Lucy put her tablet down on the coffee table and pushed her head back against the couch cushions, closing her eyes. A dismayed grunt unintentionally escaped her lips.
"Hey, it's okay," Wyatt began, his voice lined with concern. "I mean—half the stuff Jiya says is just to get Rufus' goat….or my goat….don't let any of that bother you…."
She opened her eyes and smiled. "No—that's all fine. Well, not what I was thinking about, anyway. I was just thinking about," she waved at the tablets on the coffee table, "This, again. All day reading—and I'm still not really any closer to understanding it than when we started. It's frustrating. I know you said just chalk it up to the mysteries of time travel and all….but it's frustrating, nonetheless."
He regarded her for a moment, then gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. "Sometimes….things just don't fit in neat packages….they just aren't meant for us to understand….not right now at least."
She laughed. Trying to imagine those same words coming out of Wyatt Logan's mouth when she had first met him. "Who's sounding all spiritual now?" She gentled her laughter into a small smile. "I know you're right….we can't understand everything. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."
He laughed at that. "Cause it conflicts with your know-it-all title?"
"Maybe a little." She grinned. It felt so good, to be back to this level of comfort with him again.
"Look at it this way—even if we don't understand everything about the writing….I'm sure there's lots about it that you do understand. Maybe some positives you can take out of this whole thing?"
She shrugged. "Sure. I….I like the way the writers….see me. It's nice to think somebody might see me that way….like they do."
He gave her a lazy smirk.
"What?"
"They see you the same way I do, Lucy—in all those different stories, in all those different crazy scenarios, I always recognized you."
"Oh," she replied softly. And although his reply had been sweet-she could feel some of that happy comfort she'd been feeling draining she wasn't quite sure what to do with that information—wasn't quite sure what to do with him saying that information. She could feel her emotions bubbling now, just below the surface, but wasn't sure this was the best time for them to boil over in front of him—not after such a long and strange day. As she was attempting to calm her inner storm, he spoke again.
"One other thing's for sure." He nodded toward the tablets again, "Those writers….they all seem to think we make a pretty good team."
The earnestness on his face when he said it wasn't helping to calm her emotional storm. She bit her lip lightly, still set on the safest course through her personal storm. No way was she entertaining those other thoughts right now. "Right, the Time Team."
"True," he agreed, then turned his body so that he was facing her directly. "But I was meaning more you an' me as a team."
So apparently she was going to be entertaining those thoughts now. She was silent for a second, wheels turning. This could go so badly—and what would she do then? But he was still looking at her with that earnest expression….maybe it was time for a little leap of faith. After all, there was no one she trusted more—if she couldn't have faith in him, then what did that leave her? "You an' me," she repeated.
He nodded in encouragement.
She worried her lip again between her teeth. If he was aware of her anxiety, he wasn't letting on. She steeled herself with a breath, refusing to meet his eyes. "Logan and Preston. Or….what was it they called us?"
"Lyatt," he said with sly grin.
Did he know what he was doing to her when he did that? But she laughed in spite of herself-the tension that had been mounting in her broke just a little-because it was ridiculous to think of them having a couple-portmanteau. "Lyatt. Doesn't exactly role off the tongue." Tension now gone, she raised her gaze to meet his deep blues directly.
He winked at her—Crap, he totally knew what he was doing—and smiled. "I think I could get used to it."
She felt her cheeks warm.
He slid closer to her on the couch, still facing her. And said nothing else. With certainty, Lucy realized that wouldn't say anything else. Because he had already put himself out there, sitting on that grimy floor in the first bunker….and now it was her turn.
"These writers….these complete strangers….they seem pretty certain we can make a go of it."
He nodded.
She took another breath, "And I….we haven't really talked much about….that. Not since…."
"We were visited by our future selves and brought our friend back from the dead?"
"Yeah, not since that."
"I guess we've been busy," he shrugged.
"No," she said, inching closer to him until their knees were touching. "At least that's not why I haven't said anything." She dropped her gaze briefly to her hands, then back to his eyes. "I….I've been avoiding the discussion."
She saw a fleeting look of fear in his eyes at that admission, so she rushed ahead, not wanting him to misunderstand. "I've been avoiding….because it's still hard for me. Not being in control of all the variables." She took a breath, "I get….scared by the what ifs, the possibilities….the potential not-good possibilities of having that talk-"
He cut her off, "I'm scared too….about what happens when we have that talk. I mean, I don't know why you put up with me at the best of times….and I messed things up between us so badly."
