Author's Notes: Hey there! This work is completely random and came to me just as I'm dying from trying to balance a full-time job, a part-time job, and working on my thesis. Yay for multi-chapter WIPs!

Anyway, this is primarily a fluff piece that aims to provide all the shippy goodness that the film failed to give us but if you've read any of my other works, you'd know the angst will come. Lou and Debbie are a no-brainer but the added character here was inspired by the Vogue Australia photoshoot that Cate and Chris had together (this is so sweet y'all, you gotta check it out if you haven't seen it) and the many posts on tumblr that have led to Chris Hemsworth being unofficially adopted by (part of) the fandom.

Btw, the fic title (and all the chapter titles) comes from a 90s OPM song called "214" by a local band, Rivermaya. Give it a listen.

Chapter 1: do the words i speak before you make you feel

"Hey, Deb."

"Lou?" Debbie pauses before feeling a slight panic rise within. "Are you alright?"

"Deb—"

"What happened?"

"I'm fine, Deborah," Lou responds, fond exasperation as evident in her tone as her eye-roll.

"Then what's wrong?"

"Why do you always assume that something's wrong when I call you?"

"You never call when you're on the road."

"That's," Lou pauses, blinks. "Fair."

"And it's only been about three weeks since you left so you're either still in California or you cut your trip short and are on your way back. Regardless, you're technically still on the road."

"Well, you're not wrong."

"Uh huh. So tell me."

"Okay." Lou scuffs her shoes against the concrete. "I am still in California. And I haven't burnt up from the heat, thanks for asking."

"You're stalling."

Lou huffs. "Right." She takes a deep breath, audible through the line.

"That bad?"

"No. Although, maybe yes. Well, not really."

"Out with it, Miller, you're not making any sense." She hears her partner mumble something incomprehensible. "I'm sorry, I thought you didn't speak Ukrainian?"

"ImayormaynothavebeensnappedbypaparazziandIneedNineBalltomakesuremyfaceisinnoneofthem."

"Baby. You do realize that as much as I love your accent, talking fast makes it so thick, right?" And then, patronizingly, as if she were talking to a child, she continues, "Can you speak a little more slowly for me?"

Lou groans, more out embarrassment for what she's about to say than anything. "I said, I may or may not have been snapped by paparazzi and I need Nine Ball to make sure my face isn't in any of the photos leaked online."

Debbie blinks, twice. "Right, of course. Just—" She laughs awkwardly. "Just one thing... Have you been living a double life while I was incarcerated?"

"I don't follow."

"Okay, let's put it this way… I didn't realize you were, uh, famous?"

Lou scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Debbie."

"Alright then, so the vultures had nothing better to—Oh. Oh. Okay, I just opened my browser and here you are on some suggested articles. I may have been in the slammer for nearly six years but I heard about him and his big break over four, five years ago. Harry Miller, overnight superstar, him. I get why they'd snap you. I mean, of course, seeing as you're practically necking with Hollywood's favorite hunk. Not to mention father and husband!"

Gagging sounds flow through from Lou's side of the conversation. "First of all, that Oscar nomination was well-deserved." Is that pride seeping through Lou Miller's voice? "But more importantly, that's disgusting. They just got the angle wrong—"

"Or right, if you wanna get as juicy as possible." Debbie teases. If the circumstances were any different, she'd be worried about Lou and how she must be feeling about having compromised her principles. But right now, she's having a field day because she's sure Lou would never willingly be the 'other woman', much less to a man.

Lou growls the way a petulant child would from frustration and it makes Debbie laugh. This is a side of her partner that nobody else is privy to.

"God, it was just a fucking hug."

"Mhmm, one that looks a little cozy. Like the kind you give someone you haven't…" Debbie trails off because that's when it clicks for her. "Seen in ages."

Lou, her generally aloof partner who is secretly tactile but only with the people she trusts enough to let into her space, physical or otherwise (jobs and marks notwithstanding when necessary). Lou, who has an all-female staff at her club, including security ("They're black belters and winners at no-holds-barred underground matches. It's always fun to see the assholes who underestimate them get put back in their place.") Lou, who has never shown the slightest bit of interest or attention to the male half of the population. That Lou, her Lou…let a man hug her. And furthermore, she's photographed hugging back.

