When they knew

Amita

Amita finds Danny, first - or more accurately, he finds her. He's younger, then, foolhardy and indiscreet, jumping headlong into things and never thinking them through. Amita's the only one in the shop near closing hours, and he hurtles in like he's got the wrath of God himself on his tail.
"I need a place to hide," he says, eyes wild. Amita, all of twenty-two years old and peering over her sister's gold bracelet in the dim light, raises one eyebrow at the red-faced, messy-haired white man in the shop and unceremoniously kicks him under the table. When six more white men come storming into her shop not thirty seconds later, she doesn't even get up, just gives them all the evil eye and reads them for filth in a barrage of angry Tamil. They leave in a hurry, and when they're finally out of sight, she jabs the stranger under the table with the toe of her shoe. "You can get out now."
"Thanks," he gasps, crawling inelegantly out from underneath. "I owe you my life. Danny Ocean," he adds, sticking out one hand and pushing back sweaty hair with the other. Amita folds her arms and does not take it. "I don't shake hands with pasty white boys who come barging into my dad's jewelry shop bringing hitmen with them."
Danny's grin widens, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a neat stack of bills. "How about pasty white boys who pay you for your trouble?"
"I'm not very fond of bribery," Amita replies, but snatches it over before he can put it back. Danny laughs out loud this time, regaining his composure, cocky and bright. "You know," he says. "If I ever get your name, I think you'd get along with my sister."
He does get her name, and she does get along with his sister, although she ends up clicking better with Danny on the whole - she likes his confidence, and his laugh. Every time he and Debbie are in the area, they'll meet for lunch and catch up, and it's fun. Danny pulls her in on the side for a job or two, asks her to help him make something, and pays her well for it. Sometimes Debbie's with him, sometimes she isn't, and one time, someone else is there too. She stands beside Debbie in the doorway, both of them talking quietly under their breaths, while Danny inspects the merchandise.
"Who's that? New girl?" Amita asks, a little curious, because she knows the Oceans run cons, now, and Danny has a veritable list of contacts up his sleeve - present company inclusive - but he tends not to have them work together all at once. Too many cooks and whatnot, says he.
Danny looks up, glances at the tall blonde, then looks back with a wry grin. "She's Debbie's."
Amita frowns, uncomprehending. "She's Debbie's what?"
Danny just shrugs, putting the necklace in a box and tossing it in his bag. "Just Debbie's. You know?"
Amita does not, in fact, 'know', but lets it go. It's not her business, after all. If Debbie ever wants to tell her, she will.
(She never does, but years later, she comes to Amita with an offer, brings her to New York, and there the blonde is - Lou - and Danny's not there any more, and everything is different, but some things have stayed the same, and other things start to fall into place.)