Despite cancellation you can count on me to continue and finish all my current Lyatt fics and still keep getting new ones! I haven't given up the fight for Timeless and I hope y'all haven't either!

Our secret moments
In a crowded room
They got no idea
About me and you
There is an indentation
In the shape of you
Made your mark on me
A golden tattoo
All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation
My hands are shaking from holding back from you

All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting
My hands are shaking from all this...

They meet eyes across the crowded ballroom. He winks at her, whispering of their shared secret through the small gesture, and her breath catches… but for only a second, and then the mission continues.

The past year had been everything their first three years hadn't. Looking back, it seemed so simple when all they had to do was chase Flynn and Rittenhouse across history.

Cut and dry. Easy.

Now, their target is Emma and Jessica. Two women on a mission to clear out what Rittenhouse had been and rebuild from scratch. There might be a day where they jumped in the Mothership to begin their psychotic spring cleaning of any and all past Rittenhouse. Those days called back to before 1888… before Rufus… before the mission changed. Then there were days where they went on hunts for new recruits in the present. Days where they couldn't just pinpoint the location of the Mothership and follow after. Days where they had to make the best guess where the two women would be. Days like today.

The missions were nothing like they'd used to be.

Then again… she's not much like she used to be either.

Wyatt had made her watch all those damn Bond movies more times than she'd care to count, and there were times he'd made comments under his breath about how she was a better partner than any of those slinky Bond girls, but here, on this mission, she doesn't feel much different. Smokey makeup, fake invitations, a gun strapped to her thigh. It's surreal.

But then there's the dress.

She'd told Jiya she picked it because it was simple, black, a basic camouflage against all the colorful stars Hollywood had to offer. That had been a half truth. Because the second she'd put it on, the satin against her skin had her flashing back to 1941 when the feel of silk and satin had been replaced by the feel of his rough and worn hands. And she hadn't bothered trying on anything else.

It's nothing like having to blend in to the past here. There's no worry about butterfly effects or saying one wrong word. It's a much lighter secret to carry on the string that binds them. This is their world. Their time. But the forbidden knowledge of their purpose is only shared by the two of them, and so when he catches her eye and throws her that sly wink, she knows why.

"Some company, huh?" He whispers into her ear when he appears by her side. "Ever think you'd be around people like this?" Yes, because she has. They both have. She sang for them. Poured her heart out in front of them. He knows it, she knows it, but it's like their denying that part of themselves, for who's sake she's not quite sure.

"What's with the way they drink their wine?" She whispers back. "I can't even describe it. It's so pretentious. How is it possible to tell someone how much money you have just by the way you sip Screaming Eagle?"

"Probably the fact that they're drinking Screaming Eagle," he chuckles before leaning in a little closer. Her hands quiver. "I've seen no signs of Emma yet. Or Jessica. You sure this is the place they would be?"

"It's New Year's Eve, Wyatt," she reminds him. "Your guess is as good as mine, but this was the best I could come up with. Hollywood stars, studio presidents, writers, lawyers, all people they'd want on their side." He sighs and shifts away, scanning the room once again.

"I'm gonna make another round," he tells her, his voice a little too breathy. "Watch your back, okay, Luce?" His hand brushes the skin revealed on the back of her dress before he vanishes into the sea of suits and satin. Her knuckles are white around the glass in her palm. She hates the time-stopping effect he has on her. Just using the casual nickname has her head spinning.

One year since Jessica. One year since Rufus. One year since he said those words. And one year since there had been any hint of anything beyond friendship. Best friends? Yes, she believes that's where they've found themselves again. But that's it. He's the one who whispered those words to her, yet why does it feel like she's the only one who wants to be more?

A hearty huff escapes her lips before she pushes away from the bar, making her own rounds, keeping eyes peeled for a ginger and a blonde. Because there aren't enough of those in Hollywood.

The clock ticks on throughout the night. The chandeliers get brighter with every second that the sun fades over Hollywood Hills and it's become evident to Lucy that if Emma and Jessica are wreaking any havoc tonight, it's not here. Maybe Jiya and Flynn are having better luck across the country in DC.

"Think tonight's a bust?"

Again, Wyatt appears by her side out of nowhere, close enough she can feel the heat he radiates.

"Yeah," she sighs. "If Emma were here guns surely would've gone off by now."

"Well, guess there's nothing else left to do but enjoy the party we weren't invited too," he smirks, quirking his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yeah," she scoffs, tossing an eye roll his way. "Or we could get the hell out before we get caught."

