In the wake of Lucy's epiphany, most of the group opts to give her and Flynn some privacy to talk. Wyatt clearly isn't happy about doing so, but is ushered away by Rufus all the same, leaving Lucy and Flynn alone in the main hall. He eases himself onto the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, his face grim.
"What changed?" he asks her quietly as Lucy seats herself next to him.
"This is the most notable change so far," she replies, gesturing between the two of them.
"What is?" It takes him a second to work out what she means, and he somehow manages to look even more stricken (impressive consider his current state of ill health). "Oh," he says quietly, looking away from her. "You mean us."
"I mean, we've been close for a while now," she says, seemingly more to herself than Flynn, "but this is...unexpected." Flynn simply nods, silent, and Lucy sighs. "Can you at least tell me how this came to be?"
"It was for a mission, at first," he murmurs, idly picking at the frayed edge of his blanket. "We were stranded in 1940's Los Angeles for...a couple weeks, I guess, maybe a month? We'd been fleeing to the Lifeboat and the last of the Rittenhouse agents chasing us managed to shoot up the controls right before Rufus and Wyatt climbed in. I was covering your retreat and attempting to take them out, which I did in the end, but not before the Lifeboat auto launched without us in it. It took the team a while to fix the damage, so they weren't able to come right back for us." He smiles at the memory. "We had to find a place to stay, so we secured a small short-term apartment, but of course being unenlightened times, they would only rent to us if we were married."
"That wouldn't be the first time we used that cover story," Lucy points out, and Flynn shrugs.
"Maybe. But it was the first time you and I were alone in the past for an extended period of time, essentially having to pretend to have normal lives and hoping we'd be rescued. We had just enough currency to support us for a few weeks, so there was no reason to bother with something long term like finding jobs, at least until we actually had to, and so we just...spent time together."
She won't lie, the idea of spending a few weeks just relaxing in her favorite time period without constantly worrying if you're about to be shot feels like it would be a very welcome vacation right about now. "But how did that translate into an actual marriage?"
Again Flynn smiles. "It was a level of domesticity I hadn't had in a long time, and I'm not sure you'd ever had. Going to see classic films while dressed to the nines. Dinner at jazz clubs. Trips to the beach. Dancing to Sinatra records in the living room. Just...a wonderfully normal life, and eventually we realized we weren't pretending anymore."
It did sound wonderful, she had to admit. "And what happened after the team came back for us?"
"Things stayed essentially the same between us." He rests one hand on the couch between them, as if he was about to reach for her before evidently deciding not to. "Eventually the team noticed something had changed. We saw no reason to hide it anymore and just went ahead and told everyone. That's when room assignments changed, and then on a mission to 1950s Vegas we decided to make it official. After the Rittenhouse sleeper was dealt with, of course."
Lucy shifts in her seat uncomfortably. It would never cease to be jarring to come back to a reality you don't remember, but this was a whole life she had seemingly built that had disappeared overnight. She glances back at Flynn, who still won't meet her eyes. If it was hard for her to have forgotten (or never known) all of this, it must be agony for him, who had already lived through it. She finally reaches a hand out and rests it on top of his, offering him an olive branch. She can see his shoulders relax a bit at her touch, and he finally looks at her once more.
"Rufus walked you down the aisle," he murmurs. "You were radiant. I'd never seen you look so beautiful...or so happy."
She swallows. "How long ago was that?"
"Six months, twenty-three days. And we've spent that entire time worried this exact situation may one day happen. Though I have to admit I never expected to be the one forgotten."
That hits her hard, her chest tightening. She knew from their history that Flynn had spent the last several years in a self-imposed isolation, and had only just been opening up finally and letting his walls down, showing her a new side to the man she never would have expected, a glimpse at who he was before all of...this. And now he was alone again, his family taken from him once more, thanks to a fluke of time travel. She was his Amy - their history forgotten, but no less important to the only one who remembers it.
She's about to offer Flynn some words of reassurance (though what could possibly reassure him, she doesn't really know), when she notices his eyes fluttering, a bead of sweat falling from his temple. "Flynn, you're still sick, you shouldn't be up and walking."
