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He found her exactly where he thought she would be, sitting on top of their wall, watching the ocean. Right above the heart.
It was a thick, sturdy wall, slowly falling apart like everything else around it. Located on a supposedly quake prone area near the coast, giving a great view to the sea and the rocks below. There was always a risk, sitting there, that another quake would strike, taking the wall down and them with it.
But then again, neither of them minded taking risks.
She had gotten rid of her mask and gloves, both of them draped over the edge by her side, hood pulled down. Her iconic braids were undone, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to comb it, wincing every time she found a knot. The way it fell over her shoulder, catching the light of the slowly setting sun, made her blond hair shine like gold, her silhouette outlined like a halo.
He made sure to make some noise as he approached, balancing on top of the wall with both arms extended as he made his way to her. One foot in front of the other, just like walking a tightrope. Her eyes were quick to dart his way, alert, softening with her smile. Wide, honest, revealing the dimples on her cheeks, utterly infectious as he found himself smiling back. It wasn't his camera ready smile, the charming, wide grin he flashed the fangirls begging for an autograph. This was softer, involuntary like the happy little twist he felt in his stomach every time she looked at him like that.
He pretends to almost lose balance as he gets closer, playing the charming idiot just to have her curse him out as he adjusts and sits down next to her.
"Don't scare me like that!" Willow chides, punching him in the arm, although she's gentle. "Next time I'll push you off just to see how you like it."
"You wouldn't!" He gasps, widening his eyes in mock shock, one hand splayed on his chest.
"I will, if you keep acting like an idiot." Her eyes shined in the sunlight, he could see it now that he was closer. At first he thought they were a dark brown, but in moments like these he could see the reddish tint in them more clearly. Mahogany, or a deep maroon. Once he had noticed it he couldn't stop looking for it, every time they got closer, every time her eyes gained that mischievous glint that meant she was up for no good.
"You know me." He flashed her a smile, his best one, the one that had made many a woman melt under his gaze. "Being an idiot is my whole thing, I can't just stop now!"
Willow wasn't like most women, however. She didn't fall for his charm, as he knew she wouldn't, simply rolling her eyes at him, shaking her head in amusement. Still, she didn't resist when he pulled her in for a kiss. Soft, chaste, a brush of lips that turned into two, then three. She pulled back before they could go further, and he followed, touching foreheads as he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Do you want help with your hair?" A mutter, an offer he had done a hundred times before and planned to do a hundred times more.
"Yes, please." She answers, just as softly, giving him another peck on the lips before turning around, throwing her hair behind her back.
She straddled the wall, one leg dangling on each side, bracing herself with her hands and he took a moment to appreciate the view it gave him. He swore she did it just to provoke him, knowing how well the patterns in her skinsuit accentuated the curves of her ass, sticking close enough to the skin to leave almost nothing to the imagination.
"Pervert." She called, looking over her shoulder, a smug look in her face.
"I'm not the one who's being a tease." He smirked, watching as she arched her back for him, wiggling her hips slightly until he gave into the provocation. Resting one hand on her lower back, sliding it lower as he leaned closer, balancing in a precarious position so he could brush her hair out of the way and land a kiss on the sensitive skin of her nape, right above her suit's collar. She hummed in appreciation, shivering as he gave her ass a slow squeeze. "You're evil, you know."
"Maybe." he could hear the teasing smile on her voice, ruined by the strain hiding right behind it. "Or maybe you just haven't earned it yet."
He leaned back, out of her personal space, moving his hand back to rest at her waist. He could see the way her shoulders had tensed, how she avoided looking back at him. It was a sensitive topic; he didn't know why, but he knew not to push on it anymore, despite the helpless feeling constricting his chest. The last time they had that argument he felt he had almost lost her for good.
So instead he opts for comfort, gently massaging her shoulders until the tension there had eased.
"It's fine, Wills. Really." He kept his voice mellow, kissing the top of her head. "I can do slow. I'll wait for you."
