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They're writing songs of love
But not for me
A lucky star’s above
But not for me
Lucy was self-conscious enough about her singing as it was; trying to do it through the cloud of smoke hovering oppressively over the crowded nightclub was even worse. Sure, it was 1935 and smoking was being billed as great and healthy, but still, it was like somebody had set up a fog machine in here. At least this was her last set of the night. Pretty soon she could escape and breathe the (comparatively) fresh air outside.
Through the haze, she caught sight of Flynn gliding through the crowd. Not that she could see his face with the lights down, but that height was unmistakable. His head turned, on the lookout for the sleeper agent who was supposed to frequent this place. Supposed to, Lucy thought with a touch of frustration, since they'd been here for a week and he still hadn't showed up.
Flynn finished his circuit of the room near the end of the song, and leaned against the wall until the lights came back up. When Lucy caught his eye, he grimaced at her and lifted his shoulder. Nothing.
Lucy sighed, forcing a smile at the scattered applause before moving into her encore song: “Am I Blue,” which seemed a little too close to the mark. They were all kind of blue after such a fruitless week. For Rufus, this manifested as restless nervous energy. For Wyatt and Flynn, it meant sniping at each other. And for Lucy, well, she had an increasingly heavy sense of dread that they'd return to their time and find something terrible had irrevocably changed.
Her eyes found Flynn's across the room again, and the tension eased a little. He was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a crinkly-eyed smile that made something in her chest feel floaty for a minute.
Which had been happening kind of often lately, and which Lucy resolutely ignored every time. Rufus was back, the team had settled back to normal (as normal as they ever got, anyway), things with Wyatt were getting less awkward by the day, and they had finally, finally started to get a leg up on Rittenhouse over the last few months. Yeah, life was still insane and stressful and hard, but for the first time in a long time, things were actually looking up.
So the last thing Lucy wanted to do was make anything between her and Flynn… complicated. Even if she'd been able to start leaving the vodka behind, she still knocked on his door most nights and didn't leave until the next morning. It was easy to blame the cramped quarters of their tiny house in the Arkansas mountains that served as a base (yet again there was a couch they had to trade off on, albeit a slightly more comfortable one), but Lucy mostly just liked spending time with him.
Nothing ever happened. They were friends, increasingly good friends, and he made her laugh and he was so damn easy to be around, and Lucy couldn't bear the thought of ruining that.
More often than not she woke up curled up into his chest with one of his arms wrapped around her. It had become a habit after Chinatown, when facing the long hollow nights by herself had seemed too much to bear, but Lucy wasn't quite sure why they kept it up now, or why Flynn didn't reclaim the space (physical and otherwise) that he'd let her share. Maybe it had become as comfortable to him as it had to her; the smiles he gave her every morning with her coffee were getting brighter and brighter.
Not for the first time, Lucy considered the idea that maybe things had been complicated between her and Flynn for a while, and it was just that neither one of them wanted to mention it first.
Once she had finished the song, she gave an awkward sort of curtsy/bow and hurried off stage, but not before she saw Flynn uncrossing his arms and applauding enthusiastically with a soft-eyed look that really wasn't helping her situation.
Lucy lost no time in getting to her dressing room and changing. No sleeper agent again tonight, she was tired, and the crappy apartment the four of them were sharing might not have been the Ritz, but at least there she could relax.
Once she had carefully hung up her stage gown and shrugged on her coat, she stepped out into the backstage hallway. She could already hear the band that came after her playing, muted through the walls.
Flynn was waiting in the hall. He looked rather pensive, twirling his hat in one hand and drumming the other against the wall, but he seemed to brighten slightly when he saw her.
“Good, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Good job tonight.”
“Thanks.” Lucy walked up to him.
Of course he knew all about her previous musical aspirations, and what had changed her mind. He’d told her it was all in the journal. They were trying to reconstruct it in the hopes of getting any intelligence on Rittenhouse they possibly could, which was proving surprisingly easy since Flynn seemed to have the thing memorized down to the word. Although, in a touch of thoughtfulness which would have floored Lucy a year ago and now only made her smile, he ran into suspicious memory gaps when it came to the very personal entries. Denise would say “uh huh” and suggest they skip ahead to the next entry and perhaps something would jar his memory later, and somehow they never seemed to return to it. Lucy was grateful to them both for that.
