Chapter Text
Lou kept the newspaper from the day she went to his gallery, cut out the headline and added it to the pile in the second drawer of her bedside table. It was the first of many. For five weeks there was too much human interest to ignore in a disgraced art dealer; even the Times couldn’t get enough of it. Then it calmed down for a while. After he was sent to jail to await trial, enough for Debbie to get healthy, for the final jewels to be set and shipped. Lou was ready for California - ready for asphalt and leather and pine. Her new bike taunted her. But she couldn’t leave Debbie on her own. Not yet. Couldn’t, and she didn’t want to. The novelty of waking up to her hadn’t worn off; a part of Lou was pretty damn sure it never would. But she needed the trip, too. Of course, she had asked Debbie to come with her, but Debbie’s face had clouded over at the suggestion.
“No,” she had said, “No. I have business to settle.” Lou had frowned, confused, but Debbie had cracked a smile and reassured her. “Oh, it’s not about the job. I said every step of the way and I meant it.”
“Then what?”
“Danny. I have to -”
“Process?”
“Something like that.”
Still, Lou waited, saw the news come in that his trial was to be expedited and added it to the pile of clippings in her drawer. They wanted him dealt with quickly. Sure enough, he was in court a week later.
Two days was all it took, and that was mostly because the value of all the stolen gems had to be enumerated in front of the judge. The jury was unanimous, and Lou picked up a first edition of the Times on her way home from the club in the wee hours of a Friday morning - “Art Dealer Gets Fifteen Years for Met Gala Grand Theft.”. Lou smiled grimly at the article, snipped out the words and set them aside before crumpling the photograph of Claude Becker’s face and throwing it into the trash can at the end of the kitchen island. Careful not to wake Debbie, Lou collected the rest of the clippings from upstairs and laid them out on the table.
It was astounding to see all the headlines laid out like that - everything they had done, everything Debbie had planned from that tiny jail cell. Lou sipped a cup of tea and stared down at the table, heart swelling with pride and the knowledge that it was over , that the future could begin.
“I missed you last night.”
Lou turned around to see Debbie leaning over the railing around the upper floor, hair still tousled with sleep, an over-large T-shirt of Lou’s hanging off one shoulder. Disheveled Debbie always made Lou’s pulse go a little wild, and it took her an extra moment to respond. She cleared her throat.
“Missed you too. I just got back. Come see this.” She nodded towards the table.
Debbie made her way downstairs, bare feet silent on the metal steps of the stairs. Lou felt her warmth behind her before arms wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes, leaned into her.
Debbie nuzzled her neck. “What’d you want to show me?”
Lou forced her eyes to open. “Oh, well -” She gestured at the array of newspaper clippings. The news of Claude Becker’s sentence was in the center of the table. Debbie’s sharp intake of breath told Lou she saw it at once. “You did it, Jailbird.”
“We did it, baby.”
Lou carefully placed her teacup on the table and turned in Debbie’s embrace. “I love you.”
Debbie smiled, kissed her softly and all too briefly.
“What is it?” Lou asked, sensing tension in Debbie’s body.
“You’re leaving.” Debbie didn’t meet Lou’s gaze.
“You’re still invited, you know.”
Debbie nodded. “Yeah, but -”
“I know.”
“I’ll miss you,” Debbie said quietly, finally glancing up. Lou pushed her tousled hair back from her face.
“I know that, too. But for now -” She spun Debbie around to press her into the edge of the poker table.
Debbie gasped, her expression brightening. Lou kissed her, fiercely, tongue slipping between Debbie’s parted lips.
“For now we have something to celebrate.”
Lou lifted Debbie onto the edge of the table, nudging her T-shirt up over her hips as she did to expose Debbie’s black lace panties. She kissed her again, gentler now, guiding Debbie to lie back on the newspaper. Bright morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the loft, and Lou set about making Debbie hers.
Lou’s lying on a slab of granite, gazing up at the clear blue sky above Joshua Tree National Park when Debbie’s text comes through. She sits up and shakes herself, takes a deep breath because she can’t rush this, can’t jump on her bike and drive all 22 hours at once. She has five days to meander out to the coast, to zig zag down the Baja Peninsula to Debbie’s resort of choice.
She hikes the rugged mile back to her bike, snaps a few pictures along the way to convince herself that she’s calm. It almost works. The boulders piled and balanced as if giants stacked them centuries ago, the twisted trees, the smell of the dust - it’s compelling, and she can almost lose herself in it even with Debbie waiting for her.
