After those six weeks Lucy was with Rittenhouse, after they brought her home, she had no clothes of her own other than the one scratchy outfit from 1918. Wyatt had lent her a pair of his sweats once they finished debriefing Christopher on the mission. He was pretty sure Lucy found a way to burn the outfit from 1918 because it was never seen again. Not even in a trashcan. It was just gone.

But that started a trend. She borrowed his clothes for the first two weeks at least and he never seemed to get any of them back. Slowly, Agent Christopher would bring Lucy her own clothes but none of them were anything like what Lucy wore before the bunker. No sweaters and blazers or anything that looked at all like the professor she once was. Sometimes, even after she started to collect her own clothes she would borrow something from him. A hoodie or a flannel shirt. He never minded. She looked better in his clothes than he did anyway.

Even better than that, though, was that she seemed to like it. He knew. He could see it on her face any time she was wearing something of his. Something about her enjoying being in his clothes felt both emotionally intimate and...sexy. It hadn't helped any of their almost kisses and most certainly was a factor in the build up of tension that led to Hedy's guest house in 1941.

But almost as soon as it had started, he screwed it up and the morning after the Salem Fiasco, as he called it, he found all of his clothes that she had borrowed stacked in a neatly folded pile on his bed.

She found other clothes to borrow in addition to whatever Christopher managed to bring her and the things they stole that she kept. He knew she kept the dresses from 1941 but he never saw them again after...everything. He did notice she kept a few blouses from various time periods as their jumps went on. It made Lucy's wardrobe an eclectic mix of lounge wear, casual clothing, and period pieces.

Which made her laundry basket easy to spot in the laundry room. It also made it easy to figure out which night she preferred to do her laundry every week.

He may have picked his own laundry night to match hers. He'd take all the time with Lucy he could get right now, even over laundry. So, Sunday became his regular laundry night. For the first three weeks, she didn't say much to him. Small talk, mostly, about their job and their friends and what they knew of the world outside the bunker. Nothing important, nothing too personal.

After having a moment of their old camaraderie back a couple of weeks ago being forced to return to small talk was torture. But he knew that none of this would magically fall back into place. He knew he was going to have to work for every bit of ground he gained. So, it was understandable, and he would keep chipping away with small talk every Sunday for as long as it took.

"So, Rufus thinks he may have figured out how to jump to a time where we exist without our brains...you know, imploding," Lucy said as she threw a load of whites into her washing machine.

"He thinks he's figured it out?" Wyatt asked warily.

"Well, he hasn't tested it yet," she replied. "Though I'm not sure how he would test it without risking something terrible happening to the test subject."

"Do we really want to be able to do that, though?" His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "I feel like we screw around with time too much as it is. Do we really want to screw around with the years that directly affect us?"

"Well," Lucy said with a thoughtful look and a shrug. "If this whole mess is predestined then I suppose we have to figure it out or I can never go back and give the diary to Flynn. But then maybe we've already changed the future described in that diary too much? Maybe the diary is no longer relevant because future me went back and gave him the diary?"

"Have you read the diary?" Wyatt asked curiously.

"No, I don't want to," Lucy told him with a nervous glance.

"But what if it tells you how to get Amy back?"

"What if it doesn't?" Lucy asked him in return with a doubtful expression. "Honestly, I've been thinking about it a lot. I can't imagine I would go back in time to give someone a book that would change my present so drastically for anything less than a desperate situation. Giving Flynn the diary and seeking his help had to be a last resort and if it was a last resort then-"

"If it was a last resort then you think we were losing the battle," Wyatt said as he finished her thought for her.

"Yes." She swallowed thickly and started her machine. "I don't want to know the ending if it ends with Amy never coming back or with me losing anyone else. I don't want to know what's coming unless it's good and I can't be sure that anything in that diary ends well so I'd just rather not read it."

"Just because it's in that diary, Lucy, doesn't mean it's set in stone," Wyatt told her as he threw in his own whites to the second machine and closed the lid. He turned and leaned against the machine to face her. "If you don't like what you read, then change it."

