A/N: While streaming 2x05 for the 5th time, I noticed that the shirt Wyatt is wearing in the present is the same flannel shirt we see Lucy wearing at the end of 2x03 during their moments of blissed, new couple happiness. So this was me processing my feelings about that. I apologize for the brevity of this and if it's not great as this is my first time publishing any of my fics.
Material Memories
He rushed into his room, grabbing whatever items were closest to change into so that they could get back out there and get Kennedy back in the bunker.
His hand stilled as he reached for the flannel shirt hanging on the end of his bed. His grip tightening on the fabric as unbidden memories assaulted him.
He pulled her into he and Rufus's shared room as she slipped past after her shower, unable to resist the urge to steal a few more moments with her, a few more kisses before they rejoined the rest of their bunker mates. Unwilling to let the haze of Hollywood slip away just yet.
Until Rufus's audible gasp interrupted them, "O—uh—O, I so did not need to see this again."
Wyatt smiled against Lucy's lips as the sharp crack of the door punctuated Rufus's hasty retreat.
"Come on, professor," he said as he pulled away from her, "No way will Rufus be able to maintain any level of cool if he comes back to find us in here again."
Lucy pouted up at him, her blown pupils and kiss-swollen lips beckoning him back like a siren's call. Her sigh of frustration enough to make him want to bar the door–Rufus be damned.
It was only her shiver and the goosebumps coating her arms that had made him forget that plan, concern for her comfort in this drafty hellhole overriding his baser needs.
He slipped out of the flannel he was wearing and slid it around her shoulders, admiring once again the way she looked in his clothes. The barbarian in him loving that it claimed her as his to the world. And if the beatific smile she bestowed on him was anything to go by, she agreed–
"Wyatt. Wyatt!" Jess's voice sliced through the memory bringing him back to the present with all the force of a physical slap.
"You okay?" The obvious concern in her tone and expression gutted him; here he was thinking about Lucy with his wife mere feet away.
If you asked him what he said to her in that moment to convince her he was fine, he couldn't tell you. Nor could he explain why he still choose to pull on the flannel, sucking in a lungful of coconut, spice, and Lucy as he did.
As he stepped into the hall after Jess, he saw Lucy's faltering steps, saw the emotions flash across her face and tried his damnedest to not let her see his own. Not let her see how much it pained him to have found it back in his room, even though he shouldn't be surprised or resentful. But it was as if she didn't want to retain even one reminder of what they had shared, like she was able to shut him out so easily.
He wiped a shaky left hand over his face feeling the cold metal of his wedding band as he did, letting it steel him against these feelings for Lucy and remind him of the miracle that was having Jessica back.
But later that night standing alone in the room he and Jess now shared, he couldn't resist the urge to bury his face in the material and breathe in Lucy one last time before carefully hanging the shirt back in the small locker and shutting the door.