But Debbie’s pull has always been the strongest force of nature in Lou’s life, so she follows the tug and plans her route to Montage Los Cabos, roars across the border and through Tijuana the following day. From there she takes her time - stops in every town to buy something shiny for Debbie, who’s always been a bit of a magpie even before she came up with the biggest jewelry heist in history. And she keeps snapping photos, wants to remember the scorching days, the cold desert nights, because feeling everything so profoundly puts the ache for Debbie into a breathtaking, beautiful context.
**
Debbie’s plane lands at 10 in the morning on Friday. Thanks to Nine Ball, she’s already checked in and has key card privileges enabled on her phone when she reaches the resort. The suite has four large, windowed rooms, looking out over the ocean and their own private section of beach, sheltered by palms. All Debbie really cares about is the cabana, and she isn’t disappointed. Apart from the fact that it overlooks turquoise surf instead of the technicolor blue of the Caesar’s Palace pool, the cabana is identical to the ones that surrounded them when Lou’s shadow first crossed Debbie’s chaise lounge all those years ago after that fateful night at the Bellagio. It’s what they’ve always talked about, the logical next chapter, and Debbie’s 98% sure Lou will take it as such.
The water calls to her and she can’t get out of her clothes and into her bathing suit fast enough. It’s brand new - black and simple and expensive as hell, not that she paid for it. She knows Lou will like seeing her in it, knows that Lou will like taking it off her even more. The thought sends a pleasurable shiver down her spine as she tosses a fluffy white towel onto the bed in the cabana. The sand is almost too hot for her bare feet, so she runs, runs until she hits the waves and then keeps running anyway, falls into the surf and tastes brine and sun-warmed sea. The water’s too warm to be physically refreshing, but she floats on triumph. She dunks her head below the water, lets the pulsing roar fill her eardrums for as long as she can bear before she reemerges, pushing her sopping hair back from her face and relishing the sting at the corners of her eyes. Two weeks here, maybe three, and her skin won’t remember even a day of prison.
She spends a long time in the waves, riding them into shore and then just sitting with her feet sinking into the wet sand. She loves the feeling of the mud running under her soles. The sun is high in the sky by the time she rinses off and walks back up the beach towards the palms and the cabana. She’s hungry and sleepy in a good way, but then she notices the footprints of a heavy boots in the sand as if someone stood and looked out at the water - at her - and then turned and -
“I was just about to come make sure you hadn’t drowned.”
Debbie looks up to see Lou lying across the bed in the cabana and all thoughts of lunch and a nap are swept from her mind because this - she - is what Debbie really wants. Her legs have stopped working though, and she stands there, dripping water onto the plank boards of the cabana and staring.
Lou swings her legs off the bed and leans with her elbows on her knees. She tosses Debbie her towel, and Debbie only realizes that she hasn’t spoken when the fluffy cloth hits her in the face.
She fumbles for it and stammers, “I went for a swim.”
Lou grins. “I saw you.”
“Yeah.” Debbie smiles back as she wrings out her hair. She tosses the towel onto a wicker chair and steps towards Lou. “How was the trip?”
“Gorgeous, inspiring, spectacular...and nothing compared to this.” Her eyes twinkle at Debbie even as she cocks her head towards the ocean. “The beach isn’t bad either.”
Debbie smirks. “I knew you’d like it.” She fiddles with the braided design at the center of her bikini top.
“I missed you,” Lou says abruptly.
“I missed you, too.” She takes a step nearer and finds she can’t stop. All at once, she’s standing between Lou’s spread legs, looking down at her. “Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey.” Lou’s eyes trace a slow line from her breasts to her eyes.
A breath, maybe two, and Debbie moves, cups Lou’s jaw and pulls her in. Her lips are soft and she tastes of the desert, somehow. Debbie tugs at her tight black T-shirt, untucking it from her leather pants, feels Lou untie her bikini top with two flicks of her fingers. Debbie can’t suppress a groan when she realizes Lou’s gone braless today, breaks the kiss to lick down her neck and breathe across her collarbone. Glancing up, Debbie notices that Lou’s already lost in it, eyelids heavy, fingers trembling against the starched white sheets. She takes Lou’s nipple into her mouth, laves it with her tongue until it’s straining and wet and a little salty from the hint of the sea left on her lips.
“ Fuck ,” Lou mutters.
Debbie returns to her mouth, replacing her lips with her hands on Lou’s breasts; pulls Lou tighter against her until Lou’s sitting on the very edge of the mattress, hips rolling against Debbie’s.
“Debbie, please -”
Debbie doesn’t need her to beg, not this time. She’s already working her way down her body again, undoing Lou’s pants with her skilled fingers.