(There were times when she wondered if her future self had included any of the awkward details her present self would die of embarrassment if anyone knew: like how right now, she was itching to run her fingers through Flynn’s dark hair, currently slicked back in the style of the period, to get it soft and falling over his forehead again in that way that she liked.)
“Something the matter?” he asked, interrupting this train of thought just in the nick of time. He actually looked concerned. Lucy resisted the urge to break out into laughter.
“Oh, no!” Lucy said hastily. “Nothing. Just, um… thinking about how nice it'll be to get back to our time.”
“No arguments from me,” he agreed.
“I just can't believe he hasn't even showed his face at all,” she went on, willing her cheeks to stop burning and her thoughts to drift into less dangerous territory. “This place was supposed to be his favorite hangout.”
“Maybe he's had a busy week,” Flynn said. “Wreaking chaos must be tiresome work.”
Lucy sighed. “Stopping it definitely is.”
Rufus was currently in possession of the car they'd stolen, and their apartment was only a few blocks away from the club anyway, so Lucy and Flynn walked back. As they ascended the rickety staircase, Lucy wondered idly if anyone would ever bother repairing it, or if she could come back here eighty years later and find it still falling apart.
Thankfully, their apartment was in a little better state, although it was sweltering hot even well after sundown. This was because of the solitary window in the main room, which had been stuck shut ever since they arrived. When a blast of concentrated heat hit them in the face as soon as they stepped inside, Flynn went across the room announcing his intention to finally enter into single combat with it. A few minutes and a lot of swearing later, he finally wrenched it open, and a blessedly cool wave of air swept into the room.
Lucy exhaled in relief, standing in front of the breeze for a moment before plopping down on the tattered sofa and turning on the radio. She spun absently through the channels, while Flynn banged pots and pans around in the tiny kitchen behind her.
She must have drifted off, listening to music while the cool air played on her face, because the next thing she knew, her eyes were opening to find Flynn bending down next to her setting plates on the little table in front of them. Instead of music, the radio was now playing a soap commercial, proclaiming that miracle of miracles, Lucy could do her washing without irritating her hands. As long as she used that particular soap, of course. Nothing ever really changed, she mused, thinking of all the similar ads she sat through while watching trashy reality shows in her time.
“Oh good, you're awake,” Flynn said, glancing over at her. “Our shows are about to start.”
“You just want help with the dishes.” Lucy yawned, watching him go back and forth putting things down on the coffee table. It was nothing too fancy, since they were barely scraping by rent with Lucy's pay from the club and what Wyatt made on the job he'd picked up: driving a cab in the evenings, both to help them eke out a living and to give him an excuse to drive around the city looking for their sleeper agent.
“Are you offering?” he asked.
“...I'm not not offering.”
Whatever Flynn had cobbled together tonight smelled heavenly . Her stomach rumbled. Flynn waved a sandwich under her nose with a downright evil grin. Lucy snatched it and watched the grin widen as she took a large (and delicious) bite.
“If we ever have to host another future president, you’re cooking for them,” she said, mouth full.
“Glad to. Assuming I’m not stuck in the past,” Flynn said dryly. He was still giving Wyatt and Rufus grief about that.
“Well, I’ll just – make sure that doesn’t happen,” Lucy said, her cheeks warming again. Not that it was likely to, after the dressing down she’d given the two of them once the whole JFK mess was resolved.
Flynn smiled at her, eyes shining in the dim golden lamplight, before settling his own plate on his knees. “In that case, I’ll do my best to keep any and all historical figures from sneaking off through the air ducts.”
“You know, in fairness, he ran away before I even got there,” Lucy pointed out. There was a pause. “Although he might have been able to smell the mustard from down the hall.”
Flynn chuckled a little before leaning over and twirling the radio dial.
