The sound of the bell ringing has Lucy gathering her books, quickly stuffing them into her book bag, yet still managing to be one of the last students to leave the classroom.
She enters the hallway looking both ways, trying to remember which way was the library. At her old school, it had been her home away from home, finding more comfort in the books with their tales of important figures in time surrounding her in greatness. She didn't find them overbearing and suffocating in the same way that her mother was. Never actually present, more a looming figure of reputation hanging over her, but still, the pressure was there, applied with a stern look and a disapproving click of her tongue. But here, she found herself lost, searching for the right path to take.
Lucy shakes her head, her curls bouncing against her back, her eyes narrowing into a squint as she tries to remember which way to go.
Her mom's research had led them to the middle of nowhere. Literally. Texas was a far cry from California, and an even further cry from the life she had become accustomed to. Everything was flat and dry, with nothing but land to see for miles and miles. The expanse with which the area surrounded her felt like it was too much of just nothing. She couldn't wait to get out of here and back to her real life, but she'd had no choice in the matter when it came to moving. A countdown of sorts jotted down in her journal until she would head off to Stanford, a sure plan for her life already etched in ink, a given that she was still trying to navigate.
xxxxx
Lucy's forehead rests against the cool window of the SUV that was currently driving her to who knows where, her mind overthinking the possibilities, needing some relief and wandering off to a time that felt so far away, she couldn't even remember the girl she was back then.
"Right this way," she's directed, turning in circles at the long hallway that led to a room, that she was quickly ushered into.
With a deep sigh, she turns to ask a question, and is cut off by the closing of the door. Her confusion left to linger, as she nervously glances around the room, seeing only one other occupant.
Her eyes grow wide at the realization of who is sitting beside her, feet propped up against the table, eyes shut, the same position she'd first found him.
She finds herself willing to risk national security and head right back out that door, because the last thing she wants to do right now is dredge up the past.
But isn't that what you'd been doing?
Her mind teases her, refusing to be deceived into thinking that this wasn't a man she thought of on the daily.
xxxxx
She finds herself busting into the double doors of the library, nearly tripping into a classmate, an odd glance sent her way, as Lucy winces, sending an apologetic shrug to the person, but they leave before she can get an actual word out, and she drops her head.
Adjusting the straps of her backpack, she begins searching the tables set up around the stacks of books, not quite sure who exactly she was looking for, until she spots him.
Making her way to the empty table save one, a shy smile makes its way to her face, as she observes him. He's cute, athletic, and doesn't seem nearly as nervous as she is. His fingers are tapping a pencil against a notebook, and she finds herself relieved that at least he's ready and willing to accept her help.
"Uhh, hi, I'm Lucy. I'm here to…"
"Wrong table," he interrupts her before she can even finish her sentence, and she finds herself balking, her smile dropping, as she gathers up her bag that she'd set on the table.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I just…" she fumbles with her words having not been prepared for this type of interaction.
"He's over there," he gestures with his pencil, and she glances over her shoulder to another table, its occupant, unlike the guy in front of her, does not have a notebook and pencil at the ready, but instead has his feet propped up on the actual table, his arms crossed, and eyes closed, as if he couldn't care less.
"Umm, thanks," she nearly whispers as she attempts to quietly make her way to her actual table.
xxxxx
The last time she'd seen him…she couldn't even pretend she didn't know. Every time she saw him was neatly categorized onto a shelf of her mind that she liked to pull out and analyze until sleep evaded her late at night. She'd go over every detail, wondering what had happened, why they had ended up the way they did. Her hand usually coming to rest on her beating chest, as if a gaping wound was still there, bleeding for her attention whenever she thought of him.
He looked…different, but with the same boyish charm still resting on his lips. His eyes, a weapon that was concealed at the moment, but likely to be wielded in his favor at any point.
Awkwardly, she sits down, gripping her bag tightly, her eyes refusing to relinquish their hold on his slumped form on the chair across from her.
"Are you asleep?" She finds herself whispering, words from the past creeping into her throat, demanding they be said.
She can see him tense at the words, not having realized that she'd said them out loud, and she finds herself glancing back over at the door, debating whether it was too late to make a run for it.
"No, ma'am," he answers, and she doesn't know whether to bristle at the name or burrow further into her sweater, feeling a bit like home at the sound of the words coming from his mouth.
