Because I love S1 Lyatt, and because the break in episodes for Christmas/New Year was only one off from being directly after 'Bonnie and Clyde'. So pretend it was. Vaguely inspired by the lyrics of 'Christmas Wrapping' and 'It Must Have Been the Mistletoe'.
Whatever you do or don't celebrate in December/January, I hope you have/had a good one, and here's hoping 2022 is finally better than 2020/2021… :\
(PS - this is mostly unbetaed, so forgive mistakes/repeated phrasing!)
Wyatt surveyed the parking lot as the pinks and oranges of sunset were beginning to glow in the distance. Not too crazy, he surmised. Nothing like the absolute horror that had been Target, and then Kohl's when Target had been out of what he'd needed. No way in hell had he been about to brave the Safeway in the same shopping center as the other stores after those two experiences. But, of course, the pain and suffering of the earlier ventures would all be in vain if he didn't just suck it up and go into some grocery store.
Thankfully, his guess seemed to have been correct; the standalone Safeway closer to central Palo Alto didn't have quite the insane throngs of last-minute shoppers as the one near the mall had.
So he slid his Jeep into a spot at the edge of the lot and headed inside, hoping that the universe would take pity on him and just have what he needed so he could get in and out quickly. Especially considering that he'd barely convinced himself all this was worth it in the first place. He probably shouldn't have even bothered…
They did, at least, have both meats, which was the most important part (not that he actually needed to eat multiple pounds of beef and pork on his own, but… whatever). So, with those in his cart, glanced down at his phone, where he'd compiled the list of everything else he'd need for the recipes. Neither of which would work if he didn't find some semblance of the right combination of spices. So he was off to the baking section next.
Where, because he was double-checking his list as he turned down the aisle, he managed to narrowly miss hitting another shopper dawdling in front of the same shelves of spices that he needed.
"Sorry," he mumbled, re-directing his cart around hers.
"Oh, sorry, it's oka- Wyatt?"
He jerked his head up at the sound of that voice. Lucy.
And indeed it was. Right there in front of the oregano and cayenne pepper and thyme was Lucy.
Lucy, who he hadn't seen since they'd gotten back from their adventure with Bonnie and Clyde a couple weeks ago.
Lucy, who he'd kissed. And cuddled. And lain in bed next to.
Lucy, who he'd liked doing those things with far more than he should have.
But also Lucy, his perfectly nice co-worker who happened to be standing in the same grocery store aisle as he was, on the evening of Christmas Eve. So with a shrug, he forced a grin, and replied, "Guilty. Hey. Merry Christmas?"
"Hi," Lucy said with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. "You too," she murmured reflexively. And then nothing.
Which wasn't quite like her, so Wyatt tried to spur on a little more conversation, maybe draw out a real smile. Or at least the reason for a lack of one. Nodding at her cart, he asked, "Your mom send you out to get last-minute stuff?"
She just let out a little snort and shook her head. "No, she's at her cousin's place in Connecticut. Apparently, we fly there every year," she added with a wry smirk. "Except we don't," she sighed. "Or I don't. We never did, back-"
"-in the original timeline," Wyatt finished, the implications of the altered history of Lucy's family finally sinking in. Her first Christmas without Amy. Shit. He'd just assumed that Rufus had his family, Lucy had her mom… Except she didn't. Not really. And he'd just rubbed it in by asking. Idiot.
"Right," Lucy confirmed. "So… I didn't go. I mean, I couldn't anyway, with, you know – Flynn. But even if I could have… No."
But, Wyatt recalled, a sour taste in his mouth at the thought, her mother wasn't the only person in Lucy's life. "What about the fiancé?" he asked, only half-successful at keeping the disdain from his voice.
He was more relieved than he should have been when Lucy snorted in response. "God, no," she scoffed. "I can't- I can't keep doing… whatever… with him. Definitely not spending the holidays together."
Wyatt tried to ignore the tiny wave of relief those words sent washing over him. It didn't work, and he definitely still glanced down as discreetly as he could to confirm the lack of engagement ring on her finger. No ring.
Not that it mattered…
So he shook his head to refocus as Lucy continued. "I was just going to sit at home alone and ignore everything Christmas."