She sucked in a breath, and forced herself to look into his now uncertain eyes. "First of all—seems like we're having that talk right now….so I guess both just busted through that fear hurdle. Secondly….things did get….messed up. But that doesn't mean it's permanent. And I understand, why you did the things you did."
He snorted. "You do? Because I'm not sure I do."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You needed to believe in it….in her. Because to see the truth would have been too much, after everything else….would have been too awful. I would have done the same thing in that situation." She watched as he glanced down at his fingers, picking at a thread in the upholstery. "Besides which," she said, her voice becoming more firm—enough so that he brought his gaze back to hers. "Reading some of these stories….it's helped to clarify some things for me—things that I should have done differently during the….Jessica situation too."
"Lucy—don't think like that! You know these stories are likely just crap people have made up, right….mostly? I mean, through that whole thing, you didn't do anything wrong."
"I know that."
He raised his eyebrow in question.
"I didn't do anything wrong, but when I read about some of these things that were definitely not made up by the way….things that I actually said, things that I actually did….well, it became clear to me that I didn't make the situation any easier. That maybe sometimes there were better ways I could have responded." She trailed off, unsure of how to explain to him….but he was still gazing at her, waiting. She sucked in her breath, "I mean….I should have fought harder."
That certainly piqued his interest.
"Fought harder for what?"
"For what I wanted."
"Which is?"
She huffed out a breath. His nearness again affecting her in all kinds of ways that was not making verbal expression easy at this moment. "You've been reading this stuff all day too….I'm sure you know what I'm getting at."
He shrugged easily. "I don't care what this stuff" he indicated the tablets, "Says. I wanna know what you think….what was it you wanted, that you think you should have fought harder for?"
Her eyes darted around the room. Well Preston, you're here now, time to start fighting. Eventually, she pulled her eyes back to him. "You….I mean, us. I should have fought harder for us." The sibilance of the word 'us' hung suspended in the air suspended between them, while she waited for some indication of a response from him.
After what seemed an eternity, he gave what looked like a sad smile.
"I didn't exactly give you an opening, before everything went to hell."
She nodded at him. "No, you didn't."
She saw his jaw set.
"Well, I should have. I should have been more honest with you from the start….honest with myself, about what I was feeling, what I wanted….but it just seemed….wrong, you know? I wanted to do the right thing….but the more I tried the more screwed up things became.
She nodded again.
"I didn't know what to do….my wife….but she wasn't my wife, not really. And not because she was Rittenhouse, not just because of that. A wife is someone you share your life with, and we hadn't….not for six years….and sometimes I felt like I didn't even know her…. The only thing I did know was that….the way it was between me an' her? It was nothing like the way it was between us….I missed you so much." He rubbed his hand against his neck. "But I didn't know how to tell you that….or even if I should."
She smiled at him then, a hope rising in her she hadn't properly allowed herself to acknowledge in months. "I understand better what you were going through now, than before." She grimaced slightly, "But I realize that, even then? I think I…suspected what you were feeling." She worried her lower lip with her teeth. But I didn't know what that would mean-or how to deal with that…. But at the same time, I wasn't sure….so I didn't want to acknowledge it….in case I was wrong….it was easier not knowing, in some ways." She looked at him then, a small smile on her lips. "Though, the whole things probably sounds silly now…. You were pretty clear about your feelings, after….after things went to hell."
He smiled sheepishly. "I'll try to be more clear about my feelings….before things go to hell, in the future."
She couldn't help the grin that played at the corners of her lips at that statement. "That would be nice."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
She sighed, "And I try to be better at doing the same."
He nodded, but she grew concerned as she saw a shadow move across his eyes.
"This….talk we're having," he motioned between the two of them. "This isn't just because of what you read in the stories, is it? I mean, don't let that influence what you think….even if they are writing about other timelines or what they think should happen….doesn't mean you have to go along with it if you don't want. Haven't we always said that if you don't like a future that's been predicted for you, you can rewrite it?"
She grinned at him then. "Sure, but I promise….this isn't about what we've been reading….at least, not just about what we've been reading. I guess….consider the stories more of a prompt for all…." she mimicked his motioning between the two of them, "This. And, the thing is I do like a lot of the possible futures they've written for me, and for us."
