a/n : a few notes - thematically speaking, this probably isn't the most original thing ever. Hopefully you enjoy the addition of some of the more unique (read: random) scenarios that also came with it..?
also, I don't own Timeless, but wow NBC better not mistreat it or we'll come at them with an angry mob at their gates (again).
oh and I should say this every time I publish something in this fandom, but Google is my best friend when it comes to the historical settings/details. I try to get it right, but as always, squint just a bit if you're spotting inaccuracies ;)
The shattering crash of china - china that would be beyond priceless in her present lifetime if it had survived this riotous party - booms from behind Lucy as she tries and fails to stuff herself through the narrow window for a second time.
"Damn it," she curses, gulping down the fearful impulse that's rising through her. There's nothing but open space below her and behind her, but this one stupid window is the only gateway between the two, and even that wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the sheer bulk of her period-appropriate gown and all of its corresponding undergarments.
"C'mon Lucy," Rufus breathes out from behind her, panic edging into his deep voice. "That last teacup was less than two inches from getting permanently embedded into my skull."
She opens her mouth to apologize - or maybe to cuss him out, if she's being honest - but he's not the only one who is growing impatient with the delay. Wyatt calls to her from the other side of the window, thwarting her response to Rufus before she can even begin. His face is strained as he shouts up at her from his spot on the ground. "Now, Lucy! You can do this, remember? Escape! Tell yourself to escape."
"Yeah, that would be super helpful except Houdini didn't have to deal with several yards of crinolines and petticoats when he did his tricks, now did he?!"
If Wyatt has a smart aleck reply for that question, Lucy doesn't hear it. She closes her eyes, swallows hard, and shoves herself into the opening with as much force as she can muster. There's a moment of sweet victory as she feels the layers of her skirt give way and crunch closer to her body, but there isn't much time for celebration as that feeling is quickly replaced with the terrifying sensation of free-falling headfirst toward the ground.
"Wyatt!"
He's already stepping into place though, slowing her clunking momentum with unbelievable ease, both of his arms bracing her against the solid wall of his chest before she can scream his name twice.
"Gotcha," he murmurs with a smirk that's lukewarm at best.
He only holds onto her for a split-second, then promptly lowers her the rest of the way and takes a monumental step back once she has two feet planted on the ground. His cool blue eyes are fixed on her, inescapable and not entirely welcoming. "You do know that window is really only half a story up from here, right?"
Lucy snorts at him, a familiar seesaw of anger and wistfulness taking root in her heart as she gazes back at him undaunted. "Uh huh. And you do know that the reason they hired me was to provide historical context and prevent you from making an ass of yourself throughout the centuries, right? I wasn't chosen based on my aptitude for scaling walls or jumping out of windows."
Her tone is sharp and fiery, and for a moment the stony mask he's been wearing lately crumbles, revealing the softhearted man whom she'd come to care for somewhere along the way, but then Rufus lands next to them with a muffled oof and that version of Wyatt is swiftly hidden from her again. It's almost enough to make her stomp her foot and refuse to budge until he starts acting like himself again, but the whistle of a bullet comes howling through the window above their heads and there's no time for a childish outburst. If they don't leave now, calling him on his crap will be a useless waste of her last breath.
She watches as Wyatt's arm flinches toward her, then goes remarkably still other than the motion of his fingers curling into a tightly coiled fist.
"Let's go," he grunts, motioning with his head as he breaks into a steady trot across the White House lawn, "I don't think that was a warning shot."
"No, our warning shot was the glass platter that some bastard almost broke across my head," Rufus says with a scowl as he brings up the rear. "The real fun began when his gap-toothed friend got a pistol out and started aiming at me for target practice."
Wyatt makes a harrumphing noise as he dodges a row of shrubs. "Yeah, woulda been nice to know that Jackson's supporters were a bunch of blundering, trigger-happy clowns. We never should have gone inside in the first place."
"I tried to warn you," Lucy mutters between gasping breaths, "I told you it would be chaos in there."
Wyatt glares at her from over his shoulder, and not for the first time she's struck with how damn unfair it is that he can run circles around her without looking even the least bit winded by the effort. "No, you said it was a myth, an exaggeration put out there by his naysayers. Didn't she, Rufus?"
"No talking," he wheezes in response, only a half-step behind Lucy, "just running."
