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The first time they met was at a gala. Amélie was not yet a Lacroix, Jesse not yet an Overwatch agent. And Ashe, well she wasn’t quite so lonely. But that was before the betrayals, before Gérard Lacroix stole what was hers, before all she held crumbled in her hands like ash.
Perhaps it was her namesake. Perhaps a curse, spat on her name as her parents cast her out. But riding the intoxicating high of youth and the sense of invulnerability it brought, Ashe had clawed her way to the top, building her own gang with a few friends. Her own family. The idea of it disappearing one day was pushed from her mind. Thick as the thieves they were, forging alliances and bringing the American southwest to its knees. The world was ripe for the taking and they would take it together.
But taking sometimes requires a bit of coaxing. Which is how they wound up in Paris, Jesse fingering his collar and rocking on the heels of his new dress shoes. They were there to meet a potential client, for Ashe to make a soft contact and plant the seed of a partnership with an arms dealer.
“McCree, if you pull that tie anymore I am going to strangle you with it,” Ashe said, eyes scanning the crowd. He shoved one hand into his pocket with a sigh and took a sip of his drink. Jack and coke for him, bourbon, neat, for her. Her own suit was tailored impeccably of course, but Ashe had grown up in these spaces, wore the refinery with ease. Polite conversation and practiced smiles, the slight touch on the wrist as you bow out to find someone with higher social standing. She could handle this vipers den as well as any other, despite her companion’s discomfort.
Ashe tapped a manicured nail on the edge of her glass before spotting her target.
“There’s our boy.” She gave a slight nod toward an older gentleman in a crisp blue suit. It was imperceptible, easy to miss had Jesse not known her like the back of his own hand. “Don’t look.” She knew him just as well and he rolled his eyes at the admonishment.
“So what’s the plan? Who’s our in?” he asked, flashing a grin. As sharp of a shooter as he was, Jesse lacked the ability to see the whole field as his partner did.
“Marques de Lyon, that’s who,” she replied, gesturing nonchalantly with her drink to another man near the bar. “He’s that broker out of New Orleans with that heist we did down outside of Tucson.” She placed a hand on Jesse’s elbow and led him across the room, before calling out to de Lyon.
“Well if my eyes don’t deceive me, Marques de Lyon! What are you doing out of the bayou?” Ashe deepened her southern accent as the man turned to the familiar voice. An easy smile broke out on his face as he laid eyes on Ashe. Jesse couldn’t recall him, but sized him up quickly, guessing the man to be in his mid 60’s.
“Elizabeth Ashe, always a pleasure,” de Lyon rumbled. “You know, people say France has the best food in the world, but,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning into Ashe’s ear conspiratorially, “I have tried their beignets and they leave much to be desired.” Ashe threw her head back with a laugh, catching the attention of a few onlookers with the boisterous sound. Jesse knew it was feigned, but it was clear the broker appreciated it. He turned his gaze toward Jesse, extending a hand.
“Jesse McCree.” He shook it and frowned slightly at de Lyon’s soft grip.
“Jesse is my partner, instrumental really on that little problem you had in Texas,” Ashe said, trying to smooth things over before McCree’s face blew it. “He’s not a man of many words I’m afraid. But he’s a damn good shot.” The broker smiled thinly.
“I’m sure he is,” he drawled before turning his attention back to Ashe. “Now, how can I help you little lady? You and I both know you didn’t come here for culinary lessons.”
“Always to the point, Marques,” Ashe said, taking a sip from her glass. “I hear you know Monsieur Guillard. I’d like to make him a mutual friend, if you don’t mind.” He smiled and nodded, placing a hand along the small of her back to guide her through the crowd.
“Come along boy,” he called. Jesse sighed and followed begrudgingly. But as they slipped past various guests, he let out a low whistle.
“Who’s that beside our man?” McCree asked de Lyon, eyeing the lithe brunette next to their target. The broker just waved him off, before introducing Ashe to Guillard. “Jean, I have someone I’d love you to meet,” de Lyon said. Guillard turned and appraised Ashe. They shook hands and Ashe brought Jesse into the conversation. Guillard gestured to the young woman at his elbow.
“This is my niece, Amélie.” Ashe couldn’t help giving her a once over, meeting Amélie’s amber eyes with a smirk. But Amélie didn’t break eye contact, forcing Ashe to look back to her uncle out of respect and start to work her magic. She could see McCree try to strike up a chat with Amélie, with little success.
“Je suis désolée, mais je ne parle pas Anglais,” she overheard Amélie say to the cowboy. Still, Ashe could feel the girl’s eyes on her throughout the conversation.
The broker was worth his weight in gold to Ashe, appropriately talking up Ashe’s services to Guillard while peppering in examples of the Deadlock Gang’s exemplary work. Ashe felt confident in her chances, until she felt another set of eyes on her. A dark haired man had worked his way from conversation to conversation toward them, moving enough for the average person to not notice, yet still close enough to overhear their discussion. Time to wrap things up. Regardless of who the man was, he was getting too close for her comfort. Ashe moved half a step closer to Guillard, placing a hand lightly on his forearm.
“Forgive me, monsieur. But it seems we have attracted the interest of a gentleman I have not yet met,” she said quietly. Guillard followed her eyes, spotting the dark haired man. He placed his own hand upon hers.
