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Really Gay Thoughts

Chapter Text

“I am so gay,” is Lou’s only thought when Debbie’s perfume envelopes her in the car.

“Deborah fucking Ocean,” is what comes out of her mouth. “I thought you changed your number.”

Debbie does nothing more than roll her eyes. “Drive the car, Miller.”

She turns back to the road. “With pleasure.”

They sit in silence for a while, the silent swish swish of the windscreen wiper and the droplets of the rain the only sound breaking the quiet. Lou is basking in it, aware through her peripheral vision that Debbie is studying her.

A calloused hand touches the hand not steering lightly. “What happened?”

“Hm?” Lou doesn’t glance away from the road.

“What happened to your hand?”

She glances down quickly, and spots the injury Debbie is referring to. “Oh. Nothing worth noting.”

Debbie says nothing for a moment, her hand lighting tracing around the torn skin on Lou’s right hand.

Lou’s eyes continue to track her movements, but she doesn’t draw away.

“It’s a good thing you’re left handed, then.”

“I have a highly developed right hemisphere.”

Debbie chuckles lightly. “I suppose you do.” Then, more lightly, “Sap.”

Lou turns for long enough to glare at her. “Right-handers.”




“I hate you.”

“And yet you came to pick me up.”

Lou falters for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is softer than before. “And yet I did.” Debbie’s hand on hers suddenly feels too hot.

“So, where are we going now?” Debbie withdraws her hand and turns towards the front of the car. “You’re not homeless anymore, are you?”

“Says the ex-convict.” Debbie punches her. “Hey, be nice to the driver. Do you think I would let an Ocean live on the streets? You’d get beat up by all the other homeless people before the day is out.”

“And here I thought you were going to be actually nice to me.”

“Oh baby, you know me better than that.”

“Here I’d have thought the slammer would have taught you some manners.”

Debbie chuckles something breathless, “Five years don’t change that much, Miller.”

Lou’s eyes find Debbie’s in the rearview mirror. “No, I guess you’re right.”

The rest of the car ride passes in relative silence, but when they pull up at the loft that Lou moved in five years and eight months ago, she can tell she made a good choice. “You look like a Venus flytrap.”

Debbie shuts her mouth, but lifts her eyebrows.

Lou sights. “Go ahead, say it.”

“A loft, Miller?”

“You love it, don’t bother pretending.”

Debbie looks around again, and her eyes soften almost imperceptibly, “You’re right for maybe the first time ever.”

Lou flips her the bird, and Debbie laughs. “Well, welcome me into the Miller residence.”

Lou steps forward, and with a sweep of her arms, unlocks the doors to the loft. “Welcome,” she says with a flourish of her arms, “To your new home for the foreseeable future.” She turns and winks at the brunette. “I would carry you over the threshold bride-style, but I think you would gut me, and I would like to live to see those big Liz Taylor jewels outside of their vaults.”

Debbie smirks. “You know me too well, babe.” Her eyes brighten as she steps into the loft, and Lou wants to cry because she could have taken an apartment in Manhattan after Debbie left her for Claude, but something made her continue the purchase of a home she knew Debbie would love. “Nice place.” Maybe she really is a sap.

That thought is annoying enough to snap her out of whatever she was doing, “Try heating it. Your room’s on the left.”

“All my stuff, too?”

“Most of it. I borrowed some stuff. Figured you weren’t using it anyway.” She turns for long enough to give Debbie a shit-eating grin and disappears into the kitchen. “Did you already have lunch in the slammer or do you want Mexican?”

Debbie rubs her arm as she slowly turns around in the home that is so big, so large for one person, and doesn’t find it surprising that if anyone else lived here it would seem lonely, but for Lou, it is almost just right. “Is that your bike in the living room, Miller?”

“Living my best life, I know.”

“I can’t believe you actually made good on your promise and dragged that thing inside.”

“Hey,” Lou’s head pops back out from the kitchen, “show some respect. That right there is my baby.”

Debbie’s voice is sweet enough to be dripping with honey. “Aw, I thought I was your baby.”

Lou rolls her eyes. “In your dreams, Ocean.”

“Love you too. And I want Chinese.”

“That’s dinner.”

“So you still don’t know how to cook? And here I thought you were doing something productive while I was gone.”