Another barrage of gunfire splits through the sky. Lucy squeaks in response, tries to gather the hem of her gown higher, but it's no use. She's still hopelessly graceless and trips over her own feet even without the excuse of the dress getting caught beneath her.
Wyatt's hand snatches hers just in time, yanking her forward before she can come face-to-face with the rough earth beneath their feet.
"Lucy, your hat!"
She turns back at the urgency of Rufus' call, her free hand absently touching the top of her head with the realization that the strings of her bonnet must have come undone somewhere in the rabble, but Wyatt's hand is unrelenting as he spurs her ahead.
"Leave it," he barks without even glancing in her direction. "We're almost to the fence."
"There is a God," Rufus mumbles, pouring on a bit more speed as the last few yards unravel before them. "And for the record, I'm on Wyatt's side. You made it sound like things got a little out of hand when they ran short on cake and lemonade at this shindig, Lucy. That is so not the same as a sloppy-drunk redneck brawl!"
She inhales without much success, still panting too heavily to defend herself against their complaints. In the meantime, Rufus curses loudly and gapes down at himself, his face frozen in horror.
"I think they shot a hole in my jacket!"
Wyatt scoffs at that, tossing a dry look backwards. "At least it was your jacket and not your gut, dude. There's only a hundred more coats just like that one back at Mason."
Lucy shakes her head at both of them, her heart jack-hammering inside of her chest as she skids to a stop behind Wyatt and grabs hold of the nearest fence post to stabilize herself for an instant of reprieve. "There were no reports of gunshots from any account I've ever read. That had to be Emma's fault, I swear."
"Doesn't matter now," Wyatt says dismissively before finding a foothold and hoisting himself upward. "Let's just worry about getting out of here in one piece."
She grinds her teeth together at his impassive tone, but squashes the feeling down into a tiny ball of aggravation and tries to mirror Wyatt's movements as he climbs higher. Rufus - never one to let a shred of potential awkwardness linger for a moment longer than necessary - sends a shaky smile her way and begins his ascent as well. In spite of her recent disclaimer against scaling walls and leaping from windows, Lucy isn't one to easily back down from a challenge, and she certainly doesn't welcome the idea of being the weak link in their team, so she's going to climb the damn fence if that's what's required of her. Especially now that Wyatt is being less than accommodating of her hangups; she won't give him the satisfaction of providing another point of contention between them, not even if she can't quite grasp the reason for why there's been friction in the first place.
But her determination to keep pace with Wyatt and Rufus is very quickly extinguished when the term 'hangups' becomes far too literal.
"Dammit," she breathes out in frustration, her feet dropping back to the grass with a disheartening crunch as she scrambles to pry herself loose.
Wyatt's hand appears from above her, swinging into her field of vision just shy of her forehead, his gruff voice ringing out a beat later. "C'mon, we don't have time for this. Take my - "
"No, I'm stuck," she says without looking up, her fingers racing to undo the twist of thread that's tangled against the edge of the fence.
He sighs, grumbling out the words as if they pain him. "I'll help you, okay? Just - "
"You're not listening," she volleys back, dark eyes flashing as she glares up at him. She steps as far back as she can - which isn't far at all - with her hands raised, effectively showcasing the snag in her bodice that binds her to the ironwork of the fence. "I'm stuck."
His eyebrows lift in surprise and then he hops down without another word, his own fingers sliding between her and the fence to try to free her. He gives the knot a few irritable tugs before growling in annoyance and dropping to his knees with a low command. "Hold still."
Her mouth falls open as his fingers dig into either side of her ribcage, pressing the rigid boning that lines the underside of her gown even tighter to her skin as his face dips impossibly close to her body.
She feels the tension between her dress and the fence give way instantaneously with a snap of his teeth, but that's only the beginning of the tension that's building between the two of them. She can barely process the swell of her traitorous emotions in reaction to the potent heat that's radiating off of Wyatt. He rises slowly, still so near to her that she feels the wild pattern of his breath plummeting over her as he stands, the current of each staggering exhale spreading over her chest and neck with a warm tingle. He hasn't released his hold on her sides and she suddenly imagines so much more - his capable hands touching her intimately, exploring all over, his mouth lingering over her skin without a single layer of fabric between them. And as if she wasn't already turning an alarming shade of scarlet and feeling completely unhinged by the intoxicating proximity of his body to hers, the carnal look on his face would be more than enough to send her there anyway. There's a haze of something raw and raucous in his eyes, and while she might not be trapped in the web of wrought iron framework anymore, she still finds that she can't force herself to move. Can't speak, either. Can't even breathe.
