A/N: So, I just finished THIS ENTIRE FIC. I finished the epilogue about half an hour ago. This story will have a prologue, 16 chapters, and an epilogue. So to celebrate FINISHING THIS BABY I'm posting chapter 12!
Happy reading!
angellwings
Chapter Twelve: Only Human
"I don't want this night to end,
It's closing time so leave with me again,
You've got all my love to spend,
Let's find the place where happiness begins,
We gon' dance in my living room,
Slave to the way you move, hurts when I'm leaving you,
Just dance in the living room, love with an attitude,
Drunk to my lady's groove.
We gon' dance in my living room,
Slave to the way you move, hurts when I'm leaving you,
Dance in the living room, love with an attitude,
Drunk.
It's only human, you know that it's real.
So, why would you fight or try to deny the way that you feel?"
-"Only Human" by the Jonas Brothers
Thursday morning Lucy doesn't even stir when he gets out of bed. He's exhausted too. They wore each other out last night. He takes a shower and dresses, all the while Lucy is dead to the world. His amused eyes find her peacefully sleeping form every chance they get. He wonders what would have to happen for her to wake up when she's this far gone.
He slips downstairs and makes them both coffees. He makes his in the Stanford travel mug she gave him after he visited L.A. that first time. He's used it every morning since. He doubts she knows that. He's a sap and the cup always makes him think of her. He can't bring himself to use another cup. He leaves his in the kitchen, knowing he'll be back for it and then takes hers back to his room.
He sets her mug down on his nightstand and then leans over her. He kisses her forehead and shakes her very gently.
"Morning, Professor."
She groans tiredly and peers at him through squinted eyes. "No," she says with a whine. "It can't be morning already."
He laughs quietly and nods. "Unfortunately, but you don't have to get up," he assures her. "Just didn't want you to wake up and find me gone. I'm leaving for the office. I left you a coffee on the nightstand if you want it, alright?"
She yawns and stretches with closed eyes, arms over her head while her back arches up. The sheet drops from around her, giving him a fresh peek at just how good she looks naked and in his bed. She opens one eye and focuses it on him. When the other eye opens, her stare drags over him. Stopping over his crisp white button up and blue tie.
"Your tie matches your eyes," she says as she absently licks her lips.
He's learned by now what's coming after she licks her chops like that. He straightens up quickly with his hands out in front of him. "Hey, no. Not this morning, ma'am. I have an early meeting that I can't be late for."
She hums thoughtfully and then pulls herself across the mattress. Her hands latch on to his tie to keep him from backing away. "What if I promise to make it quick?"
He shakes his head and smirks knowingly at her. "Even our version of quick isn't quick. You make me lose track of time, and I'm running behind as it is thanks to last night."
She rises up on her knees and then presses her bare chest to his clothed one. Her hands slowly follow the tie up his chest and over his shoulders until her arms wind around his neck. Jesus, this is unfair.
"Come on," she says with an inviting grin. "You won't even have to take off your tie."
"Lucy…" he says in warning. He can already feel all his blood rushing to the wrong place.
"Fine," she says primly. "But you can't leave without a good morning kiss. That's against the rules."
"What rules?" He asks with a playful glare. "We don't have any rules."
"We do," she says with a nod. "I just haven't told you about them yet. Well, really just the one rule. No leaving without a good morning kiss. I feel like that's a pretty reasonable request, Wyatt."
He quirks a brow and tries to hold back a grin. "When you're naked in my bed a kiss isn't a request. It's a trap."
She gasps dramatically and feigns offense. "How dare you. I would never."
He makes a noise that's a combination sigh and chuckle and shakes his head again. She's too smart for him, and she knows exactly what she does to him.
"The longer you resist, the later you'll be," she practically sings. She's beaming at him with an already victorious smile. She knows she has him beat.
"I can't believe I'm letting you get away with this," he tells her. But he's sure his grin contradicts his admonishing words.
She lets out a rare giggle and runs her hands through the hair at the base of his neck. "I'm ready. Lay it on me, Logan."