"I'm fine," he breathes, forcing a smile that isn't remotely convincing. "I've had worse."
"You know I've always seen through you," Lucy says wryly, smiling at him and tightening her grip on his hand as she stands, and he lets her pull him to his feet, slouching slightly and swaying as he does so. He closes his eyes until the vertigo passes, and Lucy waits patiently for him to recover, then leads him back toward Connor's (or, their, apparently) bedroom. Flynn follows, his hand tightening around hers as he sways on his feet, and she instead opts to slip her arm around his back and support him as best she can as she helps him back toward the bed.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, groaning as he seats himself on the edge of the mattress. "I should be out on the couch-"
"It's fine," Lucy says firmly, helping him lift his legs up onto the mattress as he lays down. She tugs the remainder of the sheets (sans the top blanket that he's currently still wrapped up in) over his shoulders, then places her hand against his forehead. He's clammy, and burning up again. "When is the last time you took your antibiotic?"
"Don't know," he says, already fading in and out of consciousness, and Lucy rolls her eyes. He'd never been great at taking care of himself, so why start now, married or not?
"You rest for a bit. Are you hungry? I can make us something."
Flynn sighs, his eyes now fully closed. "I'm fine, Lucy, you don't have to take care of me."
"Don't I?" she says, eyebrow raised. "I'd be a pretty terrible wife if I didn't."
He snorts softly. "That's not humanly possible, moja najdraža."
She has no idea what precisely he said to her as he lapsed into his native language, but it doesn't seem to matter as Flynn has already passed out again. She watches him for a moment, his face peaceful despite the sorry state his health is in. She'd be lying if she said there wasn't something there, even before she left for the mission, something brewing between them...but the jump from 'possibilities' to 'married' was a huge one. Still, she could see how it might have happened, considering everything that had transpired (and part of her wishes she'd actually been around to see Flynn's story play out).
Lucy shakes off the reverie and runs both hands through her now-wild hair, then heads to finally retrieve her towel and a change of clothes. First, a shower. Then she'd see about somehow whipping together something to eat for the both of them.
Freshly showered, Lucy heads for the kitchen to hunt down something to cook. Wyatt is already standing at the counter, and she pauses briefly as she spots him, debating whether she's finished being angry with him yet or not. It's decided for her when he finally notices Lucy approaching, and he smiles and nods for her to join him.
"Just making a coffee, want one?"
She shakes her head, giving him a half smile. She no longer has the energy to be incensed, she decides, and so sets to exploring the shelves for something easy to cook. After a minute or so she realizes Wyatt has been stirring his coffee for an incredibly long time, and she can see from the corner of her eye that look that means he wants to say something and is working up the courage to do so. She sighs and turns directly to him. "What?"
He shrugs, doing his best to look nonchalant. "How's it, uh...how's it going with…?" He nods toward her room, trailing off before he has to say the name.
"Fine. His fever got worse again so I left him alone to sleep a bit more. I'm starving - do we have soup anywhere?"
Wyatt reaches up to the shelf that's just barely out of Lucy's reach and retrieves a can of chicken noodle from its hiding place near the back. "Thanks," she says quietly, taking it from his hand. Their fingers brush briefly, and she quickly steps away, hunting for a can opener and retrieving a pot from the stack of them under the counter, but despite the noise she's making, she still catches Wyatt's quiet sigh.
"Lucy, are things...okay? With us?"
She finally tracks down a can opener and busies herself with opening the soup. "What do you mean?"
"There's just been...tension."
Oh, that's rich. "I wonder why," she mumbles under her breath, not particularly fussed whether Wyatt heard her or not.
"I'll take that as a no, things are not okay." He takes a step closer. "Is this still about Jess?" His face darkens somewhat. "Or Flynn?"
"See, that's it right there, Wyatt," Lucy says, dumping the soup into the pot and then turning to face him. "You keep pinning this whole situation on other people, as if you're just this innocent party caught in the crossfire."
"Lucy, I never expected to come home to this-"
"How? How could you not expect it, even just a little? You spent months trying to get Jessica back, and now that you have her, you're pissing it away. You weren't the one that got screwed, Wyatt, so stop pretending you are."