A sentiment that Wyatt could wholeheartedly relate to. Once his mother and grandmother were both gone, there wasn't all that much left in the holiday for him. Grandpa Sherwin had tried, on some level, but it hadn't been the same for him either, without Grandma. Then Wyatt had tried to have a couple festive years with Jess in there, but he'd still been deployed over the holidays more often than not. The one or two years he had been at home later on, things were already… not great… between them, so he didn't exactly have any great memories to cling to from then. After Jess? He'd definitely made sure he'd been deployed. And thus distracted.
Until this year.
Freakin' Flynn had gotten the key from Bonnie and they hadn't heard a peep from him in nearly two weeks. So instead of chasing him on missions – which would have been a good distraction from all the Christmas crap – Wyatt was stuck trying to, as Lucy said, just ignore the whole thing. Aside from using it as an excuse for the food…
Except, he realized, Lucy had made it sound like ignoring things had gone by the wayside for her. "'Was'?" he asked.
Lucy let out a defeated sigh. "My mom decorated anyway – some party she had last week – so it's hard to just… ignore," she explained with a sheepish shrug. "And I ended up thinking about my sister, and, I don't know, figured I could make some of the things she liked for Christmas. Even though she's not here. Thus my last minute quest for cream of tartar," she added, gesturing to the shelf next to them.
Which was not something Wyatt was familiar with, and his confusion must have showed on his face.
"For snickerdoodles," Lucy clarified. For emphasis, she plucked said little container from the rack of spices and tossed it in her cart. "I don't know what else you use it for," she said, shooting him a wan smile, "but they need it. And we didn't have any."
Not really thinking about it, Wyatt peered down at where she'd tossed the container. And was surprised, and a little confused, to see an array of cheeses. He was hardly a connoisseur of… snickerdoodles… but he was pretty sure they were cookies. Weren't they? "I don't remember them having cheese…" he pointed out, wrinkling his nose.
Lucy just smiled weakly again. "She also always wanted macaroni and cheese instead of potatoes for Christmas dinner," she explained with a sigh. "And not even the real kind – she wanted the boxed stuff with neon orange powder. When she was little. When she got older, she started making it herself, the real thing, with crazy combinations of different kinds of cheese. So…" She trailed off, nodding down at the contents of her cart.
Wyatt gave his own sympathetic nod. He got it. "It's nice," he admitted, a little catch in his voice as he added stiltedly, "that you're doing that."
"Yeah, I-" Lucy started, before trailing off with a shrug. "What about you?" she then piped up, plastering on a fake-looking smile. The smile was short-lived, however, as she added with a frown, "I thought- I thought maybe Rufus would invite you over or something."
"It's fine," Wyatt deflected with a shrug. "Not really a Christmas person."
The furrow in Lucy's brow deepened when he shook his head, adding, "Not since I was… really little."
Her face softened into a sad, wistful smile.
Wyatt swallowed hard. There was a reason he didn't do this Christmas crap anymore. And he really didn't know quite what to say now, with Lucy upset about her sister already, and now apparently even more upset on his behalf.
Which meant he was grateful when her expression changed as she looked down into his cart with a wry grin spearing on her face. "So you're… getting heart disease in protest?" She observed, her eyebrow arched high with suspicion.
A scoffed laugh escaped before Wyatt could stop it. "Because cookies and all that cheese are any better?" he challenged.
"Touché," Lucy admitted, with what seemed to be a genuine smile gracing her face for the first time since they'd run into each other.
But… the conversation faltered there, and Lucy's smile faded.
So, though he knew he didn't necessarily owe her an explanation – and honestly, he'd probably be safer if he would just stop treading on any sort of emotional ground when it came to her – Wyatt worked his jaw for a moment, then corrected her jokingly erroneous presumption about cardiac health. Nodding down at his cart, he admitted, "Same as you, I guess. Before my grandma died, we always had her chili on Christmas Eve. And it's not from Christmas, but she got me thinking about Grandpa and his pulled pork. So I guess I'm having both," he explained with a shrug. "Well," he amended, "chili tonight, pork tomorrow."
"Wow," Lucy remarked, clearly impressed by some part of that admission.
Wyatt shifted, not quite comfortable with that expression. He'd noticed it from her a handful of times before, and he didn't like the uneasy feeling it left him with.
…Well, more like he was uneasy with the otherwise warm, pleasant, fuzzy feeling it left him with each time. Which is why he shouldn't have mentioned any of that in the first place.
