A/N #1 - A big ole shout out to the amazing qwertygal for her generous input with this fic :) girl, you're the best...
A/N #2 - Honestly, this is not even close to the story I set out to write in an attempt to process the ending of Episode 3. However, the deeper I got into it when trying to make sense of Wyatt's behavior, the more I thought I understood why he acted the way he did, even if I didn't necessarily like it. And yes, I do realize I'm talking about a fictional character on a television series, lol... but it's just so much fun, isn't it?
Ephemeral
e-phem-er-al (adj.) - Lasting a short time: transitory.
"Just when I think I have learned the way to live, life changes..." - Hugh Prather
When Wyatt Logan was nine years old, his Grandma and Grandpa Sherwin took him to the Texas State Fair held annually in Dallas as a special reward for working hard on their farm all summer. Almost beside himself with excitement while waiting for Grandpa to pick him up for the weekend, he had ignored his daddy's usual 'mad at the whole world' mood, eager to escape and enjoy the rare treat.
He had never been to the State Fair or a city so big before, and his head was filled with dreams of exciting rides on the midway, going through the livestock barns, and delicious food like sausage sandwiches, lemon shake ups, and funnel cakes or maybe cotton candy. Wyatt vaguely recalled his mama taking him to their little county fairs once or twice when he was small and how much he loved it.
They had gotten up so early it was still full dark out in order to finish the chores before a six-hour drive, but he hadn't minded, happily pitching in to help Grandpa feed and water the animals. Upon their arrival at the fair, there were so many sights, sounds, and smells that Wyatt was practically dizzy, so thrilled he didn't even protest Grandma's tight grip on his hand (though he was nine years old now, and certainly not a baby).
The bluebonnet sky was bright and sunny, the temperature already climbing relentlessly toward 90 degrees by lunch time on this beautiful day in late September. Walking along the dusty, crowded midway and tramping through the barns, the hours passed in a glorious haze for Wyatt, who had never in his short life seen so many people. Out of all the incredible experiences that day, it was hard to pick what he liked best, but definitely the most memorable was riding the Texas Star with Grandpa while Grandma found a shady bench to sit a spell. The line was quite long for the popular attraction, winding part way down the midway and looping back again, and to pass the time, Grandpa had enthusiastically told him all about the famous ride.
"She's a real beaut, Wy, the tallest ferris wheel in the U.S.A., over 21 stories, with 44 buggies for folks to ride in. I read where it cost over $2 million to build." Wyatt was properly impressed in spite of feeling slightly uneasy at the thought of being that far off the ground. But Grandpa would be right beside him, and anyway, he was going on ten now, too old to act like a little kid, so he pushed his apprehension down deep.
Finally, after standing in line for over an hour, it was their turn. He hopped up in the gondola after Grandpa, patiently waiting to be buckled in, and then hung on for dear life as the immense wheel slowly began to spin, the gondolas swaying ever so slightly. Wyatt held his breath as they climbed higher and higher in the air. Even after 25 years, he could still remember that first ascension and his death grip on the bar across their laps, terrified at first of losing his lunch all over himself. But strangely enough, the closer they got to being on the very top of the wheel, the better he felt. The view was incredible, seeming to stretch for miles. "It was like flying," he thought, a joyous exhilaration filling his young soul. Once their gondola reached the apex, it felt as if they hung suspended in the endless azure sky for the briefest of seconds before starting their inevitable descent.
His initial giddiness was rapidly replaced by an abrupt tug on his lower body as gravity and mechanical marvel warred with each other for domination. Just as a suddenly queasy Wyatt thought the contents of his stomach would surely fall out of his mouth, back up they went. This time he knew what to expect, though, and he eagerly anticipated that shining, exciting feeling of being on the top of the world, childishly wishing it would last forever.
He snuck a glance over at Grandpa Sherwin to see him smiling broadly. "What do you think, son? Pretty darn exciting, isn't it?" he asked, his dark blue eyes, so like Wyatt's, dancing with wonder.
Wyatt's awed grin matched his grandpa's, "Yes, sir."