Lay it on her, he does. She gives as good as she gets, though, and as he predicted quick isn't quick. She does follow through with her promise to leave his tie on, meaning getting dressed after takes barely five minutes. Her kisses remove him from the real world. They always have, dating back to that first elevator kiss. When he finally manages to untangle himself from her and the sheets, she throws on his favorite t-shirt and follows him.
He's not sure what mood she woke up in but he's all for it. She kisses him down the hall, through the living room, and all the way to the garage. He comes very close to giving up and calling in sick, but he wasn't lying before. He actually does have an important meeting this morning. If he hurries he can just barely make it on time.
She stands in the doorway that leads from the kitchen to the garage and waves coyly as he backs out of the drive. He can't decide if she's purposefully taunting him with everything he'll be missing while he's at work. Part of him thinks so but another part of him thinks they both know the week is winding down and they're grabbing every moment they can.
He walks in the conference room door barely five minutes late. Thankfully, Dave was doing a competent job covering for him. Dave gives him a knowing smirk as he steps aside to let Wyatt lead the meeting. It's no coincidence that he's late during the week Lucy's staying with him and both he and Dave know it.
When the meeting's over, Dave follows him to his office with a chuckle.
"Lucy still enjoying the spoils of her victory last night?"
"Let's just say she woke up in an extremely good mood this morning," Wyatt replies, grinning.
"I bet," Dave says through a snort.
"Is this really happening?" Wyatt asks Dave as the disbelief hits him again. "I mean, last night went as well as I thought it did, right? My friends and my girlfriend spent a whole evening together and still like each other?"
"Were you expecting it to go badly?" Dave asks.
"I don't know. Things have just seemed very one step forward, one step back with me and Lucy so far. Last night felt like several steps forward and so far there hasn't been a step back. I think it's that whole prepare for the worst, hope for the best thing. It's not that I expected it to go badly but I was prepared for it just in case," Wyatt answers as he sits down behind his desk.
"Cautiously optimistic," Dave clarifies. "That makes sense. But take it from me, one of the people you were worried about, last night went exceptionally well. She fits in the group, man. Everybody liked her, even Emma. How did she feel about it?"
"Great," he says while smiling broadly. "Apparently she and Jess had a good talk? I think she didn't tell me much about it out of respect for Jess, but it brought on an interesting discussion when we got home last night. A positive one."
"You guys talked about bridging the distance yet?" Dave asks with a quirked brow.
"Not yet," he says as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. "Last weekend was bumpy for us. We worked it out, but I'm just trying to enjoy the high of that for a little while. I'm sure I'll bring it up before she goes back to L.A."
"You'd better," Dave says sternly. "Don't let it go too much longer."
It's good advice. Advice that he knows he should take. Maybe over dinner tonight.
The rest of the day passes slowly. He loves his job, but it's safe to say he loves Lucy more so trying to finish his day knowing she's waiting on him at home is painful. He does eventually make it back home and Lucy is still flying high on her good mood. She's had a productive day of writing on top of that so she's practically buzzing when he finds her in her spot on the window seat.
"Let's go out," she says brightly while she attacks him with a bone crushing and enthusiastic welcome home hug. "I'll treat. Somewhere nice. Wait! I know just the place."
He's caught in Hurricane Lucy and there's no way he's saying no. He does convince her to go fifty-fifty on the meal, though. She directs him to a restaurant he's never been to before. It's a steakhouse. She eagerly drags him inside where they see a hostess for a table.
Once they're seated in a small corner booth, she scoots closer to him and takes his hand.
"This was my dad's favorite place," she reveals with a nostalgic smile. "We used to come here every father's day and for his birthday. I haven't been here in ages."
She's mentioned her father a few times now and every time warmth radiates off of her. She doesn't have a positive relationship with her mother but her father must have been different. He knows her father passed, but she's never said when or how.
"What was he like?" Wyatt asks. "Your dad?"
