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“This is boring,” Lucy whines from her spot on the couch. “I’m bored. Even I have a limit to how long I can stare at your butt.”
“You said you wanted to help,” Alex says, throwing a box of rags at her.
“I said I wanted to hang out with you,” Lucy says with a huff as she extracts a rag. “Cleaning your apartment isn’t what I had in mind, I cleaned enough in the military for a lifetime.”
“Well, unfortunately, it won’t clean itself, so hop to, soldier.”
“Ugh,” Lucy grumbles. “Can’t you get Kara to do it? She would be done in like four seconds.”
“Kara’s-- busy.” Alex stumbles momentarily over the words, and Lucy folds her arms over her chest.
“You mean because she’s on a date with James?”
“Wait,” Alex says. “You know about that?”
Lucy scoffs and throws the box of rags back at Alex. “You do realize that a) I broke up with him so he could ask her out, b) I encouraged him to ask her out, and c) I eventually banned Kara from taking missions at the DEO until she went out with him so they would both stop skulking around doing nothing, right?”
“Really?”
“Affirmative,” Lucy says. “For that good and selfless chain of deeds, I feel that I’m excused from cleaning duties, right?”
“Nice try,” Alex says. “Can you at least manage to dust the bookshelves without straining yourself too much, delicate flower?”
“If I absolutely must,” Lucy says with a sigh. She groans as she stands from the couch, rags in hand, and shuffles dramatically over towards the shelves, pausing only to slap at Alex’s ass as she does.
Alex busies herself with the vacuum, moving from the living room to the bedroom; by the time she makes it back to the living room, Lucy is sitting cross-legged on the floor with at least a dozen records spread out around her.
“Oh, come on,” Alex says. “That is the opposite of helpful. That’s more mess.”
“Why isn’t there anything from the Beatles?” Lucy cranes her head around to look up at Alex, a copy of Tattoo You balanced carefully in her hands.
“What?”
“Rolling Stones, The Who, Clapton, Zeppelin, Queen, Bowie, Beach Boys, Pink Floyd, Ella Fitzgerald, Muddy Waters, Chuck Berry,” Lucy lists off, ticking a name to each finger as she counts through them. “You’ve got the whole bandwidth of the classics except for the Beatles. What’s up with that?”
Alex shrugs, taking a set next to Lucy. “My mom kept the Beatles albums.”
“Huh?”
“Most of these were my parents,” Alex says. She picks up Hot Space and picks at a scratch on the sleeve. “Mom worked at the college radio station when they were in school and could buy records at cost, so they built up this huge collection together. After Dad died, she didn’t like keeping it, so I moved it here.”
Alex bites down on her lip for a moment, resettling the record down on the floor.
“They used to bicker all the time about the Stones versus the Beatles. Dad was all about the Stones, Mom was all about the Beatles. So she kept the Beatles records.”
“You don’t talk about them very much,” Lucy says quietly.
Alex shrugs. “There’s not much to talk about that isn’t already in the DEO files.”
Lucy sighs and pulls at Alex’s t-shirt until she leans forward and Lucy can kiss her. “Okay. But if you ever want to, that’s okay, too, you know.” She straightens Alex’s t-shirt and then rocks over towards the shelf again, fishing out a record and turning back to Alex.
“Serious question time, though,” she says. She whips the record around in front of her face, peeking over the top with raised eyebrows. “Wham!? Really?”
Alex groans and drops her head into her hands.
“I don’t know if I’m more surprised by that or the fact that you have a lot of Morrisey. Seriously, isn’t one album of him whining enough for you?”
“Those are Kara’s, actually,” Alex says.
“Oh, no, don’t try to blame this on the alien, Danvers,” Lucy says, wagging a finger at her. “Own your emo nature. Or are you going to say all the Cure albums are hers, too?”
“I hate you,” Alex mumbles, even as she slumps back against the bookshelf and relaxes into Lucy, touching from shoulder to hip to knee.
“Sure you do,” Lucy says with a wet kiss to her cheek.” “What about this one?” She holds out a Kesha album.
“Hey, that’s a great album,” Alex says, pointing sharply. “Don’t hate on Kesha.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucy says gravely. “I’m just very pleased that Director Alex Danvers of the Department of Extranormal Operations, superagent extraordinaire, doctor of bioengineering, effective savior of the human world, doesn’t just like Kesha, but loves Kesha enough to have her album on vinyl .”
“Are you implying that there is anyone on this planet that’s too good for Kesha?” Alex says, tilting her head to one side. “Definitely don’t tell Kara, she’ll super-punch you to Guatemala.”
“Hey, I love Kesha, too,” Lucy says, hands up in defense. “Don’t worry. Final and most important question, though.”
“What?” Alex says warily.
“Why in the actual hell do you have a grand total of six copies of Hoochie Coochie Man ?”
Alex rolls her eyes and grabs at Lucy’s shirt, kissing her heavily instead of answering.
“Oh,” Lucy mumbles against her mouth as Alex pushes at her shoulders until she half-falls, half-lays down on the floor, barely avoiding any of the records scattered around them. Alex bites down on her collarbone and Lucy’s fingers grip at the back of her head. “Okay. This works, too.”