As they continued to slowly, almost peacefully go around and around, Grandpa broke the stillness. "You know, Wy, life can be an awful lot like this ride, what with all its ups and downs and going round and round in a big circle. As you get older, you'll find most people would rather just keep their feet on the ground, because it's safe, it's what they know. 'Course, there's nothing wrong with that. But then there are others who aren't content with that, who want or maybe need more and are willing to take a big risk, so they're always climbing towards the highest point, the place that makes them the happiest. Because when you do get up that high, the feeling is worth it, every time, I promise."
"Now sadly, just like with the Texas Star, no one can stay at the top forever because that's not how life works. And son, it's true that the trip down from such a high place can be scary sometimes, might even make you sick or unhappy or sad. But if you always keep on trying to reach the very top, to find that special joy for even the smallest piece of time, you'll find the very bottom can be endured, no matter what. Do you understand?"
At Wyatt's solemn nod, his grandpa had reached over, and covering Wyatt's small hand with his broad, calloused one, they enjoyed the rest of the ride in silence. Numerous times since then, he would come to remember that wonderful day fondly, especially riding the Texas Star and Grandpa Sherwin's words of wisdom that had served him so well over the years (God knows the only thing he ever learned from his old man was a love for cars and how to dodge a fist).
"We do not remember days, we remember moments." - Cesare Parese
He held on fervently to Grandpa's words when his beloved grandparents passed away within six months of each other before he was even in high school, and the ensuing grief threatened to consume him during the dark days after. Looking back twenty years later, Wyatt marveled that he'd survived at all, let alone persevered and became the man he was today. (As an act of self-preservation, during the mission to 1955, he had deliberately whitewashed the worst of his turbulent teen years for Lucy, selfishly unwilling to forfeit any of the more-than-just-friends regard he saw shining from her soft brown eyes lately.)
Luckily, by the time Wyatt was a senior, he'd pulled his head out of his ass, and resolutely putting those dangerous, rebellious 'bootlegging' days behind him, gone straight to the nearest Army recruiting center on his 18th birthday. Didn't even bother to inform his dad, just threw his meager belongings in an old duffle bag and took off about a month after graduation (and damn sure never looked back). Having dwelled at the very bottom for too many years, Wyatt arrived at basic training with zero expectations. It had been a pleasant surprise that by the end of the first day, he was already settling in happily to his new home with his new family. He was young, strong, and willing to follow orders, definitely excellent raw material for military service. The following years were productive and satisfying, a slow steady climb ending up in his selection for Delta Force, and the fierce pride he'd felt in his accomplishment was exactly as Grandpa promised, a real high point.
Miraculously, his sojourn at the tip top had held when not long after making Delta Force, he met Jessica in a bar near base and fallen hard for the pretty blonde with dark eyes. She was a real spitfire who captivated Wyatt almost from the moment he met her, and since his grandparents passed away nearly ten years before, the first person to offer him unconditional love.
And for a time, it was perfect–they were perfect–until it wasn't and they weren't. To his dismay, just like Grandpa had warned Wyatt, his descent from the pinnacle was sad and frightening. Even as he'd slipped the thin gold band on her hand after dating less than six months, Wyatt wasn't entirely convinced he could make Jessica happy. After all, what did he know about love, having lived so many years without it? Focused on his own faults, real and perceived, vulnerable to self doubt, and less than adept at managing his temper, his marriage was already rather strained when Wyatt's battalion was shipped to Afghanistan. In spite of his reluctance to leave matters with Jess the way they were, he could feel his excitement build when his life began to ascend once more.
He and his brothers in arms–solid guys, every last one–would together be serving their country on a righteous mission, exactly what they'd trained years for. And at first, it hadn't been all that bad. Wyatt and his comrades grew even closer, an elite squad that functioned seamlessly. Each mission they undertook was more successful than the last, and their reputation grew to almost legendary proportions. He thrived on the constant challenge, rising through the ranks to Master Sergeant, and surprisingly, his personal life improved somewhat, too, when Wyatt discovered that from a distance, his relationship with his wife got better (at least that's what he told himself).