Lou scoffs, "I was only nine weeks late because I took the scenic route with my bike this time instead of flying and yet this bugger acts like it's been years."

If Debbie isn't mistaken, a hint of fondness is creeping into Lou's tone. And there's yet another red flag.

Nine weeks late.

This trip—her annual California trip that started a few years before the Becker incident—was planned, regardless of whether there was a heist or not. Suddenly, Debbie is slapped with the reality that her partner has had at least five years, eight months, and twelve days to build a life of her own. Without her.

"Besides, it's not like he can complain; I'm staying for more than a week this year."

And she not only put off her plans when Debbie got parole, she also went right into Debbie's plan like nothing happened.

Like Debbie hadn't escaped from their "rough patch" nearly seven years ago for something with a bigger pay-out. Like Debbie's last words to Lou hadn't basically been for her to fuck off after she had warned her about how Claude Becker was too good to be true. Like Debbie hadn't gotten better treatment from the guards, better food from the prison cafeteria, and more lenient security with the contraband she distributed inside after Danny's second visit where he told her he'd talked to Lou. Like Debbie hadn't shut Lou down every year she's asked her to come with her on a road trip to—

Wait.

"You never told me your annual Spring trip was to LA."

"LA is in California. And I thought you were the American between the two of us."

"And you always joke about being off to visit a king. Is he the king you've been referring to?"

"…maybe."

"Lou."

Lou sighs. "Yes, Deb. His real name is Harold King."

She hums, and because she couldn't help herself, "How did he go from royalty to common folk, Miller?"

"Shut up, Ocean." Lou rolls her eyes and chooses not to answer the underlying questions of Debbie's joke. When she clears her throat, her voice is all business. "Deb?"

"What do you need me to do?"

"Nine. I've called all known numbers, no answer. Must be out—"

"With Veronica, yes. You know how she is with her little sister." A lull falls in their conversation as Debbie scrolls through article after article. "Looks like you don't have to worry. All I've seen so far were taken from behind."

Lou hums. "And what a beautiful behind." She smiles when Debbie's half-snort, half-laugh rings from the other line.

"Alright, I'll get Nine to comb through your fifteen minutes of fame, baby."

"Thanks, honey. Makes the criminal life a living hell."

"Oh? I heard you've gone straight."

"Never."

They chuckle at the double meaning. Debbie's laughter subsides into a soft smile at the implications. Lou hadn't been as active a criminal as she was (and is) with Debbie.

She did put up a legitimate business in her industrial yet vintage-style club that has French new wave art films as its backdrop – a design that is so distinctly Lou that Debbie found it endearing. Her first introduction to Lou's club made her feel the way she did upon entering the loft – high ceilings, wide spaces, mixture of classical and industrial architecture, littering of musical instruments, Lou's old yet well-maintained motorcycle ("You remember Hela, right? She's still my baby but I've kept her in mint condition, with a few upgrades, of course."), a torn-apart vintage car that apparently costs somewhere in a 6-digit range ("Galadriel. She's a '67 Maserati Ghibli, 4.7 series in the rare Avorio Santa Anita shade, and I'm restoring her. She's a beauty, Deb, a real beauty."), and other (probably) illegally obtained sets of unused furniture, chain link and barbed wire surroundings…

Debbie initially thought she'd hate it for being a little too similar to prison but she found herself settling comfortably, like she was home somehow. And when Lou told her that all of her things from before were safely kept inside a room especially for her in a place that screamed Lou Miller in every inch, it tugged at something in Debbie's chest.

"…Lou?"

"Hmm?"

"Is California still a standing invite?" Debbie's mouth ran faster than her brain did and she finds herself at a rather vulnerable state than she was used to. Lou had always invited her to join her California trips and only stopped when Becker came into the picture. So when nothing but Lou's breathing can be heard from the other side, Debbie closes her eyes and backtracks; she's missed her chance. "I mean it doesn't have to be—"

"Yes."

"Yeah?" Debbie schools her features, unwilling to let her smile change her nonchalant tone.