Judging by the fact that Wyatt remains very much in her personal space and hasn't so much as blinked since he stood up from the ground, it appears that she's not the only one who's been rendered silent and immobile in a hopelessly foggy trance.
"Uh, guys?" Rufus squeaks from halfway up the fence. "As fascinating as it is to observe the two of you staring at each other like you want to eat each other's faces, I feel like it's my duty as the only currently-rational member of this team to inform you that our friends from inside - you know, the bastard and his gap-toothed accomplice? - well, they're outside now, and they brought a posse with them. A posse with guns, that is, and they're coming this way."
With an expression that is still equal parts vulnerable and feverish, Wyatt slides his hands lower until he's circling her waist. He shifts slightly and gives Lucy a boost without any further warning. She grabs Rufus' outstretched hand and perches precariously on her toes, then clambers higher until she's made it to the top. Rufus helps her with the task of flinging the cumbersome volume of her skirt over to the other side, and then she's swinging her leg over just as the clatter of a gunshot fractures the air. She pauses to search frantically for Wyatt, but he's already passing her on the opposite side of the fence, making his way up while she continues to scurry downward.
He doesn't bother with much of a dismount, only coming about a third of the way before he just drops to a crouch on the sidewalk below. Then he hastily springs to his feet from where he's landed between Lucy and Rufus, double checking his holster as he scans the perimeter for any further trouble. "Everyone okay?"
They both nod, somewhat shell-shocked but otherwise unharmed.
Wyatt charges ahead at their confirmation, his stride clipped and certain, shoulders squared inflexibly to deflect any further discussion.
He doesn't spare another glance in Lucy's direction. His demeanor is impenetrable for the rest of their time in 1829 and he doesn't break once, not to help her buckle in once they've returned to the Lifeboat - something he still does from time to time even now that she's far more comfortable handling those harnesses on her own - and not during the subsequent debrief with Agent Christopher.
Lucy decides to adopt the same stonewalled disposition once they're released for the evening. She leaves the conference room first and doesn't dare look behind her as she retrieves her street clothing and disappears into the locker room. There's not a chance in hell that she's sticking around to exchange an apathetic 'goodnight' with him, and the chance of going out for drinks with Rufus and Jiya is even more implausible.
She wilts onto the nearest bench as soon as she's alone, closes her eyes, and swallows hard until she's sure she won't cry.
There's no question that she'll be taking her time in getting changed tonight, but that's hardly a break from her new routine. She always takes her time now.
Whether it's stopping to ask Agent Christopher about her family, tagging along with Rufus when he goes on a late-night taco run, volunteering to reorganize the wardrobe bay when the shipments of used costumes come back from the cleaners, or just staying for a few extra hours under the guise of doing research on the reverberations through history caused by Emma's jumps through time, Lucy never rushes out of Mason Industries at this point. She goes through the motions slowly, carefully removing the historical garb from the most recent jump and returning to her own modern outfit with methodical precision. Every last piece of clothing must be straight and smooth and perfectly in place before she's done. Her sneakers are laced and re-laced at the slightest observable error. Next, she robotically reapplies her makeup and combs through her hair even when she's absolutely certain that no one will lay eyes on her from the moment she finally emerges from the locker room to the second she touches down at home.
Home.
As if she really has one of those anymore. The bleak townhouse that she now occupies hardly qualifies as a home.
And there's no one left to bother tonight now that she's exiting the changing area, which leaves her feeling aimless and foolish in the echo of her too-loud footsteps across the open layout of Mason Industries. The last of the techs are all dropping off one by one, leaving for the night as a few new ones trickle in to monitor any potential developments that may arise overnight, but none of their faces are overly familiar to her.
Which is how she finds herself here a few minutes later, setting up camp in the last place on earth that she'd ever imagined herself to voluntarily inhabit. Sure, it's not the most ideal spot to kill some time, but she if can't make herself look busy or find any other excuse to keep a low profile for the next hour or so until the coast is definitely clear, then this is better than nothing.
