I don't normally post my prompt fills here, but I had help from the lovely TheVelvetDusk with this one and wanted her to be able to read the finished product.
Prompt: Take any characters (or couple/ship) and describe the first time and the last time they did something together.
The first time Lucy screamed in the dead silence of the night, Wyatt was up and out of his bed in an instant, tearing through his apartment toward the living room where she lay on the couch. It was a mere week or so after Lucy had learned of her mother's involvement in Rittenhouse, and had decided to move out of her mother's house in favor of staying at Mason Industries.
Wyatt, of course, had found her curled up on a sofa after a long mission and had silently scooped her into his arms and carried her to his car. He drove her to his place, lay her on the couch, and she'd never slept on a leather couch since. He was actually in the process of turning his office into a second bedroom so she could sleep more comfortably, but she was on his soft plush couch for just a few more nights before that transition could be made.
Lucy's screams woke him from a dead sleep, and when he reached her with his gun drawn close to his side, no sign of danger around her, he allowed himself to relax slightly. That is, until she started screaming again, and he could feel his heart tearing into pieces as he knelt beside her, smoothing her hair away from her face, gently trying to wake her up without scaring her more.
"Luce, hey," he tried in vain, her screams overpowering his softened voice. He frowned deeply at her writhing form, still opting for comfort over force. He didn't want to scare her, he just wanted her to wake up. "Lucy, wake up," he tried again, and the screams stopped for a moment, softening into whimpers. Her eyelids fluttered and then snapped open, her eyes locking with his.
"Wyatt," she breathed, and he wasn't prepared when she practically launched herself at him, her arms locking around his neck, but he caught her anyway because that's just what he did. He held on tight as she sobbed quietly into his neck, and he could feel her tears staining his nightshirt but he couldn't find it in him to care while she was still so clearly distraught from whatever nightmare she'd just endured.
Eventually, her sobs subsided and she pulled away from his neck, her face sticky with both tears and sweat from the earlier nightmare, and he silently brushed them away with the pad of his thumb, smiling gently at her.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice merely a breath but one that stood out so strongly in the otherwise completely silent apartment. She shifted on the couch, tucking her arm under her pillow and laying back down as she nodded slowly, her eyes still dull with fear. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," she replied immediately, her voice cracking, and Wyatt nodded, shifting into a comfortable sitting position at the foot of the couch, watching as she turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.
Her brown hair splayed out across the pillow, and her fingers were still shaking with fear and pent-up adrenaline caused by the nightmare. He watched helplessly as her bottom lip trembled, wishing he could just take all of this pain and fear away from her with a sweep of his hand across her brow, like the superheroes did in the movies.
"After my dad died," she began, and Wyatt straightened up as she amended, "well, Amy's dad, technically," and Wyatt placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to continue. "I used to have panic attacks all the time, and they'd start as these horrible nightmares and end with me sobbing uncontrollably in a pile on the floor." Lucy took a deep breath, shifting slightly on the couch, still staring up at the ceiling, as if seeing a memory from far away that was invisible only to Wyatt. "Mom slept with ear-plugs in, so she never heard, but Amy was just across the hall, and she was still so small, so she was up half the night with her own nightmares.
"She would creep into my room and stand by my bed, and I remember thinking that this should be the other way around. I remember seeing the tear tracks on her small face, and the fear in her eyes, and thinking that I should be the one creeping into her room to make sure she was alright." Wyatt squeezed her shoulder, and she gulped in another breath, forcing herself to go on. "She would pull up the chair from my desk, and sit right next to my bed, and she would just hold my hand." Lucy glanced at Wyatt, shrugging slightly. "That's all. She would just sit there, her little legs kicking because the chair was too tall for her feet to touch the ground, and she'd hold my hand until I fell asleep."
Wyatt sat still for a moment, and Lucy smiled softly, turning to look back up at the ceiling. He silently stood from his spot on the floor next to the couch and made his way across the living room to the ottoman that sat in front of the big chair that Lucy liked to read in, because it was the comfiest seat in the apartment and it was right by the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony, so it offered the most light. He slid the ottoman over to the side of the couch and sat down on top of it, reaching out to take her hand in his.
"Go back to sleep, Luce," he urged, sweeping his thumb across the back of her hand in an effort to soothe her. "I'm right here. You don't have to be afraid."
She smiled at him, and he could see the tears in her eyes, but she closed them quickly, snuggling deeper into her pillow, and he sat there with her until her breathing slowly evened out and her frown had completely smoothed over. He sat with her after, too, watching her sleep, squeezing her hand every now and then when it looked like another nightmare might be plaguing her. She relaxed instantly at the gesture, and he'd only be able to breathe properly again once her frown had disappeared and her breathing was normal.
He didn't leave her side that first night, choosing to rest his head on top of their joined hands, falling asleep on the ottoman.
Wyatt woke up first the next morning, and quickly made his way back to his room. Lucy never brought it up, other than to thank him for what he did, and he made a mental note to do it again if the situation ever arose.
It was only a couple weeks later that it happened again. Lucy was completely moved into her new room, now, the desk and computer from what had been the office having migrated to the living room to be shared by the two of them for research purposes. The files and folders of information about Jessica's untimely death found a new home in the file cabinets at Wyatt's desk at Mason Industries where he had hidden them so Lucy wouldn't stumble across them in her weekly cleaning and realize how deep into her mystery he had been.
Had been, though, Wyatt reminded himself when he had tucked the files away the morning after he found her dusting the bookcase in the living room. He hadn't so much as glanced at the research since Emma had stolen the Mothership, and finding her became more important than killing Flynn could ever have been. They were working against everyone now, against everything they'd been told, working alongside Flynn in order to stop Emma from changing history so much that it could destroy the world they lived in.