He always listened to as many of the radio serials that were popular at this time as he could. The first night they had gotten here, he had nerded out over the Golden Age of radio programming for a full fifteen minutes, and lamented that they weren’t a few years later so he could listen to Ellery Queen, which Lucy had found frustratingly adorable. He loved the mysteries and adventures the most, but Lucy had caught him listening to the soap operas with rapt attention which he had (badly) tried to cover before Lucy gave him a look, said, “I watch Desperate Housewives,” and sat next to him.
Even if they weren't her particular area of interest, they were a lot of fun to listen to – Lucy had found herself looking forward to finding out what would happen during each night's installment during the day, and she grinned now when she heard the organ intro start.
“Where's Rufus?” she asked, settling back into the couch cushions.
“Probably out checking the lifeboat again. He’s turning into a mother hen with that thing.” This in a tone that was trying really damn hard not to sound fond and failing utterly.
Lucy laughed at his total transparency and took another bite of her sandwich as the program started in earnest.
She finished dinner a little over a half hour later. Flynn was absently shoveling his own dinner into his mouth, listening to the next show’s narrator recapping the events of the preceding installment with a gleam in his eyes.
Lucy took advantage of a commercial break to get up and put her dishes in the sink, then returned to the couch, yawning. Flynn glanced over at her.
“If you want to get some sleep, I can tell you what happens tomorrow,” he offered. “Or you can just look it up online when we get home. Advantage of time travel, huh?”
Lucy yawned again. “Thanks, but I wanna stay up at least until Rufus gets back.”
Flynn nodded, understanding her worry.
“Seconds?” he asked, stacking his own plates together.
“Nope, thanks though,” she muttered, settling a little deeper into the couch. “Just don't let me fall asleep, 'k?”
“I'll do what I can, but you sleep like a log,” Flynn said, getting up and heading to the kitchen.
“No I don't!” Lucy protested, even though she was fairly sure he was right.
“Yes, you do.” Flynn dumped the plates into the sink with a clatter before he popped out of the kitchen again.
“What about the dishes?” she asked, to change the subject.
Flynn gave her a small wicked grin, sinking back onto the couch with her. “Wyatt can do them. I've got to keep you awake, remember?”
“He’ll appreciate that gesture.” Lucy really wished she could stop yawning. “Think I need to get up and do jumping jacks or something.”
“I'm sure our downstairs neighbor would love that.”
She cracked an eye open and glared at him. “Hey, I’m not the one blaring Dick Tracy all week. You have a better idea?”
Flynn shrugged. “Sleep now. I'll wake you up in a few hours or whenever he gets back, whichever comes first.”
“No, that's not fair,” Lucy insisted, shaking her head. “You're tired too.”
“So, what, we should both be tired together?” He raised his eyebrows. “One of us might as well get some sleep.”
“ Or,” Lucy said with a tired grin, cheerfully ignoring this bit of practicality. “Six Degrees, history edition.”
Lucy woke up the next morning with the distinct impression she had never completed a very important thought about Amelia Earhart.
Both of them had started to get a little exhaustion-drunk as the night wore on. Lucy was lost in a fit of giggles over Nikola Tesla’s having been in love with a bird, and Flynn had been shamelessly bringing it back up again every time she started to sober, and her head was buried in his shoulder when Rufus arrived, distracting them both. After saying hi he had given them a “do I want to know?” look before grabbing a cold sandwich and heading to bed himself.
Relieved he was safe, Lucy had listened to Flynn half-heartedly grumble for a few minutes before he'd mustered up the wakefulness to detach her from his chest and half-carry her to bed.
Lucy had a feeling she might have fallen asleep on the way there, because she couldn't actually remember whose room he'd walked her to. However, a quick glance around told her it was her own. She sat up, running a hand through her hair, and groaned.
She missed him. Which was ridiculous, but she had gotten used to waking up in the the safe, comfortable circle of Flynn's arms, laughing at his awful tension-diffusing jokes, stealing appreciative glances at his ruffled hair, that sleep-thickened accent making warm spirals of honey curl through her.
God, she was so screwed.
All the day and night time, hear me sigh
I never had the least notion
That I could fall with so much emotion
Lucy was trying not to look at Flynn, she really was. It was just so much easier to sing like this when she could concentrate on a friendly face, and he was the only one in the room. Briefly, she spared a curse for the songwriters of the period who had clearly been obsessed with romance.
