Work Text:
The Pirate Houseboat
Lucy said, “No.”
Flynn said, “Yes!”
The relator sighed and checked her phone.
“Lucy-“
“Don’t Lucy me,” she said, standing her ground. “Flynn, we are not buying a Pirate Houseboat.”
“But…” he pouted, “look at it.”
Flynn gestured to the houseboat sitting on an inlet of water. Like most pirates, the house didn’t start its life like this. It had been a large fishing trolly at conception. Then one day, an enterprising captain took a hammer and nails to it. They built on a framework to create more rooms than just the cabin below.
Masts with functioning, but not recommended for use, sails were added. A slick coat of black paint with gold trim finished the look. The previous owner also decided to add some skeleton pirates to really drive home the theme. One was hanging off the side as if to say, “come aboard, me hearties.”
“We’ve been on actual pirate ships. Lucy reminded him of their stint on Blackbeard’s Queen Anne’s Revenge. How had they gotten there? Well, mistakes had been made. “As clever as this is, it’s hardly up to muster.”
“So, you’re saying you’d live on an actual pirate ship?” he replied.
Lucy sighed.
“I mean, just look at it,” he said, turning back to the houseboat. “We could travel around on it. Iris would have a blast when she stays over.”
“As much as I am all for making sure Iris feels welcome in our new home…” Lucy put her hand on his shoulder and made him look at her. “This isn’t about the pirate boat, is it?”
From that moment in front of the flames of the Hindenburg, Flynn knew Lucy better than she knew herself. Knew how to read her, see through her, and understood her like no other. It took Lucy a bit longer to get to the same place with him. In all fairness, she didn’t have two years and a journal to guide her. But Flynn, for all his being a spy, opened himself like a book to her, never hiding anything away.
It was probably moments like these that he wished he didn’t, but he also wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You’re afraid,” Lucy said bluntly to him. “Just like I’m afraid of being in that house, of turning out like my mother, you’re afraid of settling down and experiencing all that pain all over again.”
He tried to look away, but he couldn’t, not from her, not when she had him caged by the truth.
Her mother’s house was too much for Lucy, too many memories and reminders of Rittenhouse. Even though they saved their loved ones and destroyed Rittenhouse, it still lingered in that house like bad cigar smoke. It made her nauseous.
Lucy left the house to Amy to do with as she pleased. Instead, she and Flynn would find a home of their own. Someplace… they could be a family in.
The only real stipulations they had was it needed to be close to where Iris lived with Lorena and her new husband. Lucy wanted a library, or a room that could be turned into one. This meant the relator had plenty of options for them. But so far Flynn had found fault with all the houses, and instead offered this obviously unviable alternative.
But it was never about the houses…
He licked his lips and tried to hold back the pain. “I… I can’t go through that again. It will break me, and I’m already broken.”
“You’re not broken,” she replied softly. “Dinged up a bit, but so am I. But we’ll get through this, like we always do, because we make quite the team.”
Lucy smiled at him, a slight smirk playing on her lips, just enough. They were going to have their moments, this wasn’t the first, nor the last. But they had each other. They went to the bottom of the abyss and came back, their families in tow.
Who would have thought just living their lives was going to be the harder part of the war?
“You know,” she continued, “the house on Oldham, it had a very large oak tree in the back. Big enough to build a pirate themed tree house… for you and Iris.”
He chuckled softly at that, smiling at her in that loving way she would never tire of. “Uh, if I remember correctly, it also had the tall ceilings.”
“Yes, yes it did.” She looped her arm in his and started walking back to the car where the agent was playing Wordle on her phone.
“Thank you, Lucy,” he said, not having to explain what for.
“No need to thank me,” she said lightly, “I just really wanted to get away from those creepy skeletons.”
“Lucy, they aren’t real.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been to the catacombs.”
“I remember, Lucy. I kidnapped you.”
“Oh, yes… which time was that?”
The air was filled with their laughter.