“It’s been five years, Ocean. Not the lifetime it would take for me to ever learn how to not fry myself when cooking vegetables.”

“You eat vegetables?”

A hand pops out from behind the kitchen door, and Debbie laughs as Lou flips her the finger again. “Mexican it is, then. But I have to do something after that, so could you hurry up?”

Lou comes out holding two cups of hot chocolate. “Already on its way.”

“That was fast,” Debbie gratefully accepts the steaming cup of chocolate, “I would’ve thought it would take more time.”

“Please, Ocean, give me some credit. Anyone with half a brain would know the food in the slammer is probably second only to my cooking,” Debbie shudders at the thought of black mushes of things Lou called edible, “and you eat enough to feed a small family.”

Debbie raises an eyebrow, “Are you complaining, Miller?”

Lou chuckles something incredibly fond and places a kiss on Debbie’s head, knowing how it always irked Debbie how she was shorter than Lou. “Never.”

Debbie shrugs away from her and takes another sip from her mug, “I’m going to go look through my stuff, and for your sake I pray that you didn’t take anything I like too much.”

Lou walks over to the sofa and picks up the book she was reading. “Go ahead, Ocean.”

Chapter Text

It is always so easy with Lou, Debbie reflects as she walks up the stairs. So easy it was like breathing. Five years should be more than enough to create barriers between most people, but not with Lou. Stupid, strong, stubborn Lou, who kept her room clean enough for her to go into it and sleep if she wanted to, who kept her things without a word of complain even though she didn’t need to. In this industry, five years is enough time for a person’s loyalties to change more than five times over even if the partners remain in contact and didn’t leave each other the way she left Lou. But here Lou is, inviting her back into her home and her life as though it were no big deal, as though Debbie hadn’t stood in a parking lot and said to her, “I’m leaving you for Claude.” Debbie isn’t slow, and she knows how valuable Lou’s loyalty is.

Something like regret pricks Debbie’s eyes as she looks through her things, and even that stupid wig that Lou always hated is there, placed neatly on a fake head. (Which Lou did draw on so that it seemed almost like a real head when Debbie opened her closet, but then again Lou’s gotta Lou, right?) Nothing is missing, except a few night shirts, and Debbie doesn’t know how to face Lou anymore, because the first and only person Debbie wanted to see when she got out of the prison was Lou, and the only number that she had seared in her brain was Lou’s. Not even Claude’s or Danny’s, even though she wouldn’t have reached out to either of them anyway.

“Are you crying, Ocean?”

Curse Lou’s soft footsteps. “Shut up.”

Lou’s eyes soften behind her chopped bangs and she steps closer into the room. “I suppose the blandness of your wardrobe is coming back to you.”

“Says the walking color pallet.”

“You know you love it.”

Debbie is going to disagree and poke some more fun at Lou’s eccentric collection of three piece suits of various colors that hugged her body in just the right places for a girl’s mind to go to the wrong places, but suddenly she felt strong arms encase her and the words died in her throat.

“I hate to admit it, Ocean, but I missed you.” Lou’s voice is low, and Debbie manages not to swoon at the sound of it so close.

She swallows, “You really have gone soft, haven’t you, Miller?”

“Shut up and let me hold you,” Lou murmurs into her shoulder. “You talk too much sometimes.”

So she does, because she also doesn’t trust her voice to remain steady because god, Lou is so warm and so solid and she’s dreamed of this too often in her cold, lonely cell.

When Lou releases her, Debbie wants more. But Lou tousles her bangs almost ruefully, “This is all your fault, you know.”


“You grow on people.”

Debbie tries to tell a joke, tries to lighten the conversation because that’s what they do and that’s the dance they’ve both always adhered to and Debbie misses her easy routine with Lou, but her brain fails her and all that comes out is, “So do you.” She clears her throat, shakes off the feeling of something more hidden behind Lou’s eyes, “C’mon. I want to bandage that hand of yours.”

“Oh that,” Lou barely glances at it, “don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t always take good care of yourself, Miller. Let me.” Her voice is soft and Lou softens too.

“I’m more worried that it was fine and after you lay your hands on it it’ll go bad and I’ll die.”

Debbie smacks her arm, “Shut up and go sit on the couch downstairs.”

Lou laughs and heads down. “Hurry up and get down, Ocean,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Yeah, coming.”