It turned out that when you're serving in an active war zone, there just wasn't time for all the petty shit they used to fight over. Rare visits home were, for the most part, blissfully happy as the young couple more than made up for their long periods of separation, spending nearly every minute of each day together, most of it in bed. Best of all, about the time they started getting on each other's nerves and the real world and its problems began to intrude, Wyatt would ship out again for months at a time, to be reunited with his service family–his brothers. Although he wouldn't dream of sharing this with his wife, Wyatt truly felt like he had the best of both worlds, and life at the summit was very fine indeed.
But a shocking, life-changing drop was just over the horizon. Even now, after all these years, on the rare occasion he even thought about it, Wyatt could only shake his head in despair at his squad's misplaced feeling of invincibility, and maybe his own personal hubris, during that last ill-fated tour in Afghanistan. What was supposed to be just a routine intel gathering operation for two of the Delta Force squads, including Wyatt's, went straight to hell in one dizzying fell swoop, a living nightmare when, within minutes of arriving at an isolated outpost, the men were viciously attacked by a merciless unseen enemy. Fifteen of his fellow soldiers were cut down in a heartbeat, some in front of his very eyes, before Wyatt and the remaining squad members managed to find shelter in a long-abandoned dwelling.
The situation seemed hopeless for the seven of them, with all but Wyatt and his buddy, Zachary, too injured to escape. The Sergeant Major, the only man left who outranked him, was dying, but his final order was that the important piece of intel that so many had given their lives for unquestioningly must get out. So on the random flip of a damned coin, Wyatt found himself the 'chosen' one. With only seconds to even think about what that meant, he hurried from man to man for a quick, final goodbye. He wouldn't sully their incredible sacrifice by expressing regret, merely made a solemn promise that he would convey his brothers' last thoughts to their loved ones.
Purposefully leaving Zach for last, Wyatt was horrified by the sudden tears that filled his eyes and clogged his throat at the painfully unbearable thought of leaving them all behind. Abruptly punching his bicep, Zach smirked and warned, "Time to cowboy up, Master Sergeant, and remember the mission," and when Wyatt couldn't bring himself to respond, his buddy teased, "C'mon, Logan, I think you were meant to survive 'cause Fate probably thinks you're prettier than me or something," and Wyatt had involuntarily grinned in spite of his encroaching grief. With a last bro hug for Zach and a final look around as six men held off more than 100 enemy fighters so that he might survive, Wyatt slipped away, determined that his brothers would not have died in vain.
During the months that followed, Wyatt sunk to such grief-stricken depths, he was certain he would dwell there forever. For the first time in his life, Grandpa's thoughtful words failed to comfort him, and he'd come precariously close to just giving up. Thank God for his wife. Jess had done her level best to save him–unfortunately, in the end, a herculean task likely beyond anyone's capabilities. Between her efforts and the mandatory counseling he was ordered to endure, though, Wyatt had pulled himself together enough to go back to Pendleton and join a new Delta squad.
And life went on, the arduous climb from the very bottom began anew, and Wyatt tried, he really did, to be a good soldier and a better husband. While he mostly succeeded at the first, it was soon clear he was failing miserably at the other. Jessica Logan was not a satisfied wife, and to his dismay, the bad days began to outnumber the good. By February 2012, their marriage consisted of bitter arguments, followed by angry makeup sex, followed by long sullen silences, an endlessly ugly cycle they couldn't seem to break.
Until that fateful night, when what was meant to be a nice evening out the weekend before Valentine's Day, fell apart, and to Wyatt's everlasting shame, most of that was on him. Maybe he should have stopped throwing back shots sooner-maybe should have paid closer attention to his wife's growing resentment at his inability (or stubborn unwillingness) to really try and save their faltering marriage. All he could recall with any accuracy afterwards was the supremely ill-timed, unwelcome appearance of Jess' ex-boyfriend, the match to the volatile powder keg that was their relationship.
Out of all the hazy, distorted images of the evening that resided in the lowest part of his soul–and most damning–was his wife's pale, sorrowful face and her weary insistence that she'd rather walk home in the dark than stay in the truck with him. She had been so desperately unhappy, and it was all his doing. Like the biggest fool, he'd bullheadedly clung to his tattered pride and let her go, his old truck roaring away in the night, leaving behind the only person who'd considered him worthy of love in his whole adult life.
