AN: Well, hi there. I've clearly fallen down the rabbit hole of fandom life again. First completed TImeless fic, set immediately post-Red Scare. Wyatt x Lucy, obviously. Please let me know what you think!
The Ties that Break
Lucy's self-assigned hour came and went.
Even though this set alarm bells ringing in his mind, he gave her ten more minutes. After all, he reasoned, sometimes life happened. Maybe there was an accident somewhere and traffic was blocked up. Maybe she hit a snag with whatever it was she was up to.
He knew better though. They were going to save her sister. She would have literally left her car in traffic and walked to Mason Industries. And she would have called to let him know, because that was just the type of person she was.
When eight of the allotted ten minutes had passed, he went to his locker and retrieved his sidearm.
He was on his way to the door when he spotted her from the window. Even from a distance, he knew something was wrong.
He sprinted.
Lucy didn't look up until he was ten feet from her. The expression on her face was startling - she was…shocked, devastated. Lost.
"Are you okay?" he demanded. "Are you hurt?" He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, could feel the fierce urge to protect her, to destroy whatever had hurt her, whatever it was.
But she said nothing. Instead, she just walked forward until she was pressed against him, face in his neck, fingers gripping fistfuls of his shirt.
Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her, the need to know what happened almost a palpable thing.
"Lucy, tell me," he murmured to her hair. "Please."
He felt her trembling for a second before she started sobbing.
Automatically, he tightened his hold, sliding one hand up to the back of her head. He had never seen her like this. In tears a few times, certainly. But not this.
"You're alright," he breathed, at a loss for what else to do. "It's okay. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you." He meant it, even if he wasn't sure what he was protecting her from. It didn't matter, after all.
She took a deep, shaking breath, like she was going to speak, then broke off again, arms under his jacket. He could feel her tears on his neck.
So he did his job - he was her strength, her shoulder to lean on. He was steady when she wasn't.
Rufus appeared in the stairwell, clearly wondering where the hell they were and why they weren't currently in the seventies. He stopped dead when he saw them - and then he looked closer, face changing from surprise to alarm as he realized he wasn't interrupting some lovers tryst.
"What happened?" he demanded,but quietly.
He shrugged as best he could with Lucy wrapped around him. "I don't know yet," he said, just as quietly.
Abruptly, Lucy stepped back, furiously swiping at her eyes. As shaken as she was, he didn't quite trust her to stand on her own, so he kept one hand on her waist.
"I need to talk to both of you," she finally managed to say. Then she sniffled. It was almost dignified.
"Yeah," Rufus deadpanned. "I was kind of figuring that."
He made her sit on the concrete steps, Rufus leaning against the rail to the left. He sat at her side, their shoulders touching, just making sure she knew he was there if she needed him.
And then she started speaking.
He felt his jaw drop.
Rufus mirrored his expression.
There was a tense silence as she finished her story. He wondered if oh, shit was an appropriate response because it was the only thing he could think of.
God, what a nightmare for Lucy. As screwed up as these missions had been, she had lost the most. And now it kept getting worse. Her whole life, every memory she had of her mother, was a lie.
In a show of solidarity, Rufus dropped to Lucy's other side, wincing slightly as his stitches pulled. She wasn't alone - she had both of them.
"What do you want us to do?" he asked.
Slowly, she shook her head. "I don't know. I have no idea right now." Her voice wavered. "I just can't think anymore today."
Gently, he bumped Lucy, trying to tell her it would be alright. He didn't know that, but he did know he was going to do whatever it took to help her. She sighed, deeply, then tipped her head to his shoulder.
"Will you take me home?" she whispered, eyes closed.
"Yes," he replied, lips brushing her hair.
For a moment, he considered just picking her up and carrying her to his truck. Then she sighed again and rose, one hand braced on his shoulder.
Rufus eyed them both speculatively. "Let me know what the plan is. I think, personally, we need to do some serious ass kicking."
Lucy made an attempt at a smile. "How's Jiya?" she asked.
