Chapter Text
"Ashe…"
"I promise you'll like it. Just, indulge me. 'kay?"
She frowns at her. Her mouth's less swollen now, which is natural, because it's almost been a week since the night they confronted Talon at the museum – but it also makes the fading bruise that much more pronounced, and not for the first time, Ashe wants to kiss it away.
It isn't how it works. But she keeps smiling at her regardless, camaraderie for the gift she's offering in spite of Amélie's denial, her eye roll, her now frown. Actually it's less the gift and more the fact she's asked her to close her eyes as she leads her through the door to it that's the problem, and her spider's still not one for surprises.
But it doesn't work otherwise. She needs to see her react. Needs her to just—
Amélie sighs, like it's still the worst request in the world, and holds out her hands in her direction. Allowing, winning… both kind of the same, really. It's only when Ashe has taken them that Amélie closes her eyes, and the outlaw sticks her tongue mischievously between her teeth.
"I saw that."
"No you didn't."
"I know," Amélie says, as Ashe takes the opportunity to pull her along, "what you are like."
She chuckles. "And you like me?"
"Keep telling yourself that…"
"Thanks, I will."
Amélie groans, like she's through with her. But she still follows: with every step, Ashe slower because she's still backing up, working her way around furniture and clutter. It's not a thing, her gift – it's more sentimental, far more meaningful, than that. There's hints to it if her spider's paying attention and she is, because the wash of light's just the same on her eyelids, and a stray thought's knitting itself into her brow.
"What did you do, cherie?"
Her question's contemplative, the tilt of her head conclusive as she remembers, matches the pieces together.
Ashe doesn't answer. It's… just a room off the main warehouse that they use to store things, but wasn't. Won't be from now on, and she stops in what passes for the middle of it, the only space that's open. Slowly she lets go of Amélie's fingers and exhales, hands on her hips with her heart in her mouth, and god she hopes that she likes it.
"Alright," she says, more confident than she feels. "You can look."
It's a platform, best that she and the boys could manage with what was already on hand – red curtains on not-so distant walls, and everything bathed in the same shimmering pinkish hue. There's even a passable booth in the corner, because she remembered. That's what the place is, really: her memory of the Cabaret, a not like-for-like replica.
Somewhere that's a little bit of what her girlfriend left.
Amélie's blinking. Thinking. Eyes slowly charting across the covered walls, fathomless.
It's… about the reaction she expected, honestly. She should have stuck to stupid paintings. Ashe inhales, raking fingers through her hair, silky because it's recently washed. If ever there was a time for that trademark boldness, the stubbornness that's made her great and not for twisted knots forming in her chest, it's now.
She summons the last of it. "I can't take you back or give you Paris," she says. "But I can bring you a piece of it. Of us."
Her girlfriend's still looking. And then Amélie's eyes settle back on her, like she knows that there's more.
There is. Whenever she's had a spare moment, she hasn't – can't stop thinking about it.
"And I would… like to watch you dance."
"The ulterior motive," Amélie says with the slightest of smiles, amused as her focus flickers away back to the walls, and Ashe flushes.
She's given her all the cards. Shown her the weakness, held it up for her to judge. She really… really wants to meet that Amélie again, but the present one has acute cruelty.
"And what would you do if I forbade you, cherie?"
Ashe shakes her head. She knows it's an empty threat, that it's just a theoretical and she'd find a way if it were truly real, but the idea of not…
"Then I'd be watching you from backstage."
It's the first thing that comes to mind. There isn't one, not in this room, but she doesn't correct herself, and Amélie's momentary amusement dissipates.
"Like you were?"
She saw. And she looked right on back. It almost makes her heart somersault, particularly with the intensity of which she's regarding her now. Serious. Curious. Wanting to know.
"You were mesmerising," Ashe admits, quietly. "Like—"
She still can't put it into words, what it did to her; not adequately. It all feels so trite to say that she was different, that she was herself and who she once was, how it made her, Ashe, feel. But Amélie seems to understand what's left unsaid, as her eyes drop downward.
"Them watching me dance mattered, in ways I hadn't recalled," she says, just as quiet. "Everything I'd had to put away, in that moment I could… I felt it. That I could truly understand them: the pain, and the longing that I'd tried to reach… but there is a reason I wanted to."
She didn't need the time to consider it, like Ashe thought she might. She knew, has been thinking about it too. And her reason… Amélie looks back to her, reaching for her cheek with the backs of her knuckles and a gentle ache, and Ashe doesn't think that she's breathing.
"You."
She wanted her to see.
To show her.
She's definitely not breathing now.
