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Helen could hear sirens in the distance as she sat down next to Whiskey. The other woman didn’t look up as she settled down next to her, flinching only when Helen laid a hand on her back.
“I’m sorry about Duke,” Helen started. “When I said that he deserved what he got, I didn’t mean that he deserved-” She stopped, shook her head. “I hadn’t known what happened.”
Whiskey looked up at this, brows drawn, her face still smudged with mascara and ash. “Oh, it’s… I mean, he was a shithead, like you said.” She waved her hand around. “But… he was a good guy, underneath all of the… everything. He didn’t deserve to die because of an asshole like Miles fucking Bron. And- and neither did your sister. I only met her once, but she seemed really cool.”
Helen drew back, startled at the mention of Andi. A hesitant smile slid onto her face. “Yeah,” she agreed. “She was cool.” Helen paused for a moment. “You actually remind me of her, a bit. Motivated. Stubborn. Wouldn’t hesitate to smash a rich bitch’s shit.” She nodded, almost to herself. “I think Andi would’ve liked you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ever-approaching patrol boats and the lap of the waves against the shore. Then, Whiskey cleared her throat.
“Oh, and I’m… I’m sorry about the whole, you know, trying to shoot you with a harpoon gun thing,” she said, gesturing behind herself towards the still-burning mansion like it encapsulated everything that she wanted to say.
Helen shrugged. “I’m sorry for trashing your room.”
“Don’t be,” Whiskey scoffed.” “I get why you did it. Everything that you did tonight, it was pretty badass, actually. Especially with the Mona Lisa. That was fucking amazing.
Helen let out a startled laugh, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“You weren’t too bad yourself, kid.”