she speaks as he remembered her to, though the twinge is dusted with age. they all were, every inch of them both with the same dust that coated old monuments, headstones. remnants of a past that never was, glory where there was none to be had – old hands at dirty deeds.
“ thought it’d be better to ghost y’all ‘fore i could draw more attention to myself. you know how i feel about attention ”
her words don’t come as a comfort, he thumbs the picture on the dartboard. it’s an overused image, one compiled from many of his more public outings, and one of the few he let circulate during his resurfacing. she’d made sure there was little else, his anonymity secure for the time being except to the only woman who mattered in his life right now – ah. shouldn’t be thinking about her like that, not right now. there’s more to mattering that could be placed into a single flashdrive. useful? useful is a more apt term. mattering implies a strictly unprofessional relationship, after all.
mattering sounded like elizabeth.
he taps the photo once, muttering quietly to himself and following her up – he doesn’t remember a warehouse, at least not one as well stocked and organized as this one. he recognizes several names on their stroll past and he zeroes in on a couple, the back of her head, and thinks quietly. ramen chains. weird.
“ i think the dartboard says otherwise ”
not that he’d be upset, but the sting is there hiding under the veneer of hospitality and reception. he’ll need to be long gone before morning. the cowboy drops his duffel and sighs, taking a long look around as he gets his bearings, finds his weapons - just in case.
“ love what you’ve done to the place ”
she has to admit - she has done good things with the deadlock, growing them to large numbers and ruling their territories and scores with a iron fist. she was a woman made for this kind of thing - beautiful, dangerous, and the kind that could ignite a revolution with the flick of her wrist. but ashe played by her own rules, did things on her own terms, especially now that jesse had gone and... well, done jesse things. a part of her feels bad, just a little bad, that she hasn’t given him a gentle reception, especially after knowing that he’d kept many a bad nose off their tails for years... but her pride squashes that feeling before it can bloom into an apology. no. she did not owe him one. at least not right now.
ashe thinks to just... depart, let him sort out the rest of his evening on his own and just give him somewhere to stay. but she doesn’t want to - deep down, that magnetism to mccree would always be there, the want to be around him. she thinks to the apple pie downstairs, in the canteen, the immediate urge to share it with him. but a part of her refuses once more. if she were to admit it - elizabeth caledonia ashe was embarrassed. embarrassed because she’d always been way more invested in jesse mccree than he’d ever been in her, in the deadlock perhaps, and now nearly two decades later... coupled with the refusal of affection, well, the humiliation was settling in.
fortunately, her socialite upbringing made her poker face absolutely fucking impeccable. she merely arches her brow at him and instead of taking her leave - she ushers him inside the room. the door clicks shut behind her with the firm press of a gilded heel, and she stares up at him with that wolfish red gaze. it’s not quite clear what she’s thinking, that look is... eerily blank of emotion - even as she speaks.
“ the dartboard is for me and me alone. notice all the holes in yer forehead? i always did have better aim than you. ” and then the blankness is gone, and she slides smooth as silk into her wicked red smile. “ shower is through there. but all the toiletries are mine so- ” it’s hard to not reach out and touch him, to drop the bait and use the danger and flirting as a poor facade for her aching vulnerability, but she resists. “ ya may smell like roses for a bit. ”
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