"It might as well have been just the two of us…"
She can't look away. Will she still be here, if she did? Her spider's fingers fall from her chin, but Ashe catches them with her own on their way down.
"Well," she says, barely audible, "why don't we make it that?"
Her girlfriend shrugs lithe shoulders, musing with the movement as her head droops the opposing way, because it has been too long since they slow danced together. And it's appropriate, that she's asking her, here; the last time was probably there, at the Cabaret.
Ashe remembers. It was. She allows Amélie's fingers free and it's not a loss when they align against the back of her neck in agreement, and she won't disappoint by not doing the same.
It's almost better than her bike, she thinks, because here she can steal glances: can silently search her eyes until a smile starts, and they both look away.
Ashe'll kiss her, eventually. There's no rush.
"No music?" Amélie asks, after a while.
"Trust me, it was enough trouble with the lights," Ashe says. "They kept trying to do— shit, there it goes," she groans as the lights begin to flash at neck-break, rave reminiscent speeds for several seconds before cutting out to their regularly refined pinkish hue. "Ugh. I thought I turned off the damn timer…"
Amélie chuckles, and this close she can feel it against her cheek. "You can't control everything, cherie."
She says it like a lament, and Ashe only wants to defy it more.
"Yes I can."
"Yes," Amélie agrees, gently. Not taking it from her as they drift along, circling slowly in the centre of their impromptu stage. "But you also don't have to try so hard."
"I know, I just…" her hands loosen on her neck, not quite able to gesture but still trying to anyway. "You know you're the longest I've ever been with someone?"
"I assumed."
"And I just want things to be— good for you, and not… I know I'm not the easiest person to live with. I know that."
She's smiling at her, because she's saying things Amélie already knows. Things she's reasoned out, the serenity of it her own affirmation with herself – and also because Ashe is still trying too hard, and the longer it all lasts the more Ashe keeps talking.
"I know that you're essentially happy and I am and you're— sugar, tell me. Do you— tell me what you're really thinking or I'll just—"
She stops. Not from any look or touch, save Amélie brushing her lips against hers.
"I'm thinking," Amélie whispers, against her mouth, "that you are as unstoppable as they say you are, cherie…"
Calamity Ashe. Outlaw. A force to be reckoned with, that'll make something out of nothing: that'll take everything back that's hers no matter what stands in her way…
She's never hidden it, is long past needing that kind of validation, but all the same she's still ruined, because what matters is her girlfriend believes it of her too. That she knows.
She has to kiss her now, and Ashe does, one hand tangling through her hair, pulling her closer.
She loves her so, so much.
"I'm also thinking," Amélie says after… she doesn't know how long, just that she's allowed her air several unremembered times, and it's said like her spider's just recalled it, forgotten until now with more important things to attend. "That I would like a jacket."
That's worthy of not kissing, or dancing, or – or something else she can't think of right now that isn't kissing her more? Ashe frowns lopsided, her eyes narrowing, keen to forget about it and to go back to what they were doing. "Jacket?"
"I could take your tie whenever I like," she muses. She can't right now, because Ashe isn't wearing it, but it still clicks – she means for heists, for when they're Deadlock. Maybe it is worthy of a pause, the idea of Amélie wearing her colours. "But I should have something of my own. If you'd have me."
Now she's distracted. She knows it's not going to be a cowboy hat and boots and the vest, because that's her thing and Amélie would never, but that's the beauty of it. Maybe she can talk her into a full on biker ensemble to go with this hypothetical jacket of hers. Yeah…
Yeah… that's probably not going to happen. Ashe snickers at her own over-active imagination, shaking her head as she smiles. "'Course I will," she says, with another smile. She hates to call past Ashe out on it, but she was damn wrong – this, right now? This is the best morning of her life, because it's not about joining her gang. It's that Amélie tried it, liked it; wants to remain in it, irrevocably tied, and it's just…
Permanence. It really is. But there's more to say, once she's kissed her to seal it.
"The heist didn't go exactly as I'd planned it," she starts, nose crinkling. Understatement. "But the book is as good a consolation as I'd thought it would be – and there's a lot to it, so I'd appreciate your help with everything… when the time comes. I think we've both had enough excitement for a while…"
She touches the fading bruise on Amélie's chin. They need a nominated cool-off anyway, now that they've done the job, but her incentives are all over the place these days.
Not that it's a bad thing. "Mm," Amélie muses, hand over hers. "I can have you to myself."
Damn it. Now she's just red, again, and the only place to hide is face down in the perpetrator's shoulder – and Amélie laughs: really, truly laughs, which at least makes it worth it.