"She's fine," Rufus replied, but a little too quickly. Lucy didn't notice, but he did. But now was not the time.
Following his natural instincts, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Lucy's narrow frame before settling a guiding hand at the small of her back.
She frowned at his shoulder holster. "Why are you armed?" It seemed like a vastly unimportant question, given the circumstances, but maybe she was just looking for normal topics of conversation. Well, normal for their bizarre life.
"You weren't back when you said you'd be," he answered. "I knew something was wrong. I was actually on my way to find you when you showed up."
He couldn't quite interpret the look she gave him. She didn't speak again as he drove, but at a red light, he reached over laced their fingers. Her lips quirked very slightly. She didn't pull away.
Nor did she put up a protest when he insisted on doing a thorough check of her house, opening closets and checking under the bed. Everything was neat, organized. Feminine. And completely lacking Rittenhouse minions. He holstered his pistol.
Lucy had curled up on the couch, feet tucked underneath her, his coat still around her shoulders. She looked lost.
Without asking, he started rifling through cupboards in the kitchen until he found wineglasses. There was a half-full bottle of Moscato in the refrigerator. He tugged the cork out and filled both glasses almost to the brim.
"Drink it," he said, handing Lucy her glass and taking his place beside her on the couch. "All of it," he added.
"You sip wine," she protested, glass halfway to her lips.
"Not today, you don't," he answered.
It was gone in two minutes. He handed her the second glass.
"Trying to get me drunk?" she asked.
"Yup. It'll be good for you."
She raised an eyebrow, but took a small sip.
"Don't worry," he assured her. "I'll hold your hair if you start throwing up."
She snorted. "Thanks. You're sweet."
They lapsed into silence. Lucy closed her eyes, head tipped back. He studied her profile. God, she really was beautiful.
"Wyatt?" she murmured.
"Hm?"
She sighed. "What the hell am I going to do?"
He scooted an inch closer. "Well, right now, you're going to get drunk in your living room."
One eye cracked open. "And then what?"
"Then we're ordering pizza because you can't exist entirely on wine."
She smiled.
"Then what?"
He gently ran a finger down her arm. "Then I'm going to tuck you in and you're hopefully going to pass out. And that's our plan for the day."
"One problem at a time," she whispered.
"Exactly," he told her.
An hour later, she was curled into his arms, head against his chest, sound asleep. Or passed out drunk. Whatever.
He was glad he was there. He was glad to be needed. For years, after Jess, he'd felt like the entire universe was sending him a message that he was useless. That he couldn't even save the woman he loved.
But now, another woman he loved needed him. And he would save her.
It was terrifying thing, being where he was now. He had seen and done a great deal with Delta Force. And he had seen and done more than he had ever imagined with this ridiculous time machine. Jess's death had almost destroyed him. And then…then he'd met Lucy Preston, rattling on about how her bra shouldn't have an underwire in the 30s. It was inevitable, what his heart had done.
She loved him, he knew that. It was humbling.
He has suspected before, but had known it the night he had told her he and Rufus were stealing the Lifeboat. Her tears, the way she'd looked at him. He was choosing Jessica over her. He'd broken her heart, and she didn't blame him for it for a moment.
He'd broken a few hearts before, but it had never hurt like that.
And then, she'd put her arms around him after he'd escaped custody, and he knew it was all over.
He was a profoundly damaged man. She loved him in spite of it.
He wouldn't let her down, not this time.
Gently, trying not to wake her, he kissed the top of her head.
It had been a long time since a woman had slept in his arms. Even longer since he actually wanted the woman for more than just a blessed escape from pain. He remembered what this was like, the peace that came with just existing next to someone he loved.
She was soft, smelled sweet. He would sit here all night if she needed him to, and he certainly hoped she did.
After the years of being closed off, he was ready to cross lines, ready to jump in with both feet. All it took was some crazy time travel missions with a petite brunette whose brain contained all the knowledge of an entire set of encyclopedias.
She was brave, fiercely so, and wholly damaged.
Her fingers were hooked into his belt loops as she slept. She didn't have to worry - he wasn't going anywhere.