The fact that less than ten minutes passed before Wyatt regretted losing his temper (again) and immediately turned around and went back earned him no bonus points from the fates, who apparently had their fill of Wyatt James Logan. To his horror, there was no sign of his wife anywhere. The next hour was spent driving up and down the road, calling her name. But it was futile. She was just gone. The next two weeks were a terrifying blur of several intense police interrogations, a handful of television interviews, and time spent tirelessly searching the area he last saw her every day before returning to their ominously empty apartment and drinking copious amounts of alcohol until he passed out.
With all the press her tragic disappearance had fueled, it was no secret Wyatt had combed every inch for blocks during those two weeks, and when he was the one who came across Jess' body on the 15th day, he instinctively knew it was deliberate, that whoever had done this to her had fully intended for him to be the one to find her. Without a trace of evidence, though, the police dismissed his theory as merely the rants of a grief-stricken widower. His hurt and anger and sorrow cut so deep that the slim thread of sanity tethering him to this life began to fray dangerously and nearly snapped before his mind blessedly shut down.
To this day, from the moment he clumsily gathered his wife's lifeless body in his arms to waking up the day after her funeral, Wyatt had no recollection whatsoever of any of it. The grief counselor at Pendleton he was required to see three times a week for six months did his best to assure Wyatt that this was actually fairly normal in situations of extreme emotional trauma, that his mind was trying to cope-in the only way it could–by shutting down. Staring at the well-meaning therapist, Wyatt had nodded quietly, although he didn't really agree.
"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on..." - Robert Frost
Nevertheless, with the support of his squad leader and his new Delta Force buddies, he slowly, painfully put himself back together. And life was once more at least tolerable as he resolutely rebuilt Wyatt Logan from the ground up. He cut back on the drinking, began to excel again at his duties, and grew closer to new friends like Dave Baumgardner. The only remnants from Wyatt's past that he couldn't seem to shed was his burning desire to find Jess' killer and, irrationally loyal to his wife's memory, a stubborn refusal to even have a drink with another woman. This naturally puzzled his buddies, but eventually they gave up and let him be. So it was an older, somewhat wiser, emotionally scarred Master Sergeant who was assigned to a top-secret mission at Mason Industries in San Francisco in October 2016.
The rest (with all due respect to his favorite college professor) was history. For all the ups and downs of his eventful life to this point, absolutely nothing could have prepared Wyatt Logan for the last eighteen months. The sheer insanity at even the idea of time travel to begin with, not to mention the unforeseen danger, all mixed in with a renewed sense of the righteousness of their unbelievable mission and his growing bond with the members of his new team. Even after fifteen years in the military, serving with (and losing) some of the best soldiers he'd ever known, nothing could have prepared Wyatt for what he found with Rufus, his new brother in arms, and Lucy, who had unwittingly scratched and clawed her way into his abandoned heart and took up permanent residence there.
The crazy, perilous days and weeks shared with them gave his life new purpose, and oddly enough, an emotional stability he hadn't even known was lacking. He and Lucy inevitably grew closer, and just what his beautiful, intelligent, kind, funny teammate saw in him, Wyatt had no clue. All he knew was that something about Lucy had intrigued him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her that first night at Mason. Naturally, he fought valiantly against his almost instant attraction to the pretty historian for months. But in spite of his best efforts, the more time Wyatt spent with Lucy, the harder he fell, finally culminating in a glorious night together in 1941 Hollywood.
If he had to decide just when the seduction that evening began, Wyatt thought it might have been during Lucy's astonishing performance for the rich snobs at the Hearst dinner party. Her small hand shook in his as he was pushing her towards the piano, in spite of her protests. But after a rocky start, his Lucy had pulled herself together and blown the place apart. Every time her animated gaze landed on him, Wyatt felt a tiny flame of desire burn in his heart clamoring to be set loose.
As she softly sang the last few words "you made me love you" purposely, unerringly to him alone, the blinders he'd been tenaciously hiding behind for so long fell from his eyes, and Wyatt realized he was done fighting his attraction and devotion to Lucy. Game over. After everything they'd been through together, all the missed opportunities, his heart stepped up and made the decision his brain had been shying away from.