She chuckles and thinks for a moment before she answers him. "The complete opposite of my mother. Unfailingly supportive. Always there, whether we needed him or not. The worst at jokes. I mean truly horrible at them. He would get the punchline all twisted around. You laughed more at him trying to tell the joke then the actual joke. He was, though, the best at puns. Where mom was like this distant superhero, dad was approachable and warm." She drifts off for a moment and hears a soft sniffle.
He's quick to squeeze her hand and wrap an arm around her shoulders. The smile she gives him is open but a little sad.
"I don't think a day goes by that I don't miss him. He made us a family and when he died our family went with him. Mom was never the same after that. I think he made her less severe. He made sure she lightened up, but with him gone she had no one to do that for her so she just...dove into work. And later, she buried herself in trying to mold me in her image."
She takes a deep breath and leans into his side. He asked one question and he's a little thunder struck at the result. She's laying it all out there for him. He's jealous of her easy ability to be vulnerable.
"As bad as it was for me, it was worse for Amy. She was eleven. She went into her most impressionable years with just mom, and mom was less than interested in the things Amy liked. I spent more time with her in high school than my actual classmates simply because I felt like she needed someone. But I'm glad for it. If it weren't for that, I don't think we'd be as close as we are." When she finishes she lets out a shaky breath and sweeps her head from side to side. "I really didn't mean to say all of that. I'm sorry."
"No. No apologies. I told you a while back that If you want to tell me then I want to hear it and that's still true," Wyatt assures her. "And, for the record, your dad sounds great. I think I would have liked him."
"I hope you would have. I know he would have liked you," Lucy says with a broad smile.
"Yeah? Why do you think that?" He asks curiously.
"Because he always told us to find someone who would make us happy and you make me very happy," she confesses as she closes the distance between them for a sweet chaste kiss. "For that alone, he would have loved you as much as I do."
His heart fills to the brim with unending affection for her the second the words leave her mouth. How could he have gone his whole life without her? It seems unfair that the only family they have left for the other to meet is less than desirable. He's known one thing from the moment they met. It lingered just under the surface of his other thoughts every time he looked at her. From the minute she told him she thought his chosen endearment of "babydoll" was infantile.
"My grandpa would have adored you," he says with a chuckle. "He would have called you a spitfire and told me I'd be crazy to let you get away. He had a thing for feisty women."
"Oh really?" Lucy asks with a proud grin.
He nods. "My grandmother being the feistiest."
"Oh, I see," she replies with a laugh. "He liked women who reminded him of her."
"That he did, and you remind me of her so I know he would have been crazy about you," he admits.
Lucy looks pleasantly surprised and blushes lightly. "I remind you of your grandmother?"
"She had patience, compassion, and forgiveness in spades," Wyatt informs her. "All things you also have. Plus, the attitude. Yeah, you definitely remind me of her."
The waiter comes over and asks for their drinks and appetizers and leaves again. They take a moment to decide on their entrees so they'll know when he comes back, but their conversation doesn't stall.
"Tell me about your Grandfather," Lucy requests softly.
"What do you want to know?" He asks.
"Whatever you feel like sharing," she replies with a kind smile. "No pressure, Wyatt. I could be small, it could be huge. Whatever you want."
He says the first thing that comes to mind. "I enlisted because of him."
She doesn't look surprised. "That first morning we spent together, you said something about overcoming fear by trying to make the people you care about proud. I thought then that you were talking about someone specific," she admits. "So, that makes sense."
She remembers what he said the first morning they woke up together? He's touched their conversation about fear stuck with her. It stuck with him too.
"I wanted to do something important. Something that would matter. I could have stayed in Texas probably become a mechanic but that would have been too easy. I wanted a challenge," Wyatt tells her. "My whole life he told me stories about fighting Nazis and saving the world from war. The man would rather cut himself shaving than read any classic literature but he would wax poetic about the guys he served with and the pride he felt to fight for people who couldn't fight for themselves. It stuck with me. The only subject that interested me in school was history, especially when we talked about military history. That was all because of him. So, yeah, when it came time to figure out what I was going to do with my life, that felt right and it had the added bonus of making him so damn proud. My dad didn't give a shit, but Sherwin...Sherwin liked to brag."