Debbie has to calm herself for a moment, pressing her hands against her forehead as she tries to get rid of the warmth of Lou’s body pressed against hers. Lou has no sense of personal space, and that is all well and fine but Debbie Ocean hasn’t been laid in a long time and there was a lot of Lou in her imagination when she was alone in her bunk. She takes a deep breath, and moves to find something more comfortable to wear.

Her eyes land on the tight black dress that she remembers vividly that a certain Claude Becker once whispered into her ear, “I love this dress on you.” Something twists inside her, and she smiles.

Lou is reading on the couch, her injured hand hanging over the side of the couch, when Debbie ascends from her room. “Took you long enough,” she says, not looking up, “What were you doing up there, cataloging all of your–” Her voice falters when she catches sight of Debbie, and she swallows. “Wow. Is there something I’m forgetting?”

Debbie tries hard not to smirk. “You’ll see later. First, where’s the food? Second, where’s your first aid kit?”

Lou throws her head back and groans, “I hate how you tease me.”

“First aid kit, Miller.”

“Over there in the third kitchen cabinet,” she says, her eyes still turned towards the ceiling, “and food’s on the table. Wash your hands before you touch either, thank you.”

“Yes, mom.”

Lou bites back her retort and turns back to her book, only lifting her head when Debbie comes back having successfully found the first aid kit. “You might not need the kit after all. That dress is doing wonders for my immune system.”

Debbie lifts her chin. “Eyes up here, Miller.” Lou’s eyes snap to her face and she doesn’t look the slightest bit sheepish.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Debbie’s mind goes to other places. “I can work with that. Hand, please. This might hurt.”

Lou’s eyes don’t waver from hers. “I can take pain.”

“Good to know.”

Debbie slides down next to Lou, and sanitizes the cut on Lou’s hand. Lou doesn’t hiss, her eyes still deep and dark on Debbie’s head, bent over her hand.

“You’re going to see Claude.” It wasn’t a question.

Debbie doesn’t bother denying it, “I am.”

There is another silence. “Why?”


“For him?”

“For us.”

Lou’s voice is so soft Debbie’s heart breaks. “There’s an us, huh?”

Debbie bandages the cut carefully, taking care not to accidentally touch the open cut. Then she looks up, and meets Lou’s eyes. Lou’s eyes are dark and grim, as though she didn’t expect anything. “There will always be an us, Lou.”

Lou searches her eyes, and Debbie lets her scrutinize her, and doesn't fail under Lou’s sharp gaze. Finally, Lou nods.

“All done.” Debbie pats it awkwardly.

“No kiss to make it better?” But Lou is already pulling her hand away and opening her book again.

Debbie acts on instinct, and bends down to place a soft kiss on her hand. “Better?”

The tips of Lou’s ears burn red and she clears her throat. “Better. You’ve gone soft on me too, Ocean.”

“You grew on me.”

Lou doesn’t turn back to her book and Debbie doesn’t turn to the kitchen for food. The air becomes almost uncomfortably tense, and Debbie nearly, just nearly, says something, but Lou beats her to it.

“Don’t go see Claude.”

Debbie raises an eyebrow, and Lou adds, “Let him languish in memory.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go see him?” Lou tilts her head, because she’s known Debbie for long enough to hear the mischievous lilt to her words. “Not even if he’s the best scapegoat we can get?”

Lou leans forward. “I’m listening.”

Chapter Text

Lou orders Chinese, ponders life, and switches into something more comfortable while Debbie puts on a pair of stilettos, retrieves her silk kimono, and heads towards the Claude Becker gallery not too far from the loft. Then Lou paces around in the loft, her eyes turned towards the clock too many times, and she sighs, too aware of the slow tick-tocking of the clock. Maybe she really has gone soft.

She picks up her book, sets it down, and tries not to focus too much on the last time Debbie had left her to go see Claude. Circumstances were different then, and she isn’t unreasonable. So she doesn’t pick up her phone and scroll through her contacts and call JLBRD, and she doesn’t start up her bike and ride after her. Instead, she sits down at her desk, picks up her reading glasses, opens her laptop, and tries her very best to look over the finances of the club. Dakota, her assistant at the club has sent her more than one email at this point, each one more exasperated than the last. It's a little before 7PM and the club shouldn’t be busy yet, so Lou calls her.