"Lucy? Lucy, you still here?"
Shit.
She lies as flat as she can and holds her breath. He won't look in here. There's no way he would ever think to look in here.
But leave it to Wyatt to be as thorough as a bloodhound once his mind is set on finding her, totally disregarding the millions of times she's told him how much she dreads the thought of climbing into this thing every time her phone rings.
He appears at the entrance of the Lifeboat after several excruciating seconds, nothing but a dark silhouette outlined by the overhead lights at his back, and even then she can feel his confounded scrutiny even if his face is completely obscured in shadows.
"What the hell, Lucy? Seriously, what the hell are you doing in there?"
"Umm..." she stares up at the ceiling of the time machine from her vantage point on the floor and finds that it doesn't matter to her if she fails to sound even remotely convincing. "Napping."
"Bullshit," he returns sourly. "You must really be desperate to avoid me if you'd rather subject yourself to crawling into this metallic piece of claustrophobic garbage instead."
She crosses her arms over her chest and keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling. "Who says it has anything to do with you? I'm not in a rush to be anywhere. Thought tonight might be a good time to face my fear of small spaces and just stay in here until the feeling isn't real anymore."
He gives a humorless chuckle but says nothing in response, and she thinks maybe he's gotten the memo and will move along. That hope is rapidly shot to hell when she woefully identifies the clanking sound of Wyatt grappling with the side of the machine and lugging his way up into it with her.
And isn't that just how everything is with him? When does Wyatt ever readily comply with the expectations that she has of him?
They were supposed to be polar opposites from the beginning, two people who could never see eye-to-eye even if they wanted to, the epitome of a bad match. And then his blustery, impulsive nature somehow became endearing after the first few jumps, or at the very least, Lucy found she could sympathize once she knew more of his story. His wife, his family, his unit in Syria...it's no wonder that he rushes into conflict like there's nothing left to lose. For him, there really isn't much out there that's keeping him tethered to his own life, a notion that chips away at her heart every time she remembers it.
So there she was, unexpectedly remorseful for all that he'd suffered before their paths had crossed, and then that remorse drifted toward something else - something strong and incurable - once he'd became a lifeline to her out in the field. He went so far beyond his role of soldier and offered the support she needed most at her lowest points, getting her through a myriad of trials that rarely had anything to do with her physical safety. He taught her how to do this; he lent her the confidence and endurance to survive the tempest of inner and outer turmoil that follows their every move.
That should have been where it ended for them. Friends, comrades, confidants. They were supposed to be teammates, just like she and Rufus were teammates. But no, he just had to go and kiss her, and not because he wanted to, but because Clyde Barrow - the Clyde Barrow - had been watching them too closely. Wyatt told the most poignant story about the woman he'd actually loved, then kissed Lucy for nothing more than show, putting on the exact stage play that he'd scoffed at just an hour beforehand.
And of course that kiss blew the lid off of the feelings that she'd been denying to herself, so that was it. She couldn't turn it off after that, couldn't pretend to be unaffected by the electricity in his gaze, couldn't numb herself against his dumb smirk and obnoxiously perfect features. Couldn't act as if his hands weren't burning her alive every time he reached for her.
Feelings. Stupid, immature, unrequited feelings. Falling so hard for someone so unavailable had never been on her agenda, not even when that someone was as sweetly understanding and insanely good looking as Wyatt Logan.
But then the cruelest part of all came a little more than a month later when he'd offered the most fleeting glimmer of hope, hinting that maybe he's not so unavailable after all, just to yank it away as soon as her life got messy again.
For the record, he's never once abandoned her. They've followed Emma through history four times now since Rittenhouse stole the Mothership, and Wyatt has been unquestionably reliable for each of those jumps, never letting her fall behind or get too far out of reach, but the tone of everything he says and does is different now. It's like the ground had shifted imperceptibly beneath them once she'd confided her mother's true lineage to him. She'd been sick over the thought that her ties to one of the oldest Rittenhouse dynasty families could rip her away from her team, but Wyatt had sworn to her on that first night - the night she'd cried into his shoulder until she was sleeping soundly in his arms - that his trust in her was unfailing. She'd believed him then, still does believe that part, she supposes, but that little speech of his doesn't account for the strain that's been snaking its way into their relationship ever since.
