AN: Just when you thought I had utterly abandoned the ship! This is entirely from the second deleted Lyatt scene our wonderful writers released (that was absolute catnip for me, sheeeeesh)…and I changed a few things. Like the ending.
Slightly related - I've stopped posting any of my (new) Garcy stories here. If you're looking, they're all on ao3 or Tumblr (I'm starry19 there, too).
Long Nights and Brighter Days
He had seen many men practically dead on their feet from exhaustion before, even members of Delta Force. When the mission was over, when the adrenaline left the system, all that was left was exhaustion and a haunting desire to lay down and never get up again.
Lucy had reached that point.
He could tell by her eyes, by the way she was hunched over into herself, by the way it looked as though she was going to fall over without warning.
Agent Christopher had sent her to bed, and then had held him back for a quiet discussion of what his assessment of Lucy was.
How badly she was damaged.
He honestly didn't know.
Physically, she was sound. Mentally, emotionally…that would take much longer to figure out.
He'd paced around the bunker after Agent Christopher had dismissed him. It had been a hell of a day. Just twenty four hours before, he had been climbing the walls. Now…now they'd brought Lucy home, safe, if not entirely sound.
He was having a little difficulty with the adjustment.
At the moment, there was nothing to fight, nothing to work towards. No need for him to stare at the ceiling at night and torture himself with ideas about what could be happening to her, visions where she screamed his name, begging him to come save her.
But there were worse things than the physical.
Without quite deciding he was going to move, he found himself in the doorway to her room. She had a lamp burning, and he wondered if she was trying to avoid the darkness or if it was pure accident.
He hesitated, but she didn't move. Was she asleep? It would be the best thing for her, along with actual food, but he knew she hadn't eaten since her return.
As narrow as the bed was, it still looked too large for her. He had never seen her this delicate, this…broken, maybe. He felt his heart fracture, just a little, as he looked at her sleeping form. There was no color in her cheeks, not at all.
Carefully, he drew the covers up to her shoulders.
She was here, he reminded himself. Right there, right in front of him. He brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her face. Gave into an impulse and kissed her temple.
It's okay, he promised silently. I've got you now.
He made to leave, but then her small fingers wrapped around his wrist.
He crouched down again, slightly embarrassed to have been caught.
"Hey," he whispered, "I thought you were sleeping."
Her expression didn't change. "I want to be," she said quietly. "I just can't."
He understood that as well. "Want me to go find a couple shots of bourbon?"
She gave him the ghost of a smile. "Do you think that'd work?"
He shrugged, shifting his weight. "Maybe. But I should probably tell you that I have no idea if we have bourbon in this hell hole or not."
Lucy turned a little, the stark lighting accenting the edges of her cheekbones and the hollows below them. He was going to force feed her tomorrow if it came to that.
"Can I get you anything that isn't liquor-related?" he murmured. Her fingers were still on his wrist.
Her face was very solemn, and her voice, when she spoke, was a little shaky. Afraid, even. "Maybe you?" she asked, so softly he had to strain to hear her.
His heart felt like it was in a vise. He hurt for her. But what he felt didn't matter, not now.
He worked hard, managed a smile. "All yours," he said.
"Wyatt," she said, and he couldn't help but remember the nights when his mind had betrayed him, had dared to think that maybe she was gone, that he would never be able to hear her voice again, "will you come here and hold me for just a little bit?"
Unexpectedly, tears sprang into his eyes. "Yes," he said, trying to hide them from her. "Of course. For as long as you want."
She moved over, and he slid into the bed beside her, arms going carefully around her as she burrowed into his chest. When they were settled, she sighed, deeply.
"I missed you," he breathed into her hair.
She was very still. "I grieved for you."
He wanted to cry. Instead, he tightened his arms. "I'm so sorry it took us so long. I'm sorry you had to go through six weeks of hell. If it was up to me, I would have kicked down every door in this damn state to try and find you." He was not exaggerating.
He wasn't sure if she was listening, however. "I'm not entirely convinced this isn't a dream," she went on. "Although I think my brain would have come up with something better than an army bunker." Her fingers closed on a handful of t-shirt.
"You're not dreaming," he told her.
She looked up at him abruptly, dark eyes lost, haunted. "How can you be sure?"
Jesus. She was going to be the death of him. And he…he was going to be the death of all of these people who had done this to her.
"Lucy, sweetheart," he whispered, the endearment slipping out without conscious thought, "I swear this is real. You're safe, I'm not dead, Rufus isn't dead, and your mind isn't cruel enough to come up with an alternate reality where you have to share a bathroom with four other people."
A strangled chuckle escaped her, and he felt very slightly better. He ran a hand down her back, alarmed that he could feel her ribs so distinctly.
She had a long way to go before she was her old self, if indeed such a thing was possible. Long experience told him it probably wasn't, but he wanted more for her.
She curled closer to him, and he squeezed her as tight as he dared.
"Don't let go," she breathed.
He shook his head. "No," he agreed.
The glare from the lamp was almost directly over his face. "Can I shut this thing off?" he asked, gesturing at it.
There was a second of hesitation, which told him a lot.
"Yeah," she said, quietly. "Just…just as long as you're in here, it's fine."
He reached up with one hand and flipped the switch. Felt her let out a shuddering breath.
"Tell me," he murmured, one hand tracing down her back.
She was silent for so long that he had almost given up. "I know it's stupid," she finally said, "but I had this idea that if I turned the lights off, all of this would go away. That it would all disappear, and I'd wake up back…wherever I was. And you'd be gone again."
He swallowed back what felt alarmingly like heartbreak. Kissed the top of her head. "What can I do to make this real for you?" he whispered.
She shook her head. "I have no idea," she breathed back. "Give me time, maybe. I'm sure it'll help a lot when the sun comes up and I get to use a World War II era shower."
He appreciated the attempt at humor.
Lucy absently hooked her fingers into his his belt loops, reminding him that was he was fully dressed, shoes and all. It didn't matter. He'd slept in much worse conditions, and for much worse reasons.
"Let's try for another attempt at sleeping," he gently suggested, tucking her further into his side. "I'll be here when you fall asleep," he promised, "and when you wake up."
She dubiously agreed, and he wondered if either of them were going to sleep at all. Still, if she wanted to be held all night, by God, he was going to be there to hold her.
Lucy shifted a little, and he could have sworn she pressed a kiss over his heart, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part.
He had no idea how long he laid there, Lucy's insubstantial and precious weight against him, keeping track of her shallow breaths. Eventually, they became deeper, and he relaxed a little. She was actually asleep this time.
He didn't move for the next three hours, eyes fluttering shut eventually, half-dozing, half keeping a quiet vigil over the woman he loved.
Toward morning, Lucy rolled to her other side, and he followed, his nose almost touching the back of her neck.
An hour later, with dawn rising, she turned to face him, looking sleepy and vaguely surprised.
"You're still here," she whispered, one hand gently touching his face.
"I'm still here," he agreed.
"Good," she told him, then closed her eyes again.
He smiled. They would get through this. If he had to fight every day for the rest of his life, he'd bring her back.
But right now, in this moment, he could almost believe that the worst was behind them. Nothing ahead but brighter days.
Oh, how he wished.