Wyatt can feel water gathering in his eyes as he remembers his grandfather's face the day he told him he joined up. It's a memory Wyatt will cherish for as long as he lives.
"He helped me find a purpose — a positive contribution I could make in the world. I don't know exactly what I would be without him but I know I'd be miserable," He says as he meets Lucy's eyes. Her eyes are as watery as his own. She can tell exactly what Sherwin meant to him. She feels it with him. "Just wish he could have seen where I ended up. He would have been tickled pink about Delta Force."
"I'm sure he is," Lucy says comfortingly. "I'm a firm believe that the people we love never really leave us. So, he knows. Where ever he is."
He's never been religious but, as with most things, if Lucy says it then he believes it. She always says what she thinks with such conviction. In fact, he stops to gives himself a moment to take in his surroundings and when he does he finds he almost feels as if Sherwin's right there with him. As if he's sitting next to him, enjoying Lucy's supportive smile just as much as Wyatt.
"Well," Lucy says with a soggy chuckle. "Now that we're both crying, let's change the subject."
He lets out a muted laugh and then leans forward to kiss her temple. "Thanks for listening, ma'am."
"Anytime, Soldier," she replies with a contented sigh.
The waiter comes back with their drinks and the appetizer they ordered. They put in their order for their entrees. He goes away again and conversation moves on.
"How's the book going?" Wyatt asks.
"Good! I'm on the last chapter which is a relief. That should give me enough time to give it to my editor for at least one proofread before the semester starts," Lucy replies with a relieved exhale.
Speaking of the semester, now would be a good time to ask what happens when her classes start back. Just as he's about to fire away, Lucy gasps and hides her face in his shoulder.
It's so similar to her reaction to Jonas that he assumes the dickwad is sharing their space again. His arm tenses around her and somehow she knows what he's thinking.
"No," she whispers. "Not Jonas. My—my mother. She just walked in. Oh god, I cannot do this with her tonight. Not after Jonas two nights ago."
"Which way did the hostess take them?" Wyatt asks.
"Right in my line of sight," Lucy says with a groan.
His corner faces away from that direction. It would hide Lucy from view. He stands and steps out of the booth. "Slide over," he tells her. "Take my spot."
She understands what he's doing and the relief that floods her body is palpable. She does as he asks and then he takes her spot. There's no reason her mother will recognize him.
"Thank you," she says gratefully. "I know I must seem like a big chicken but this week isn't about her or my past. It's about us and honestly Jonas was enough humiliation for one week."
"Professor, trust me when I tell you I do not think you're a chicken. I get it," he encourages. "If my dad were to walk through that door right now I would duck under this table so fast you'd barely see it."
She sighs tiredly and gives him a wan smile. "That makes me feel better and yet also very sad."
His resulting chuckle is soft and muffled against her lips as he swoops in for a quick kiss. "It'll be fine," he tells her. "We'll just lay low and mind our own business."
"Ugh," she says with a miserable noise he can't label. "This is why I've been avoiding Palo Alto and Stanford and San Francisco. The risk of running into her or Jonas is unbearable. Or it was—until you. I risk it for you. But the minute we leave your house I feel anxiety crawling under my skin — like I should be looking over my shoulder."
His heart sinks at that admission. Any hope he has of her moving back to San Francisco evaporates. Los Angeles it is then. Maybe he can run security for Mason from the new L.A. office? Make the occasional day trip to Palo Alto for meetings? Or do video conferences? People do that kind of thing all the time now, right? It will be hard, at first, leaving his friends, but it doesn't mean he won't ever see them. Holidays and the occasional weekend wouldn't be out of the question.
"Wyatt? Earth to Wyatt?"
He shakes himself out of his spiraling plans and blinks at her. "Sorry! What did you say?"