“Mademoiselle, it was lovely meeting you. I’ll be in touch. Marques, I thank you as always for introducing me to your most interesting friends. Amélie, va dehors, s'il te plaît.”
The group splintered and as Ashe glanced back, the dark haired man seemed to melt into the crowd.
“McCree, we’ve got some time before we can leave. I’m going to get some air, you coming?” He waved back dismissively.
“I’ll be at the bar,” he huffed. “Tired of these Europeans. Just come get me when you’re ready.”
“Suit yourself!” Ashe wandered toward the balcony, slipping a cigarette from the inside breast pocket of her suit jacket. She cursed, realizing she didn’t have a lighter in the pack. Spotting a figure leaning against the railing, Ashe made her way toward the person.
“Pardonne-moi, mademoiselle. Avez vous un briq-- oh, Amélie!” Ashe said, realizing who she’d stumbled upon gazing out over the balcony edge.
“Hello, Elizabeth was it?” Amélie smiled coyly.
“I didn’t know you spoke French.” She turned her gaze back toward the cityscape. Ashe leaned her back against the railing, keeping the doors to the balcony in her peripheral vision.
“Boarding school brat, guilty as charged,” Ashe admitted, rolling the unlit cigarette between her fingers. “And I’m fairly sure my friend Jesse didn’t know you spoke English.”
Amélie wrinkled her nose at the mention of Jesse.
“It’s a useful trick when dealing with foreigners I’m sure,” Ashe smirked, running a hand through her blonde hair. “Still, it can help to just smile and nod when dealing with my friends.” The brunette turned to appraise her companion.
“Friends, is that what you call those men?”
“Friends, business partners, marks. Depends on the day. What would you call them?”
“Cochons,” she spat.
“And your uncle? He’s the one who brought you here, isn’t he?”
At that, Amélie sighed.
“Oui, mais… He means well. He thinks it’s better for me to focus on getting married than on my career. There are a lot of wealthy men in that room.” Ashe nodded, lips pressed tight.
“But as you said, pigs.”
“Pigs.”
“Well, when you’re not avoiding possible marriage material, what do you do?” Ashe asked.
“I am a dancer.”
Ashe quirked an eyebrow at that, looking Amélie up and down in an exaggerated manner.
“Ballet. Just in the corps now but of course, principal is the dream,” Amélie said. Ashe could see her flush a bit and smiled at the passion in the brunette’s voice. “My company recently closed our performance of Swan Lake, so I have a bit of time off before I’ll need to be back for training. I’m hoping I’ll be promoted to demi-soloist next but I have a lot of competition and I’m not exactly getting any younger.” She glanced back at Ashe, who watched her with an odd expression. “Ah, but I must be boring you. If you move in the same circles as my uncle, you have far more interest in--”
“I prefer The Nutcracker actually, but Swan Lake’s pretty good too,” the blonde said, to Amélie’s surprise. “It was my mother’s thing. We watched it every year around Christmas time, old holovids of the New York City Ballet. I liked the Mouse King the best.”
“You liked the villain?”
Ashe nodded with a sad smile and Amélie could swear she saw the blonde’s eyes glisten with tears for a moment before Ashe blinked them away.
“He just wanted what everyone else had, to be in the house with the people, on Christmas,” she said with a slight chuckle. “But still, Clara and the Prince always kill him in the end.”
Amélie watched as the woman beside her seemed to drift off into her own quiet world. She reached over, touching Ashe lightly on the shoulder and bringing her back to the present.
“Do you want to get out of here? My apartment isn’t too far,” Amélie said gently.
“I’d like nothing more,” Ashe replied with a smile. Amélie thought it might be the first genuinely happy one she’d seen on the blonde all night. Neither smirking nor saccharine, flattery playing across the blood red lips. Not that Amélie had been staring.
They headed back inside, toward the door, stopping briefly by the bar for Ashe to let McCree know she’d be joining him later. Jesse looked between the two women briefly, before making the connection.
“‘No English’ my ass,” he groaned. “Of all the girls you gotta leave with, it just had to be the one I was talking to?”
“I think ‘talking to’ requires the conversation to go both ways, Jesse” Ashe ribbed. “Plus, I don’t even know if she goes that way, even if she wasn’t going your way.”
“You always say that,” McCree said, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “Have fun. I’ll see you back at the hotel?”
“Don’t wait up for me!” She said, punching his shoulder lightly. She left him at the bar, catching up to Amélie who was saying goodbye to her uncle. The women made their way outside and Ashe flagged down a taxi with ease. Amélie gave the driver her address and soon they were speeding through the city.
True to her word, Ashe wasn’t sure what exactly Amélie wanted from the night and kept her hands to herself in the back of the cab. But the brunette slipped her slim hand into Ashe’s, firming things up. Ashe lifted Amélie’s hand, pressing a crimson kiss across her knuckles.
The pair exited the taxi and climbed the stairs leading up to Amélie’s apartment. After the second flight, Ashe grabbed Amélie’s hand, pulling the brunette into her arms with a grin.
“Darling, there are far too many stairs,” she said, pulling the two of them until her back was against the wall of the landing. Amélie giggled and brought her arms up around the blonde’s neck.
“Just a few more,” she whispered into Ashe’s ear, nipping it gently. “I’ll make it worth the stairs, I promise.”
Ashe took the opportunity to pepper kisses against the exposed column of the dancer’s neck. “I’m holding you to that,” she murmured.