"I don't think it's that easy," she told him with a shake of her head.

"Why not? You said it yourself, by Flynn even having that diary we may have changed the future so much that it's not relevant, right? So why isn't it that easy?"

"Because who's to say knowing what's in that diary and trying to avoid it wouldn't make things worse? And even at that, once I know it will always be there in the back of my mind. It could influence my decisions without me even knowing it. No, it's safer to just keep going as we always have."

He shook his head as he considered her words and ran a hand over his face tiredly. "This conversation is giving me a headache."

Lucy chuckled. "Me too."

The dryer next to Lucy buzzed and she turned to pull her load of colors out of the machine. She got to work folding and putting the items back into her basket when he spotted something familiar. A flannel shirt. A blue flannel shirt. One that he was pretty sure he let her borrow at some point. But didn't she give back all of his shirts?

He looked away from her and covered his mouth with his hand so she wouldn't see his grin. He really shouldn't be grinning. So she kept one shirt? What did that really mean? It certainly didn't resolve their issues or indicate he had gained back her trust. It was just a shirt.

But he couldn't help but think it was a hopeful sign, whether she intended it to be or not.

He just wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do with that information.

"You know," Lucy said as she folded his blue flannel shirt. She wasn't even trying to hide it. What did that mean? "You didn't used to do your laundry on Sunday nights."

He froze and swallowed thickly. "I, um, never really had a set night before." That wasn't a lie. He did laundry whenever it was necessary and not on a specific night each week.

She looked up from folding the shirt to meet his eyes. "Interesting. But you have a set night now?"

She knew. She definitely knew.

"Well, I-" He cut off his own sentence as he tried to choose his words carefully. He tried to think of any way to state the truth that didn't indicate how truly desperate he was to talk to her but none of the sentences he put together in his head felt right. So after a prolonged silence he decided to go with the truth. "I wanted to spend time with you, and I thought this would be a low pressure way to just...be around you. To talk to you."

She didn't smile at first, didn't react at all really. She bit the inside of her lip and held his gaze for a long tense moment before the corners of her mouth twitched upward and spread into an affectionate smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as the smile grew. Her smile was so beautiful. His chest ached at the sight of it.

God, he wanted to kiss her. He so badly wanted to kiss her. To hold her, to touch her. Anything.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and forced himself to look away from her blinding smile before he did something she wasn't ready for. He looked back up and pointedly avoided her eyes or her smile.

"You started doing laundry on Sunday nights just to talk to me?" Lucy asked.

He nodded. "I did, yeah."

"Okay," she said with a warm smile.

He was about to ask her to clarify that "okay" when she unfolded the flannel shirt and slipped her bare arms in the sleeves. He gulped and scratched the back of his neck nervously. "You, um-are you cold?"

She smirked at him and shrugged. "Not really."

He stared at her in stunned silence for a moment as he tried to find a response. Any response. Any at all. But no words came to him. He couldn't be mistaken about the flirty look in her eyes as she smirked at him. But she hadn't flirted with him in so long. She hadn't gone there and so neither had he. He had to be wrong.

The dryer next to his washing machine buzzed as Lucy picked up her laundry basket and breezed passed him.

"Your colors are dry," she told him. She turned to face him as she reached the door and grinned. "Do you mind letting me know when my whites are done in the washer?"

He shook his head. When he spoke his voice cracked just slightly. "No, I don't mind."

"Great," she said with a soft smile. "And Wyatt?" He met her eyes again and found them just as soft as her smile. "Thank you," she said as her smile and gaze turned shy. "I really appreciate it."

He got the distinct impression that she was thanking him for more than just watching her load of whites. He smiled bashfully at her and shrugged.

"Anything for you, Lucy."

She took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh before nodding and leaving the room.

Once he was alone he was finally able to process what had just happened. Lucy Preston flirted with him by putting on his shirt. Right in front of him and then she smirked at him after like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Maybe, he thought. Maybe she was finally starting to believe in him again. Maybe she was starting to trust that he really would do anything for her.

Like pick a set laundry night for the sake of being near her, for instance.