There wasn't a day that had went by that Lucy hadn't thought of Wyatt.

Rufus and the others, too, of course, but usually Wyatt.

Because of the notebook. Her notebook. Her own notebook from the future, detailing every mission they had been on, and some they hadn't.

But that wasn't what filled her thoughts every night as she tried to fall asleep, praying to God that her friends were alive, wishing with all of her heart for Wyatt to come save her, to wrap her in a hug and tell her that it was all going to be okay.

No.

The last thing she would picture was a photograph of her and Wyatt, that she had found stuck between pages of her notebook.

In the picture she wore a white dress. Wyatt wore a black tux.

It was a picture of them on their wedding day.

Lucy had somehow managed to smuggle that photo with her, wherever she went, even to 1918.

As soon as Emma and her mother were asleep, the historian would hold it up to the single candle lighting the room.

She would watch the orange glow illuminate their faces, highlighting their huge smiles and lovestruck expressions.

And that's why she cried every night.

Lucy was almost positive that Wyatt was gone, that he had died in that Mason Industries explosion.

But part of her just knew that somehow, someway, he had survived and him and the others were working on a plan to save her.

It was hard to keep her hopes up, though.

One week turned into two.

Two weeks turned into a month.

The only thing keeping her going was that single picture of her and Wyatt.

But then, over six weeks after she had been kidnapped, after she had finally decided to blow up the Mothership in 1918, no matter what happened to her, Lucy turned and there was Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan himself, giving her that adorable, dorky, half-grin.

At first, she thought she was being delusional.

But then her doubt faded, and she flung herself into his arms, squeezing him as tight as she could.

The woman breathed in his comforting smell, not ever wanting to let go for as long as she ever lived.

But as quickly as he had gotten there, she had to leave, and she was alone with her mother and Emma again.

Well, not entirely alone.

At least they had a plan, and at least she knew Wyatt and Rufus were there.

And then, later that night, while Lucy stood in front of the Curie's, knowing for sure that Emma was going to kill her, Wyatt swooped in and saved her, like he always did.

Home.

Lucy had never been more happy to see a computer or modern clothes in her life.

Not even after she had been stuck in 1754.

But despite her being thrilled to be back in 2018, she was still numb from killing that soldier, and was still trying to come to terms with the fact that maybe she would never see Amy again.

It was too much to process.

After Jiya and Agent Christopher had given her dozens of "welcome-home" hugs, Lucy wandered down the hall, trying to clear her mind, when she realized she had ended up in Wyatt's room.

He appeared in the doorway moments later, and she lowered herself onto the bed opposite his, glancing at everything on his nightstand.

Her heart almost dropped when she noticed her journal sitting atop a pile of books.

After speaking to Wyatt for a few moments, the historian couldn't take it anymore and started to cry.

"I've lost everything," she choked out.

The master sergeant was instantly by her side, and wrapped her in a hug.

"You haven't lost me," he said strongly, and Lucy broke.

She pressed a hand to his cheek, trying to steady herself.

That was when she noticed how close their lips were.

Lucy was so overwhelmed with love for this man, and she was about to tell him so when Jiya appeared in the doorway, saying they had found something.

The woman stumbled over an apology as she quickly exited.

Wyatt was still reluctant to let Lucy go, however.

He ran a soothing hand up and down her back, trying to comfort her while she attempted to stifle her sobs.

"We don't have to-" he started to say, but she interrupted.

"No, no," she said, "I want to see what they found."

Wyatt slowly helped her to her feet, keeping a secure arm around her as they traipsed down the hall.

"Thank you," she stated simply, snuggling deeper into his chest.

"Don't mention it, ma'am," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Don't mention it."