"And if the wait never ends?" There was a quiet fragility to her voice, brittle at the edges. Something he rarely heard, something she rarely showed him. Vulnerability.
"I don't care. I'll still be here." He leaned forwards, a stupid little gesture, trying to catch her eye despite the fact that her back was turned to him. "C'mon, Wills, if I only wanted you for sex I'd have dumped you ages ago!"
The snort that tears out of her is sudden and loud, followed by an elbow to his ribs he didn't manage to dodge in time.
"Ow!"
"God, you're such an idiot." But she was looking at him again, maroon glinting over her shoulder.
"Maybe." He grins, still rubbing at the sore spot right at the edge of his ribcage. Willow was always stronger than she looked. He was only glad she wasn't wearing her gloves, the steel points they added to her elbows would have hurt a lot worse. "It's true, though."
"Just shut up and get on with it. You said you were gonna do my braids, not yap your big mouth at me!"
"Alright, alright." He chuckled, relieved now that the tension had dispersed.
Her hair was silky between his fingers, precious threads he weaved with care. The waves only became more accentuated after spending hours trapped inside the braids, a molten gold river he parted down the middle, pushing one half over her shoulder. He ran his fingers through the remaining half, focused on finding any knots she had missed, undoing them gently, from top to bottom. The tips always pointed upwards, a lazy attempt at curls that he played with for a moment, wrapping them around a finger before dividing her hair again, this time into three.
"Did they pester you for long?" It took him a second to realize Willow had spoken, immersed in his task as he was.
"The media?" He shrugged, before remembering she couldn't see him. "A bit. You know how it is." A small sigh, wondering if she did know how it was. Willow was well-known enough to have given her fair share of interviews, but she still ran away from reporters like the plague. He was always more than happy to take their attention off of her. A smile found its way to his lips. "They seemed pretty disappointed they weren't able to catch a hold of you, though."
"Well, they can go fuck themselves." The tone was cheery enough to tease a snicker from him.
"Still, you did great today." He held the finished braid together, tapping on her shoulder until she handed him a hair band. "We wouldn't have been able to catch him without your help."
"Oh, I know, I'm great." She joked, a hint of laughter to her words, helping him by pulling the thick braid over her shoulder and throwing her loose hair back with a flick of the wrist. "The best of the best!"
"I'm serious." He let his voice gain a graver tone, fingers returning to work automatically, repeating the same process from before. It was muscle memory at this point, only needing some concentration so he wouldn't risk zapping her by accident. The static electricity was bad enough sometimes, making her hair frizzy and sticking strands to his skin, but today it had stayed to a minimum. "I'm proud of you, Willow."
There was a moment of silence that dragged on until he was finished. It wasn't uncomfortable or tense, so he was happy to let it happen, let her stew in his words for a moment.
"Thank you." It was low, barely a murmur as she handed him the second hair band.
There it was again, that same vulnerability, creeping on the edges. Two simple words, more than enough to spread warmth inside his chest.
He doesn't comment on it. Just finishes tying up his job, pulling the first braid back once more to have it lay parallel with the second. Another kiss to the top of her head as a finishing touch, and he gave her space so could turn around again, sitting by his side.
The sunset painted her profile in soft pinks and oranges, a light breeze playing with the few loose strands of hair framing her face. Whatever emotions she had on her face seconds before were gone, pleasant smile on her lips again, but her eyes shined a bit more forcefully than they did before.
They talked about lighter topics, eventually falling silent as they watched the sun sink beneath the waves. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder.
The sky and the air was polluted. They were surrounded by ruins, buildings abandoned, falling into disrepair. The wind coming from the sea smelled of salt and rot.
There was nowhere else he'd rather be than in that moment, stretched into eternity.
7 YEARS LATER
Something had changed.
That had been obvious to him since he first found Willow at that diner and confirmed she wasn't a hallucination. And it wasn't just the... extra curves she had gained.