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he tried to deflect. "But I don't have much of a kitchen, so I bought a… CrockPot thing… and just have to… figure it out, I guess."
Wyatt's grateful when Lucy merely muttered a quiet, "Oh…" and gazed off absently into the distance rather than still… looking at him like that.
Not that it left the conversation anywhere comfortable, by any means. Now it's just awkward and quiet, and even when he stepped aside and politely apologized to another shopper for having blocked the whole aisle, as soon as the random woman is past them, it's right back to awkward and quiet, with both him and Lucy just standing there.
So he cleared his throat lamely. "So. Yeah. Spices," he managed to cough out, nodding at the shelves behind Lucy.
"Sorry. Right," she agreed, shaking her head and drawing herself out of her stupor as she hurried to step out of his way.
At that point, Wyatt just grabbed whatever his list said as quickly as he possibly could. Seeing Lucy, it being Christmas, everything… It was all just bringing up a whole mess of depressing sadness over lost family members, bittersweet nostalgia, and a hell of a lot of other things that he didn't want to be thinking about considering they were all tied up in that freaking kiss that should not have happened.
Finally, with a few bottles tucked against his chest with one arm, and another few bottles clutched in his other hand, he backed away from the spices. And, back by his cart, he offered a half-shrug and stammered out lamely, "…Well, I… hope you have an… okay Christmas. I know it's not the same without Am-"
"I have a big kitchen," Lucy blurted out suddenly. "If you… wanted…" she hedged, suddenly more tentative than when she started. "…you could come over to use it. I don't know what you need, but… you're welcome to. If you want," she added, her awkward offer skidding to an abrupt halt.
Wyatt froze and blinked, leaning over his cart, still clutching his cayenne and cinnamon. "Tonight?"
Lucy's eyes were wide, with a touch of panic. "Or tomorrow?" she suggested, an unsure wince taking over her face. "…Or… both?" came the equally unsure amendment to her suggestion. "I don't know how involved that is," she added, gesturing vaguely to the array of ingredients in his cart.
For as much as Lucy had been lacking in eloquence with her stilted invitation, Wyatt was still miles behind her in that department. "To cook?" he practically squeaked.
He'd just spent days – weeks – trying not to even think about Lucy. Now she wanted him at her house? On Christmas?
"Yeah," Lucy nodded in agreement. Except then she backtracked, with what looked to be a pink flush creeping up her neck and tingeing her fair cheeks. "…Or… to just… not be alone?" she offered, with a bit of a timid cringe. "On Christmas? You don't have to," she added hurriedly, "I just-"
"Yeah, I- Ok," Wyatt cut in, his voice taking the lead before his brain could talk him out of it. Dammit. "Thanks," he muttered, uneasy over the fluttering deep in the pit of his gut.
Lucy's eyes widened in surprise as a half-smile crept onto her face. "Really?"
Wyatt sighed. Crap. The last thing he need right now was to… spend Christmas with Lucy. But… Another sigh slipped out. She looked so freakin' hopeful at the idea of him coming over, and she had no one else… He didn't have the heart to back out now; he wasn't a monster. "If you're sure," he mumbled.
"Yeah. Yeah," Lucy chirped. "You should come. I can't eat all the cookies myself anyway."
Wyatt nodded, uneasy as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Christmas. At Lucy's. And that's it, he resolved to himself. Just cooking. Just work colleagues. It was fine.
"D'you eat yet tonight?" he asked. "Or have plans to?" he added, nodding down at her macaroni and cheese ingredients.
"No," Lucy shook her head. "I was going to have that tomorrow night."
"So you help eat the chili, I help eat the cookies," Wyatt said, nodding. "I mean, it'll be kinda late – it takes a few hours-"
"-that's ok," Lucy cut in.
Wyatt took a deep breath. It was all coming together, and he really didn't know how he felt about it. Except one thing, he realized. "…The pork has to marinate then cook like 8 or 10 hours or something, so I could come back tomorrow to-"
"We have a guest room," Lucy interrupted again. "I mean, it was Amy's," she rattled on. "Now it's a… guest room. And pulled pork goes with macaroni and cheese, right? We could… tomorrow?" came her tentative proposal.
"Oh, uh…" Alarm bells were once again going off in Wyatt's mind, but same as just a moment earlier, before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice stammering out his ill-advised agreement. "Uh, yeah, ok."
