a/n: I in no way intended to crank out another fic this week, but I am sooo soft for Wyatt "sad puppy eyes" Logan, and I got a prompt on tumblr that hit me right where I'm weakest, lol. So thanks to idatheactivist (aka rachelbee21), I've gone a little further down the rabbit hole. She asked for a Wyatt POV piece regarding that moment where Lucy has left the tent and Rufus is talking, but Wyatt is too busy serving endlessly perfect facial expressions to focus on what's being said. Naturally it became about the whole freaking scene because I'm way too obsessed with this moment, but hopefully it gets the job done. Happy belated birthday, friend!
have i mentioned that Wyatt's face in each frame of the tent scene is perfection? have i mentioned that 2x01 has ruined all other tv shows for me? oh cool, ok. ALSO - promotional photos for 2x03 have been released & if you've seen them, feel free to come scream in my inbox because WOW WOW WOW.
It's her. It has to be her, he's sure of it.
Dark hair pinned up behind her head, the familiar frantic pace that can only be carried off by legs as long and slender as hers, a tapered little waist that's on full display in just about every era of period clothing… it has to be her.
But his eyes have been straining for a glimpse of Lucy from the moment his boots hit French soil, so it's difficult to trust himself with the first wispy brunette he finds. Even with that fragment of self-doubt in mind, he still can't keep himself from chasing after her like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels.
He's already got a massive head start when he hears Rufus yelling his name from behind, but Wyatt can't afford to slow down now. He isn't taking his eyes off of that woman for a second. It's not until she darts into a tent and he has her cornered that he pauses to consider the best approach. He's flying so blindly after all, and it's stupid - reckless - to act now without taking a few awful contingencies into account.
It could be a trap. Rittenhouse could know he's here and they're luring him in with the only piece of bait that matters to him.
She could be fleeing from danger. He needs to keep his guard up in case there's someone else coming after her. Now is not the time to lose his head over the fact that he's so freaking close to having her back after all this time spent apart.
And worst of all, it might not be her at all.
He likes his odds in the other two scenarios. Only an insane person would try to come between him and Lucy right now, and no cunning trick or physical threat is getting in his way. There isn't a single homicidal asshole with an agenda for world domination who stands a chance with him while he's in this frame of mind.
But if it's not her inside of that tent…? That might mean he's been lying to himself all along, that he's been a fool to hope, and ...
No. She's here. She's in 1918, he can feel it from somewhere deep within. So even if that woman isn't her, this still isn't over. He's not leaving France without her, so he has to hold himself back from accosting some poor unsuspecting nurse who could land him in a world of trouble if he scares the shit out of her. The last thing he needs is another damn roadblock to this mission, especially one that can be so easily avoided.
It's only been an instant of head-buzzing hesitance since he'd stopped here in his tracks, but he already could have waited too long, and with everything that rides on this one single opportunity, losing his shot altogether is not an option.
He hedges his bets and enters from the flap at the opposite end of where he's last seen her. It's just the two of them now. The gruesome sounds of war die away, his heart seizes in his chest, and Wyatt is so damn sure it's her that his brain gets all jammed up and he forgets to speak as his hand reaches for her shoulder.
Only on a permanently ingrained reflex is he able to duck his head and block her swiping blow, and then he freezes in place and just stares. Her eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. Her face. Oh God, her face. Her whole face enthralls hims as she flashes through rapid-fire phases of anger, panic, confusion, surprise, then finally explodes with shaky relief.
Lucy.
It's still too good to be true. Lucy Preston is standing right there in front of him like the apparition that's been haunting six weeks worth of dreams. His brain is a chorus of nothing but her name - Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.
"You're alive?"
She's sure got that right. He is alive, so alive, more alive than he's been in ages. Just the sight of her has him bursting at the seams with so much goddamn life. And her voice...her voice has him smiling with unabashed wonder because he's been right all along - Lucy Preston still lives and breathes and talks.
Their arms shake together in unison, somehow still locked up as tightly as their eyes. "You're alive."
It's not a question for him, because he knew - he knew - that the universe couldn't do this to him now, not when he'd just decided to believe in purpose, in fate, in meant-to-be's and possibilities and...and in her. He believes in her. He believes that Lucy is the one who's illuminated all of those things inside of him and he can't possibly have lost her as soon as he's allowed himself to listen to the heartbeat of the world around him once again.