He had known something was wrong. That day at the beach had just let him be sure of it.
It's been a week. He can't stop thinking about it. Part of him still wants to protest, resist, demand an answer, anything. Even beg if he had to, for her, he'd do it, but he's afraid.
He can't lose her.
Except, he already did, didn't he? Lost her for seven years. Thought she was dead, flashbacks still playing in his head, the shound of shattering glass haunting his nightmares.
And then she was alive. And she wanted nothing to do with him. Until that day at the hospital, dressed up for the nightlife he knew she secretly loved. Kissed him, on the forehead. For him to get better. Just like she always did back in the day, when she won their sparring contests and he whined extra loudly just to get her to kiss him again, properly, on the lips. Would she have done it back then, had he tried? Had his confusion worn off earlier, had he stopped her from running away?
And now it's over, again. She broke up with him. Begged him to stay away. Leave her alone.
Her eyes had never seemed as red as they did in that moment. There was something there, in the way she lashed out at him. She always was a great actress, but he was good at picking up her tells, and she hasn't changed as much as she seems to wish she did.
Regret. There was regret, and anger.
It wasn't the righteous anger he had seen pour out of her before, the one that led to bar fights and ridiculous stunts and words as damaging as her spiked brass knuckles. It was fueled by something else, something about the look in her eyes, the way it pierced straight through his heart and hurt enough to get him to back off.
Fear. Lashing out like a cornered, wounded animal. Biting because it felt like the only way out.
Did Hollow Ground force her to do it? Was it her, the damned kingpin, the one who took Willow away on that ambulance? Where the fuck was she taken?
What happened to her?
His body reacts before he has time to think, dodging the punch aimed for his stomach and destabilizing his opponent by hooking his leg around her knee. He stops her fall short, grabbing a hold of her awkwardly with his arms, stumbling around for a moment until both of them were steady.
"What was that for?" He felt slightly short of breath, much less so than the woman in his arms. It made sense, considering he was the one holding the hitting pads. Lily was good, but inexperienced, and she really needed to work on her balance.
"You were distracted, old man." She untangles herself from him with a smile, recovering her breath.
The similarity was uncanny. Lily might be slightly shorter than Willow, but both shared the same tanned olive skin, the same golden hair, the same dark eyes. It was harder than he'd like to admit sometimes, trying to keep the past from bleeding into the present, and the way Lily acted didn't help things either.
Distracted. The same kind of punishable offense Willow would have tried to punch him over. She was a passionate fighter, and to lack the same kind of enthusiasm in a match with her was almost offensive, and borderline impossible. Her good moods were always infectious.
"I suppose I deserved it, then." He chuckled, smiling back. Lily had that same sparkle to her eyes, the excited challenge of someone high on adrenaline and loving it.
Except, it wasn't the same. It never was. Similar, so similar, but always slightly to the left. Lily's eyes lacked that unique shade of mahogany, leaning towards a burnt caramel that didn't seem to fully match the intensity of her gaze. The shape of the eyebrows was wrong, the face too clean, lacking scars, the skin not quite dark enough. No dimples on her cheeks, even when she smiled wide and honest.
Her bun had come undone at some point, and she attempted to blow a few rebellious strands of hair off her face, struggling to push them back while wearing the boxing gloves.
"Why don't we take a break for a little while?" He was already in the process of taking off the hitting pads, watching from the corner of his eye as Lily tossed her hair back with a head movement.
"What, are you getting tired already?" That same challenging grin, always pushing the limits, always wanting to go further and further until the both of them were nothing but an exhausted cuddle pile on the ground. Except this wasn't Willow, this was Lily, and they weren't at the Rangers headquarters, they were in a public gym, where cuddling on the floor would certainly be frowned upon. And it wouldn't be just Chen there to give them the stink eye either.
"Not even a little bit." He matched her smile with one of his own, never one to back away from a challange. "But at least let me tie your hair again? If you don't want to take off your gloves."