Even the very word relationship leaves her feeling cold and hollow.
He only touches her when she's tripping, losing steam, or within dangerously close range of enemy fire. It's clear that he wants to spare her from injury and death, but he doesn't allow room for any additional subtext. More often not, he looks through her instead of at her when he's talking. And every so often - like earlier today, when she'd railed against him for mocking her pathetic exit from the White House window - he lets up on the facade just enough to prove that he knows he's acting like a jackass, but he never verbally acknowledges it. Then the flash of recognition fades away and she's alone with a stranger once more.
The thing that upsets her the most is that deep down, past the avalanche of nagging hurt and bitter resentment, she knows exactly why he's doing this. If she understands anything about Wyatt Logan, she can see as plain as day that he thinks he's doing her a favor by keeping his distance, but she never once asked him for space and it's killing her to know that he chose that route without ever giving her a chance to decide for herself.
Well...it's either that, or he's the kind of person who can only halfheartedly admit his feelings when there's a chance that he'll never get to do so again. Perhaps he requires the threat of an imminent goodbye to motivate him to action, and between that and the idea that he just assumes he can act in her best interest without seeking her input, she's not sure which option is worse.
And she's just stubborn enough - or perhaps the correct wording would be juvenile enough - to let this godawful attempt at separation ride out without addressing it, simply because it feels better to let herself be massively pissed off at him for the moment. If he wants to be surly, then she'll serve surly right back at him for as long as he holds out on her.
Which means now, as he enters the cramped sanctuary that she's claimed inside of the Lifeboat, she's not playing along with whatever he has up his sleeve. She will continue to sprawl out horizontally across the floor and make him feel just as unwelcome as she feels every time she's in his presence lately.
But damn him, because he never feels unwelcome anywhere, does he?
"Don't mind me, ma'am," Wyatt mutters as he kneels beside her legs and shimmies his way into her territory, lying right next to her in a spot that's even less roomy than their shared bed had been in 1934. "Heard there's a good view from down here."
She scoots sideways in an attempt to avoid contact with his arm, but is promptly blocked as she runs into the base of the chair that she'd long ago claimed as her own. "Funny, because I heard that the time machine was reserved tonight and you aren't on the guest list."
"Call me a party crasher, then." His lips quirk upward, but his eyes lack even the slightest bit of mirth. "What's going on with you? I waited outside for half an hour, came back in and paced around the locker room for another ten minutes, only to double back and see that your car was still in the lot. Didn't know how much I hated playing hide-and-seek until I was forced to do so for the better part of an hour."
Lucy says nothing, biting down on the inside of her cheek as the weight of his arm sags against hers.
He sighs, and for the second time in one day, she's taken aback at the feathery sensation of his breath on her neck. "I wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier, okay? I know that my solution to the whole snagged-on-the-fence situation may have come across as probably, uh...presumptuous? But the thing is - "
"If you're apologizing for saving my life from a deranged mob of Old Hickory supporters, you can skip it. I'm fine."
She doesn't acknowledge the way her words make him recoil a fraction of an inch, nor does she meet the intensity of his regard as it bores a hole in the side of her head. Her eyes are fixed on some meaningless spot above them and that's where they're staying.
"But..." he fidgets closer after a stilted beat, and now his damn leg is pressing into hers too. "The thing is, it's not fine. I'm sorry about - "
"About what? About biting through my clothes again? That was kind of a nice full circle thing, wasn't it? At least this time it was property of Mason Industries and not a personal item that I bought for myself, right?"
"Dammit, Lucy." He flips onto his side and throws an arm across to the seat next to her, hovering over her on one elbow with a look of contorted exasperation. "Will you shut up for two whole seconds? I'm trying to explain and you - "
"Maybe I don't want to hear it," she spits in reply, backing up toward the cockpit before she's trapped against Rufus' chair. "You don't get to show up and act like this whenever it suits you. I got the message loud and clear, okay? If you think giving me space is what's best for the team, then by all means, stick to that plan and stay the hell away from me when we're not working."
Wyatt sits up fully, but his arm doesn't surrender its stake on the chair in front of her, which means there's no way out of this without going through him. That realization would set her off into hysterics under any other circumstances, but she's filled to the brim with billowing anger and can't process even a twinge of fear or panic. His eyes are crystal clear, shockingly earnest and a little desperate as he stares at her. "I can't, though. It's driving me crazy, okay?"
