understands it really. Even now Beatrice finds herself caught between this moment, and a dream, a time when Beatrice’s curses were interrupted with inappropriate laughter, and the rising swell of grief. We’ll lose our minds together. 

It was so many years ago, and yet here Beatrice was. Once again watching love turn someone to insanity. Except this time Beatrice can stop it, can quell the rising tide, be the stormbreak she couldn’t before. 

Beatrice’s good hand slides along the curve of Ava’s arm, finding its way to the knape of her neck. It catches there, fingers tangling in the hairs that have escaped Ava’s ponytail. It seems silly now, their fight earlier, thinly veiled jealousy rearing its ugly head in both of them, Ava jealous over a girl Beatrice hadn’t spoken to in weeks. Beatrice, already steeling herself for the next time Ava makes up with Michael. They’ve been doing this dance for years, too afraid to speak plainly lest it ruin this. 

“Bea.” It escapes in a sob, Ava’s breath warm against Beatrice’s cheek. 

Fingers press against the knape of Ava’s neck, and Beatrice closes her eyes, unwilling to see the rejection she might find, or even worse, a reflection of herself all those years ago. Ava’s lips are soft, gentle, as if Ava’s worried she might break her. But Beatrice has spent years damming her own want and desire, and the soft press of Ava’s lips is enough to send the whole of it crashing down. Beatrice’s fingers are no longer gentle, as she surges forward, as much as the press of Ava’s body will allow, nipping at Ava’s bottom lip. 

Beatrice swallows a gasp against her lips, as Ava’s palms press flat against her chest, as if torn between returning the kiss, or pushing her away. Beatrice retreats, opening her eyes, expecting to find rejection. Instead Ava is afire, eyes wide, stuck somewhere between desire and grief, the two twisting together until Beatrice can hardly read the difference. Beatrice doesn’t make it far, only softens the press of her fingers against Ava’s neck when the tension of indecision seems to snap, and it’s Ava this time who closes the gap, molding their lips together. 

Beatrice's head bumps painfully against the wall, but she’d do it a hundred more times to keep Ava’s lips against her own. Ava’s hands cup along each side of her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw. And fuck immunity, fuck dying, because Beatrice is sure that there’s nothing she wants more than to fade into oblivion like this, with the press of Ava’s lips against her own, and the thud of her own heartbeat filling her ears. 

Ava’s hand slips down along her neck, and Beatrice hisses from between clenched teeth at the sharp wave of pain that rolls through her. But Beatrice doesn’t want to lose this, the starstruck look in Ava’s eyes, or the clench of her hands in Beatrice’s tattered shirt. So Beatrice smirks,” if I’d have known that would shut you up I would’ve tried that years ago.” 

“You should’ve.” Ava doesn't miss a beat. 

“Who’s being funny now?” Beatrice pauses sucking in a breath. The weight of years of secrecy, of hiding was a tough vow to break. Especially when so many people had paid the cost to keep it so. 

“I don’t want you to die.” Ava’s voice is soft, tears glistening even in the dim light of the basement, and Beatrice hears it again, an echo of the past, I cannot watch you die. We’ll go together then. 

“I’m not going to turn Ava.” Beatrice flips her arm displaying the fully healed tattoo on her arm, biting back a laugh when Ava scowls. 

“Really? You want to show off your stupid tattoo now?” 

“Not the tattoo, the burn. I’m immune, Ava.” It falls flat, and Beatrice presses a hand to Ava’s cheek forcing her to look at her before she can withdraw much. “I’m serious Ava. The only people who know are Mary, Shannon, and Suzanne. I was bit back in the QZ, that’s how I met Shannon and Mary. It was a long time ago, they were worried how people might react so that’s how I got the chemical burn. I’m going to be fine.” 

It’s not much, a flicker of something, hope, in the softening lines of Ava’s face. “Swear to me.” 

Beatrice doesn’t look away, simply brushes her thumb across the remaining trail of moisture along Ava’s cheek. “I swear. Assuming we make it out of this, I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay then.” Ava glances around, frowning slightly as she straightens up, as if just now recognizing the gravity of the situation. Ava extends an arm to Beatrice, who takes it with a grimace allowing herself to be pulled upright. “Don’t think bleeding out will stop you from having to talk about that kiss.” 

Beatrice laughs, ignoring the way the world seems to tilt beneath her as they look for an exit. Because of course Ava would take this in stride, and god Beatrice would do it again, throw herself into the jaws of a monster if it meant spending just another day with her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”