The next thing he knew, the two of them were standing beside Hedy Lamarr's pool, flirting and exchanging shy confidences, and at the sweet, tentative invitation in Lucy's shining eyes, Wyatt reached for the pinnacle he thought he wouldn't ever see again. The beautiful, emotional, loving hours spent in her arms was a night that he would never forget. And for nearly 48 hours afterwards, Wyatt's life was suspended at the top of the world again, and he honestly couldn't remember ever being so happy, not even when he and Jess had been first married.
With no small amount of masculine pride, he couldn't help but notice Lucy was practically glowing when the team returned to the present. His warning to Rufus to 'be cool' was a big fat waste of words once Jiya got a good look at Lucy, if her wide eyes and excited squeak was any indication. Even Connor Mason glanced knowingly between the two of them and muttered, "About bloody time," during their mission debriefing. Aside from a single raised eyebrow, there had been no reaction at all from Agent Christopher, which suited Wyatt just fine.
After a quick supper and his turn at doing dishes, Wyatt found himself being pulled along the hallway toward Lucy and Jiya's room. Definitely interested, but cautious, he was relieved when Lucy stopped kissing him long enough to breathlessly explain that Jiya would be spending the night with Rufus. After shutting and locking the door, she then proceeded to have her wicked way with Wyatt, several times, in fact. His know-it-all professor was turning out to be quite insatiable (not that he was complaining, no Ma'am).
By the next morning, Wyatt seemed completely incapable of wiping the satisfied grin off his face, noting with amusement that Rufus was wearing a similar expression. Barely aware of their dismal surroundings, he and Lucy spent the morning and early afternoon in a distracted haze, just enjoying being with each other. The determined little witch had even managed to talk him into a very mutually satisfying shower before lunch (Thank God he finally remembered to put a chair under the doorknob).
From the moment Agent Christopher walked in with the bunker's newest resident, however, Wyatt could sense the light, shining feeling start to slip from his grasp. Of course, Lucy immediately sprang up and ran after him, anxious to wipe the frown from his face after he snapped at Christopher to keep Flynn on a leash. His kindhearted little peacemaker, so certain Garcia Flynn was the missing piece the team needed to defeat Rittenhouse for good. Wyatt felt his temper ease at the eager, hopeful expression on Lucy's face, and couldn't suppress his answering grin when he put his hands around her small waist and easily tugged her closer. He treasured the feel of her slender body close to his, the endearing smile on her face in the seconds before his phone alerted him to a new text message.
A whole case of C-4 couldn't have blown his world apart faster than the blurry picture and a two-line address on his phone. Even as Wyatt's mind was screaming at him to stop, to think about what he was doing, his panicked, instantly raw emotions drove him to turn his back on Lucy and run, heedless of what he might be getting himself into, or worst of all, how it would affect her and their budding relationship.
He was bitterly ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but at his first glimpse of Jessica in more than six years, his newly-acknowledged feelings for Lucy got shoved to one side of his mind and heart. It wasn't until later, after an awkward reunion with his 'used to be dead' wife at some bar she was working at, he was sitting on the bed in a dubious looking, by-the-hour motel when without warning, his phone rang, and he heard Lucy's terrified voice, that Wyatt's two realities collided violently.
Even as he stammered through a lame-ass explanation, Wyatt could tell she was really upset and worried for him, much as she tried to hide it. In a tiny, faltering voice, Lucy asked, "Are you coming back?" and only the softest of gasps betrayed her devastation when Wyatt hesitated just a fraction of a second too long before assuring her he'd return as soon as he talked to Jessica. "But what if the mother ship jumps before you get back?" she whispered. And although the fear she tried to hide was like a punch in the gut, Wyatt knew he couldn't leave until he got some answers.
Just then, there was quiet knock on the door. "Lucy, I have to go, but I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. But the words felt as hollow as he did, practically meaningless, and evidently, Lucy came to the same heartbreaking conclusion when she hung up without saying goodbye. The next few minutes were uncomfortable at best as Wyatt tried to pull answers from his wife without being obvious. He apparently failed on an epic level when, after a couple of stilted questions, Jess sighed and slapped a large brown envelope at his chest and said, "Look, this isn't how I wanted to do this, but it's only fair that I do it in person, so," and watched him sadly as he gingerly opened the envelope like it was a bomb, only to pull out a set of divorce papers.