"I didn't…umm, you're…" she fumbles with her words, finally landing on a question. "Do you know why we're here?" She deems it a safe ice breaker if there ever was one. But it proves to be more dangerous than she anticipated when he cracks up an eye at her, that same grin she'd long since memorized, having danced across her entire body, sending a shiver down her, as she narrows her eyes at him.
"No clue…Luce," he amends what surely would've been another ma'am. Instead choosing to go for the dagger to a heart, pulling out a nickname that had started as a whisper against her, that had lit her cheeks on fire the first time, the sensation no less different so many years later.
xxxxx
Setting her bag down, she debates whether to sit next to or across from the sleeping student. Her teeth worry her lip before she takes the seat next to him. Placing her hands on the bag, she fidgets, before nervously bringing them to her knees, opening her mouth to speak and then quickly closing, unsure of how to approach the situation.
Looking around, she leans forward just an inch. "Are you asleep?" Her whisper coming out louder than she expected in the quiet library.
A deep moan escapes his throat, as if he were annoyed at the question, but the implication clear, he was most definitely not asleep. Yet his eyes remain closed, as if he ignored her enough, she'd just go away.
Lucy sighs, annoyance creeping up her throat.
xxxxx
"Don't," she warns, just as they're interrupted, the details of their mission being explained to them, but the comprehension of what was actually happening only just dawning on them.
They wanted her to get into a time machine to save history, the strangest part being that they'd partnered her up with a man from her past that wanted nothing to do with her.
She had half a mind to respond to his "Who's going to be looking at your bra?" with a, "Certainly not you," when he'd ignored her observation about underwire, but didn't want to drag the rest of the makeshift team into their mess.
As she nervously climbed into a death machine, she stared bewildered at the seatbelt with so many straps, fumbling with the buckles, her eyes wide with panic.
She can feel a sense of calm from Wyatt. It annoyed her.
"Are you okay?" He asks, their knees brushing against each other, and she knows he's not just referring to the fact that they were about to travel through time, but the tight, enclosed space that felt like it was suffocating her.
She just stares at him, her eyes pleading with him, but laced with a warning to not get too close.
xxxxx
"You know, I don't have to be here," she points out, about to gather her things, but stops when she sees a pair of blue eyes peeking out at her. They stop her cold, the ice blue of them seemingly freezing her, but carrying such a warmth that while remaining still, she finds her cheeks heating up at the stare that had landed on her.
She awkwardly looks around, as if confused as to why he's staring at her like that, before sitting down again, making herself busy by pulling out her history book from her bag.
He still hasn't moved from his lounged position, instead a crooked grin appearing on his face as he watches her fumble for a pencil.
"What?" She asks, afraid she has something on her face, ducking her head so a veil of curls cover her features, except the raise of an eyebrow at him to open his own book.
He gives a small laugh before bringing his feet down and slapping his book on the table with the loud smack that has everyone glancing over at their table.
xxxxx
Wyatt lets out a deep breath, almost as if signaling her to do the same, but the proximity of their bodies leaves her face to be hit with the smell of alcohol.
"Have you been drinking?" She asks, shock painted all over her face. The Wyatt she knew didn't drink, but then again, the Wyatt she knew had long since left her behind. The man sitting across from her was a stranger.
"I didn't know I'd be working tonight, ma'am," and she can't tell if it's a habit he can't stop at this point, the military having engrained him the gesture or an annoying tick of politeness from before that he was using to get under her skin.
xxxxx
"So umm, what…are you having trouble with, exactly?" She asks, refusing to make eye contact with him, considering he'd been doing enough of that himself. His eyes having refused to relent in their search, it seems, right into her soul, as if she were bare to him.
She's met with silence, and she suspects it was on purpose, causing her eyes to wander up to catch his gaze. The soft brown meets the steel blue, and she swears she can feel the connection in her stomach, flipping until her teeth find their way to her bottom lip.
"You can hear me, right?" She asks, a bossy, know-it-all tone, mixed with a shake to her voice she didn't usually carry.
He just continues to grin at her, his hands coming to rest on the table, his fingers almost twitching. He nods at her question, still refusing to speak, and her brow knits together at him, as she focuses back on the book.
