a/n: Alright, fellow members of the Lyattverse - we've reached the last update for a little while, and I'll just apologize upfront for cutting it here, but vacation is calling! As always, I'm infinitely grateful for your likes & comments :)

The farmhouse should have been Lucy's favorite base of operations to date. It was cozy and quaint, somehow preserving most of its original charm over what she imagined had been a very long lifetime. The attached barn had been converted to store and maintain the Mothership, leaving the bones of the actual house untouched. It was a home, a real one, nothing like the utilitarian steel traps she usually found herself in.

Unfortunately, the concept of cozy and quaint basically translated into house arrest now. Wyatt wanted as little to do with her as possible, and with the small bedrooms crowding on top of an even smaller bathroom, as well as having their whole supply of food and drink stored in a cramped runway of a galley kitchen, there was no escaping each other. And of course that meant Emma had chosen to take an ill-timed sabbatical for God knows what reason, leaving them to unwillingly bump shoulders for days on end without reprieve.

It wasn't long before Lucy was sneaking out as often as possible, indulging in the nameless green hills and big skies of their current location, even straying as far as a small produce stand down the road where she did nothing but browse clusters of bright flowers and rows of shiny apples. She wasn't foolish enough to think her unsanctioned getaways went unnoticed. Twice she came back to a disapproving scowl from Wyatt, the fumes of his anger - and his fear - channeling prominently through his clenched jaw, but he said nothing. No warnings, no appeal to her better judgement. He kept his opinions on a rigorously tight leash.

That was how she knew the degree to which she'd really left her mark this time. When Wyatt was too pissed off to lecture her about safety…? Yeah, there was really no bouncing back from that, was there? She'd done it. She'd finally pushed him beyond the point of arguing. He still wanted to, that much was obvious. But he wouldn't do it, wouldn't actually launch into hyper-protective mode, and that meant it was only a matter of time before the instinct wore off altogether. She was finally free of his smothering influence.

It was an empty victory. As empty as prevailing over a bloodthirsty terrorist just to watch a greater evil spring up in his place. Empty like leaving Emma to meander indefinitely in the past, but still having no idea how to reverse what she'd done to Amy. About as empty as being loved by Wyatt Logan for less than twenty-four hours before losing him to Jessica in as much time as it took to receive a single text message.

The dreams wouldn't let up, though, and they weren't just dreams either. Every pent-up flex of his arm sent her into overdrive. His balled up clothes in the laundry basket smelled so potently of him - pine, spice, whatever was so intrinsically Wyatt - that she could hardly bear to go through and sort out her own things to wash. She couldn't avoid it, could still smell him even when she broke free of the house and tried to lose herself in the vivid scent of fresh grass and wide fields. Just watching his hands wrap around a coffee cup in the mornings, or the outline of his pensive profile as he stoked the logs in the fireplace at night…

Yet another reason to wander off whenever she could get away with it. They were at an impasse, a deadlock of wills, because there was no part of her that could fully label Texas as a mistake. She'd stood at the threshold of his bedroom for a reason on that first night back in the present. Where her heart ceased to function, her body had taken over, whispering with the enticement that the act itself couldn't do any harm. She could handle another night with him so long as it wasn't serious, but serious was his one nonnegotiable.

So they went on, spinning in circles too wide to be contained within the walls of their current living quarters. He'd practically superglued himself to Jiya's side as the days began to meld together, but it wasn't enough to distract either of them from the tireless ripples of discord that were due to boil over at any given moment. She recognized the restraint that twisted him into excruciating knots. It wasn't hard to spot since she was feeling pretty knotted up herself. There had to be a breaking point eventually, some trivial annoyance that would tip the scales toward a volatile screaming match or...or toward another sort of release, one she still could feel between her legs if she concentrated for long enough, eyes closed and breath shallow as she conjured up the illicit memories that would be better off forgotten.