Jesus, no wonder she hadn't been very glad to see him when he'd found her at the address in the text message. Clearly irritated with him, at least Jess had grudgingly given him her phone number before she left, probably hoping he'd lose it. Wyatt dropped to the bed, his emotions roiling within him as he tried to process what just happened. His wife (soon to be ex, his brain helpfully supplied) had been alive all this time, but wanted to divorce him.
What the hell had gone so badly wrong in their marriage? She'd mentioned (reluctantly, to be honest) that the last time she'd seen him was at a marriage counselor's office. Things must have been terrible between the two of them to get to that point, given she knew how he felt about talking to shrinks. Wyatt wished Jess had said how long ago that had been. Just thinking about what kind of asshole husband he must have been and the life he was living in this time line made both his head and heart ache fiercely. Looking at his phone, Wyatt was dismayed to see he'd been gone for several hours. Hastily grabbing the brown envelope, he hot wired again the car he'd 'borrowed' from one of the NSA agents guarding the bunker and drove back as quickly as he dared.
While not expecting to be greeted with open arms, his arrival at the bunker did not go well at all, beginning with the sickening realization that the lifeboat was missing, along with that bastard Flynn. Then, after a solid hour of getting dressed down by a seriously pissed-off Denise Christopher, the hits just kept on coming. Literally. When Wyatt walked into the kitchen area for some coffee, he saw Jiya and Connor sitting at the table. Uneasy at the sight of Jiya's tear-stained face, he was about to ask her about the lifeboat when she stood up and coming at him like an avenging angel, unexpectedly punched Wyatt in the stomach hard enough to take his breath.
"What the hell, Jiya?" he wheezed, bending over at the waist in an effort to force air back into his lungs.
"Wyatt Logan, you selfish asshole, do you even have the slightest idea what you've done? Do you not care that because you took off like a bat out of hell without telling any of us, not even Lucy, where you were going, that she and Rufus just went back in time over 300 years with that murderer Flynn? How could you do that to your friends, your teammates, the woman you're sleeping with? Just leave them at the mercy of the man who shot Abraham Lincoln?" Jiya's face crumpled, her anger spent, and Wyatt instinctively put his arms around her, as she began to sob into his chest.
Looking up, Wyatt caught the look of disgust on the other man's face when Connor stood and shaking his head, murmured as he went past, "Not your finest hour, mate," before patting Jiya comfortingly on the shoulder and heading for his room.
Although she was still trembling, Jiya's tears eventually subsided, and pulling back from Wyatt, swiped at her wet cheeks. Taking her by the hand, he led Jiya over to the communal area, sitting on the sofa and patting the cushion beside him in invitation. Wyatt sighed at her obvious reluctance, and coaxed, "Please, Jiya, I know I deserve everything you said and probably a hell of a lot more, but, please, will you sit down a minute and just tell me what happened?" and waited as patiently as he could, given the situation.
To his immense relief, she finally sat, and taking a deep breath, began to speak, every word another damaging hit to his already bruised heart. Within minutes of Lucy's phone call, the alarms had gone off that the mother ship had jumped. "She and Rufus argued like crazy with Agent Christopher that they couldn't, shouldn't jump without you, but unfortunately, when Christopher had pressed Lucy, she admitted that she had talked to you, but refused to call you back. And considering where and when the mother ship had gone to, the idea of sending a woman and a black man by themselves was completely out of the question. None of them were very happy about Flynn taking your place, Wyatt, but there just wasn't another option..." Jiya's voice trailed off.
Recalling that she had mentioned something about 300 years, Wyatt asked, "When and where did they go?"
His blood ran cold when Jiya admitted shakily, "Salem, Massachusetts, 1692," and perhaps sensing his next question, confirmed sadly, "Lucy said that was during the worst of the witch trials."