"Are you okay?" Lucy asks with a furrowed brow.
"Oh! Yeah, fine. I didn't mean to space out."
"Don't worry about it," she says dismissively. "You're sure you're okay?"
He nods and then brings her hand to his lips. "Never better."
Lucy is cagey for the rest of dinner. Her deliriously good mood from earlier has died and what remains is paranoid glances around the dining room as if she expects her mother to pounce on them at any moment. She doesn't. When they finish eating and they've paid the bill, Wyatt tips the waiter a little extra so he'll lead them out the back entrance which is in the opposite direction of Carol Preston.
"How you doing over there, Luce?" He asks as they walk toward his car, hand in hand.
"Disappointed in myself, mostly. For hiding," she says with a sigh. "I wish I could just not care. I mean, I know I'll have to face her again someday. It's inevitable." She briefly goes quiet before she whispers one final word. "Inescapable."
"What do you think's going to happen when that time comes?" He asks rhetorically. He powers through to keep her from answering him. He knows what she's afraid will happen, but he also knows it won't. "Do you think she's going to say some magic spell that puts you back in her sway? Lucy, you know what you want now and who you are. Just because you'll have to face her, doesn't mean she'll win. You're stubborn as hell, ma'am. She can't make you do anything you don't want to do."
"She knows all my weaknesses, Wyatt. She's been using them against me as far back as I can remember," Lucy says sadly.
"Yeah, and now you know that. You're wise to whatever game she's playing. The next time won't be like all the other times. You see her for what she is now. You can move on," he says as he squeezes her hand and then pulls her into his side with an arm around her shoulders. "Nothing ahead but the open road."
"An open road," Lucy says with a contemplative expression. "That sounds nice. Like freedom."
"You're not trapped, Lucy," he assures her. "Maybe it feels that way to you, but you're not. You've stood up to her twice already. You can do it again — and again, and again until whatever she thinks of you never even crosses your mind. If you can rip Jonas the Jagoff a new one as savagely as you did the other night then you can handle your mother." He kisses the top of her head and hugs her to him. "I believe in you."
She huffs out a hopeless breath and rests her head on his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad someone does."
He bites back his own tired sigh as they reach his car. He's not sure what to say. She's so down that he doesn't think anything will encourage her right now. The fact of the matter is, she's stronger than she knows. He can't make her see that. She has to discover that for herself.
She's quiet on the ride home, but she doesn't shrink away from him. Her hand stays put on his thigh even while she stares forlornly out the passenger side window. She's so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn't see the idiot who tries to merge over into the lane with Wyatt right next to him. Wyatt suddenly swerves over into the empty lane, curses, and honks at the negligent driver in the neighboring lane.
Lucy jumps out of her skin. She yelps as her head hits the low ceiling of his car and the seat belt digs into her chest.
"Jesus," Wyatt says as he looks over at her worriedly. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't answer him. She's gone rigid and silent. Her eyes are unfocused and her breathing is labored. Shit.
"Lucy?" Wyatt asks tentatively.
It isn't until her hands start clawing at her chest that he realizes what's happening. She's full on panicking in his passenger seat. Her face has gone ashen and even in the dark of the night he can tell her lips are a little blue.
Dread. There's a solid ball of dread in his gut.
"Fuck, okay, hold on. I'm pulling over. Breathe, Professor. You gotta breathe for me, okay?"
He miraculously manages to find enough shoulder to pull off the road. He's out of the car and running to the passenger side as fast as he can. When he opens her door and undoes her seat belt he gets his first good look at her in the street lights. She's terrified and not completely present. He knows exactly what this is and it's not your average panic attack.
He grabs her face and places himself directly in her line of vision, kneeling next to the car.
"Lucy, we're okay," he says soothingly. "Nothing happened. An idiot just swerved into our lane. You're not in danger, you're not hurt. You have to breathe or you'll pass out."
She takes in one deep ragged breath and his heart unclenches.