"Well, if you could answer with words, that would be great," she sarcastically shoots at him, not sure where her bravery is coming from, though her sister Amy would be proud, always telling her to speak up, the girl herself never afraid to say what she was thinking. But Lucy's insides rattle with nerves at addressing him.
"Yes, ma'am," he teases, opening up his book, and she shoots him a narrowed eye at the nickname.
"What, is that some kind of southern thing?" She asks, more bite than confusion.
"No, it's a polite thing," he says, a dimple peeking out on the left side of his cheek, and she doesn't know why she finds him charming, his boyish looks and gorgeous eyes probably having something to do with that.
xxxxx
"Stop calling me ma'am," she grits out through her teeth, grabbing hold of her seatbelt.
Lucy can still feel the warmth of his hand that had rested on the small of her back as he helped her out of the Lifeboat, the look of amusement on his face as she stood in awe of the sights and sounds of their whereabouts, almost as if he were proud of her in her element. The past coming to life in more ways than one for her right now.
He only seemed slightly annoyed when she'd dragged him up to meet Kate Drummond, the look of shock on his face as she introduced him as her brother, left a barely there pout on his lips, recovered quickly with a grin. But his charm was ignored, as she smacked him with the back of her hand against his arm, knowing he was only doing so to get under her skin.
It's not until she feels a hand wrap around her mouth, the stale breath of a man she'd never met all but growling at her, that a surge of fear spreads through her. Her eyes growing wide, and her breath becoming deeply inhaled through her nose, as he barked his question.
Lucy's head barely shakes, as the cold metal pushes against her back. When she'd been told the mission was dangerous, she hadn't expected this. She was an historian, a professor, a doctor of the movements of time, and yet nothing could have prepared her for this, right here, right now. His hand pushed further against her mouth, her eyes growing wider, only to gasp for air as the man is pushed away from her.
Her hands find their way to the wall, clinging out of the way of the tussle that was happening, as Wyatt fought with the man. A gun, one from their time, has her gasping, having never actually seen Wyatt with a weapon. But given what she knew about him, she knew he could handle himself. They wouldn't have chosen him for this mission otherwise. At least that's what she told herself when they'd been assigned together. It has nothing to do with their history, but that he was the best.
"Are you two going to be able to work together?" Agent Christopher had asked them, a raise of her eyebrow, like she was skeptical that this would work.
Lucy had opened her mouth to debate the issue further, when he'd answered for them.
"What we had is history, ma'am. Nothing to worry about," he'd assured them. It was like the nail in the coffin of their story. As if she needed a reminder. She'd stormed out not soon after, only to walk right back in, the allure of preserving history too good an opportunity.
The bullets landing in the man that had just cornered her, ring out even in their silenced shots. Her red stained mouth hanging open at shock at what she'd just witnessed.
Wyatt bends down to make sure the guy's dead, as Lucy runs for the open hangar.
Walking towards her, his face scans her frame, and she knows he's checking to make sure she's not hurt. At least nothing's changed in that respect.
As she glances outside, she finds that history has already changed. She's failed at keeping it in tact.
"Are you okay?" Wyatt asks, approaching her, reaching out for her arm, barely brushing against her clothes, when she yanks her arm away. The hurt he expected to find not so much physical, as an old emotional wound, having festered over time. She ignores the sting around her mouth, and the panic that still races through her veins.
"Flynn just saved the Hindenburg. So no, I am definitely not okay."
Lucy stands at the hangar opening, refusing to leave, staring out at the Hindenburg, the one that most definitely should not be there. She can feel a headache coming on, the day's events weighing heavily on her, as is Wyatt's stare.
He comes up beside her, giving her space, but still letting her know he's there.
She hasn't been this close to him in years before today. The questions that keep her up late night, the ones she can never quite figure out the answers to, bubble up to the tip of her tongue. She turns to ask, as he leans his head out to get a view. But she stop, hesitates, quickly closing her mouth, and looking ahead.
Lucy gives a deep sigh, a slight shake of her head, the anger boiling up inside of her. She can't understand how he can be so…calm. It's as if nothing that had happened between them meant anything. He was completely comfortable just standing next to her, like they were strangers who had just met.
"You shouldn't have brought that gun," she shoots at him.