She waits, startled at that admission and momentarily speechless until it becomes apparent that he's not planning to elaborate any time soon. "So why do it? Why hold me at arm's length if neither of us want it to be like that? You told me nothing had changed when I found out about my mom, but it did. You took a giant step back."
The accusation is finally out there, but the words are far less pointed this time around, propelling Wyatt closer, his brow furrowed with deep grooves of despair as he slides forward. "I know. I just...I can't screw this up, Lucy, but at every turn, I'm terrified that screwing up is all I'm capable of now."
"You don't want to screw up the mission?" She slouches against the back of the pilot seat and wraps her arms around her knees, bracing herself for what comes next. "Or...with me?"
"Both," he murmurs with a self-deprecating grin.
She gives him a wry look, tilting her head to one side. "Not to be the bearer of bad news, but you're definitely not succeeding at the second of those two objectives."
"Trust me, I'm aware." He scrubs a weary hand over his face. "One thing at a time, right? We all have to get out of this mess alive first...I thought the rest of it could fall into place later."
Lucy can't keep her eyebrows from flying upward at that statement. "And it's never occurred to you that there might not be anything left to 'fall into place' at the end of this if you keep acting like you'd rather be crushed in a collapsing wormhole than have to spend an extra second in my presence?"
His expression turns grave as he shakes his head mournfully. "Of course it has. But look what just happened in 1829, Lucy. I got distracted, and sure, we made it out this time, but what if Rufus isn't there to sound the alarm when it happens again? I'm not jeopardizing your life like that, not if I can help it."
"You're blaming me for being too distracting? Seriously, Wyatt - "
He raises his hands with a wide-eyed look, quickly diverting her tirade with his best attempt at an innocent smile. "Whoa now, don't twist my words like that. It's not your fault. All I'm saying is that my brain tends to short-circuit when I'm too close to you, and if that's not dangerous enough, there's also a very loud voice in my head that joins in to insist that I'm not ready for this...that I'll never be ready. And that's just scratching the surface. It's just...there's a lot, okay? There's a lot that can go very, very wrong here."
She takes a deep breath and lets her forehead come to a rest against the top of her knees. "Your head sounds like a horrible place to be. No offense."
"None taken," he mumbles without enthusiasm. "You're not wrong."
Lucy tries to collect her thoughts, but everything is too scrambled up inside to make much of sense of what's left to be said. She gives up and gives in, letting her heart lead for once and praying that it doesn't come back to her in pieces. "Move over."
"What?"
She raises her head and lets her eyes take inventory of every little nuance of his rumpled appearance - the wrinkled flannel button-down, the dark circles under his cerulean eyes, the thick stubble on his jaw and the uneven rake of his hair. She doesn't answer him, just slinks back down to her spot on the floor until he gets the message and parallels her actions, lying flat on his back next to her. Lucy doesn't shy away from him this time. Instead, she tucks herself against his side and turns her head just enough so that her temple is brushing against his shoulder. He shifts closer, rearranging her little by little until the side of her face is pillowed against his chest and his arm is wrapped securely around her back.
The steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear is almost like a lullaby, except she's wide awake, reveling in the fact that she's finally free to openly breathe him in without risking his rejection. It isn't long before she feels his fingers in her hair, stroking and untangling his way through each curly strand with an outright tenderness that kicks her emotions into overdrive.
"Wyatt?"
"Hmm," he returns faintly, sending fluttery vibrations against her as she feels the noise channel through him.
"I can't keep doing it this way. It's driving me crazy, too. I need you to be...you."
His hand goes still. "I...I know. And I'm sorry, Lucy. I just feel like I'm drowning in doubt no matter what I do, and that's not something I'm used to dealing with."
She smiles sadly against his shirt and pats his shoulder consolingly. "Welcome to the dark side. Crippling bouts of self-inflicted uncertainty is kind of my specialty."
That earns her a soft ripple of laughter. His arm flexes around her as he shakes his head. "Misery loves company, right?"