But no matter how many dark clouds gathered in the horizon of Wyatt's eyes as he watched her from across snugly furnished rooms and dimly lit hallways, the storm never came. It was the alarm in the barn that finally went off instead, snapping Lucy so far out of a preoccupied trance that she cracked the wine glass she held in her hand. Wyatt took stock of the situation from where he stood over the sink, a brow raised in silent observation, but he didn't intervene.

It was by no means a disaster. The flute hadn't shattered fully. She didn't have a mess to tend to, no wine was lost, there was no broken skin or any other pending disaster. The situation was more or less under control, even to someone as accident prone as her.

And yet the sight of Wyatt slinking off to the Mothership without addressing the incident - not even stopping to make a well deserved joke at her expense - had her feeling like a capsized passenger without a life vest.

To hell with that. This was what she'd wanted. Arm's length was where Wyatt belonged. Getting out of this house and going anywhere that wasn't tainted with some memory of an advance, even a failed one, would help to reinforce that fact.

Or so she thought until Jiya called out the coordinates. Texas. They were going to Houston, Texas. It didn't matter that Houston was about as far away from that damn cabin as you could get without leaving the state. It was still Texas, a word that now created a dangerous hum beneath her skin.

Apparently there wasn't a goddamn dinner jacket to be found within a five mile radius. At least that was going to be his excuse when Lucy would inevitably turn up and start bitching his ears off about his random medley of mismatched clothing. Finding pants that even came close to fitting had been the quest of a lifetime, and his shirt and tie combo was a fortunate accident he'd pretty much stumbled upon after striking out at several different stores. This was as prim and proper as he was getting with less than an hour's notice, and she'd just have to deal with that.

Just like he was going to have to deal with her in that dress.

She'd appeared in a careening rush, seemingly unaware of the absolute scene she was causing. Or maybe that was just him, because everyone else in the hotel lobby went on laughing and drinking without interruption even though Wyatt was sure that the ground was about to split open and swallow him whole. Scarlet red fabric floated delicately against her skin, hugged her around the hips and tapered off at the knees, but that was hardly the worst of it. The neckline - if you could call it that, seeing as it touched down nowhere near her neck - fluttered into a low ruffled scoop...a scoop that looked like it needed nothing but a gentle breeze to send it fluttering even lower for a view worthy of a few Mardi Gras beads.

"Ah, hell."

Lucy skidded to a stop in front of him, distracted with the task of checking and rechecking the smooth twist at the top of her head. "Did you say something? It's really loud in here, and I wasn't close enough to hear you."

She was definitely close enough now. And getting closer. Her hand clamped against his bicep as she bent slightly to fidget with the strap of one shoe, then the other. Wyatt had to tear his gaze away as her dress drifted farther from her skin, baring a clear shot to -

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes were rimmed with smoky makeup as she peered up at him, playing perfectly to the dark allure of everything he so desperately wanted. She'd somehow found a way to deepen the attraction that was already unimaginably vast, showcasing everything she held back, the hint of a heart she was so intent on concealing.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly as she released him. He cleared his throat and tried again, grappling for a tone of voice that wouldn't blatantly sell him out. "Give me the rundown on this party again?"

"It was a huge deal when NASA decided to build their new site here in Houston - what we know as the Johnson Space Center, although it's actually called the Manned Spacecraft Center for now. Tonight's reception is a big society thing, an official welcome to the astronauts and their families who've just relocated to the city." She paused to take in the wide scope of their surroundings with an unconcealed appreciation that glittered all over her face. "These NASA couples were like American royalty, overnight celebrities. The eyes of the entire country were on them, but...they were really just normal people with normal problems, barely upholding shaky marriages marked by infidelity, ambition, anxiety...the list goes on."

After nearly a week of not hearing more than a handful of words from her at a time, Wyatt was too carried away by the sound of her voice to really latch on to much of what was being said. She caught him staring without focus and ducked her head with a self-conscious smile. "Wyatt? Are you even listening?"

"NASA, celebrities, fancy party," he croaked out unconvincingly. "Got it."