"Oh, the one I saved your ass with?" He counters. That stupid grin that she'd spent hours tracing, memorizing its path with her fingertips, staring back at her. That smug grin she couldn't get enough of, now mocks her.
She can feel the frustration getting to her, ready to throw up her hands at how absolutely stubborn he could be.
The explanation of nazis surrounding them only fueling his stance that things were going to get messy.
She nods her head, not sure if he's talking about the mission or them, but she knows it's the truth. That if her job is to make sure things don't get messy, she's going to fail just as miserably as she'd done before.
"Like us?" She counters, and he freezes, slowly turning his head towards her, wiping the smug grin off his face.
He stares at her, his eyes clouded with something she can't quite make out, but she knows she's caught him. That he feels just the slightest bit of pain that he'd caused her for so many years. Her eyes pleading with him to explain. But he walks off towards Rufus, leaving her.
xxxxx
"Well…stop," she stumbles, tucking her curls behind her ear, before continuing, and she swears his grin gets bigger.
"It might be easier to do that if I knew your name," he says with a laugh.
She sighs, having just realized that they never even exchanged names, instead just the heat that had been radiating off of her since sitting down next to him. She's had crushes on guys before, sure, but that was always as far as anything went. An awkward hello, and adoration that was never mutual. She was sure this would be no different. But he just kept looking at her.
"Lucy," she quickly says, peeking at him.
"Wyatt," he introduces himself, and she finds herself repeating the name in her head. She startles when his hand reaches out to flip the page of her book to where they needed to be.
He tries not to laugh at her, but doesn't do much to bite back the smile at her jumping back in her seat at his movement.
xxxxx
As if by some sick cosmic twist, they find themselves in a jail cell, locked up, together.
The hard mattress below her offers little comfort, and she balls her hand when she thinks of who might have been on this bed before her. She lays dejectedly, as Wyatt nearly paces the concrete floor, hanging his arms over the bars of the cell, tempted to rip the metal apart to get them out.
She can feel his frustration, never to the point of boiling, but rather a slow simmer beneath. She'd seen it only a handful of times with him. Usually, he kept his cool to the point of irritating her. But for some reason, he's on edge.
xxxxx
She's not really sure how she managed to get through that first session, her nerves blistering away as they went on. But he was smart, picked up on things easily, and she found herself impressed and a bit curious as to why she was actually tutoring him.
Lucy finds herself opening her mouth to ask, when they're interrupted.
"You ready to go?" A tall blonde asks, appearing behind them. She's dressed in a tank top, the heat demanding so, as she stood leaning against one of the stacks.
Lucy can't help the surge of jealousy, as she looks down at herself, her own shirt covered in a grey sweater, her contrasting dark curls couldn't have been anymore different than the girl hovering over them.
"Yep," Wyatt says, but she swears she hears a hint of reluctance, or maybe her mind is just offering her up a morsel of hope to the situation.
xxxxx
"Wyatt," she starts, sitting up from her spot on the bed. He glances back at her before coming to sit next to her on the bench.
"Lucy," he counters, slumping in his seat.
"So…how's Jessica?" She asks, staring at her hands, her hair falling into her face, as she attempts to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He nearly snorts with a laugh.
"I wouldn't know," he states matter of factly.
"Oh," she quietly responds, as she chances a glance at him.
"It was my fault," he says with such a sadness to his voice, she swears she can see the haunting regret shadow his blue eyes, leaving tears in their wake, pricking at his eyes. "If I could go back and change one thing…" He trails off, and she finds her own pang of regret gathering in her chest.
She stares at his retreating figure, feeling as if he had left her all over again. The realization that he had never seen a future with them. How easily he'd left, how quickly he'd forgotten. The long list of regrets limited to only one, and it wasn't his leaving her.
Lucy can't get that thought out of her mind, abandoning the bed to stand against the cell, wanting to be the first to leave when they were released. The enclosure feeling like it was closing in on her the longer she stood near him. The past swirling all around them, shackling them to each other in an escapable truth that neither of them were able to acknowledge.
A self-satisfied, told-you-so look is shot at him when the cop makes a comment about his gun, something he should have expected.