She laughs in disbelief and bounds up into him with a devastatingly beautiful embrace. He's laughing too, he might even be the one who started laughing first, but he can't really be sure. It's a sound so alien to him in these last forty-some odd days that it almost startles him to hear it leaving his mouth. He crushes his arms around her and squeezes his eyes shut, reveling in the unexplainable phenomenon of a Lucy Preston hug. As much as she's been known to make his head spin before when she pulls him so tightly against her, nothing could have ever prepared him for what he feels when she hugs him now in this moment.
Rufus slips into the tent from behind him, and Wyatt is too ecstatic, too helplessly enraptured in this drastically overdue reunion, to even mind that she's now sharing that same hug with Rufus too. The unchecked force of her fragilely-held happiness is so damn contagious. A great weight falls away from his shoulders as the three of them cluster together in a sea of smiles. Lucy is back, the team is whole.
But then she pulls away abruptly, and the emotional whiplash of what she says next has him reeling. She's brimming with revelation after revelation, each one coming with another punch of alarm.
Lucy wants them to go on without her.
Her mom is one of them…one of Rittenhouse?
She needs to kill a soldier? She's smuggling grenades out of this tent?
She wasn't...she wasn't planning on coming home?
That last concept will not compute for him until it suddenly does, and then he wishes like hell that it hadn't.
Until the moment they came eye-to-eye with each other in this tent, Lucy had fully intended to go down on a literal suicide mission. Something begins to short-circuit in his chest and he can't quite breathe around this new onslaught of excruciating pain.
She's rushing through an explanation of where they're supposed to find the Mothership when her name rings out from somewhere beyond them, and then she's vanishing.
But, no… No, no, no, that cannot happen. She does not get to disappear on him now.
Wyatt rushes forward to catch her by the arm, but she's a tornado of activity and he's reduced to nothing more than a tumbleweed in her storm. She knows what needs to be done and she's not backing down. He'd respect the hell out of that if he wasn't so selfishly driven with the desire to fling her over his shoulder and cart her back to the Lifeboat kicking and screaming.
He hunches down to the flap she's just dashed through, halfway ready to chase her down and talk some sense into her, but it's too late. She's falling in line with two other women and answering whatever it is that they've asked her, undercover again and out of his reach.
Wyatt's relief slips away just as rapidly as it's landed. He continues to stare after her, desperately coveting something more than the insufficient glimmer of her retreating back. She glances over her shoulder just once, her eyes moving fast and frenetic over him, and then she's on her way.
So just like that, Lucy's gone again. She's blinked in and out so quickly, shimmering with all the brilliance of a beaming firework in his pitch-black sky, and now she's flickering away to leave him breathless and alone. The effect is nearly catastrophic.
But no, he can't crack up now. She's alive and she has a game plan. He's not actually alone, at least not in the ways that matter. He has her, he has Rufus, and now all he has to do is follow through on her instructions and then they'll all go home together.
The tide of her anxiety-ridden voice rings in his ears as he pries himself away from the tent's opening. Rittenhouse. Her mom. Blowing up the Mothership. It's a hell of a lot to process in so little time.
But then he calls up the image of her gaping back at him with huge brown eyes and he's able to regain himself again.
You're alive.
Oh God, she really is alive.
Rufus is talking, but several seconds pass before Wyatt can comprehend a word of it. And honestly, he's not even sure what he says in response. Something about needing her…? It doesn't really matter. He's on autopilot now, ramping himself up for what's to come while also simultaneously reliving every nuanced expression of her face when the recognition of who he was had dawned over her slowly. He has a distinct impression that he's going to be thinking about that moment a lot in the days to come. There's actually a whole host of things he needs to think about once they're far, far away from the front lines of an active war zone, but until then, it's enough to just know that she's here.
Once again, Rufus is mumbling something from behind him, but the comment goes right over his head. Wyatt is too busy making a mental note, because he absolutely has to remember to pay Lucy a compliment on her impressive attempt at self-defense. That had been one hell of a swing she took at him...a good start for sure, but now she needs to know what her second move should have been, and he's probably a little too willing to step in as her instructor. They'll work on that later, at home...together.
Together. That's his new favorite word.
Because he's making good on his vow. It doesn't matter who decides to stand in his way - Agent Christopher, Lucy's mom, a whole squadron of enemy troops, every last member of Rittenhouse from this century and the next - they can all take a damn number if they want. It doesn't make a shred of difference to him. He's bringing Lucy home.