"Sure you know what you're doing?" She raised an eyebrow at him, watching as he searched for the hair tie that had fallen on the floor, picking it up before approaching her.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm very good with my hands." A wink for good measure, making Lily snort and groan, rolling her eyes at him exaggeratedly. "Besides, I've been told I have nimble fingers."
"Have you, now?" She hesitates for a second, eyeing the hair tie in his hands as if it would bite, a slight furrow appearing between her brows.
"Something wrong?"
"No." She snaps out of whatever thoughts plagued her, shaking her head as if to scare them away. She turned her back to him before he got the chance to press it. "Go on."
He takes the final two steps, and it's his turn to hesitate. Lily seemed uncharacteristically tense, but she didn't tell him to stop. His hands are slow as he raises them, gathering the entirety of her hair on her back to get started.
The nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. It's enough to make his breath hitch, memories blurring into reality as his fingers ran through silky threads. How long had it been since he last did something like this?
Why did he still remember the process so intimately?
Running his fingers through her hair, checking for knots, untangling them gently. Top to bottom. He doesn't bother parting her hair down the middle this time, jumping straight to separating it in thirds.
The shade is wrong.
It's a stupid thing to focus on, a complete disservice to Lily and himself. He does it anyway.
He can't help the sense of wrongness, the slight vertigo as his hands work. The texture is as soft as he remembers, but the blond is too mellow, less molten gold and more a warm sunlight. The waves are less defined, cascading down her back like a waterfall, the tips straight, refusing to curl.
Lily smells of strawberries. Willow smelled like wildflowers.
His eyes sting, and he blinks hard and breathes deeply to keep the emotions at bay. He can grieve at home, with a pack of beers and no public eyes on him. Just focus on the movement, automatic, soothing. Muscle memory, built over years, actions repeated again and again.
How many times did he do this? Remake her braids after a fight, a nap, a chaotic night out. Too many.
Willow didn't braid her hair anymore. It was long now, longer than it was even back then. He'd seen her in ponytails and buns, but never braids. She kept it loose now, running down her back and over her shoulders, free to tangle and curl in every which way it wanted.
Why? Was it another way to attempt to separate herself from the past? Trying to bury her old life under strands of gold amd pink?
Did it hurt her, trying to tie it up that way, the same way it hurts him now?
His fingers are trembling slightly as he finishes. He ties it off anyway, one, two, three loops of the hair tie. A kiss to the top of her head, acting on autopilot, before he stepped away.
A single braid, instead of two.
Slightly wrong. Just like everything else.
It takes Lily a second to turn around, seemingly needing to compose herself as much as he had to. When she turns, she does so with a deep breath and moist eyes, which he pretends not to notice. Just like he pretends not to notice the aching in his heart.
His smile feels brittle and fake, but she returns it anyway.
"Thanks, Ric." A flash of memory, those same words coming from a different mouth, and Lily pulls him down to her level and kisses him.
Their lips fit differently together. Willow had heart shaped lips, a slightly fuller, pointier lower lip he remembers loving to suck and nibble on. Lily's lips are thinner, slender, and they still fit against his like matching puzzle pieces belonging to entirely different sets.
It doesn't feel the same, but Lily still kisses the way Willow used to, the same way she always fought. She kisses with passion, with need, a hunger that spreads from her tongue into his, down his throat, consuming him from the inside out. As if this might be the last kiss they would ever share, so it's no use holding back.
It's not fair.
It's not fair to him, or Lily, dragging the past behind himself like a corpse. Letting it stain everything it touched, comparisons running wild inside his brain. He can't help but wonder, it can't be just a coincidence, right?
So similar. Too similar. Both in appearance and attitude, enough to drive him mad. He holds Lily's face in his hands, soft and smooth underneath his calloused skin, kisses her with all the desperation and passion he feels and wishes she was someone else. If he closes his eyes hard enough, he can pretend.
It's not fair. It's not nice.
But Ortega wasn't nice, and this relationship was never fair.