Disclaimer: I think everyone knows by now that this isn't mine.

A/n: Jess requested a story about Tom and Lynette going house hunting, and here it is. Takes place pre-series, obviously. My heartiest thanks in advance to all of you who read and review. You guys are the best.

March Madness

By Ryeloza

Twenty-One: Home

"What would you say if we just skipped the rest of the houses today, Mrs. Pennyfeather? Hmm?" Tom set his hand on Lynette's knee, squeezing it gently before slipping his hand under her skirt and frisking her thigh. They'd been out house hunting for the past few weekends, a project Tom could admit they hadn't been taking entirely seriously, but he'd taken great pleasure in Lynette's penchant for looking at houses way out of their price range: veritable mansions with private pools; closed gate communities with creepily identical stone houses; estates so secluded the neighbors' houses weren't visible from the front door. It might have been a testament to how halfhearted their efforts had been thus far, but it was also strangely fun. The fact that she'd gone along with him in making up fake names to give the realtor only added to the fleeting thrill of this little game.

He also openly admitted that the role playing had led to really great sex three times now—hopefully about to turn into four.

"I know a really cheap, tiny apartment that we could go defile." Unbuckling his seatbelt, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her neck, but she shrugged her shoulder discouragingly.

"Come on, Tom," she said, and though he sat back, he didn't remove his hand. "This next one is actually in our price range."

He laughed. "Since when are we looking in our price range?"

Lynette shot him a dirty look. "Since we found out we're going to have a baby. I know I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure it's going to need someplace to sleep."

"I thought that was what your uterus was for." He squeezed her thigh, grinning as she scowled, and then forced himself to accept that they weren't going home to have sex. "Where is this place anyway?"

"Wisteria Lane."

"Wisteria Lane," Tom echoed with the slightest disdain in his tone. "Isn't wisteria poisonous?"

"I don't think so."

"Then it's one of those creepy plants, right?"

"Creepy…? Tom, it's a flower."

"Yeah, but one of those sinister ones that creeps up behind you and tries to strangle you."

"What?" Lynette laughed and shot him a quick, ridiculing glance. "No plant does that."

"Yeah. We'll see."

She reached out and pinched his arm. "Hey, you have to be good at this one."

"I'm always good."

"No, you're the one who decided we should be Reginald and Victoria Featherhead."

"Pennyfeather. And you're the one who decided to start talking in that English accent. Which, by the way, is super hot."

Lynette shook her head, pulling the car up to the curb and parking, and then she turned to give Tom a chiding look. "Regardless," she said firmly, "right now you and I are Tom and Lynette Scavo, and we're going to be our sweet, charming selves and actually take this seriously."

"Since when are we sweet and charming?"

With a final scathing look that practically demanded he drop the goofiness, she opened the door and stepped out of the car. Tom followed, glad to stretch his legs if nothing else, and glanced up and down the street. It was actually a pretty pleasant looking neighborhood—neatly trimmed lawns and well-kept houses and kids riding bicycles. Then he turned to actually face the house they were looking at, and his eyebrows rose sky-high.

Sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all the little homes nestled on the cul-de-sac, their choice was a rusty orange colored monstrosity with an overgrown lawn and a cracked driveway. In some way, the whole thing seemed to sag sadly, as though it was depressed by its own existence among such perfection. Mouth still opened slightly in shock, he glanced at Lynette. "This is our price range?"

"Be good."

Tom shook his head, walking around the car to join Lynette on the sidewalk, and she slipped her arm through his companionably. Together they walked toward the house where a frightfully cheerful woman stood outside the door with a big grin plastered on her face. "Lynette!" she said, stepping forward with her hand extended; Lynette slipped away from him to shake her hand, ignoring Tom's questioning look. "It's so good to see you again."

"Hey, Arlene," said Lynette, reaching out and tugging Tom forward from where he'd frozen in surprise. "This is my husband, Tom."

"Hi."

"Tom. Hello. It's so good to meet you. I'm sure you're going to love the house as much as your wife does."

"You love the house, honey?" asked Tom, purposely keeping his voice neutral. Lynette gave him a slightly guilty look, and then nodded at Arlene, who was staring at them curiously. "Let's go in," she said.

Arlene seemed to step into her element as she led them into the house, but Tom tuned out her out almost immediately. The interior wasn't quite as terrible as he feared—a little run down with scuffed floors and chipped paint—but he liked how open it was with plenty of natural light coming in from outside. He meandered into the living room area as Arlene prattled on about new kitchen appliances, running his hand over the mantle of the fireplace. Lynette was staring at him even as she nodded along in agreement with whatever the realtor was saying, but Tom remained impervious to her gaze. Clearly she'd been planning this—apparently she'd already been here—but that didn't mean he was going to agree to buy a house after standing in it for all of five minutes.

The tour seemed to go on interminably. Arlene dutifully led them through the entirety of the downstairs, even out to a dilapidated old garage, and then they went upstairs and perused four bedrooms and two baths. Lynette remained hooked on Arlene's every word as Tom tuned in and out, more interested in absorbing the actual look of the house than in listening to whatever sales pitch they were receiving. Truthfully, Lynette was the shrewder of the two of them anyway, and if came down to negotiations, he would willingly send her to the front lines. When they finally descended the stairs again, Arlene gave them a winning smile, and said, "Well why don't I just leave the two of you to discuss things?"

"Thanks," murmured Lynette, turning to Tom as Arlene stepped out of the house. He settled his hands on her hips, looking down at her curiously, as she folded her hands together in front of her lips. "Well?" she prompted.

Tom studied her, surprised by how every inch of her practically trembled in delight. Her eyes were shining in excitement, she bounced up and down on her toes, and as she lowered her hands to his chest, he could see that she was beaming. "You really like this place," he said, trying and failing to keep the note of amazement out of his voice.

"Yeah," she agreed breathlessly, either unaware or uncaring about his skepticism. "Did you see the porch swing?"

"Yeah. It didn't look very sturdy. When did you come here?"

"Last weekend while you were off playing golf." She tapped her fingers against his chest. "I was bored and looking through the classifieds and I went to a couple of open houses. But this was the only one I really liked. I mean, look at these hardwood floors."

"Okay, sweetie?" he said, trying to keep his tone upbeat. "I can see that you're really excited about this, but I have to say that it looks like a lot of work."

"Yeah, I know."

"And we're on a budget."

"I know that too. Tom, this place is a steal. The owners just had to evict the renters, and now they want to get rid of it. Maybe we'll have to do a little bit before we move in, but for the price they're offering…I mean, did you see this neighborhood?"

"Yes."

"And there's a park practically right next door. And the school district is really great."

"Lynette…" He sighed, trying to repress the guilt that blossomed as Lynette's eyes lost a bit of their sparkle. "I just wonder if we should look around a little more first. Why rush into this?"

"Because this place isn't going to be on the market for long."

"There are other places."

"I know, but Tom…I just…" Lynette bit her lip for a second and then gave him this shy little smile. "I can picture us here." She took his hand, pressing it to her stomach. "I can picture us as a family here."

Tom looked around the room, for the first time overlooking the imperfections and instead visualizing what their life here could be like. A place where they'd cook dinner together; where they would spend lazy Sundays sleeping in; where their child would take his first steps—somehow it was all as clear as day to him, a hypothetical life that could easily be made into reality. Slowly, he turned back to his wife, smiling softly at her.

"It feels like home, doesn't it?" she asked, and somewhere from the far depths of Tom's mind came the memory of Lynette telling him that she felt like she'd never had a real home in her entire life.

"Yeah," he said honestly. "It does."