He was sitting this time, alone at a table in a discreet corner where he could watch the door. (How he'd managed this considering the house was always packed, Lucy couldn't be 100% sure, but odds were good that it was down to his being Tall and Scary.)
Another night was about to end with no sign of the sleeper. Lucy couldn't help but wonder what sort of havoc Emma was wreaking while they were stuck here. Hopefully, Denise and Connor would have called them back if something had gone really wrong. Rufus could always go back, take a few more people to another time, then return.
After her set, she went backstage to change. She felt rather listless tonight; time seemed to be standing still, while she itched to move forward. Both in finding the sleeper and stopping whatever the hell Rittenhouse was planning for this era, and… other things.
(Other things, who were tall and not especially scary when they were smiling in a dorky way over breakfast and sparkling with excitement over cheesy radio shows.)
She emerged from her dressing room and turned to see Flynn propped against the next door frame down, giving her a smile that was way too smug for their current run of bad luck.
“People are going to get suspicious if you keep showing up back here,” she told him, though her lips twitched. “They'll think you're planning to knock the place over or something.”
“Oh, that's not what they think,” Flynn said, still grinning. He pushed himself off the door and joined her as she passed, headed down the opposite end of the hall where the staff entrance was.
“I heard some of your fellow performers talking just now,” he said. “They've come up with a very colorful tale. Apparently, you are a runaway heiress and I am the villainous rogue with whom you are having a torrid affair.” His voice rolled pleasantly over this last bit, and Lucy tried to remember she was not in fact having a torrid affair with him and should not be staring at his lips the way she was.
She cleared her throat, then furrowed her brow, looking over at Flynn. “You're making that up.”
“Am I?” His eyebrows waggled.
Lucy stared at him for a minute before laughing and pushing open the door to the alley outside. She took in a deep breath, glad to be out of the stifling atmosphere of the club, even if it really didn't smell a lot better out here in the back alley.
Flynn stepped out behind her and looked up. “Looks like it's gonna rain. We may want to take a cab home.”
“Afraid of getting your suit wet?” Lucy teased.
“Well, it is very hard for me to find clothes in the past.”
They headed to the end of the alley and joined the crowd hurrying along the sidewalk near the club. Lucy was still in front, so she saw it first: a glimpse of the sleeper’s face, illuminated by a passing car's headlights for a brief moment before he ducked into the club.
She stopped dead. Flynn was close enough that she thought he would have bumped into her, but somehow he managed to halt just an inch away, although he teetered slightly for a second over her.
“Lucy, what – ” he began, but Lucy was already spinning around, seizing his arm and attempting to drag him around so his back would be towards the door.
“The sleeper!” she hissed, casting a look behind her. He was gone now, disappeared into the club.
Flynn's eyes widened. “Where?” Lucy jerked her head back towards the entrance. “Did he see us?”
“I don't think so,” Lucy said, looking over her shoulder again.
“Ok.” Flynn glanced at the entrance, then back down at her. “You notice if he drove himself?”
Lucy shook her head, and then stopped as her memory pieced itself together. “Wait. Yeah, I think he did.”
Flynn nodded and started towards the entrance. “I'll stay on him. You find his car and disable it. It might not buy us much time, but…”
“Right.” Lucy hurried off in the direction of the car she thought he'd come from, turning for a moment to watch Flynn vanish into the club.
She reached it a few seconds later, and glanced around to make sure no one was watching her too closely. Then she reached into her purse. Shooting the tire with one of Flynn’s spare pistols in full view of everyone on the street was a bad idea at best. So instead, she whipped out one of the souvenirs she had found in a run-down pawnshop across town the first day they had arrived, looking for cheap clothes for the four of them.
(Lucy had nearly squealed when she’d seen it: a genuine vintage hatpin from the turn of the century, though not so vintage now as it would be in her time, of course. Over seven inches long, wickedly sharp, and almost certainly one of those that women used to use for self-defense in place of guns or knives.
