A/N: I know this will be at least one more chapter, but we'll see how far this arc takes me between now and Sunday. I apologize for any imperfections, I'm trying really hard to just let go and get it up otherwise I know I'll never get any of it posted before next week's episode.
COME WHAT MAY: Chapter1
"Tomorrow. Go be with Jessica."
He knew things between them had been different out of necessity, but it was the first time he'd truly realized how broken things were between the two of them. He watched her retreat down the hall and fought not to chase after her. To not beg her to talk to him, sit with him, confide in him, decompress with him after a shitty day of missions like they always had. He missed his best friend. He missed being the first person she reached for to enclose in those signature Lucy Preston hugs. He missed the way her eyes used to meet his when Rufus said something dumb as if they were both thinking the same thing. God, he missed her just meeting his eyes. How long had it been since she'd really looked him in the eye?
He waited for her to turn around to give him anything, but her footsteps never hesitated, nor did she feel the need to look his way before disappearing around the corner. He wasn't sure how long he stood there willing her to come back, but he finally wandered back down the hall to the room he shared with Jess.
Hand resting on the door, he hesitated, contemplating Agent Christopher's earlier command, "Whatever is going on between you and Lucy you need to figure it out, Wyatt; and deal with it."
He pushed away from the still closed door and made his way down to the makeshift training room, taking time to rid himself of only his gun and vest before he laid into the punching bag.
As he beat the bag, he relished every painful movement to his bruised ribs, contemplating whether whom he longed for the bag in front of him to be more: Emma, who kept putting guns and knives to Lucy's head; Flynn with his swarm worming his way from kidnapper to friend; or himself, the one who had abandoned her after promising otherwise, who continuously fought a losing battle of rage and jealousy every time she turned that smile on Flynn, who lay next to his wife every night missing her.
When his knuckles tore against the bag from the force of his blow, he knew whom his worst enemy was. So he punched on until both hands were bloody and pulpy.
When he was physically and emotionally spent, he found his way to the shower, where he washed away the sweat, blood, and tears, but was able to fully embrace the pain left behind from where the bullets had hit his Kevlar. How fitting that one had hit right over his heart and would surely leave behind a dark bruise.
"Whatever is going on between you and Lucy you need to figure it out."
Wyatt had put it off long enough. Stalled this decision too long.
He slipped through the quiet halls of the bunker, the eerie silence of the midnight hour making every click and clang of the old silo sound like gunshots.
He walked into the room, expecting to see her shape under the blankets, shivering against the perpetual cold of this drafty hellhole.
"It's tomorrow," he whispered expecting her to pop up over the back of the ancient sofa. When nothing stirred, his heart fell.
"Lucy, please, I know this situation is beyond awkward, but––"his voice cut off as he rounded the couch and realized he was talking to emptiness.
Instant panic set in, a residual fear from every other time she'd been snatched from him. That fear sent him racing through the bunker toward the room she and Jiya shared, hoping to find her there even after offering it to Rufus.
What he didn't expect was to hear her laugh sound from the first room he passed.
The room he knew belonged to Garcia Flynn.