Chapter Text
Lou’s smoking a cigarette and God, Debbie fucking hates that. But she knows that she’s in no position to complain. You can’t ask a person to risk their life over and over for decades and then turn around and ask them not to do it to themselves. It’s not a good look. And that’s what they appreciate most about each other anyways, no rules, no conditions, no complaints. Their line of work makes it difficult to sustain “normal” relationships and they have no desire to be a Tammy. To lie and steal and fill back rooms and garages all in the name of normalcy and “protecting” a partner who doesn’t know any better. They do know better. So she doesn’t say anything.
“I can feel you disapproving, Ocean.”
“Hmm.” It’s a small sound that comes from between Debbie’s pursed lips. No, she won’t complain. She won’t lie either.
Lou is on the roof of the loft, looking out over the “stars” that really are nothing more than distant city lights, maybe some smog playing a trick on the eyes. But she enjoys it nonetheless. Debbie remembers this from all the years of quiet nights spent together. Lou is loud and obnoxious, there’s no arguing that, but she seeks quietness, solace in these small moments, from the insanity of the lives they’ve crafted. She’d told Debbie one night, years ago, after too much vodka, that that’s why she liked Debbie so much. She was a constant calm, even tempered, spoke in a soothing, self-assured way that had always eased her. “Tranquility wrapped in a sexy body,” she’d slurred. And Debbie never forgot that.
“You’ll kill me before this ever does.” Lou threw a wink over her shoulder, never one to quite back down and give into her partners whims without a small protest but Debbie notices that the cigarette isn’t even half smoked as she ashes it.
The brunette just smiles, small and content, sidling up to her partner. She’s not exactly in the mood for witty banter. They’re two days from the Gala and there’s a nervousness that she’ll never admit to, lying low in her belly. It clouds her brain and stunts her words so no, conversation isn’t her strong suit right now but she needs this. She needs to be close to someone that understands her, who won’t press her for reassurance or guidance, someone to just exist next to. And Lou has always been that person. Her own “tranquility wrapped in a sexy body.” It’s not lost on Debbie, not at all, how lucky they are to have found each other. How insanely charmed their partnership is. A once in a lifetime person, she knows that.
They both stand, an inch apart, pleased just to have a moment of silence away from everyone else. Lou notices Debbie take a deep breath and watches her release it back into the night and knows she’s breathing through this. She’s feeling just as nervous as they’re all pretending not to. And there’s nothing she can do about it. She hates that. But it won’t go away for any of them until the heist is over and even then, it will linger for years. Every odd look in the street, every unknown number and piece of mail will pull a sharp fear out of them. But that’s their choice. So Lou say’s the only thing she can to give even a small amount of comfort.
“I’m not upset with you, you know?”
Debbie doesn’t flinch but she’s surprised to hear it and just nods, a small movement, her eyes staying on the “stars.” A moment passes before she speaks and Lou is looking away, assuming that Debbie isn’t going to say anything, “But you were.”
Now it’s her turn to nod, “damn straight.”
“I should have talked to you first.”
Lou can’t help the bitter sound that escapes her throat but she swallows her words before they can come out. Her partner has already said all she needs to say, apologized and explained, and really, they don’t need to do this right now. But Lou knows that she’d spend a lifetime listening to Debbie apologize if she would. She’s already forgiven her, God, she forgives her before she even does anything but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t caused Lou enough pain that on bitter, drunken evenings, she doesn’t think she should start every morning with a pre-emptive apology from Debbie Ocean.
“Yes, you should have. But it’s water under the bridge, Jail Bird.”
“You shouldn’t have had to find out like everyone else. You should always be in the know.”
And while it could easily be written off as an apology between business partners, like they've decided to change printing services, Lou knows she’s admitting more than that. She angles her body towards the other woman and Debbie gives her a glance over her nose, knowing and apologetic before she turns and faces her.
Lou decides that this is as good a time as any for honesty, “Sometimes my ego needs a check and you gave me that.” She says with a small smirk but sighs and continues, “I was embarrassed, Deb. Those girls look to me too. They see me as your partner and I hated having them think that I didn’t know my own job.” Debbie’s stomach knots at the small sadness in Lou’s voice but she knows that mostly, she’s over it. She just wants her to know.
“They never thought that.” Silence passes between them, “you know they see you as my equal-”
“Yeah, well they think a lot of things that aren’t true.”
The quick jab hits Debbie low and hard. It’s vague, like all things between the two of them are, but she knows exactly what she means. The whispers, the questions, the late night explanations by Tammy to Rose and Constance that no, it’s not totally like that between Debbie and Lou. The insistence by everyone that it has to be because they can feel it, the looks, the touches, the tension, it’s… easy between them. And Lou resents that, with every fibre of her being, she resents that. Because it’s not easy between them. It has been years, decades, of messy, terrible shit between the two of them. Anything but easy. And the fact that they can’t outrun themselves and this thing between them? It’s been enough to send Lou to the bottom of a couple dozen vodka bottles.
There is love and there is forgiveness. There is so much between them that keeps them in this thing together but there is a history there and history doesn’t undo itself over night. Jail time and jealousy and major betrayals and unsaid feelings and disregarded feelings, that’s not solved by one successful heist. And of course it seems easy between them, what other choice do they have? If they teeter out of that territory, they’d be forced to dip into conversations they don’t know how to have and evenings together that mean more than they did when they were 28 and had nothing else. And fuck, Lou does not love Debbie more, does not lust after her harder. That’s a shared, unspoken thing and Debbie thinks she might hate those remorseful, sympathetic whispers about Lou more than Lou actually does because it means that somehow she’s better at all this. That Lou can show that side of herself in small, nearly meaningless ways and still not come to her bed at night.
What those people don’t understand is that love isn’t always enough. That shared glances of longing don’t replace the pit in your stomach that tells you the person you’re with might leave you for a man whose heist is just too good to pass up. A lingering hand on the back doesn’t push aside the idea that if you make one more mistake, she’ll be gone, in the desert on her bike, without a phone to call. Spending one evening together in bed doesn’t undo 5 years of nights spent alone because one of you was too wrapped up in their own world to consider the other. Loving each other, sure that’s easy. Inevitable. But being together? No. That’s not the same.
Debbie doesn’t know where to go from there. She’s thought, for the last eight years, that they weren’t going to open this door. They would be the partners that they needed but when the jobs ended, they’d go back to empty homes or Claude Becker’s or women who were just busy enough not to notice the bullshit but still funny enough, comfortable enough to spend some time with. That’s their plan, they’ve never said it, but Debbie is sure of it. And that’s the one thing she knows she’s good at it, sticking to the plan. But this? She has proved time and time again that she is not good at this.
“Lou-“
“It’s fine,” she sighs, throwing her hands up a little and facing back to the night, “it’s fine.”
And then its Debbie’s turn to sigh, “I don’t know how to make this anything more than fine, Lou.”
They’re both facing the night again, an inch apart, as if nothing had happened. Lou shakes her head a little and hesitantly puts her hand over Deb’s on the ledge, “Me either, kid. Me either.”