He falls silent again, thoroughly chastised, and Lucy returns to her soup that is just starting to boil.
"You're married, Wyatt. And apparently I am too. So it is well past time for us to move on from…" She swallows. "...what happened between us."
"I don't know if I can, Lucy." He reaches for her arm, only for her to move out of his reach.
"You're going to have to." She rounds on him once more. "And for the record, you can keep your snarky little jabs at Flynn to yourself. That man has been one of the few things that has gotten me through the past year. He's been nothing but supportive and asked for nothing in return. And I'm not just a toy that you can walk away from and then come running back to angrily when other people come into my life. I deserve better. And so does Jessica."
Though Wyatt's hurt expression stings a bit, the sting is eased somewhat by Lucy's relief that she finally, finally said to him what she should have months previous. She's not sure where the newfound confidence has come from, but it's a welcome change of pace all the same, and she knows Amy would be proud of her new backbone if she were there.
The soup is steaming, and so she switches the stove back off and reaches for two oversized mugs. Wyatt steps out of her way as she pours soup into both, and she takes one in each hand. "You need to get over this. We both do."
She heads for her room without another word, leaving Wyatt standing silently at the counter, his coffee now cold.
After a few minutes of rummaging through the room, Lucy tracks down Flynn's bottle of antibiotics (under a pseudonym, of course, courtesy of Denise). She sets the pills next to his mug of soup on the nightstand, then places a hand to his forehead once more. He's sweating less now, but still feels hot to the touch, and so she heads back out to the kitchen - now vacant, thank god - and wets a cloth under cold water before returning to the bedroom and seating herself next to Flynn on the bed. She dabs the cloth against his forehead, his jawline, his chin, anywhere he's burning up (which at this point is still 'all over').
He stirs finally, eyes fluttering open and a smile crossing his face as he sees her. "Hey," he says softly, his voice still hoarse from sleep.
"Hey." She returns his smile and folds the cloth in half to lay across his forehead. "You're on fire, Garcia Flynn."
He manages somehow to smirk despite his exhaustion. "Story of my life."
That gets a small laugh out of her, and she watches him a moment before remembering the medication. "Talking of which, time to take your medication."
"Yes ma'am," he says, sitting up, and despite herself, Lucy flinches. Flynn seems to realize a half second too late that he's chosen his words poorly, and he quickly adds, "Lucy, I mean Lucy. Sorry. Old habits."
She shakes her head. "It's okay. Here." She reaches for the medication and hands him a pill, then the glass of water that's been sitting on his bedside since she discovered him in her room (our room, it's our room, Lucy). He gulps it down, grimacing, then notices the mug of soup.
"Did you make that…?"
"Yes, and I don't like your wary tone of voice." She resists a smile. "Even I can't screw up reheating soup."
"Ah, just how I like my Lucy Preston culinary creations - highly processed and requiring very little effort from the chef."
She grins and gives his arm a gentle shove. "I'm not that bad."
"No, darling, you really, really are."
Their smiles fade somewhat, the moment bittersweet as Flynn again remembers after the fact that Lucy can't remember them being this close, while Lucy finds herself wishing she did.
"You should get some rest, Lucy," Flynn says, breaking the awkward silence, and he pushes the blankets off so he can get out of bed. "I'll be fine on the couch."
"No," she says firmly, easing him back into a lying position. "You're sick and you barely fit on this bed, let alone that tiny couch. I will sleep out there, you stay exactly where you are."
He nods reluctantly, then gestures at the other half of the bed. "Alternatively, we can split the beds up, and then neither one of us has to have a shitty sleep on that godawful sofa."
She considers the idea for a moment. She'd been itching for privacy, which she definitely wouldn't be getting out in the main hall, but then again, she wouldn't get that in this room either. Then again, Flynn would no doubt be sleeping the majority of the night anyway, and she could watch a movie on her phone just as easily in their bunk as she could on the couch.
Lucy finally nods. "Okay. You stay put, I'll move the bed."
She isn't sure, but as she tugs the heavy metal frame of the bed away from his half, she could swear she sees a small smile on Flynn's face as he turns to lay facing the other direction.