"C'mon, Luce, it's…" He glances down to check his watch. "Five minutes to midnight. We'll leave right after, okay?" Part of her knows it's probably a bad idea. There's always the chance someone catches on that they're not supposed to be here, yes, but then there's him. A completely different danger that she's much more vulnerable to. If their misplacement is revealed, they're both trained well enough to escape fairly unscathed, but the proximity of Wyatt's body to hers has her breath stopped and her heart pounding. She can't focus, can't think. He'd made a mark on her. It's as if the glittering gold from her dress in 1941 had been burned into her skin, leaving her with a golden tattoo that she couldn't rid herself of even when she had wanted to most.

Here, this all too romantic setting, the night glittering around them, with the New Year's hour coming in mere moments, it all fit too well. Nothing ever worked for them like that. If she takes that step forward, walking on glass, something is bound to come shatter the ground beneath her. When has it ever worked differently?

The minutes pass with the click of the clock. Wyatt finds them champagne to toast with, waving her off when she tells him how cliche it seems.

"When will you find yourself in a place like this on New Year's Eve again, Lucy?" He points out. "Gotta make the most of it." Her eyes roll, but she finds herself leaning into him just a bit, and his hand once again finds itself on the sliver of open skin on her back.

The countdown begins. 10 seconds to midnight.

"10!" The crowd chants.

His arms wraps fully around her waist, pulling her out of the way of a stranger barreling by.

"9!"

Her champagne splashes up onto her dress, but she's doesn't mind.

"8!"

He makes a joke about how clumsy she can still be despite all her combat training. They both laugh.

"7!"

His arm is still around her waist, fingers burning across her skin, setting her ablaze with the lightest touch.

"6!"

Her heart feels ready to burst. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this is what he still wants.

"5!"

His nose brushes against her temple. She can smell the Rosé on his breath.

"4!"

He whispers her name against her hair.

"3!"

Damn him. Damn Garcia Flynn and Rittenhouse for bringing him to her. Damn Jessica for tearing them apart. Damn the universe for not bringing them together sooner. Damn everything besides him because he's all she wants, all she needs. Just one breath away and maybe he's thinking the same thing.

"2!"

She turns to face him more directly, falling into the waves of his eyes that she's surprised to find an shining with unshed tears.

"1!"

He opens his mouth, but any words catch in his throat. What is there to say?

The crowd rushes in the New Year with shouts of joy, yet they're frozen still in the midst of it all, waiting on each other, wanting for each other, wondering if they're both on the same page.

Because once either of them jumps there will be no going back. Not this time.

"You know," she hears her voice before she realizes she had begun speaking. "English and German folklore believed that whoever you first encountered in a new year, and how you encountered them, would set the tone for your whole year." What the hell, Preston? Where did that come from? She wants to smack herself upside the head, but his smile tells her it's exactly what he needed to hear.

"Is that right?" He laughs softly, not neglecting to push a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Mhmm," she chuckles. "That's where the tradition of New Year's kiss came from."

"The tone of the whole year," he repeats. "That's a lot of pressure." She nods in agreement, looking down into her champagne. "But still a pretty compelling reason." Her hand fidgets with the neckline of her dress, missing the intention in his voice. "Let's make it a good one, then." Before she has time to prepare herself, her glass is taken from her hand and his lips land on hers, sealing them together for the first time in all too long.

One on her hands in trapped between their bodies, pressed up against his chest, but the other loops around his neck, pulling him as close as she can manage.

They might be making a scene, they might blow their cover, but when she opens up at the slightest trace of his tongue, any care flies into the night sky with the New Year's fireworks.

It's raw and vulnerable and everything they'd been afraid to be since the last time they were in Hollywood. He groans when she sucks on his lower lip and she whimpers when his teeth snatch her tongue. There's a taste of champagne and a thrill of fireworks between them. It whispers of new years and new beginnings. That things in the old year can stay just there, and they can begin again.

He pulls away for a slim moment before his lips seek out hers again, but only for a soft, tender kiss.

"Still want to make that drive back tonight?" He whispers breathlessly with his forehead pressed against her, their champagne glasses still clutched in his left hand. Her mind flies back to the thoughts she had when she first bought this dress. Of his hands pushing away the straps, pulling down the zippers, running across her skin beneath the satin fabric, bunching the train up around her waist with her legs wrapped around his.

A shiver ripples through her body.

"No."

Say my name and everything just stops
I don't want you like a best friend
Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off
Carve your name into my bedpost
Cause I don't want you like a best friend
Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off

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