Lucy nods into him, content to shut out everything that exists beyond the refuge of his hold on her. They don't speak again for several moments, but her heart aches with the almost inexpressible burden that she carries for him. The words that follow are unexpected even to her, the product of his cozy embrace and the mutual truth that's been relinquished between them at long last.
"Just a suggestion, but..." her cheeks grow warm with premeditated embarrassment, but there's no turning back now. She knows what she wants and if she's learned anything tonight, it's that sometimes he's not as far off from sharing in those same desires as he seems. "Maybe if you let your brain short-circuit every once in a while...you know, when we're not in the middle of getting chased across the White House lawn or whatever...it might help you to relieve a little stress from time to time? And it would only be on your terms, of course, nothing you don't want, but - "
He's chuckling from beneath her as he bends to catch her lips with his own, sweeping a gentle but sure kiss over her mouth as his hand finds purchase along the line of her jaw.
"Don't ever doubt whether or not I want you," he whispers against her lips between one kiss and the next, "That's one thing I'm certain of, okay? I think about doing this all the damn time, Lucy."
She tips backwards with a delighted gleam in her eyes. "Making out with me on the floor of the Lifeboat? That's...kinky."
His laugh deepens, carving new lines - happier lines - into his face as he pulls her back in to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Oh, you have no idea..."
Lucy pushes herself up on her forearm and dangles her mouth above his with a devious smile. "You'd be surprised to know that I have some ideas of my own, Master Sergeant Logan.
"Good God, woman," he groans, hooking a hand behind her neck and reeling her in for another dazzling kiss. She wants to laugh at his eagerness, but the warmth of his tongue stealing into her mouth immediately smothers her amusement. Then she's the one making wanton little noises when he finds her hips and tugs her closer, although she's pretty sure that he's grunting her name into her mouth as she snuggles down into the angles of his muscular body.
"Well would you look at that," comes a slick, impertinent voice from the opening of the time machine. "Thought I heard voices down here, but wow...can't say that this is entirely surprising, though, now is it? How charming."
Lucy rolls off of Wyatt so abruptly that she nearly decapitates herself on the edge of the chair next to her, missing it by only the narrowest of margins. "Uh, Mr. Mason, hi..."
Wyatt clears his throat with a petulant noise of reluctance, pulling her with him as he sits up and squints out at their newly acquired audience. "I'd say that this isn't what it looks like, sir, but that would be a boldfaced lie, so...uh, sorry? Won't let it happen again?"
"Wyatt!" Lucy hisses in return, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. Couldn't he attempt to be the least bit sincere when he apologized?
He just turns to her with an indelicate shrug, his typical jaunty grin firmly in place as his heavy-lidded gaze washes over her.
"No, no, it's quite alright. Just don't stain the interior and this will be our little secret," Mason says glibly before vanishing out of sight with a knowing look.
Lucy can't without her shudder of disgust. "Don't. Stain. The. Interior. That's all he has to say?"
"So I take it that's a mood killer for you, huh?" Wyatt asks with an incredulous snicker. "Connor Mason really steals my moment again?"
"Oh my God," she shudders a second time, covering her face with her palm while simultaneously filing away the revelation that there may have been a kiss in the cards for them when Mason had interrupted their conversation a few weeks ago.
"Lucy?" Wyatt prods her shoulder with his chin. "You gonna make it?"
"Get me out of here and then we'll talk, but...yeah, not here. Not now."
He laughs again as he shuffles past her, giving her a hand up and not letting go once his fingers are intertwined with hers. "Alright, I can work with those odds. So...you said you have some kinky ideas of your own, do you? I'm interested in hearing more about that."
"Wyatt..." she hums warningly as he helps her down from the Lifeboat.
"Do any of those ideas involve me biting through more of your clothing? Because that could be arranged," he promises with a smirk. "That line was easily the highlight of this argument."
She rolls her eyes at him, but her off-balance smile gives her away in spite of the words that spill from her mouth. "How about the part where I told you to go ahead and stay the hell away from me when we're not at work? Because if you keep pushing your luck, I might have to revert back to that statement."
"You wouldn't dare," he says with a teasing grimace.
Lucy lifts a shoulder and walks him backwards toward the exit, her hand squeezing his with a jolt of affection. "Try me and find out."
If she's not mistaken, she thinks she hears him utter the words 'bossy know-it-all' under his breath right before his lips descend on hers.