"Sorry, I know I was kind of rambling. It's just...it bugs me to think that behind all the glamour, these women were burdened with the thankless responsibility of uprooting their lives, their kids, all of it, and starting over again. It didn't matter what they wanted. Their husbands were national heroes, and their careers came first."

His brain was finally cooperating, and with that renewed sense of clarity came a truth he knew too personally. "That's no way to live, at least not for very long. It's why I…"

"Why you what?"

"Why I, um...why I wasn't in any hurry to start a family with Jess," he responded uncertainly, silently berating himself for letting a word of this leave his mouth. "We already had enough to deal with, just us. Adding kids to the mix while I was still active duty...I couldn't see how that would make things any better."

Lucy's expression remained unchanged, but the quick twitch of her eyelashes didn't pass his notice. "Do you regret that now?"

Now? Did she mean the now of right now, the now that included a warped copy of the Jessica he'd once known existing somewhere out there, presumably still wreaking unknown havoc under the banner of Rittenhouse? Or was Lucy referring to the old now, the one he'd actually lived, the godforsaken years he'd spent wallowing alone in his grief?

He went with the easier of those two options, although he was fairly confident his answer would be the same either way. "Trust me, I had no business raising a child after what happened. Not in that frame of mind. That kid would've been scarred for life."

"I'm don't know about that," Lucy said quietly. "Not saying it would have been easy, but...I think you would have pulled it together. You never give yourself enough credit."

The din of clinking glasses and the roar of so many boisterous voices did nothing to rival the much louder clang playing out between Wyatt's ears. How could she turn on a dime like that? He wanted to reach out and touch her just to know that she was real, because that - the sincerity, the reassurance, the wholehearted vote of confidence - was the Lucy Preston he'd fallen for, the one he needed in his orbit even if it was for friendship and nothing else.

That last thought got sidelined real hard when she was jostled by the swelling crowd behind her, propelling her straight into his chest. His arms moved reflexively to keep her against him, and with the crush of Lucy's body pressed tightly to his, friendship could go drown in the nearest ocean.

She peeled herself away from him slowly, a smudge of sheepishness working across her face. "These heels were designed for a woman with a basic aptitude for grace and balance. Obviously I am not that woman."

Wyatt tried to chuckle along with her, but she was carelessly readjusting the side seams of her dress and it was all he could do to keep his gaze aboveboard. Get your damn eyes up, Logan. Up, up, up.

"Hey, looks like they're moving into the ballroom," she whispered near his ear. "That's our cue."

There had been a plan at some point, a reference to the top tier of the ballroom, a secluded bar that should provide a decent view of the activity below. He'd agreed to her idea before they'd split off to find party attire, but now...now the word secluded felt like a curse.

He felt Lucy eyeing him as they approached the stairs, and before he could muster the courage to turn and acknowledge her, she began nervously unloading without any prompting.

"I know this is...we, uh - we're not on great terms right now, so no pressure, but this would really be so much easier if I could…" Lucy gestured at her feet, the railing, him, and then said nothing else, leaving Wyatt to put the pieces together on his own.

"You need an arm?" he asked reluctantly.

"Please?"

There had been another party once, and he'd required no nudge of a request that night. He'd wanted her arm in his even if there had been no necessity for it, although he suspected those shoes had been just as treacherous for her as the ones she wore now. That point was irrelevant. It had just been right in the moment. He'd wanted to be the guy with Lucy Preston on his arm in 1941 and 2018 and wherever else she would allow it. Despite every valid reason he had to know better now, he didn't have a hard time admitting that he still wanted to be that guy.

So he offered, and she accepted. Every step brought a caress of gauzy fabric against his arm, which meant he was the one cursing his lack of a jacket, not her. He'd cuffed his sleeves in an attempt to bring some semblance of decorum to his otherwise incomplete look, exposing his forearm to every swishing touch that came his way. Just another day of disastrously addictive limbo, right?