She was drooling over it when Wyatt called her away to ask her how much money they needed to keep in order to get a place to stay, and she’d gotten distracted with one thing and another, and forgotten all about the hatpin until they were back on the street. She’d stopped, but before she could turn around Flynn had slipped it out of his coat and asked, “Looking for this?”
She could’ve hugged him right then and there.
“You stole that?” Wyatt had asked.
Flynn had shrugged. “What? You steal things all the time.”
“Yeah, but… stuff we need, not stuff we just feel like taking.”
“Lucy may need to kill someone without making noise,” Flynn said cheerfully, handing it to her.
“You have serious issues, you know,” Rufus said.)
Setting her jaw, Lucy turned her face away from the car, prayed it wouldn't blow up in her face like it did in the movies, and stabbed deep into the driver's side front tire.
It didn't blow up, thankfully; but there was a very satisfying hiss when she pulled the pin out. She nudged the tire with her shoe a minute later and found it completely collapsed. No one would be taking this car anywhere for a while.
Flynn had been right about the weather; the sky opened up just as she was crossing the street to go back into the club. Lowering her head, Lucy sprinted the rest of the way, swerving into the alley they'd come from instead of going in the front. She would be able to sneak out onto the floor from backstage, and it would give her an opportunity to see where the sleeper was without having to stand awkwardly in the entrance, bobbing up and down to see over people's heads.
It was a relief to make it back inside the building despite the thick atmosphere, now that the alternative was getting drenched outside. Lucy made her way back down the hall, veering left into the passage that led to the main section of the club, where the tables were. Carefully, she opened the door a crack and peeked out.
The place was bustling with activity, and even with the lights up it was hard to get a good fix on anything. Finally, she spotted Flynn standing close to the exit. He was letting his gaze roam casually around the room, like he was waiting for someone, but his eyes kept flicking to the opposite corner of the room. Lucy followed that line and saw the sleeper agent sitting in a chair close to the bar, only occasionally glancing over at the band playing and most of his attention on the drink in his hand.
Trying to be as casual as possible, Lucy let the door swing open and walked out, heading over to Flynn without looking towards the sleeper.
“His car’s not going anywhere,” she informed him quietly.
Flynn glanced at her and nodded, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a quick grin.
“You're kind of conspicuous,” she pointed out. “Do you want to sit down or something? Or are you lurking in the shadows to preserve your reputation as a villainous rogue?”
“The tables are all full. He’s not looking this way, it’ll be fine. The alternative is to throw someone out of their chair, but that might draw more attention than – ” His words were cut off by a surprised intake of breath as Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the wall. She towed him through the club, towards the space between the tables and the stage where there were a few couples dancing.
Flynn looked kind of like she’d hit him over the head with a baseball bat. “Lucy, what are you doing?”
“Getting us cover. Come on.” Lucy tugged on his hand, but he resisted.
“Lucy, I, uh… I don’t – ” He cleared his throat.
Lucy looked back at him. “You can't dance?” she guessed.
His mouth quirked and he looked almost sheepish. “Not even a little.”
“I have two left feet. But it's better than just standing around looking really obvious, right?”
Flynn didn't look convinced, but he did put a hand gingerly on her waist. Then he lifted his other hand, waiting until Lucy had enmeshed her fingers firmly through his, before they stepped out together onto the dance floor.
Almost immediately, their legs knocked awkwardly together. “Sorry,” Flynn muttered, at the same moment Lucy also said, “Sorry!” They met each other’s eyes and both laughed.
He misjudged the distance for the next step and got his foot tangled up with hers, and they nearly lost their balance. Lucy had never imagined she'd be watching Flynn stumble around like a drunken giraffe trying to dance. It was kind of priceless.
Lucy was struggling to keep a straight face, but then Flynn nearly tripped them both again and ducked his head, laughing in a sudden and disarming way, and she couldn’t help but join him. In that moment of distraction she accidentally stepped on his foot, his other leg bumped into hers, and she lost her balance and went careening sideways.
Flynn caught her before she hit the floor or anyone else and pulled her back to him, setting her upright. They stood unmoving in the center of the floor, Lucy’s head craned up to look him in the face.
“We're really bad at this, aren't we?” Lucy asked, a touch breathless.