"You know it is."

"Next time?"

"Always, honey. Now get your pretty ass on the next plane."

- x -

Debbie manages to keep her poker face in place when a custom rose gold Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet pulls over in front of her at the airport. She blinks at how obnoxious the ride itself is, and yet somehow with Lou behind the wheel, it just works.

She smirks when she sees that the passenger seat was saved for her, with a huge golden retriever looking content in the backseat, trying to charm its way into her good graces with a tongue-out grin. Her eyes narrow from behind her shades but before she can say or do anything, Lou lifts her own sunglasses on top of her head and calls out to her.

"Hey, slowpoke."

She shifts her gaze to her partner. Sweet, beautiful Lou with her wide smile, wind-blown hair, suit jacket haphazardly thrown behind her seat, black lace peeking from beneath her vest and tie teasing just enough to entice her eyes to go lower—

What? She blinks, hard, to shake herself from the onslaught of not completely unwelcome thoughts. That's when her gaze zeroes in on the recent addition to the alabaster skin on Lou's bicep. She noticed the ink on her first week back but with the rush of every step needed for the heist, she never got around to asking about it.

"Did I really drive all this way just to watch you stand there the whole day?" Lou asks with a tilt of her head.

Debbie rolls her eyes and finally wheels her suitcase closer, carefully setting it into the car. Once the car is in gear, she clears her throat. "Who's this guy?"

"Girl," Lou corrects. "Her name's Lucinda."

"Lucinda?" Debbie slowly enunciates every syllable to show her disapproval of the rather old-fashioned name.

Lou hums. "Lulu for short."

The dog barks almost happily at the mention of her name.

"Cute." Debbie snorts but she turns her head to the side to hide her smile.

"Eh, I like her brother better."

"She has a brother?"

"Yoyo."

"Yoyo," Debbie deadpans.

"Short for Yosemite."

"Of course, it is."

The dog whimpers then barks again before settling in silence.

Lou chuckles. "He bullies her all the time, like taking her bed and leaving her with his much smaller one." Debbie's brows furrow at this. "I know, he's an idiot. But he's incredibly protective of her, never lets anyone bully his little sister." She turns to Debbie with a small smile that effectively gets the point across when the latter's features instantly soften.

"Brothers," Debbie mutters, smile turning bittersweet.

Lou hums again, "Agreed." Debbie turns to her with a raised brow but she doesn't elaborate further.

"I've talked to Leslie, by the way."

"Already? I thought-"

"Yep. But she called because Veronica wouldn't shut up about it once she found out her sister knew this 'other woman' personally." Debbie smirks when Lou inevitably groans. "She said, and I quote, 'Scrubbed every hint of her skinny ass. Nuh'n' left with her face or even profile on. She safe af.'" She reads straight from her phone. "Af? A-F? What even is AF?"

"Good," Lou sighs in relief, feeling every bone in her body sag from the release of tension. "That's good."

A veil of silence falls over the car ride for a long while, which Debbie spends stealing a few glances over at her partner so Lou ends up huffing.

"Just ask, Deb," she breaks the silence as she turns the car into a rather long, gravel driveway after nearly an hour of driving at near top speed. Debbie swears Lou drove that convertible almost as if it were her bike. Too bad it didn't come with the perk of having her arms wrapped around Lou's waist from behi- What?

"Alright, who is he?"

Lou chews on her lip, knowing exactly why she feels so nervous and yet unable to do anything about it. Once she's put the car on park in front of a mansion – a surprisingly unimposing one yet still a mansion, she turns to Debbie. "You're about to meet him." When the front door bursts open to matching squeals, Lou chuckles. "All of them."

Debbie raises her sunglasses to look more closely at the oncoming storm and suddenly, her eyes widen half in shock and half in panic. She wants to be mad at whatever this surprise is supposed to be but the sight of Lou leaning her head back on the headrest, carefree and laughing, makes her chest ache.

"Aunty Lou!" Identical twin boys of about three years old hurry over to the driver's side as Lou opens her car door.

"Hello, monkeys." She scoops them both up and lets them cling to her as she blows raspberries at their stomachs, eliciting squeals and giggles from both of them.

