Hailey's having a pretty great day. She's out on a Sunday drive with her wife, in their gorgeously restored '69 Mustang Mach 1. It's a beautiful day, the wind whistling through the trees on gently curving Long Island roads as her car roars around the turns.
She wipes her eyes and grins raggedly up at Ami.
"Glad to see you. Some measure of cheer other than the work itself."
She smiles weakly.
"I'm glad. You—you know I'm always here for you, right?"
She pauses a moment.
"…I stayed away to avoid involving you in… all this, again, but… I wanted to see you any chance I could get."
Hailey looks off to the side, the faintest hint of pink on her cheeks.
"Ami..."
She trails off. Heartfelt emotion's never been her strong suit.
Then she turns back toward her, looking her consideringly in the eyes.
She crosses that last gap, reaches up, buries a hand in Ami's hair, and pulls her down into a desperate kiss, fear and anger and need and nostalgia all pouring into that simple action.
She loses herself in the kiss, her thoughts drifting away as her lips meet those of the woman she's—fine, yes, loved for so long.
Gods, she should have admitted that years ago, should have…
Hailey takes a flustered breath and looks away, huffing.
"Damn it, she is going to be so smug when she wakes up."
She paces and huffs and grumbles. "'You've got a crush on her, Hailey,' and I kept denying. 'You should invite her over for dinner, Hailey,' and I didn't. Now look at us. She's going to want a kiss from you to see what the fuss is about, and of course she's won the bet now and I'm going to owe her two weeks straight of extra-elaborate meals after she's recovered."
She blushes a bit at the mention of Violetta kissing her—that sounds wonderful, if also a bit terrifying.
Then she grins. "Like you weren't already going to give her that?"