“Yes. Astoundingly hopeless, as a matter of fact.” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright with amusement.
Lucy grinned. “Think we can get away with just standing here and pretending to dance?”
“We can try.” Flynn wrapped an arm around her again, chuckling into her hair while he swayed them to the music. Lucy turned her head, resting her cheek on Flynn’s chest and sliding one arm around his waist in return.
They rocked in place for a few more minutes. There were a few weird looks from the surrounding couples, but no one said anything, so Lucy just closed her eyes and listened to Flynn humming with the band, so low she couldn't have heard him if she hadn't been pressed right up against him.
Then Flynn stiffened and she felt his arm tighten around her for a second before he drew back. “He's moving,” he whispered to her.
“Did he notice us watching him?”
Flynn shook his head. “Too casual.” He waited another few seconds before heading off the dance floor. Lucy followed him through the crowd.
They exited the club onto the street, discovering that the storm had become a torrential downpour while they were inside. Neither of them could see or hear a thing except rain, but Lucy remembered where the car had been parked. She caught Flynn's hand and pulled him towards it.
Flynn let go as they approached and could make out a dim figure standing next to the car, staring down at the front tire. Drawing his gun, he looked at Lucy and then tilted his head towards the other side of the car. Nodding, she slipped around to block the agent’s path if he should try to make a run for it.
Flynn glided up as silently as a ghost, the storm covering any noise he might have made, and had his gun in the agent's back before Lucy could even blink.
“Evening,” said Flynn. “Having car trouble?”
Won’t you tell him please
To put on some speed
Follow my lead
“Next time, somebody might notice us tripping all over ourselves. Or maybe we'll have to go to a royal wedding or something. You never know.”
They were in her room at the apartment, and Lucy had persuaded Flynn to join her in learning (or, in her case, practicing) how to dance while they waited for Wyatt and Rufus to get back before they could go home. She had been packing up the few things she was planning to take back to the present with her, but as soon as Flynn had agreed, she dashed over and set up the record player, music now crackling softly through the room.
He had a rather bemused look, and Lucy was pretty sure he had only agreed to this because she’d been excited about it. But he took her hand as Lucy settled herself comfortably in his arms.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No, but I’m a quick learner.”
Lucy laughed quietly. “Just try not to step on my feet.”
“Yeah, got it.” Flynn looked down, so concentrated on following her advice it was kind of adorable. Lucy swallowed, glad he wasn’t looking at her face right now.
They were just as awkward as before, although at least they avoided any collisions this time around. Of course this was accomplished by moving really, really slowly, but hey, it was still progress.
“You know,” Flynn remarked after a while, gaze still trained on their feet, “We have…” He carefully took another step. “...Overlooked a solution.”
“What's that? Flynn, if you say ‘not dancing…’”
He looked up with a grin, picking her up by her waist and lifting her off her feet, holding her a couple of inches above the ground. Lucy couldn’t help laughing again, feeling almost as giddy as if she were on a carnival ride. He spun her once, then set her down.
“What are you stopping for?” she asked.
“I believe the point was for me to practice avoiding your feet,” he said. “That wasn’t exactly a traditional waltz.”
“We’re not traditional.” Lucy raised her eyebrows.
Flynn had that “struck by a baseball bat” look on again. His mouth opened, then closed. Finally he shrugged, smirking, and lifted her up again, twirling her around in circles until she was dizzy, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the motion or the laughter, but she did know she never wanted it to end.
He lowered her gently to the ground and propped her up until her head stopped spinning. “Who needs dancing?” she said, holding onto his arm for support, her cheeks hot.
“Not us,” Flynn agreed. “Masters of the art that we are.”
“Oh, definitely. Again?” she requested, and Flynn laughed. He picked her up again but just held her this time, his arms wrapped around her waist.
“I can practically see cartoon spirals in your eyes, Lucy,” he said. “And we’re about to jump through time. Maybe we should take a break?”
“Spoilsport.” Lucy wound her arms around Flynn's neck and rested her head on his. Her heart pounded erratically, which she could have blamed on the dizzy spinning, but that would have been a complete fabrication.
