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Love and War

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It is a well established fact that love is harder than crime. Or war. Or as it turns out, crime-fighting.
Most days, that’s okay. Because most days, love is better.
Today is not one of them.

Amy knows that Lucy is in a bad mood, because she’s drinking coffee before they leave their flat in Barcelona to breakfast at the bakery down the street. She’s also muttering under her breath about Australians again.
“Luce,” she breathes, her voice soft as she climbs out of bed. More grumbling ensues. “Lucy.” Her voice is more solid this time, with a hint of warning behind it.
“What Amy?” Lucy practically yells. Yep. Definitely in a bad mood.
“You okay, honey?” Amy’s voice is soft again, and her hand reaching for Lucy’s shoulder, running light, soothing circles over her back.
“Really, sweetheart?”
“Yes, really.” At this Lucy brushes Amy’s hand away. “You should get dressed. I’m already late for work.”
“Yeah.” Amy turns away, retreating to the closet to pull on her clothes.

They eat, pretty much in silence, and Amy leaves for art class while Lucy makes her way to the marina to rent sailboats to tourists. Lucy’s head is throbbing. She feels like she’s about to be ill, but she didn’t lie to Amy. Nothing’s wrong, per se, it’s just that her father is alive. Her father, alive, wondering what she’s up to, why she’s given up on super-criminality.
She wants to ignore him, she tries to ignore him, but he’s her father. And he’s alive, and she hasn’t seen him since she was sixteen and she misses him like nothing else. So midway through work, she calls Amy.
The phone picks up on the first ring, because Amy’s on break between classes. Probably eating lunch somewhere in the gardens on campus.
“Hey Amy. My dad, he um, well, he’s not dead it turns out, just, er, hiding from Interpol, and he wants to have dinner with me.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
There really is no good answer to that.
“Does he want to bring you back to the world of criminal scum?”
Scum? That hurts. Lucy was never scum, and she was the best criminal there was.
“I don’t know.” Her jaw is tensing, she’s beginning to daydream about sinking Australia again. “Amy, I have to meet him. He’s my dad. I thought he died a decade ago.”
“Alright. Do you want me to be there?”
“You're probably the best explanation to all his questions. Why are you not a criminal? Because Amy. Why are you living in Spain? Because Amy. Why do get out of bed in the morning, despite your miserable existence? BECAUSE OF AMY.” She’s pretty much screaming right now, and part of her is embarrassed, but another part is just so fucking angry she doesn’t care. Similarly, she’s aware that she’s being unjust, aware that on pretty much any other day most of the things she’s said would be reverent, whispered praise: why is she happy, nine times out of ten? Because of Amy. She doesn’t know why she’s so mad, maybe her hormones are all screwed over, maybe her period is about to start. Wait....oh shit, how could she have possibly forgotten about that?
Meanwhile, Amy’s hung up on her. Shit.

That afternoon Lucy closes up the shop a bit early, walks to the art school, and waits for Amy to finish her last class. She’s messed up pretty badly, and it’s time to fix it.
When Amy sees her, she all but recoils. “Here to keep yelling at me?” Her voice veritably drips bitterness, distaste.
“Here to beg forgiveness.” A pause, Amy studies her face. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I...I’ve had a rough day and the thing with my dad is stressing me out, and there’s some other stuff going on, and I just snapped. I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love you unbearably much.”
Amy sighs, her face melting into a smile. “Okay,” she says, “apology accepted.”
Lucy honestly can’t believe it’s that easy, but Amy’s always been forgiving of her, and is always happy when she tells Amy the truth. She tries to, most of the time, but lying is a habit instilled in her pretty much since birth--you can’t be a master criminal without it.
So Lucy’s grinning too and pulling her into a tight hug and kissing the side of her face. “Let’s go home.” She whispers. “I have an extremely important question to ask you.”

“Amy?” Lucy asks once they’ve reached their flat again, and are sitting at their kitchen table eating ice cream.
“Do you want to become a Spanish citizen?” Amy looks up with confusion.
“Because then you could be my wife--I know it’s not legal back home, but it is here, and here is sort of becoming home--and because unless we move within the next nine months our baby will be Spanish by default.”
“Our baby....Oh, our baby. It worked. I can’t believe it worked!”
“I know, right? Yay DNA splicing!”
Amy laughs. “Yay modern science! Yay genetic research!” Then Amy’s pulling Lucy out of her chair, twirling her around the kitchen. Once they’ve danced themselves breathless, Amy pulls her close, rests her own head on Lucy’s shoulder. “Yes.” she whispers.
“Hmm?” Lucy’s a bit confused, though not concerned.
“Yes, I want to become a citizen of Spain. I want to be your wife.”

Three weeks later they’re meeting Lucy’s dad at an Italian restaurant. He’s wearing a disguise, but Lucy spots him immediately. He is her dad, after all. She grabs Amy by the hand and pulls her over to the table where he sits, eating spaghetti bolognese.
“Dad, I want you to meet Amy, my fiance and mother of the child I’m pregnant with. Former D.E.B, current art student, and love of my life.”
“Hi,” Amy adds. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Lucy’s dad slumps forward, giving himself a face full of bolognese.
“Am I dreaming?” He asks a minute later.
“Umm, no Dad, I don’t think so.”
More bolognese.

It is a well established fact that love is harder than crime. Or war. Or as it turns out, crime-fighting.
Most days, that’s okay. Because most days, love is better.
Today is one of them.