The smile that broke out on Lucy's face as hearing his response… Well, Wyatt couldn't help but grin right back.
Until it registered that his reactions to Lucy were exactly why this was such a bad idea.
And he would have tried to back out right away, but Lucy was already practically off and running, explaining, "Ok, um… I still need to grab a few things. Are you-"
"Yeah, I need stuff too," Wyatt replied, still mentally kicking himself.
"So, maybe meet… at the door, in 10 minutes?" Lucy suggested. "And figure it out from there?"
Wyatt gave a resigned nod and, just like that, Lucy was off down the aisle. And he was left trying to figure out what in the hell he'd just gotten himself into.
Not just going to Lucy's house. Not just going to Lucy's house on Christmas. But going to Lucy's house on Christmas and sleeping there.
It was all unwittingly bringing back memories of the last time he was meant to be sleeping in her proximity, and everything else that had happened that night in Arkansas. Not good, this was not good…
Somehow, he managed to get the rest of the items on his shopping list, even as he tried to come up with some way to get out of it. Yet every time he imagined Lucy, sitting home, alone as she picked at her cookies and mac and cheese, he couldn't bring himself to come up with an excuse that would just let her down and then he was right back to being resigned to his fate. No matter how bad an idea it was to spend Christmas with her.
And if he happened to see a coffee-scented candle that brought to mind that time he'd teased Lucy for just breathing in coffee steam instead of drinking it, only to end up on the receiving end of her explanation that she wasn't handling caffeine so well during with all the time changes on the jumps but still liked the smell… Well, he couldn't very well show up at her place on Christmas without a gift, right? So in the cart went the candle. Plus a bottle of sparkling wine, since that's what she ordered that time they'd gone out with Rufus after that mission. Can't just get a candle…
Which also meant Wyatt also found himself tossing a gift bag and tissue paper into his pile of things on the way to the registers, hating that he'd let himself get caught up in and carried away with this whole Christmas-with-Lucy thing.
He was grateful when his checkout line moved rather quickly. But Lucy was nowhere in sight yet, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
It would be fine, he told himself as he waited by the exit for her, it would be fine. Dinner, sleep, and… lunch? Tomorrow? Then it'd be over. Less than 24 hours, a chunk of them sleeping. Separately.
No different from their normal missions.
He was jarred from his thoughts when she approached, a hurried string of logistical chatter spilling from her lips. "Sorry, I guess we didn't need to meet again here," Lucy apologized. "You could have just come over whenever. You remember the address?"
Wyatt breathed a small sigh. He probably shouldn't remember her place from that one time he'd dropped her off after a combo of champagne, chocodiles, and lack of sleep in 1754 had left her a little shy of 'safe driver' status. But he did. "Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. And then the looming notion of ending up at her place for the night, as-is, didn't quite make sense. He'd planned on going shopping, not staying the night somewhere. "I, uh, guess I'll stop at home first?" he stammered, tripping over the words. "If I'm staying? Toothbrush 'n' whatever?"
"Oh right," Lucy agreed as the same realization appeared to dawn on her. "Ok," she nodded, then eyed his cart of bags. "Do you want me to take any of that for the refri-"
"Kiss her yet?" A slightly-too-loud voice interrupted from across the entryway.
His head whipping around toward the source of the question, Wyatt's gaze landed on an elderly gentleman just entering the store, pushing a cart with a cane dangling from the handrest.
But what the hell? He eyed the man with a baffled expression, not sure if he was even talking to him. And, based on the guy's reaction, Wyatt could only surmise that Lucy looked just as confused as he did.
The man gripped his cane and waved it up, pointing. "Gotta kiss."
Wyatt did a double-take as he jerked his head to follow the gesture. There, hanging in the store's vestibule, just over where he and Lucy had happened to stop, was a festively decorated bundle of what he could only assume was mistletoe.
"That's the rule," the man's voice chimed in again, chiding Wyatt in a manner that almost reminded him of Grandpa Sherwin, "Gotta."
Before he could process what he was doing, and feeling his heart thumping, Wyatt turned to Lucy, readying himself to reach for her and-
"Oh, no," Lucy spluttered, stopping Wyatt in his tracks. She wasn't even looking at him, never mind anything else. No, she hadn't even spared him a glance before spitting out the rest of her evasive explanation. "We're not- We just work together," she assured the old guy. "But Merry Christmas," she added, smiling brightly.