“Finally, Lou! I was beginning to think I’d have to file a missing persons report.”

Lou chuckles, “Sorry about that, Dakota. I had to deal with an old friend.”

“The one you’ve been stressing out over since Friday?”

Lou’s eyes narrow at the wall in front of her, “What?”

“Please, boss, I’ve been with you for, what, four years now? I have never seen you more rattled than Friday night,” then, in a lower tone, “don’t worry, I’m the only one who can tell.”

“First of all, I wasn’t worried, and second of all, I may just have to kill you now before you learn anymore.”

Dakota laughs, and Lou smiles at the hearty sound, “Well, anyway, have you read the numbers I sent you?”

“Yeah. Looks like we’re doing pretty good, huh?”

“So far. But we might want to get more vodka starting Sunday. Spring Holidays are coming up.”

“Check in with our suppliers for me, will you?”

“Can do. And boss…” Her voice trails off in the phone and Lou can almost picture the way she would be looking down at her hands right now, the same way she always does when she’s not sure if she’s overstepping.

“Alright, c’mon, spit it out, Dakota.”

“You know what I’m going to say, right?”

Lou sighs, an affectionate sound. “You’re going to tell me that it's about time that I take a vacation, aren’t you?”

“It’s that time of year again.” There is the vague sound of some shouting in the background, and Lou checks her watch. Too early to be a bar fight, so she doesn’t let Dakota go just yet.

“I might this year. I’ll let you know if I do.”

“Really?” Lou almost laughs at the way Dakota’s voice suddenly lights up.

“Am I that terrible of a boss?”

“No, but at least now I know you’re human.” Another bottle smashes in the background of Dakota’s call, and Lou frowns, at the same time that Dakota sighs, “Gotta go, boss. Some idiot is drunk at 7. Honestly.”

“OK, see you.”

“Take a good, long break, ‘kay? I got this club under control.”

“I know.”

“Good. Well, in that case– AMY! GET SECURITY IN FOR GOD’S SAKE! See you later, boss.”

Lou hangs up, and smiles at the wall. It’s nice to know things outside are still the same as they were before.

When Debbie gets back, the loft’s lights are dimmed, and Lou is wearing a kimono that Debbie distinctly remembers is hers. “So that’s what you stole from me, huh?” She says, fingering off her shoes.

“This?” Lou looks down at the fabric, and thumbs it thoughtfully, “To be honest, I can’t remember what’s yours and what’s mine. And besides, all those beautiful kimonos, doing nothing except collecting dust in your room... It’s what you would have wanted.”

“Gee, thanks.” She shrugs her coat off and folds it neatly over the couch. There is a tantalizing aroma coming from the kitchen.

Lou uncrosses her arms, and goes with her to the kitchen, where there is a table of Chinese takeout. “You’re welcome.”

“Is that what I think it is?”


Debbie slaps her arm. “No. Is that chow mein?”


“I would marry you right now.”

Lou reaches for a pair of chopsticks. “Honey, I’m going to need a diamond with that proposal.”

“You’ll get one.”


And they leave it at that.

Chapter Text

When the heist begins in earnest, though, the others pick up on things really quickly.

“Lou,” Tammy calls from her room, “Can you come in here?”

“At your service.” Lou appears out of thin air. “What can I do for the suburban mother of three?”

Tammy rolls her eyes, “Do you wear pink lace underwear?”

Lou remains unfazed. “Would you like to see for yourself?”


“I’m offended.”

“I’m married.”

“So you’re not interested?”


“Fine then, to answer your question, no.”

Tammy points at something on the ground. “Then what is that and why is it in my room?” Lou peers around her and blinks. “I wonder how that got there.”

“Would you please claim it for its owner and get it out of my room, then?”

“Oh, you can get the owner to come claim it for herself. Debbie,” Lou calls loudly as she crosses the room to pick up the clothing piece in question, “Your underwear is in Tam-Tam’s room.”

Debbie saunters in only a few seconds afterwards. “Aw, you know what my underwear looks like?”

“Can you guys do this somewhere else?” Tammy crosses her arms.

“Is my choice in underwear making you uncomfortable, Tim-Tam?” Debbie quips, accepting it from Lou as she hands it to her. Lou’s eyes twinkle at the mention of Tim-Tams, and Debbie silently makes a note to get her a pack on her next grocery run.