"Whatever and whenever it is," Amélie continues, after a moment. "I'll be there. As long as I am with you, cherie, I…"
Ashe knows. Stays silent, whispering what she'll say under her breath as she waits for Amélie to follow the thought, because she wants her to claim it. That it's something she's allowed to be.
"I'm happy."
It's as gratifying as she imagined it, to hear it unprompted, and Ashe buries her head in her shoulder more. Remembering, when she asked her if she was; when she told her it suited her. And she'd believed it then, but this time she can tell Amélie is even without looking – can feel it in her touch, can hear it in her voice, the lines between no longer needing to be read, because there aren't any.
Well. Maybe one or two. But not about this. About something she's had such a fragile hold of – happiness never a given, when it's such a big deal for her to know, to understand it. The heist pushed her, she knows. Made her scared at times, made her think, made her take it back, but if it also brought her this…
Then it was worth it for that.
And what might not be. Ashe pulls back, resolved, because there's something more serious for her to say. "They know where you are now," she says, meaning Talon.
"It doesn't bother me," Amélie answers. Ashe half-expects her usual flippancy, that she doesn't feel; but they both know better, particularly as she's just admitted to her own happiness, so now she's just honest. "I… won't let them have that power over me. Not anymore."
She's so firm in it. So strong with the inner resilience she's carved out for herself, and for a moment Ashe just looks at her in awe, because she knows how difficult reaching that can be.
"Maybe it was worth it for having you come to save me."
Amélie's eyes slant, her lips pulling together. "Let's not make a habit of it."
"Yeah," she laughs. Her girlfriend understands what she means, she's sure, that it's a display of them deftly handling the danger, that there's nothing to be afraid of when they're stronger together, but she does have her point, Ashe figures. Personally she'd rather neither of them come out of it black and blue. "We'll see."
Her hands settle back where they were, over her shoulders, Amélie's just below her waist, wrists against her tailbone.
"If you want to run," Ashe insists. "I'll figure something—"
She's said it before, but that's always been spontaneity. This time she's given it due thought, toying with logistics and the improbability of moving Deadlock's entire operation out of the Gorge, and if that's what she needs, she'd really go that far… but somewhat fortunately Amélie shakes her head.
"I'm not meant to run – even if that is what I always did. But now my life is once more mine, and the reason I asked to go with you on your— on our heist, cherie…"
She looks at her. Wants her to say it.
"Because you don't need to?"
She nods. Ashe could ask her to elaborate, and maybe she would or she wouldn't, but she—
Amélie wants to stay. With her. Here.
Ashe smiles as she kisses her. She still tastes of winter, the faintest hints of spring. Sunrise after a long night; a gentle touch against her cheek whilst she's almost lucid and still dreaming… where there'll be forever, forever enough.
She presses a lingering kiss to her cheek as she pulls herself away.
"I love you, Amélie Guillard Lacroix," Ashe says. "Widowmaker."
The second makes Amélie's eyes quiver, because she shouldn't. It's not a co-existence, and no one ever could—
But Ashe does. Unafraid of it.
It isn't an afterthought. She's said she loves her before: had to fight with herself the first time when she opened her heart and now it's so freely given, but her spider needs to know that it's completely.
"For all that you are," she says, her gentle insistence her hand against her cheek. "I love you." And Amélie instantly leans into it, fingers locking against her wrist to keep her there.
"Elizabeth…"
It's almost forbidden, her first name. Too many bad memories. She doesn't think she's ever called her that but somehow it seems practiced, and her name sounds so… different when Amélie's the one saying it. Said with love, and affection, and – maybe it would do, to have some good attachments for it.
Like if she kisses her, telling her she loves her back.
- - - -
"Is this really necessary?"
Ashe's hand is on her waist, which wouldn't be a usual cause for complaint, if it weren't for the fact Bob is pointing a camera directly at them.
Ambush. Not ambush. Her outlaw had mentioned it in passing over dinner, that she would like something lasting to keep her by… and after a day or so, Amélie had assumed she had forgotten about it.
Not so. Just awaiting her opportunity, for the next time they would be going somewhere fancy and well-dressed, or for someone to go and pick up the camera she'd custom ordered, because she never does anything lightly. Maybe all three.
"Yes," Ashe says, certain, a glimmer of her usual authority as Bob gives them the designated thumbs-up, that the lighting's good. "Smile, sugar."
After the party Ashe frames it, and it takes pride of place on their dresser. But it's a few days until Amélie locates the second of them – the more wild, candid one, Ashe's scrawled script on the back—
Taking back what's ours
And she thinks that, maybe… she's right.