The man's gaze darted between Wyatt and Lucy with a look somewhere between bemused and mild disapproval – which definitely reminded Wyatt of Grandpa – before he grumbled a half-hearted 'Merry Christmas' and continued on his way.
Wyatt let out a shaky breath as he watched the old guy disappear into the store. That had been close. What the hell had he been thinking, practically kissing her right there in the middle of the freaking grocery store doorway? Or anywhere, for that matter. That was exactly the kind of thing he needed to not ever be thinking about, never mind when he was about to spend an entire holiday at her place.
Ok, after that, he definitely needed the breather that going home to grab an overnight bag would give him. So, still not having ventured a glance at Lucy since they'd been interrupted by that guy, he made a show of looking through his bags before muttering, "Nah, the stuff'll be ok. I should be there in, I dunno. Half hour?"
When he finally did look back over at Lucy for her reply, he could not for the life of him get a read on the expression she was regarding him with as she nodded, "Ok."
He swallowed hard, dully echoing her "Ok".
It didn't feel ok, the growing knot in his stomach.
But there wasn't much he could do about that, so he just shot Lucy a weak smile and headed for his car.
It ended up being more than a half an hour before Wyatt pulled up to the curb in front of Lucy's house. Not because he'd forgotten how to get there; more like he recalled it a little too well, which was just another big flashing warning sign telling him not to go. He'd wavered a hundred times in the short span he'd been at his place, once even dumping his already-packed duffel bag back out onto his bed.
He was already treading on dangerous ground, and that near-kiss at the grocery store had not helped.
But in the end, he still kept coming back to picturing Lucy alone on Christmas, no mom, no Amy… Well, that and the fact that he realized he'd probably been kidding himself when it came to the level of cooking he'd have been able to pull off in his tiny rental with just a CrockPot.
Which ultimately led to him sitting there, in his car, in front of Lucy's house. And there was really no point in stalling any further, was there? So he hauled himself out of the driver's seat, grabbed his duffel bag – with Lucy's wine and candle stashed inside out of sight – and the three or four paper bags from the grocery store, and trudged up the driveway.
He took one final steadying breath and then rang the bell.
The door flew open to reveal a slightly disheveled-looking Lucy. Where she'd looked like her normal, put-together self at the store, with the boots and the nice coat and the scarf, and whatever, now… Well, Wyatt was caught a little off-guard.
Sure, he'd seen her an in all sorts of getups on their jumps – dirty and bedraggled in 1754, stiff and uncomfortable in the Nazi uniform, that slinky waitressing dress…
But he'd never seen her this… casual.
Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, with a few soft strands having escaped from the rest of them to frame her face. Her forest green sweater was simple, and had a few smudges of… flour? …near the bottom, but the v-neck let her necklace drape prettily over her collarbone. And while he figured the jeans were probably the same as what she'd had on in the store, the briefest glance down revealed that she'd foregone both socks and shoes once she'd gotten home.
It was just… so… different from seeing her in a professional sense at Mason Industries. Or back in the past when, yes – some things were inherently outside the normal bounds of co-worker interaction, but those were still work. This… It was… like coming home to her after a long day, like it was… comfortable. Which it wasn't, but only because it was rattling him so much that it felt like it should be…
"Hey," Lucy said with a soft smile, shaking Wyatt from his momentary stupor. "Come in."
Wyatt blinked, nodded, and swallowed hard as he stepped inside past her. He did not need to go down that mental path, and he did not need to be getting caught staring at her; he was there for cooking dinner. They were just two colleagues who had no one else to sit around with on Christmas.
"Thanks," he murmured. And, for better or for worse, once he stepped inside, it was the house itself rather than Lucy that caught his attention. A far cry from his ratty little studio and any of the base housing he'd ever been in. "Nice place…"
Lucy scoffed behind him as she closed the door. "My mother's," she corrected with a roll of her eyes as she stepped in front of him. "Believe me, when I had my own place, it was… smaller."
Which… didn't do anything to help Wyatt feel any less awkward and out of place. So he lifted up the bags he clutched, pointing out rather unnecessarily, "Uh, here's the stuff for the food. And," he added, nodding down at the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, "this is-"
"Oh, right, your stuff," Lucy exclaimed, nodding. "You can leave that here for now, or I can show you the room upst-"
Wyatt had been following her gaze as she'd started to gesture up the flight of stairs just behind them. Which meant that they both caught sight of the mistletoe dangling from the chandelier-style lighting at the same time.