"You do?"
She nodded. "I like the 'us' they describe….the same as I liked the 'us' that I thought I saw when we met our future selves. I like that us. I want that us."
He nodded. "Those future versions of us weren't very forthcoming about the state of things between them in their time, were they?"
She chuckled. "Can you blame them?"
"Of course!" his easy smile dropped and he became serious again. "I want all of that too Luce, I want you."
She was pretty sure her insides had melted….with his words, with the look of desire and….love on his face. But something he had said….
"Luce?" she enquired.
"Yeah," he smirked. "Thought I'd try it out….they use it a lot in the stories….and, you know….just on the off chance it's fate or meant to be…." he trailed off. "Truth is, I've been wanting to use it for a long time now, I just never…. Do you hate it?"
She smiled shyly, and nudged his elbow with hers. "No, I kinda like it."
He nudged her elbow back. "I kinda like it too. So….where were we, Luce?"
She sighed, suddenly feeling more serious, and he reached toward her, smoothing an errant hair off of her cheek.
"So much….has happened," she began. "But I also know we can't live in the past. We have to keep looking forward. And I know enough about time….to know I've been ridiculous….wasting a single second of it….because…." she chewed at her lip.
"Because what?" he asked gently.
"Because I love you too."
She watched as the grin spread across his face, lighting his eyes….felt his hand brush up her arm and across her shoulder until it came to cradle the back of her head. There was a pause, and then he moved in, closing the distance between them as she did the same and their lips met-
-The outer door of bunker B slammed, and they startled apart from each other, Wyatt's hand still tangled in her hair as the sounds of Agent Christopher and Flynn bickering about delays in paperwork floated down the hall, getting closer by the second.
Lucy closed her eyes in mild dismay, the irony of time travellers having such bad timings circling through her br in for not the first time.
When she opened her eyes again, it was to see Wyatt smirking at her. "Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere more….private?"
She could feel the silly grin that was spreading across her face. "What did you have in mind?"
He shrugged, "I hear there might be some real grass outside those back doors—grass and sometimes even an actual sun patch."
"A sun patch?" she chuckled.
"M-hm, hear it can grow to be almost four feet wide in the late afternoon."
"Four feet!" she teased, "Sounds practically tropical."
Wyatt jumped to his feet. "What do you think? Carry on this conversation in the tropics ma'am."
She nodded, a slight giggle escaping her lips as she stood and piled the tablets on the coffee table. From the sounds of things, Christopher and Flynn had now taken their argument to the kitchen, and were quite likely headed their way next.
"Let's get out of here before we're asked to take sides in the Flynn-Christopher stand-off."
He nodded and reached for her hand as she placed her own tablet on the top of the uneven stack, her gaze holding on the electronic device longer than she had intended.
"What'cha thinking?" Wyatt asked.
She turned to look at him, about to tell him nothing-but hadn't she just agreed to be more open with him? So she told him. "Honestly, I was thinking about them again….the people who write the stories. I love how they see us….I just….I still can't understand why they write what they do."
Wyatt moved a step closer, lightly gasping her hand, holding it between them, tracing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.
She glanced down at the contact—it had been a long while since he'd done that.
He smiled at her. "Come on Professor-let's go find that sun patch….and talk." The way he squeezed her hand at that comment left no doubt in her mind that this time his version of 'talk' would be of a more….physical nature.
She returned the smile, and nodded, wordlessly.
Hands still joined, they walk toward the back door, the sounds of Flynn and Christopher's argument fading into the distance behind them.
As he opened the door and ushered her through to the exercise yard, Wyatt spoke again, not releasing her hand. "And, I don't know that I can answer your question, ma'am, about why they write."
She looked at him, a small smile on her face.
"Maybe they write for lots of reasons, maybe sometimes for no reason at all….I don't know why they write. But, after today?" he pulled her into his arms, touching her nose with his.
"I just know I'm glad that they do."
A/N: And I'm sure glad that you do, too! Thank you to all the amazing writers in this fandom for sharing your writing gifts and imagination with us!
PS-Sorry about the interrupted kiss and lack of resolution about what happened in the sun patch...but this thing was already too long...and I bet you can all use your imaginations to fill in those Lyatt blanks!