But what she hadn't been expecting was the gawking stare at her chest she received in return. The audacity of him to think he had any right after what had happened to so obviously leer at her. She narrows her eyes when she realizes what he's doing, crossing her arms around herself and turning around.
The nerve.
The stare only intensifying when she finds herself removing her shirt, her bare back exposed to him as she removes her underwire bra for the cause. She swears she can feel his fingers where his eyes now roam. The calluses of his palm against her skin, softly floating over her ribcage, scattering goosebumps as his touch ghosted over her. His eyes now trailing the same path his hands once forged,with a look of jealousy of his younger self at what he had, and what he'd lost. It's the first real sign that she hadn't lost him completely, and although he ducks his head embarrassedly when she catches him, she smiles to herself as she tosses him the bra.
xxxxx
"Just ask them why they really chose you," she keeps repeating in her head. The question that had plagued her since first being paired up with Wyatt, refusing to accept that it was just happenstance.
Pulling on her sweater, she grabs her bag and takes off after Wyatt, seeing him quickly stride out the door.
"Hey," she calls out for him, and he stops, but she swears she sees him sigh, as if preparing himself for another interaction with her. But his eyes suggest a sort of relief, perhaps that she wasn't being held as a human shield with only his marksmanship to depend on.
"Why didn't you take the shot…afraid you'd miss?" She asks, only half joking, but he stops as she continues to walk, as if offended that she'd suggest such a thing. And she's not sure if he's more offended that she questioned his skill or his willingness to care about her wellbeing.
"Lucy, I would never…" he pauses, searching her eyes for an answer to a question he hadn't asked, but then suppresses whatever emotion he'd shown his hand at, instead stifling it somewhere deep inside himself "Maybe be a little more careful next time. Ma'am," he adds with a grin, but it's pained, as if the thought of something having happened to her was slowly killing him inside.
She knew he only used the nickname when he either tried to get a rise out of her or to show affection. She takes it that while he can't say as much, she was never that expendable to him. After all, it is his job to protect her. But she finds herself wondering how much of it is obligation and how much is a need to keep her safe because maybe he still felt something for her.
"Wyatt," she says, stepping closer. "What you said…earlier, about wanting to change one thing…"
He nods, his hands coming to bury in his pockets, as if keeping them from reaching out.
"Maybe…we're not meant to change the past. Maybe some things are just…"
"Fate?" He finishes for her, an almost angry look passing across his face. A stubbornness to believe that his choices mattered, that it was never too late to fix what he'd messed up.
He gives that grin again, a pithy laugh escaping his lips, as if contemplating the idea of fate, before leaning but an inch from her.
"You're in control of your own fate, Luce," the whisper of his words skimming over her skin, and she finds her short nails digging into her palm, as her eyes flitter shut. The warmth of having him so close only jarred when he backs away as quickly as he'd leaned in, the cold seeping into their bubble, leaving an absence that was all too familiar.
xxxxx
Ducking her head, she pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, having been warned that Texas doesn't actually enter fall into well into what would be winter everywhere else. But she finds the extra layer offers more a shrouding of her embarrassment than any sort of comfortable warmth.
"See ya, tomorrow…ma'am," he teases, as he gathers his things, and she can't help but force an annoyed smile at him, the kind that has her pursing her lips, and scrunching her nose, causing him to laugh.
"See ya…" she quietly responds, almost to herself, as he walks off, the blonde slinging an arm around Wyatt's shoulders, Lucy quickly turning back to her book, as to not stare. Stifling any feelings she may have had, assuring herself that whatever had happened that afternoon would never happen again. She was expendable to a guy like him, she was just a girl he found nerdily amusing, and nothing more.
xxxxx
His retreating figure leaving Lucy to stand by herself and wonder what exactly it was he wanted to change, and if her fight to preserve the past would mold a future that would lead him to be a part of her life again.
xxxxxx
A/N:
helllllllo. i had been wanting to write a high school lyatt au for a while, but wasn't sure how to do so. i got an idea of putting it up against a version of themselves playing throughout the episodes, as if they had always known each other, and this is what happened. this fic will make its way through all the episodes, as well as their past.
i normally do not do multi-chapter fics, so this makes me wildly nervous that i'm going to get it wrong or that no one will be interested enough to stick with me. so hopefully this turns out for the better.
as always, please like/comment, because it's everything over here.