Chapter Text
Shake 2 oz of gin, 1 tsp. superfine sugar, and lemon juice over cracked ice.
Fill a Collins glass halfway with more ice, then strain the shaker into it.
Top off with champagne and serve.
Amélie’s head was pounding so badly when she woke up that she didn’t immediately notice she wasn’t in her own bedroom.
She hissed at the beam of sunlight hitting her face through the slightly opened bedroom curtains that weren’t hers. She tried to roll over – god, what time was it? – but realized after a moment that she could not, because of the person nestled against her side.
Wait, what?
She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to piece together what was going on from the abused synapses of her brain.
They’d had the Overwatch / Blackwatch relaunch party after close last night.
Gabriel had won the “fight” with Jack, and then Jack had gotten down on one knee and stunned the room by proposing.
After Gabriel accepted, the newly engaged couple had left to go home and probably do horribly cute and disgusting things to each other while Ana had volun-told everyone else to help with cleaning up and resetting the restaurant.
After she’d finished cleaning and resetting the bar, most of the restaurant and catering staff who had taken part in the event had ended up at Angela’s house for an afterparty and she’d gone to find Lena to apologize. Jesse’s idea for a little prank to put her off her game as time went down seemed to have worked, but she’d felt a bit awful for playing with the girl like that.
Not that she wasn’t cute, of course, but what she’d done had been cruel, especially since she really didn’t expect to get involved with anyone after the mess that was her divorce.
The suave, charming, dapper man who she’d fallen in love with had turned out to be an insecure, jealous, overly possessive ass, when all was said and done, and she didn’t really trust so easily these days.
She’d found the younger woman on Angela’s back porch nursing a beer, and they’d talked for a little while. She’d accepted the apology, Amélie was fairly sure, and had offered to have another drink? That seemed right.
After that, though…how did she end up here?
Amélie didn’t actually drink much. She enjoyed a good glass of wine with a meal, occasionally a beer, and mixed drinks now and then to test recipes. Even when she drank at Ana’s she’d rarely have more than a cocktail or two. The last time she’d been drunk had been the night Gérard had come into the restaurant after she’d filed the divorce papers, raving with accusations that she’d been cheating on him with Angela, of all people, and had tried to attack her after she’d justifiably slapped him. After finding out that she would not be losing her job, and filing the assault charges with the police who had been called, she’d gone to stay at Gabriel’s place and drowned her shock, rage, and sorrows until passing out.
Come to think of it, her head had felt about the same the morning after that night.
So she’d gotten drunk. How? She remembered having a couple beers. A vague memory of laughing, sitting on one of the patio chairs as Lena attempted to mix her a drink.
“Tracer special,” she’d chirped, “cheers!”
It had been sweet, but had just enough bitterness to make it refreshing rather than cloying. They’d both had a glass of her creation…and then she’d woken up here.
It wasn’t a big bedroom. There were a few posters of bands she didn’t recognize, a small dresser, and an old fashioned analog clock on the wall reading 8:45am. Amélie wasn’t sure when she went to bed, but it had to have been well after three in the morning. No wonder she felt like hell.
There was a soft murmur, drawing her attention back to the other woman in bed.
“Ngh,” Lena Oxton groaned, then levered herself up, eyes still a bit unfocused, and a truly epic case of bedhead sending her tousled brown hair in all directions. She seemed to take stock of everything, then gasped. “Oh, god. Amélie?”
“Oui,” her lips quirked, “do…did we…”
“You were…we were both pretty fried,” Lena admitted, “sorry, luv. I think I put too much gin in that cocktail I made up.”
“So how…?” Amélie gestured around, trying to sum it all up.
“I called an Uber to get home. I think I promised Angie I’d take you with because we were both pretty far gone.”
“Mm. And…after that?”
“I…honestly don’t remember much.” Lena blushed, and Amélie’s eyes couldn’t help but draw down to the way her chest colored around the edges of the sports bra she’d worn to bed.
“I remember coming to find you…I wanted to apologize. We…had a few more drinks, didn’t we?”
Lena smiled shyly. “Well, I remember telling you all’s fair in love and war, yeah?”
“Which was this?”
Lena shrugged. “Don’t think we got too far along on either.”
Amélie thought she would feel relieved at that. So why did she also feel a bit disappointed?
“That’s…probably good,” she finally admitted, “I’m…”
“You’re not ready,” Lena said gently, and Amélie nodded, “I was there, remember? It seemed like that bastard did a real number on you.”
“It’s part of why I felt so bad about teasing you,” Amélie admitted, “I…I do like women. I think you’re a very cute girl, chérie. But…”
“Hey,” Lena gently put a hand on the older woman’s cheek, “I appreciate the compliment. Really. And you’re drop dead fucking gorgeous, if you hadn’t noticed. But if that’s not what you want right now, it’s not what you want, ok? I like you plenty as a friend, Amélie.”
Amélie gave a careful nod, mindful of her aching head. “Thank you, Lena.”
“Course, luv!”
“…do you have any asprin? My head is killing me.”
“Coming right up.”