“No, but the image of you two going at it in my room is.”

Lou laughs, and winks at Tammy, making the latter blush. “We love you too, Tam-Tam.”

And Debbie doesn’t not notice that Lou doesn’t deny it, even though they haven’t done anything. But dear God, Lou walking around in those vests with no undershirt will be the death of her, Debbie thinks to herself as they walk out of Tammy’s room to the astonished faces of the other girls. Debbie waves her underwear at them, and disappears upstairs to put it away.

Rose stands up. “Lou, will I find underwear in my room too?” Her Irish accent becomes even more prominent whenever she is nervous, anxious, annoyed, or scared, and right now she's a little bit of all of those things.

Lou shrugs and picks at the scab on her right hand. “Ask Debbie. It’s her underwear.”

Nine Ball throws her head back and groans. “Please don’t tell me you guys have been doing it in my room, too.”

Lou reaches out to smack the grinning Constance before answering, “Unless you mean planning for the heist, no, we have not been doing anything.”

“Debbie too stressed?” Amita asks, her face understanding as she nods.

“Something about only screwing people she dates,” Lou murmurs as she picks up her book, and leaves for her room. The other girls sit almost in stunned silence until Lou’s door closes.

“That is unbelievable.” Surprisingly, Rose is the first to say anything. “They’re not dating?”

Constance shakes her head, “I thought they were married.”

A chorus of nods and agreements sound through the girls.

Rose continues, “I mean, did you all see the way Debbie leaned into Lou when we were talking about the catering orders?”

“Or that time when Lou was up all night making Debbie hot chocolate because Debbie couldn’t sleep?” Amita gets stares. “What, I have insomnia. I'm up all night, too, but Lou never makes me anything.”

“OK, remember that time I took you all to play pool?” Nine Ball chimes in. The others nod, and Nine Ball continues. “Yeah, well, I met Lou at a pool contest and she won. But that time we went together, Debbie was literally all over Lou trying to teach her how to play pool.”

Constance sighs, “Oh, poor, poor lesbians. They’re obviously pining for one another.”

“You realize that Debbie’s room is right above the living room, right?” Tammy interrupts, stepping out from her room. “And the walls are thin enough here that I heard everything you guys just said.”

“Tammy, can you believe they aren’t dating?” Constance practically springs up to make space for the blond woman.

“Yes.” She receives stares. “What? And you guys got it wrong, by the way. They aren’t pinning. Lou and Debbie are just… Lou and Debbie. That’s how they work and it’s gotten worse, this flirting, but they’ve always been this way. Don’t you guys worry about them.”

Nine Ball shrugs, and exhales a long breath of smoke. “Trust the mom.”

The subject drops and the heist goes on, but Tammy wasn’t wrong. Debbie’s room is on top of the living room, and Debbie has sharp ears.

Chapter Text

“Hey Lou?”

“Hm?” She didn’t lift her head from the new book in her hands, but Debbie is happy to see the new pink skin on her hand where the garish cut had been before.

“I have a question.”

“I might have an answer.”

“What would you say if I told you the girls think I have feelings for you?”

Lou doesn’t answer for a moment, and Debbie is so sure that this is going to be different, but then Lou shrugs and turns a page, “I’d say I’m shocked you have feelings.”

Debbie rolls her eyes, “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re too hypothetical.”

“I’m going to bed.”

Lou lifts her head up, and raises an eyebrow, “Is that an invitation?”

“In your dreams.”

Lou chuckles and toasts her with a Tim Tam before turning another page, “Sweet dreams, Ocean.”

“Good night, Miller.”

Debbie walks out of the room, and once she’s out of the room, Lou sighs, suddenly weary beyond measure and turns back two pages in her book.

“You guys are sad.” A voice sounds from behind the couch. Lou would have jumped in another life, but as it is she’s a criminal who has been on the run for her life too many times to be fazed by anything at this point, so she just smiles and sets her book down.

“Enjoy the show, Amita?”

The jeweler pulls herself up from where she was lying on the ground and wipes her sweatshirt, “Not really, no. And that was really awkward. I get down for one second to pick up a Tim Tam and this happens.”


She shakes her head, “Look, Tammy told me to butt out and not say anything, so I’m not going to say anything, but honestly, Lou. You cannot tell me you don’t want,” she gestures wildly in their general direction, “whatever that is. I thought you’d have more of a spine.”