She almost wondered if Flynn could hear it. He had gone very still, and she was close enough to feel his faint hitch of breath.
“Lucy…” His voice was so quiet and uneven she almost didn't hear him.
Lucy closed her eyes, because if she looked at him and saw all the depth of feeling hidden beneath the surface, she would be reminded of how badly this could backfire and she'd never go through with it. Instead, she lowered her head, searching out his lips before hovering a fraction of an inch away.
“Garcia,” she whispered, a thrill rippling through her at saying his name.
He made a soft but desperate noise in the back of his throat and tilted his head up, and Lucy let hers fall forward, closing the last fragment of distance and meeting him. They were both tentative for a moment, lips just pressing together softly, before it started to deepen and they were clinging to each other so tightly there was no space left between them, and Flynn’s hand ran along her back and heat flooded through her and –
And Wyatt and Rufus picked that moment to walk in. “Hey, Lucy, Flynn,” Wyatt called, as the front door slammed behind him. “You guys ready to go?”
She was not ready to go. Lucy didn't want to leave where she was right now, ever.
Flynn had frozen at the sound of the door and now pulled reluctantly back, still only a breath away from her face. She might not have understood the exact translation of whatever it was he muttered, but the meaning was universal, and Lucy heartily concurred louder and in English.
“What?” Wyatt's voice was closer; he was in the hall outside her door.
“Nothing, I'm almost ready, just hold on!” Lucy said quickly.
“Ok. Where's Flynn?”
Lucy bit back a wild laugh. “He's – he's, um – ” She looked desperately at Flynn.
She could see the gears turning in his head: that is, how very, very much he wanted to stride out with some witty remark to inform Wyatt exactly where he was and what he had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. She could picture the gleeful expression on his face even now.
“Not yet,” she muttered, almost pleading. She didn’t want to have the inevitable “Really? Flynn?” conversation right now. Whatever was between her and Flynn was so uncertain and new (for God’s sake, she hadn’t even been able to finish kissing him), and it was theirs, and Lucy just wanted to treasure it for a little while with him before letting anyone else in.
His face changed, understanding written on it, and he leaned closer, his mouth settling near her ear in a way that shot sparks through her.
“Say I've gone out, I'll go down the fire escape,” he whispered.
Then he set her on her feet, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and melted away from her arms, already halfway across the room. Lucy had to take a second to get the bizarre laughter that threatened under control – she felt like a teenager again, sneaking around – before calling out to Wyatt.
“He's… out.” This was technically true, as Flynn had already disappeared out her window. “He should be back soon.” Also true.
“Out? Doing what?” Wyatt asked, clearly a little irritated that Flynn was delaying them from going home.
“Don’t ask me,” Lucy said, attempting to sound casual and wincing at her unconvincing performance. Sorry, Flynn.
Thankfully, Wyatt grunted and moved off. Probably all too willing to accept the fact that Flynn had just run off to do God-knows-what without telling anyone. Which, in fairness, wasn’t wrong all the time.
Only a few minutes later, Flynn came back in through the front door. “Sorry I'm late,” he said in an offhanded way. “I’m honored you didn't leave without me this time.” He caught her eyes and grinned. He was enjoying this, she realized.
“Ok, I've heard enough about that for the next fifty years,” Wyatt grumbled, but good-naturedly. “You know what? I don’t even wanna know where you were. Let's just get back home.”
Lucy and Flynn lagged behind the other two on the way out, walking next to each other. He glanced over at her with such a tender, unsure look that Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. She must have looked equally nervous (she certainly felt it), because he held his hand out to her after throwing a quick look at Wyatt and Rufus to make sure the coast was clear. She took it, fingers linking briefly but reassuringly before they had to pull back, a relieved smile blooming on each of their faces.
“You guys sure seem cheerful,” Rufus said in the elevator, a little too observant. “Happy to be getting back to your TCM channel?”
“Um,” Lucy said, at the same time Flynn said, “Something like that.”
Rufus gave them a weird look before shrugging.
On the way home, as often as they could behind Rufus and Wyatt's backs, Flynn took her hand and held it like it was the most precious thing in the world.