"What...the hell?" Debbie mutters under her breath as she slowly exits the car, gaze fixed on her partner – or should she say her partner's look-alike because as far as she knows, Lou and children have never really mixed.

The dog—Lulu barks and jumps out of the car, prompting the children to ask to be put down.

"Yoyo missed you, Wuwu," says one rugrat.

"He's at the doo'!" Shouts the other who is running up the steps towards a rather fat...cat seated at the doorstep, looking royally annoyed while letting the dog lick him anyway before smacking her upside the head and walking back in.

Lou entering Debbie's field of vision while lugging her suitcase up the steps snaps her out of her trance-like state.

"Let me help you with that, babe."

"It's fine," Lou says but Debbie does so anyway.

"Mind telling me what's going on, Aunty Lou?"

Lou opens her mouth to answer when the door is suddenly blocked by a behemoth of a man who proceeds to wrap his arms tightly around a groaning Lou.

"You really gotta stop doing that," comes Lou's muffled voice from the man's shoulder.

"Never," he simply says and squeezes tighter that Debbie worries for Lou's access to air.

"It's what got us into this mess in the first place." Lou finally escapes his hold when he reaches down to pluck the suitcase as if it weighed nothing. She rolls her eyes, muttering, "Show off."

He merely grins at Lou before turning to Debbie who is struggling to keep her surprise at their interaction in check. She notices him subtly look her up and down and yet it's oddly...okay. Because he's not leering or even just checking her out; he's sizing her up.

"Please, come in."

He carries – not wheels, carries – Debbie's suitcase to the side of the staircase before turning to them as Lou makes the introductions.

"Harry, this is Debbie, and Deb—"

The man—Harry perks up all of a sudden. "The Debbie Ocean, of course. Heard a lot about you."

"Really?" Debbie raises an eyebrow at Lou who simply shrugs to indicate that he knows enough. "That's funny, I've never heard about you before today, celebrity status aside."

Lou looks to the side, composing herself before answering, but Harry beats her to it with a hand on his chest, "I'm hurt, Louann. I thought you were my mistress?"

Lou punches his side which makes him erupt into a fit of giggles so similar to the little boys' earlier that it was slightly disturbing yet oddly endearing.

Debbie clears her throat and starts with eyes narrowed but no less sharp. "So, Mr. Miller."

Lou crosses her arms and huffs, a cross between fond and exasperated because she expected this from her partner. "Deb—" She begins to protest but a large hand settles gently on her elbow to calm her – a movement that did not go unnoticed by sharp, chocolate eyes, especially after the hug she'd witnessed.

"It's fine, let her." Comes a response from a low voice that could melt butter. But more than its near-crooning quality, the thick accent shocks Debbie even if she manages to hide it, especially since she missed it earlier. The kids' accents were the same.

Australian. Much heavier than Lou's, probably because Lou's left her hometown and home country along with her teenage years. The films Debbie's seen of his always had him speaking in a British accent and assumed he hailed from the UK. Rookie mistake. And an absolute game changer.

Lou has always been proud of her Australian roots – her accent, her quirks, her criticism of almost everything American – since she's met her. But the one time they got drunk enough to start talking about the skeletons in their respective closets, Lou talked about growing up with an abusive father who took it out on his only child – a child who, in his eyes, killed his wife during childbirth – until his death sent 8-year-old Lou into foster care where she went through a series of homes, settled at one in her teens, and spent the next few years working herself to death to save up for a plane ticket. And in their time as partners, which was pretty much spent together since their first meeting, Lou might stop to admire anything representative of Australian culture and have a collection of trinkets that reminded her of her birth country. But she has never associated with anyone from Australia. And that just fuels the burning questions in Debbie's mind.

Who the hell is Mr. Blue Eyes? And more importantly, who is he to Lou Miller?

AN: I'm sure most of you already know who he is in Lou's life but it felt like a good time to cut the chapter. I've already outlined the next three at least so hopefully, I'd get to update regularly. The other girls might make an appearance but I can't say for sure so I'll update the tags as I see fit.

All mistakes are mine. Comments are welcome, here or on tumblr (same name).