If he was being honest, Wyatt had been spending too much time worrying about Lucy and her sanity level through all of this to even think about his dead wife. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Lucy over a month ago about being open to possibilities. Jess was dead, and he had started to think it was finally okay to move on, since his last-ditch effort to bring her back had completely failed.
Lucy's screams were muffled by the thick walls of his apartment, but Wyatt was so attuned to the sounds of her distress from the various times during missions that she'd call out his name that it didn't even seem like effort to stand from his bed and immediately push his way into her bedroom.
"Lucy," he called out, to try and alert her that he was there. Her screaming stopped, but she continued to toss and turn, so he pulled up the chair that sat by her door, slid it up as close to the bed as possible, and sat down, grabbing her hand from on top of the sheets. "Hey, Luce, I'm right here. It's just a dream." Her tossing ceased and she squeezed his hand, her fingers shaking. "That's right, baby, I'm here. You don't have to be afraid." The term of endearment had slipped out of it's own accord, but he didn't even think twice as he saw her breathing begin to even out and the shaking in her hand subsided.
Just like the first time, he fell asleep on top of their hands and left in the morning, before she could wake up and see him there. He gently put her chair back against her doorway and tip-toed back to his bedroom. When she woke hours later, smiling brightly as he made breakfast in the kitchen, she didn't mention it at all, but laid a hand against his arm before helping him chop the mushrooms for her omelet.
They both knew it would happen eventually. The fact that the first person she called out for when she was in danger was him, and the fact that he tried to never leave her side, even after they'd gotten home safely, were dead giveaways. Everyone at Mason Industries already thought it was happening, that they were happening, so it was only a matter of time.
It wasn't sudden, but it wasn't gradual. It was as if all the time they'd spent apart had just been them trying to find their way to each other, and it culminated in a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongue and clothes strewn throughout the apartment, leading to his bedroom. It happened multiple times before they decided to put a name to it, and Wyatt wasn't particularly proud of that fact.
Her nightmares didn't bother her anymore, and he liked to think it was because that these days, she stayed coiled around him, her head resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. That was her favorite spot, he soon learned; she would snuggle up against his side, slip one of her legs between his, pillow her head on his chest, and her breathing would even out as the sound of his heart beating lulled her to sleep.
He still lay awake at night, plagued by troubles of his own, but found it easier to drift back to sleep with her head on his chest, and her body curled against his. He would often wrap his arms tighter around her sleeping form, stealing his own comfort from her.
She officially moved into his room about a month after the first time, and he never woke to her screaming or tossing and turning again. He slept easier, as well, knowing that she was safe right beside him, and neither of them were leaving each other any time soon.
A year passed, and they could all finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Emma was on their side, and with this one last battle, it would all be over. Wyatt kept glancing back at Lucy, grins spread wide on their faces despite the circumstances. The next time they climbed into the Lifeboat would be to go get her sister back, and then they could finally rest and be at peace.
Wyatt, of course, had other plans as well. All of them included having Lucy right by his side for the rest of their lives.
The plan was simple: infiltrate the headquarters in the 70s, when Rittenhouse was most powerful, and Emma would work her magic, taking them down from the inside in one fell swoop.
They should've known it would actually be much harder than they anticipated.
It ended in a bloody gunfight to rival any of the ones Lucy had told Wyatt about that had occurred earlier in history. Wyatt and Flynn did most of the fighting while Rufus and Lucy headed for cover about a mile away from where the Lifeboat was parked, and a mile away from their teammates.
Wyatt was out of breath, covered in sweat and grime, and Flynn didn't look much better. But, they'd done it. The two men shared a clap on the back and a grim smile before making the long trek back towards the Lifeboat.
Rufus met them halfway, his eyes wide and his hands bloody, and it was all a blur after that.
The ground was rocky, but the sharp points digging into his knees didn't jar Wyatt for a moment as he fell to the ground, scooping Lucy into his arms as she fought to catch her breath.
She'd been shot.
"Hey," he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair and his hands to her wound, trying to keep pressure on it. "Luce, hey, it's me," he breathed, choking back the tears that were threatening to overflow. She wasn't responding, but her eyes met his, and he took it as a good sign that she at least recognized him.
"Wyatt," she murmured, her small body wracked with a coughing fit not long after. Wyatt held her closer, vaguely aware of their two teammates behind them, watching with bated breath.
They knew. She knew.
Wyatt was in denial.
"Hey, Luce, it's going to be okay," he tried to reassure her as her hand slowly reached up to cradle his cheek in her palm. He held her hand there, his thumb brushing over the back of it, his rough callouses over her smooth skin. "We're going to get you back to the Lifeboat, and we'll get you home. It'll all be okay." His voice broke and a tear escaped. He didn't believe it, either, but he had to say something.
He couldn't move her. There was nothing they could do.
Her breathing heavier now, thick with blood caught in her lungs, she pulled her hand down from his cheek and stretched it toward the hand that was still covering her wound.
"I'm afraid," she whispered, and he stiffened, knowing now what she wanted.
But, he couldn't.
He couldn't hold her hand this time, couldn't take that fear away, couldn't make it better. He knew this would be the last time if he did, and just like a year ago, when they'd stood in front of the Lifeboat before everything with her mother had gone down, he wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. Truthfully, he'd never be ready to say goodbye to Lucy.
"Wyatt, please," she whimpered, coughing again, her hand shaking as it stretched out toward his. He knew she only had moments left, and he'd never really been able to deny her anything. His hand gingerly wrapped around hers, and he squeezed it, leaning forward to kiss her forehead as she took her last shuddering breath.
"You don't have to be afraid, Lucy. I'm right here."