She wasn't exactly sure what motivated her towards Garcia Flynn's door, bottle of vodka in hand. Perhaps it was loneliness, or perhaps it was a need to talk. Whatever it was, she knew she couldn't spend another night alone, haunted by their faces. And so, she knocked on the door.
He answered, his face concerned at first, probably wondering who could possibly be knocking at his door. When he saw Lucy, his face softened, and he smiled. He stepped back just an inch, and that was all the invitation she needed. She stepped in, her arm brushing against his sweater as she passed.
Lucy heard the door shut behind her, and she froze, only a few steps in. The room looked too much like the one she and Jiya had been sharing, where she had spent too many nights staring up at the ceiling trying to forget. She froze up, clutching the bottle in her hand, suddenly unsure if she was ready to talk.
"Is everything alright?" Garcia asked, sounding concerned again.
She thought about lying, but instead she admitted, "You're right. It is awkward."
"Between you and Wyatt?" Garcia questioned.
"Yeah," Lucy answered with a nod, her back still towards him. "But that's not why I kept the bottle of vodka under my bed."
Garcia paused for a second before approaching her. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Why don't you sit down," he suggested, his voice soft.
Slowly, he led her towards the bed. She didn't resist him. She simply plopped down and looked despairingly at the floor. The bottle of vodka swung from her hand. Sensing that Lucy was not in the best mood to be drinking, he gently took the bottle from her hands and set it down on the table. He sat next to her, waiting for her to open up on her own.
"I was with them for six hellish weeks," she began.
"Rittenhouse?" Garcia asked.
Lucy nodded again. "You were in prison. I thought everyone at Mason Industries had died. I was alone. I had to go where they went, kill who they wanted me to kill, all while biding my time, trying to find a way to stop them."
"That must have been hard," Garcia replied sympathetically. He covered her small hand with his and squeezed gently.
"But you already knew that," Lucy replied, her voice still heavy. "From my journal, right?"
Garcia looked at her oddly. "Actually, you never mentioned it."
Lucy gave a cheerless laugh. "Yeah. Too painful to write about I suppose. Ever since I got back to the bunker, I can't stop thinking about the people I killed and the children who were never born because of me."
"You didn't have a choice," Garcia assured her.
Tears started to fill her eyes as she squeezed them shut and shook her head. "I did," she replied. "I could have just let them kill me."
"No!" Garcia responded, clearly startled. "You're- you're too important. Who else is gonna stop Rittenhouse?"
Lucy simply shrugged and wiped her eyes. "I almost got the chance to do just that, and I am kicking myself that I failed."
Garcia's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked.
She gave another cheerless laugh. "It was right before I got rescued," she said. "I had gotten my hands on a grenade, and I was going to board the mothership and drop it. They caught me though. I'm pretty sure they would've shot me if Wyatt and Rufus hadn't shown up just in time to save me."
Garcia visibly paled, and concern filled his eyes. Suddenly, his arms were around her, pulling her into him. She flinched at the sudden touch, but after a second relaxed into his embrace. Eyes closed, she rested against his chest and let herself be held while one of Garcia's hands began stroking her hair. "God, Lucy," he breathed out. "No. You're too important. If the price is loosing you, then it's much too high."
"No one would miss me," Lucy muttered.
"What?" Garcia asked, alarmed.
A single tear fell down Lucy's cheek. "I just want to go home," she admitted. "Back to teaching history, back to my sister, and back to taking care of my sick mother."
Garcia pulled her closer protectively. "I know," he said empathetically.
"I've lost my family to Rittenhouse," she continued. "I've lost everything. And now I'm- I'm all alone."
"No," Garcia protested. He turned so that he was facing Lucy, gently cupped her chin in his hand, and brought her face up to look into his eyes. "You are many, many things, Lucy. But you are not alone."
Lucy nodded once in understanding before bursting into tears. Garcia pulled her close again, simply letting her cry it out. In that moment, she had never appreciated more the warmth of another body, a hand rubbing her back, and lips placing a chaste kiss in her hair. Once the waterworks had started, she had no idea how to stop it, and she didn't really want to. It felt good to let all her emotions out instead of holding them inside herself and drowning them out with vodka.
Eventually, her tears ran dry, and Garcia continued to hold her as long as she needed comfort. A year ago, she would have never imagined that this would be the person she ran to for comfort, yet here she was in his arms. "When I was a little girl, I thought my mom would always be there for me," she said. "Flash forward to today and my mom is literally trying to have me hung as a witch in Salem."
"I heard," Garcia muttered. "I wanted to rush right back in and grab you, to pull you to safety, but there were too many people, and I knew I had to get a gun."
"Smart move," Lucy commented. "If you hadn't saved me, my mother would have succeeded in murdering me."
Garcia looked down at her sadly. "For what it's worth," he started. "I would miss you."
"Thank you," Lucy whispered. She closed her eyes as his words still hung in the air.
"You're strong, Lucy," Garcia told her. "But not even you can do this alone. That's what I'm here for."
Lucy smiled mischievously at him. "Well then, I shouldn't be drinking this bottle of vodka on my own now."
Garcia returned the smile. He got up to retrieve two glasses, then sat back down. Lucy poured. The two clinked their glasses together and drank. "I could do with a distraction," Lucy said. "You said you want to get to know me. I want to get to know you too."
"What did you have in mind?" Garcia asked.
Lucy took another drink and answered. "I was thinking something along the lines of quid pro quo," she said. "You ask me a question, and then I get to ask you a question."
"Deal," Garcia replied with a smile.
Lucy wasn't sure how much time passed before she ended up passing out in Garcia's bed. The last thing she was aware of was Garcia settling into his chair, watching her protectively.