He was overreacting. He knew he was overreacting. If nothing else, last week's misstep should have absolved him of his vice-like desire for her, so why was he still as jumpy as a virgin in a whorehouse? What kind of unholy exorcism did he have to sign up for to escape the effect she had on him?

The very second Wyatt could reclaim his arm without coming off as a total ass, he did it. He purposely hung back at the top of the staircase, allowing her to go flitting off ahead of him until he could screw his head on right.

It was a fruitless undertaking. Lucy charmed the bartender into keeping an eye out for any of her 'friends' that were still due to arrive. She brushed shoulders with other guests, flawlessly dipping in and out of conversations about cocktails and the space program, trading recipes for egg salad while somehow managing to drop a subtle line about Rittenhouse - an innocent question, a dangling phrase - with every person they encountered. Wyatt wasn't the target of a single cunning move she made, and yet he was helplessly captive to all of it, every smile, every airy laugh, every toss of her head.

He was especially captive to the dress that moved with her throughout, maddeningly flimsy against the all-too accessible curve of her breasts.

"Wyatt," she hummed lightly, long fingers sliding across the tall pub table they currently occupied to touch the back of his hand.

He glanced up sharply, scanning either side of their table in search of a threatening figure or the next victim of their covert cross-examinations.

Lucy slanted herself farther over the tabletop, tapping his hand again to regain his attention. "Relax, okay? You're starting to scare people off."

"I am not."

"You are," she contested with a thinly arched eyebrow pinning him down. "You've been weird all night."

"Can you please just…"

Sit up, he wanted to plead. Please just sit up.

He didn't have to say it out loud. She followed his line of sight when his gaze plunged too low of its own volition. Her mouth parted, surely to deliver the most incensed rant of her life, but the interference of a lovestruck drunk - one she'd already peppered with questions at the bar - saved him from his condemned fate.

Lucy fended her admirer off brilliantly, never quite losing the veneer of polite decorum even as she sent the poor guy on his way...to get her another drink.

"Really?" Wyatt asked as soon as they were alone again. "Reeling him in just to earn yourself a personal waiter? Very classy."

"Like you're one to talk. Enjoying the view tonight, Wyatt?"

She traced a nail along the opening of her dress for what felt like the millionth time, a gesture he'd long ago written off as nervous fiddling, an inadvertent trap she hadn't meant to set.

He had no such convictions now. Maybe this whole routine had been for his eyes only. If she could smooth talk that intoxicated idiot into retrieving her another gin and tonic with so little effort, who was to say she hadn't been working that same angle with him all night? It was hardly the first time that Wyatt wondered if he'd ever really known Lucy at all, but apparently he'd hit his limit. He was hurtling off the edge and there was no safety net to keep him from splattering into pieces at the bottom of this precipice.

"We need to talk," he bit out lethally. "Alone."

"You've had plenty of opportunities to get me alone. A whole week's worth, actually. Why the sudden interest now? Change of wardrobe, perhaps? Were the oversized sweaters not doing it for you back home?"

Wyatt refused to dignify a word of her scornful pushback. He stood with the awful screech of his chair's legs protesting against the floor, his jaw set. "I'm not kidding. Let's go."

"And what, abandon the mission just to - "

His hand closed around her microscopic wrist, prodding her up to her feet. "There is no mission if I can't think straight."

Panic spasmed across her face for only a moment before she stuffed it down into some deep and unfeeling pocket of her soul. "And where exactly are we going?"

"There's an entire hotel on the other side of those doors, right?" he growled in response. "I'm sure there's a lucky room out there just waiting to witness the worst clusterfuck of a relationship this place has ever seen."

Lucy's answering gulp - almost too muffled to be heard, except his ears were fixated on nothing but her - brought him far more cold-blooded satisfaction than what he should have been comfortable with feeling. That was what scared him the most, actually. He might have nothing left but a cold-blooded instinct for anger and isolation if he didn't break through to her. Wyatt hadn't liked himself much before he met Lucy; it made all the sense in the world that he didn't like the person he was becoming without her - the real her - either.