"Good, that's good. Okay, now breathe out."
It comes out thin and shaky but at least it comes out.
He nods and then breathes in again. Holding her gaze and hoping she'll mimic him. He keeps that process going until her color returns and her lips look like their normal shade of dusty pink.
The minute she's breathing normally she lets out a shuddering sob and nearly falls out of the seat. He catches her and sinks down on the ground with her craddled in his lap. He presses his lips to her forehead and keeps them there as he whispers heartfelt words and runs his fingers through her hair. She's holding onto him desperately. She's not locked up in panic anymore, but this moment is still gut wrenching. He has no idea where she went or what memory was triggered that trapped her in her own mind. But something did.
Something awful.
Something she probably avoids thinking about at all costs.
She composes herself just enough to lift herself off his lap and stand on shaky legs. He stands with her, bracing her with his arms just in case.
"I—we can't stay here," she tells him on a wobbly breath. "We...we should go."
"Are you sure?" He asks in concern. "Are you okay to get back in the car?"
"I have to be. I'm not staying out here on the side of the road looking like a basketcase," she says as her expression begins to crumple.
"Luce," he says as he sucks in a wince. "You're not a basketca—"
"Please, Wyatt. Let's just go home."
He swallows back the rest of his sentence, drops a kiss to the crown of her head, and nods. He waits for her to settle herself, uneasily, in the passenger seat and shuts the door as gently as possible. While driving, he's hyper aware of Lucy's reaction to every turn, lane change, or other car. She tenses at every tiny movement.
Once the car is parked in the garage, she bolts out of it and waits by the locked door that leads to his kitchen. He hopes it's the car she's trying to get away from and not him.
The minute they get inside she throws her bag down on the kitchen counter and grabs an open bottle of wine from his fridge. He starts to reach for a glass but it turns out to not be necessary. Lucy would much rather take a swig directly from the bottle.
She's had a third gulping sip before he decides to intervene.
"Alright, slow it down," he says with a furrowed brow, reaching for the bottle.
She reluctantly lets him take it and then runs a trembling hand through her hair.
"I'm sorry," she says, breathing slowly and deliberately. "I know I scared you."
"The last thing I want right now is an apology," Wyatt tells her with a huff. She apologizes entirely too much. Did her mother instill that in her? He sincerely hopes he never has a chance to be face to face with Carol Preston. "You scared me, yes, but it's not as though you could help it. What happened?"
"The other night at poker, do you remember me saying I'm claustrophobic?" She asks in a small voice.
He nods. "Yes, I do."
"I haven't always been that way." She sniffles and toes off her heels, leaning against his kitchen counter for support. "I was in an accident in college. A car accident. There was an oil slick and I ran off the road...into a lake."
He sets the wine bottle aside and takes several steps closer as she continues to explain. Holy shit. The way she starts the story tells him this isn't going to be your average accident. This is no fender bender.
"I haven't had an attack like that in a very long time," she says as her eyes visibly water. "I—I was already feeling metaphorically claustrophobic thanks to the near run in with my mother and then when the car swerved and the seatbelt constricted—all of a sudden I was feeling actually claustrophobic." She rests one hand on her forehead and another on her chest, trying to continue to breathe. "And then I was back there again. The—the water was rising up my legs and the door was j-jammed and then the seatbelt…." Her sentence fades as her hand motions across her chest.
Her breathing becomes thin again, as if she's sucking through a straw. There's nothing that can stop him from pulling her into his arms. Her tears are falling freely now and he needs to have her close. He's also hoping having her against his chest as it rises and falls in even breaths will keep her from spiraling any further into more panic. There's a lingering beat of silence where only the sounds of her breathing and sniffling echo in his kitchen. Once she's calm again, she continues.