“I want you on your back,” she whispers, not sure where the courage for speech is coming from, but relishing the way Lou’s entire body reacts to the words. “Take these off.”
Lou obeys, shimmies out of her pants and her boots and pushes herself back on the bed. Debbie follows and bends over her, focuses the back of her mind on the rush of the surf so that the rest of her mind can focus without distractions on the woman before her. Debbie nibbles Lou’s right hip bone, circles it with her tongue; does the same to a sensitive spot on the inside of Lou’s left knee. She draws lines and circles, a whole map of all the endless miles and eternal hours that have led them to this spot. Together. Today.
Tasting her has always been Debbie’s favorite. She loves everything about it - her scent, her taste, the velvet feel of her. She loves the way Lou looks down at her as if she’s some kind of goddess. Debbie goes slow today, sucks at her folds and traces aching circles around Lou’s clit before dipping lower. She’s addicted to the feeling of warm salty heat vibrating at the tip of her tongue. Oh, Lou. Lou’s arms flail, as if she’s unsure of what to do with her hands. Eventually one settles on Debbie’s head, long fingers sending tingles through her scalp. Debbie spreads Lou wider, wraps her arms around her thighs and hums her contentment.
Debbie takes her time, waits for the stream of curses falling from Lou’s lips to morph into something less coherent and then keeps her there until Lou is shaking and straining against Debbie’s mouth. She looks up at her then, just as Lou wraps a lock of Debbie’s hair around two fingers and tugs. Debbie smiles against her and unhooks one arm from Lou’s leg. It’s their signal, has been for years, and even though Debbie’s been inside her more than a few times in the past few weeks, the novelty of feeling it again hasn’t worn off. Debbie obeys the tug, teases Lou’s entrance for only a moment before slipping inside with one finger and another when Lou pulls her hair just a little harder. She’s slick and warm and quivering, and Debbie almost gasps at how good she feels. She doesn’t though, manages to keep her lips tight around Lou’s clit, increasing the pressure as she curls her fingers inside her.
Lou cries out, every muscle taut, and Debbie guides her through one release and into the next, doesn’t let up until Lou reaches down to push her away from overstimulation. Debbie grins and kisses her way back up Lou’s body, keeps her fingers stroking in and out of her just to prolong the twitching of Lou’s thighs. And because she likes it, loves it, loves her .
“That was -” Lou murmurs.
Debbie just laughs, relaxes against the mattress, head pillowed on Lou’s shoulder and finally withdraws her fingers. It’s a privilege to watch Lou lick them clean.
“Tell me about your trip, baby,” she says, watches Lou’s eyes go a little glassy at the question, but can’t mistake the way she tugs Debbie closer, too.
“I took photos,” Lou says, “but I think I’d rather bring you in person.”
“Maybe for our honeymoon.”
“Our what?”
“You heard me.”
Lou’s silent for an agonizing eight and a half seconds in which Debbie’s heart threatens to break her rib cage. Then Lou shrugs a little, blushes, and “Sounds perfect, Jailbird.”
**
Debbie doesn’t get down on one knee, doesn’t bother with any sort of question because rehearsed words sound hollow and Lou whispering “mine” in her ear while she pushes her swimsuit bottoms to the floor is more important anyway.
They eat, and afterwards Debbie spreads sunscreen over Lou’s pale skin and only scowls a little when Lou tells her it’s her turn. The ocean feels even better with Lou by her side in the surf. It’s there in the water, sometime later, that Debbie begins to explain her plan - an idea born of Rusty’s mention of scamming a tourist trap in the Maldives. It takes a half an hour to walk Lou through the entire scheme, and they stumble back up the beach as Debbie describes the finale.
“This place won’t know what hit it,” Debbie says as she finishes, flops down in the double chaise lounge by the sliding door to their room.
Lou sprawls next to her, drying her hair. “That’s incredibly stupid.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Debbie smiles, closes her eyes. “But it’s good , right?”
Lou chuckles and tosses her towel aside, “I guess we’ll see.” Her hand finds Debbie’s, weaving their fingers together.
Debbie listens to the rush of the waves for a few minutes, content to just be for what feels like the first time in her life. Doesn’t break the silence until Lou throws an arm around her and tugs her into the curve of her body. Then -
“I got the license, by the way,” she says, “just needs signatures.”
Lou yawns sleepily. “Tonight? I need a nap first.”
Debbie dips her head to kiss the soft skin of the arm tucked around her chest. “Yeah, baby. Whenever you want.”