Work Text:
Flynn’s neck deep in paperwork when her desk phone rings.
She ignores it—that’s what her secretary is for—and after a few rings, it shuts off. She takes the opportunity while she’s already distracted to shake out her hands—she’s been typing so much today, her wrists are starting to seriously cramp up—and then dives back in.
The phone rings again.
Flynn blows out a sigh and gives up, sitting back in her chair. She waits, and when the ringing doesn’t stop, she leans even farther back, craning her neck toward the office door, and calls, “Margie! The phone?”
No response, and although the phone stops ringing—Flynn dares to hope—it starts up again a minute later, somehow louder this time, like it’s purposefully trying to piss her off.
“Jesus fuck,” she grumbles, scooting her chair back up to the desk. “Someone tell me what the hell I’m paying a secretary for, seriously.”
But she makes sure every ounce of frustration and late-night exhaustion is out of her voice when she picks up, “Half and Main Funeral Parlor, Flynn Taylor’s Office. This is Director Taylor speaking. How may I help you today?”
“Your greeting’s way too long, babes,” Carrie Wilson says on the other end of the line. “Your secretary has it down to like four words, you should ask her for some pointers.”
Flynn drops her chin to her chest, rubbing at a sudden crick in her neck with her free hand. “Really, Care? Calling the office phone? You know I’m working.”
“You weren’t answering your cell!”
“Because I turn it off when I’m working!” Flynn says, but grabs her phone out of her bag to check for missed messages anyway. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be working? I thought your hippie wedding was today.”
“My non-traditional wedding,” Carrie corrects, “was this morning. It’s over now. Now, let me in, the door’s locked.”
Flynn’s head snaps up. “What? Carrie, I’m not home, I’m working.”
She can practically hear the famous Carrie Wilson eye roll. “I know that, I’m not home either. And I told your secretary to go home cause it’s 8:00 on a Saturday and there’s no way you pay her enough to work those kinds of hours. So get off your butt, shake off those pins and needles, and come let me in the door.”
Flynn splutters for a moment, then gets it together enough to push away from her desk. Part of her is certain Carrie’s just messing with her—it’s one of Carrie’s very favorite things to do—and yet, when she rounds the corner from her office into the main lobby, there she is—Carrie Wilson, in the bright pink bikini-skirt combo she was gifted for the hippie beach wedding she planned, sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat completing the look, standing behind the glass doors of Flynn’s funeral home, a plastic cup of something purple in each hand.
Flynn hangs up the phone and pushes the door open in one motion. “You’re impossible!”
“You love me,” Carrie corrects, and holds out one of the purple cups. “Ultraviolet protein shake, from the place that catered the wedding. You’ll like it, it tastes like blueberries and caffeine.”
“Always a good combo,” Flynn allows, taking a hesitant sip—and sure enough, the explosion of icy flavor on her tongue wakes her up like nothing has been able to all day. “Shit, that’s good.”
Carrie smirks. “You love me,” she repeats, and shoulders past Flynn into the building. She looks ridiculously out of place in the dimly lit lobby, in her sandals and bright colors, but then again, Carrie can make any place look like she was born there. “Come on, then. If you’re going to insist on working till all hours of the night, the least I can do is keep you company.”
Something warm blooms in Flynn’s stomach—not butterflies, not the way alloromantic people get butterflies, she’s pretty sure, but love nonetheless.
Carrie turns around and raises an eyebrow, barely visible over her sunglasses. “I’m serious, Flynn. Nick has a date tonight, and I am not spending a Saturday evening alone. The faster you get your work done, the faster we can go home and get drunk.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Flynn says, and takes another sip of her smoothie for good measure before she plants a cold, blueberry-flavored kiss on Carrie’s mouth as she walks past.
The noise Carrie makes is worth all the stress of today put together. And Flynn will definitely be getting her work done as quickly as physically possible.