"I couldn't get out of the car. I tried. I really tried. The water was up to my chin and, just as I took what I was convinced would be my very last breath, the window was broken, my seatbelt was cut and someone was pulling me out." Her arms wrap around him, firmly, as she seeks any strength he can offer. "A stranger just happened to stumble across me. He jumped in and pulled me out. I—I shouldn't be here right now. If not for him I wouldn't be. It's amazing that there was another person out there at all. It was late and no one knew I was coming home to see mom. If he hadn't shown up then no one would have noticed I was missing for several more hours."
"Right place, right time," Wyatt says as he rubs his hands over her arms, comfortingly.
"I feel like it was more than that," she says quietly. "I was about to do something impulsive and I think some higher power was course correcting me. Or maybe just testing me."
Something impulsive? Oh. One of the other things that came out at poker night, maybe?
"Was that...was that when you nearly dropped out to tour with a band?" She nods weakly but he can't help his grin. Imagining a nervous Lucy Preston, driving home to defy her mother has him envisioning her practicing a speech while she drives. It's cute, but also likely the reason she never saw the oil slick. "You were driving home to tell your mom you were dropping out."
"Which never happened because of the accident. Mom showed up at the hospital to pick me up and started scolding me for driving so late and not paying close enough attention to the road. In the middle of all of it, she called me foolish and I realized that's exactly what I was being," she admits with a muted sigh. He reads more of that disappointment in herself from earlier that evening in her eyes. "I worked my entire life to get to undergrad at UCLA and I had a whole plan ahead of me. I couldn't give up in the middle of phase one. That would be rash and impractical, and Prestons are neither of those things. And then I thought, if history was meant to happen exactly as it happened then the accident was a key part of my history." She pulls back to meet his gaze, looking frustrated with her younger self, and he sees the history lecture coming. "Like how Washington was meant to get dysentery and be left behind before the Battle of Monongahela. If he hadn't been late to the battle, he likely would have never rallied the troops and saved his reputation."
Wyatt narrows his eyes thoughtfully at her with a warm smile. "The French and Indian War, right?"
"Right," she says with an impressed glance. Her lips part just slightly and her eyes darken minutely. "You weren't kidding, you do know your military history."
"Washington was the soldier of soldiers. It's hard not to pay attention to that kind of military career," Wyatt replies sheepishly. "So, in your mind the accident was your bought of dysentery?"
"Figuratively speaking, yes," she answers with a grimace. "At least that's what I told myself at the time. Now I see it for what it was."
"And what do you see it as?"
"Letting my mother steamroll me, like I always do."
No, she doesn't always do that, but making Lucy believe that is near impossible. The way she sees herself is so ingrained that it will take a damn good argument to change it.
And he might have one.
"Okay, but what if it wasn't pre-ordained?" He asks. "What if it was just a series of choices? I mean the accident could have just as easily pushed you in the other direction, couldn't it?"
"I suppose," she says with a skeptical expression.
"What if your mother's opinion of you had less to do with your decision than you think?" He hates the way she remembers being called foolish or the way she seems to think occasionally being rash and impractical is patently wrong. He knew she'd been young at the time and still very much under the influence of her mother, but that stuck with her for a reason.
"What do you mean?" Lucy asks, confused.
"If you really wanted to pursue music, you would have," he tells her. "You would have fought for it or found some other way to pursue it. Even back then. But you didn't. So maybe choosing history wasn't about your mother or whatever bullshit plan she had for you. Maybe it was about you."
He can't imagine a world where Lucy Preston doesn't gush about Judith Campbell or George Washington. She glows when she talks about history. It's one of the many things he loves about her.
"I've seen you talk about it, Professor. Just a second ago, in fact. You love history. Even I can see that you truly feel it's your purpose. Just because you didn't stick to your plan to drop out doesn't mean you caved to your mother's whim. Maybe it seemed like that at the time, but wanting the same thing as your mother, even for a short while, doesn't mean you let her dictate every choice you made."
"You're saying…." She looks at him expectantly as if she truly doesn't understand where he's going with any of this.
He sighs and targets her with a a resigned but mirthful stare. He grips her chin, tenderly, and runs his thumb across her bottom lip. The confounded look on her face makes him want to kiss her more than it probably should.