Oh my God. No wonder they were all so upset at him. What had he done, recklessly taking off like that? As Agent Christopher had sternly reminded him just a few minutes ago, if Wyatt had only shown her the picture and address on his phone, she would have immediately sent in a covert team to check everything out, something he should have known. There had been absolutely no need for him to tear out of there the way he did, without a word to anyone. Not to mention, she was quick to point out, it was immediately obvious from the quality of the picture and then his wife's less-than-happy reaction to his sudden appearance at her job that someone else had texted Wyatt, something that raised frightening implications for the team.
Even as stubborn as he could be at times, one inescapable fact finally penetrated his thick skull: because of his impulsive actions, Lucy and Rufus could even at this very minute be in mortal danger or, and his mind violently shied away from the thought, might not ever return. Lucy. He thought of how happy, content even, she looked the last time he saw her, and when the bile suddenly rose up his throat, Wyatt tore off down the corridor to the bathroom and heaved until he nearly passed out. Slumping beside the toilet, he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand and looked up to see Jiya standing in the doorway gazing at him more sympathetically than he deserved.
"Are you okay?" When he just shook his head, she said, "C'mon, let me make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what was so damn important that you took off today." Staggering to his feet, he went over to the sink and rinsed his mouth out with water before following Jiya back to the kitchen area.
Sipping sparingly at the hot beverage, Wyatt filled Jiya in on the little he knew before falling silent. Wide eyed with shock at his explanation, she squeezed his hand, and observed, rather thoughtlessly, "So yeah, you probably don't want to hear this, but I'm pretty sure Lucy wouldn't date a married man...I mean, you said your wife gave you divorce papers, but still, you are technically married, at least in this time line...just saying." When all Wyatt could do was frown at her, she relented at his obvious misery, "I'm sorry, that probably wasn't very kind. Let's go wait on the platform and keep watch until our loved ones come back safely to us, alright?" Grateful for the invitation, Wyatt quickly accepted. Right now, he and Jiya could both use all the support they could get.
Three agonizingly long hours later, the lifeboat roared into the bunker, outer rings spinning slowly to a halt. Wyatt bolted off the platform and hurriedly grabbing the metal steps, pushed them over to the time machine, waiting impatiently for the hatch to open, when Jiya materialized at his elbow. To no one's surprise, Flynn was the first one out of the open hatch, but when Wyatt would have charged up the steps, Flynn turned back and holding out a hand, helped a bedraggled Lucy stumble through the opening. He heard Jiya's strangled gasp as, swaying on her feet, her right arm holding her left side closely, Lucy looked as bad as he'd ever seen her, sending a chilling fear through Wyatt's heart.
Torn between guilt and resentment at the almost protective way Flynn was still holding on to her, Wyatt nearly leapt up the steps just in time to catch Lucy when her vacant eyes rolled back in her head, and she started to collapse. Tenderly cradling her still form in his arms, he cautiously navigated the narrow steps, brushing past a tight-lipped Agent Christopher, who instructed, "Take Lucy to her room and stay with her until the doctor gets here," as if the thinly-veiled order was even necessary.
After gently depositing Lucy on her cot, Wyatt carefully began stripping away her torn, blood-stained costume, hissing in dismay at the blood seeping from the ugly-looking wound in her side. To his experienced eye, it looked like a bullet (a musket?) graze. Not only that, there were fresh rope burns around both slender wrists, and most distressing of all, Lucy's elegant throat. Swallowing thickly, Wyatt continued to remove each filthy piece of clothing, until she was down to a pair of panties.
At a soft knock, Wyatt hastily covered her nearly nude body before opening the door to see Jiya with a bowl of warm water and a towel and washcloth. He thought to ask about Rufus, and was relieved that his friend was fine. Jiya nodded gravely at his quiet thanks, and after telling him the doctor would be there soon, closed the door.
Wyatt painstakingly bathed away as much blood and grime from Lucy as he could for now before taking off his tee shirt and dropping it over her head. Settling her under the blanket, he put the back of his hand on her forehead, fearful her wound might already be infected. Thankfully, it was only a few minutes longer until the doctor arrived. Refusing to leave her side, without warning, a sudden flash of deja vu hit Wyatt once the young man began to examine Lucy. "Well, hell, now the whole team will have matching scars," he mused regretfully as the doctor precisely stitched her up.