Lou cocks an eyebrow, “Oh? And how is Mr. His-Eyes-Are-Like-Diamonds?”

Amita flushes, and gets up to throw away the cookie in her hand, “He’s married.”

Lou nods, “And I suppose you haven’t got Nine Ball digging around in his footprint?” She bats her eyes almost too innocently.

Amita groans, and holds her hands up in defeat, “OK, OK, I got the message.” She hoists herself up and nods in Debbie’s room’s direction, “Just saying, you guys actually got a chance. Don’t waste it.” And she looks so sad while she says it that Lou shuts up, and just nods.

Amita leaves, and Lou gets up as well, stretching out her muscles, and turns to go upstairs to her room when she sees a magic eight ball, lying on the stairs where she last left it. She had been playing with it when Debbie pitched the heist to the other girls and had forgotten about checking its answer to the question she had asked it afterwards. She crosses over to it and picks it up, turning it so she could see the answer floating in the small triangle window.

“Without a doubt.”

She swallows, and asks the question again, and closes her eyes before shaking it hard. When she dares to look again, there it is. “It is certain.”

Lou looks at it again just to be sure, and with a self-conscious chuckle, places it down on the couch and goes to bed.

Chapter Text

“Are you anxious about today?” Lou asks as she pulls her unruly blond hair into a ponytail.

“Am I ever?”

“I don’t know, jail changes people. Or so I’m told.”

Debbie crosses her arms and leans against the door frame as she watches Lou apply her normal charcoal liner under her eyes in her underwear and tries not to let her eyes linger too long on the wrong places, “You know where we’re meeting, right?”

“Have I ever forgotten a rendezvous place?”

“I don’t know, time changes people. Or so I’m told.”

Lou sets her eye liner down, and searches Debbie’s eyes in the mirror, “Not me.”

Debbie’s mouth is suddenly dry, “Me neither.”

“We’ll be fine.” Lou picks up her brow pencil and her eyes go back to appraising her own face. “I asked the magic eight ball, you know. It said we would be fine.”

“Thanks, real reassuring,” Debbie looks down at her nails before she asks, “did you ask it anything else?’

“I did.”

Debbie lifts an eyebrow, “Oh? What’d you ask?”

Lou winks at her, “I’ll tell you after the heist. Maybe. If you’re good.”

“So you don’t want me to be naughty?”

Lou groans. “We need to work on your dirty talk.”

“Oh baby, I can do much better with the right motivation.”

Lou’s eyes twinkle. “We’ll see.”

Still, Debbie is still hyper-conscious of the way her voice is too high pitched in the random New York bathroom she found to apply her makeup and wig, because five years is a long time and even though oceans remain fundamentally the same for centuries, small things do change and small things can have a big impact.

Like, for instance, the idea that Lou’s face will be caught on camera at a high stakes heist and any hacker could cross reference her face with the blond woman with Debbie in any past heist and it would be immediately suspicious to anyone with half a brain. Luckily, CCTVs aren’t exactly an old invention, and she’d already asked Nine Ball to wipe any footage of her and Lou together at the scene of an old heist before they got on the truck to get to the Met.

But there was also the fact that any of them could be cross referenced, even though the group is betting on the Met Gala to be so full of people that no one really notices them in faraway security camera.

There is also the added danger of the press cameras, which have the tendency to get everywhere. Rose is so very visible, and to give her or Tammy accessories to carry away after the heist may be easily detected if people look at the before and after pictures of them at the Met. That’s the reason why Debbie won’t be carrying anything stolen on her visibly; she knows she is bound to be detected at some point. The only comfort and chance the group is relying on is that either no one will notice or someone will, but because the jewels are all cut up into different pieces, no one puts two and two together.

And of course, there is always the chance that Lou could get caught getting the crown jewels. And if that happens… She has to stop for a moment and rest her head against the cool surface of the mirror to stop herself from thinking. Lou can handle herself. Lou’s always handled herself, and as long as Debbie is where she needs to be when she needs to be, Lou will be fine.

“Trust yourself,” she whispers underneath her breath as she adjusts the wig one final time, “you got this.”

Then she saunters out of the bathroom, and heads over to the crowded museum. It’s showtime.