"I'm saying, you've been writing your own story all along. You just didn't know it."
He can tell the thought that she might have chosen history for herself never once occurred to her. Her face pinches, very slightly, and her eyes bore into his.
"You really think so?" She asks.
He shrugs. "It's not about what I think. It's about what you think. But, consider this, you could have gone after both dreams at once. You are more than capable of multitasking. But you didn't. You focused everything you had on history. All you've done, all you've accomplished, would you trade it to go back and go on that tour?"
"No, never," Lucy replies immediately.
"Then I think you have your answer."
"How have I never considered that?" She asks him with a bewildered face.
He chuckles. "Because you're Lucy Preston and you don't see how truly amazing you actually are. It's cute and a little frustrating. That's alright, though, I'm happy to keep reminding you whenever you need it." This time he gives in to his urge to kiss her, but keeps it brief. "And as for the accident itself. You weren't foolish. You had an important decision to make and you wanted to talk to someone important to you. Accidents happen. That's why they're called accidents. You made it through it, Luce. You walked away from it and then became the resilient woman you are now. That's what matters. Those are the facts. Don't let your mother twist them around on you."
"You honestly believe that, when I run into her again, I can stand up to her?"
He presses his forehead to hers and nods. "You already have, ma'am. You told me all about it."
"Yeah, but afterwards she—"
"She pressed an obvious button. It was a low blow, sure, but did you cave? Did it make you change your mind?"
"...no."
"Then whatever she said afterward doesn't matter. Her opinion on your life doesn't matter. Not as long as you're happy with your choices," Wyatt assures her. He takes a deep nervous breath, calming his own nerves as he asks his next question. "Are you...happy?"
She doesn't answer. Instead she pulls him in for a whopper of a kiss. She extends onto her toes to get a better grip around his shoulders and deepen it. He decides to help her out and lifts her to sit on his kitchen counter. When they finally pull apart her face is flushed, her pupils are blown, and her lips are swollen.
"Yes," she answers confidently with a blinding smile. "I'm happy, Wyatt. I'm happier than I've ever been."
He releases a relieved breath he didn't know he was holding and beams back at her. "Me too."
Her hands idly card through his hair as he stands between her knees. She bites her bottom lip and then locks her hungry gaze onto his.
"This is cozy," she says while she wraps her legs around him.
"Are you getting ideas, Professor?"
She laughs softly and then bumps her nose against his. "When it comes to you, I always have ideas."
"Care to share them with me?" He asks as he trails his hands up the outside of her thighs.
"I think I would rather you try and guess," she answers with a dangerous twinkle in her brown eyes. "Let's see if you're as good at reading my thoughts as I think you are."
Oh, he can think of a few worthwhile guesses. Starting with removing her dress and ending with him having her right here on the kitchen counter. In the end, he assumes he guesses correctly. She's a little too dazed and sated to tell him otherwise.
He drops a kiss to her shoulder as she leans into him to catch her breath. "We very rarely seem to make it to the bed."
"We made it to the bed this morning," she counters, drowsily.
"Try again. That doesn't count," he says as he playfully squeezes her waist.
"Why not?"
"Because we were already there. Or you were, at least."
"I mean, if you'd rather not have me in every room of your house then—"
"Woah, hey, that is not what I'm saying," he says quickly, reversing course.
She lets out an adorable sunny laugh and softly caresses her hands up and down his back. "Good, because I was thinking we'd try the office tomorrow night."
"Jesus, I love you and your brilliant brain," he replies as he thinks about her spread across the window seat with her laptop on her thighs. That image has always appealed to him, but laying her down on that window seat, with his weight against her, also sounds pretty damn appealing.
"I love you too," she replies, turning her head slightly to place a few kisses to his jawline. "I'm assuming that's a yes?"
"Hell yes, it's a date. I'll meet you at the window seat after I get home from work tomorrow," he answers eagerly.
She giggles before gently biting his ear. "It seems I'm not the only one with ideas."