This new fight they were in - and he knew it was a fight - had pushed him over the rest of his hurdles. He was in. He was hers. And he would be her anchor, her rock, when she needed it.
He had kissed her once. Not long ago, though really, eighty years before. At a kitchen table, right across from some certifiably insane lovers. And he had meant it, had put all of the things he hadn't wanted to feel for her in it.
Had almost kissed her again, later, in the world's narrowest bed, listening to her talk about possibilities, wrapped in lace and satin, and given another moment, he would have.
Would have rolled to his side, would have run a finger across the wings of her collarbone, would have kissed her so thoroughly she would have forgotten her name.
No, he wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not now.
Lucy shifted against him, and he waited while her eyes fluttered open. "Hey," she whispered.
"Hey yourself," he said, adjusting his hold on her slightly. "Nice nap?"
Her smile was soft, flirtatious. "I've slept in worse places."
He smiled. "Glad to hear it."
Lucy sighed, stretched a bit, then returned her head to its spot on his chest. "What are we going to do?" she asked, and he knew she wasn't talking about their relationship.
"We'll think of something," he said, hoping he sounded confident. "We've come this far. We can surely get the rest of these bastards."
She let out a short, unamused laugh. "I'm one of them, Wyatt. I'm Rittenhouse royalty. At least, according to my mother I am."
Abruptly, he tilted her chin up, forced her to meet his eyes. "You are not," he said. "You need to understand that. Whatever your family is or was, you are not one of them."
She held his gaze. She had clearly made some sort of deal with the devil for those eyes. Slowly, she nodded, though he knew this wasn't the last time they would be having this conversation. He let his hand fall away.
"So," she said, switching to a lighter topic. "You said something about pizza?"
He laughed, then reached for his phone. Lucy sat up to allow him easier access to his pockets, slipping out of his jacket as well. While he ordered, she collected the wine glasses. He heard the quiet chink as she sat them in the sink.
He ended the call, then found her in the kitchen, apparently deep in thought. He touched her arm. "What's up?"
She forced the ghost of a smile. "Just thinking," she said. "I used to wear this locket," she went on, hurriedly, like she had decided to tell him and needed to get the words out before she changed her mind. "It had a picture of my mom and Amy and me. After…after Amy, it was the only evidence I had that she ever existed, that we were ever happy. And now, I mean, now…that picture is a lie. It's not real."
He said nothing, waiting for her to get the rest out.
"Is anything in my life real?" she asked, voice sharper. "I spend my days hopping through time, fighting a shadow organization, I just broke up with my fiancé whose last name I learned a month ago, and now half of my family is either wiped out or evil. I mean, what the hell?" A tear slid out of the corner of her eye. He thumbed it away.
"I'm real," he told her.
She looked up at him, eyes fathoms deep. She was hurt and afraid, backed into a corner.
"I'm real," he said again. "And you know my last name." There was a moment of fraught silence. Then, "Come here," he whispered.
And she did.
He kissed her.
Softly at first, then thoroughly, filing away every memory of what made her sigh, what made her fingers tug on his hair, what made her stand on her toes to reach him. She tasted like a ten dollar bottle of Moscato, and he was lost.
After, they still stood tangled together in her kitchen, her chin resting on his shoulder, his hands tracing abstract patterns down her back.
"Are you gonna tell me that one was just to convince someone we were a couple?" she teased.
He chuckled. "You knew damn well that wasn't true."
He felt her smile. "I did," she agreed. "But it's still nice to hear."
The doorbell rang. Reluctantly, he stepped back and started down the hall.
Sometimes, the absurdity of being able to do something completely normal like order pizza entertained him. He had been in the middle of jungles, of deserts, had wandered through the French and Indian War. And yet, he could make one phone call and have food delivered.
Lucy was perched on a barstool at the counter when he returned, and for just a second, he was profoundly thankful, a feeling he had been entirely unfamiliar with for a long time.
They were both here, together. The fight would continue, and they would be here for it.