And everything goes off without a hitch. Even slipping Claude that one piece of stone that would get him incriminated was so easy, so easy that Debbie almost doesn’t know how to contain herself as she stands at the crosswalk, wringing her hands and waiting for Lou like they had agreed before the heist. A smile dances on her lips as the deja-vu of the moment pulls her back to when she and Lou were doing other heists, and how no matter how far they split up during the heist, they always found their way back to one and other. The other girls were already waiting back at the loft, but right now, this victory moment is Lou’s.

She rolls around on the balls of her feet, anxiously waiting for Lou to appear. She is almost trembling, vibrating with excitement, because holy shit they got away with it and all she wants to do is jump around and dance, but Lou isn’t here yet so the celebration has to wait. She strains her neck looking for Lou, but nothing, not even Lou’s lateness (a rarity for the blond), could damper her mood, because holy fucking shit she did it. They did it.

And then Lou walks out from behind the hot dog stand, smirking in that emerald green sparkly outfit that accentuates her everything, and Debbie’s mind goes blissfully blank for the first time in five years.

Chapter Text

“Cat got your tongue?” Lou teases as she crosses over the sidewalk in a few strides.

Debbie swallows, and says the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m so gay.”

Lou’s look of surprise is quickly washed away by her laugh, “If I had known this would make you react this way, I would’ve worn this all day every day since Tam-Tam got it for us.”

Her eyes darken with something that looks like lust as she rakes her eyes down Debbie’s black and gold number, and she mumbles, almost too quickly for Debbie to hear, “On second thought, I wouldn’t have been able to control myself if you looked like that every day.”

Debbie shakes herself, “I just want to say I refuse to be a child.”

“Oh?” Lou’s eyes focus on her lips.

“I refuse to be a horny teenager, and–” But she doesn’t get the chance to finish, because suddenly, lips are crashing on hers, and Lou is softer than she ever was before. Debbie moans, the sound reverberating in Lou’s bones, and suddenly all Debbie wanted to say is tossed out the window.

Lou breaks away first, a mischievous glance in her eyes, her lipstick mussed around her lips. “You were saying?”

“I,” Debbie stammers, probably for the first time in her life, “I was just…” She throws her hands up in the air, “Oh, fuck you, Lou.”

Lou chuckles, the sound making Debbie’s head spin. “Maybe at home. C’mon, now, darling. We have a refrigerator full of jewels to tango with at home.” She intertwines her hand with Debbie’s and holds her other hand out to hail a taxi.

It’s dark in the car, but Lou’s profile is lit up by the New York lights outside and Debbie wants to turn her around and kiss her again so bad, but then her hand traces over the pink scar on Lou’s right hand, and she blurts instead, “did the kiss really make it heal faster?” The kiss definitely killed Debbie's brain cells, Debbie decides.

To her credit, Lou doesn’t ask Debbie what she’s talking about. Instead, she lifts her hand for Debbie to inspect herself.

“We really need to talk like adults before we do any of that teenager stuff, by the way.”

Lou’s grip on her hand tightens just a little bit, “We will.” She pulls Debbie in for another kiss, and smiles something tender at her, “I promise.”

Of course, when they walk hand in hand back into the loft, everyone immediately notices, and then there is a lot of exchanging of money and Lou and Debbie protesting weakly about why they weren’t included in the bets (“Because Tammy told us to butt out, duh,” Constance goes, and Tammy shrugs. “I bet on after the heist. There was no way I was letting any of them goad you two into cheating me out of my 50 dollars.” “Dirty, dirty Tam-Tam,” Debbie clucks her tongue.), so it’s not until a lot later that Debbie gets to ask Lou.

She tangles her legs with Lou as her breath slows down. “What did you ask the magic eight ball?”

Lou strokes her hair gently, and smiles, happiness almost glowing on her. “Do I have to tell you?”

“You promised.” She pulls the cover around so it covers both of them a bit more, and Lou sighs.

“I asked if we were meant to be.”

“And what did the magic eight ball say?”

Lou’s eyes are dark again, and Debbie wants to drown in them as she pauses a few inches away from Debbie’s face, her breath warm on Debbie’s lips. “Without a doubt.”

Debbie smiles, and leans forward.“Sap,” she murmurs into Lou’s lips.

Lou pulls away for long enough to frown at her, and Debbie almost whines at the lack of contact. “Stop talking and let me kiss you.”