Less than an hour later, Wyatt was perched on the cot at Lucy's side, watching with concern as she moved restlessly and mumbled occasionally in her troubled sleep. He thought she might have said his name once or twice, but considering her likely feelings toward him at present, that was possibly just wishful thinking on his part.
He was holding her bruised hand, gently rubbing his thumb across her scratched knuckles, when Wyatt heard an unwelcome voice behind him. "You know, I would never have taken you for a 'bang and bail' kind of guy, Logan, what with being such a good, morally upright American soldier and all," Flynn jeered softly from the doorway.
Without raising his voice or turning around, Wyatt wearily retorted, "Shut your damn mouth, Flynn. You don't have the first clue what you're talking about," never once taking his eyes off Lucy. Coming into the room uninvited and sitting across from him on Jiya's cot, the other man silently gazed at Lucy for a long moment before he spoke again, while Wyatt did his best to ignore him.
"Actually, I do have a pretty good idea, in light of all the open areas in this hell hole we're stuck in. And maybe I wasn't supposed to overhear the others discussing you and Lucy, but hey, that's not on me. So you see, what I do know is that you and Lucy finally acted on your glaringly obvious feelings for each other and fell into bed together. I must say, taking into account your never-ending obsession with your dead wife–oops, I mean your not-so-dead wife," and at Wyatt's barely-contained snarl, he continued with a smirk, "I actually was surprised you let yourself succumb to your teammate's delicate charms."
Hanging on to his temper by a thread, Wyatt tenderly kissed Lucy's hand and laid it across her chest before standing rigidly in front of Flynn, who held up both palms in a pacifying gesture. "At ease, soldier, I didn't come in here to start something with you. I just wanted to check on Lucy's condition." At Wyatt's snort of disbelief, the older man grimaced and admitted, "She was really something, your bossy historian, incredibly hell-bent on saving Benjamin Franklin's mother, so brave, that I actually felt sorry for her when it turned out that it was her own mother who accused Lucy of witchcraft and got her arrested." He paused and chuckled mirthlessly at Wyatt's stunned expression.
"Flynn, why are you telling me this?" he asked curiously.
Shrugging indifferently, Flynn answered, "Maybe I remember what it feels like to have the love of a good woman better than I could ever hope to deserve. I suppose you will find out everything soon enough when you get around to reading the mission report," and when he thankfully stood and headed for the door, Wyatt was taken aback at his rather grudging parting remark, "You're a fool, Logan, if you ruin this with her. You and I both know she deserves better," and then he was gone.
Dropping back down beside Lucy, Wyatt gazed remorsefully at her pale face and the slight frown creasing her forehead while she slept, and thought despondently that Flynn's unsolicited advice was likely already worthless. By his own hot-headed, thoughtless actions, Wyatt's life had plummeted downward in a breathtakingly short amount of time. At this very moment, with the darkness once again threatening to consume his soul, he wasn't sure if he had it in him to come back, to rebuild again–unless maybe it was with Lucy, if she'd have him...
And so it was that during the interminable hours Wyatt kept steadfast watch over Lucy's still form, he was helpless to stop the flood of memories a brutal self-examination set loose in his brain. At last, exhausted not only physically, but mentally and emotionally, too, he arrived at the painful conclusion that no matter what he did, what choices he made, apparently, something in a young Wyatt must have been irreparably broken around the time his mother died.
Looking back, he could see woven in and around all the ups and downs of his life, there had been so many bad decisions over the years, especially concerning the two very different women his heart had chosen. He had failed Jessica, that much was clear, seemingly no matter what time line they existed in, but here and now, Wyatt promised himself that he would not fail Lucy. Fate had finally relented and bestowed on Wyatt Logan a second chance. Whatever it took, he would make everything right with her, if he was lucky enough that she would only allow it. His messed up heart was Lucy's to do with what she pleased, even if it took forever to convince her.
A/N #3: I realize that within hours of posting this, Episode 4 will have aired, and a good portion of my speculation will be way wrong, canon-wise. That's okay. The more I wrote, the more I really enjoyed digging into Wyatt's past and how it affects his present and future. Thanks very much to all of you kind enough to review, favorite, and follow my stories, I really appreciate it :))