He felt his eyes widen right as his heart started pounding again. Shit. Now what?
Very quickly, that question was answered for him, ruling out, to his annoying disappointment, that the what in question was a big fat nothing.
For almost immediately, Lucy flushed a red deep enough to festively compliment the green of her sweater, stammering, "Sorry. We don't have t-" She swallowed nervously, before she explained, "My mom, her party. She decorates. With everything, apparently," she added, gesturing upward with a tinny laugh. "…for some reason, my mother is the kind of person that thinks that's appropriate among a mix of professors and students. That she supervises."
And with Wyatt still standing there, not quite sure of what he was feeling, nor of whether he was ok with what he was feeling, Lucy steered them back to the evening's original purpose as she plucked the grocery bags right out of his hand. "…Um, just- Let's bring this in the kitchen."
And then she was off.
And Wyatt was left there, momentarily dumbfounded by the sudden – and second – juxtaposition of Lucy and mistletoe.
But they were colleagues, he reminded himself, repeating it a few times for good measure. He was just using the kitchen.
It was on that note that he finally spurred himself back into motion, following in the direction that Lucy had gone.
Which turned out to be into a seriously nice kitchen, with a massive fridge, spacious island – still bearing the remnants of Lucy's earlier cookie dough prep – and a cozy nook of a living room at the back of the house too. Definitely a far cry from his sparse studio rental. "…really nice place," he breathed unwittingly.
He thought he caught a hint of another uncomfortable blush from Lucy at that, but he supposed it could have just been leftover from out in the hallway.
Either way, she deflected, gesturing to the room around them. "Well, whatever you need, it's all yours. I already made the cookie dough; it just has to be in the fridge for an hour or so. I can stay out of your way," she offered, in the midst of dumping the last of her used measuring cups and utensils into the sink, "or I can help. We can have the TV on," she added, with a nod over to where some news channel talking heads were blandly reciting the headlines, "or… not. Christmas stuff, or not…" She finished up her spiel just as she rinsed her hands, at which point, she reached for a towel and just shrugged at him while drying off.
Wyatt took a deep breath, still a little overwhelmed by… well, by a whole lot of things. He scanned the room, as if looking around for some sort of answer. What he got instead was the full view of the tasteful Christmas tree decorated and bright with lights in the corner, the other hints of holly and other festive whatnots on various knickknacks scattered about.
Hadn't Lucy said she wanted to avoid Christmas this year? She must have been having a hell of a time attempting that with all the decorative crap around.
And there she was offering to watch Christmas stuff on TV too?
"Are you feeling… Christmas-y?" he ventured skeptically. "I mean, yeah, the decorations are already here, but if you want to ignore it and… blast rage metal instead or something, I'm good with whatever," he offered. "I know this… can't be easy… without... Amy. I don't wanna make it worse."
Which earned him a soft, half smile as Lucy paused in the middle of retrieving some baking sheets. "I appreciate that. But it's ok. Really," she insisted at his skeptical expression. "Just… pick something stupid, not… sentimental."
He was still not entirely convinced that she wasn't just doing it for his sake, but Wyatt wasn't about to argue that point with her. "Ok…"
"The remote should be on the coffee table," she nodded over her shoulder as she reached into the fridge for something.
So, obediently, Wyatt skirted his grocery bags where Lucy has set them down. He headed deeper into the living room area and retrieved said remote, then began scrolling through the channel guide.
Bad Santa? Well, that sure as hell wasn't particularly sentimental, but if his recollection was right, there was at least one raunchy scene not quite showing sex that he did not need to be watching while in any sort of proximity to Lucy.
He scrolled further.
Miracle on 34th Street? Maaaybe, but still pretty mushy.
It's a Wonderful Life? Getting to see the alternate timeline when someone wasn't born? Hell no. He flicked past that as fast as humanly possible, and shot a glance over his shoulder, hoping that Lucy hadn't seen the title at all.
Then a bunch of majorly sappy made-for-TV romance movies on Lifetime or whatever. Not a chance.
In the end, Wyatt landed on Home Alone as the safest option. Crude, gag-reel, kid-level humor would hopefully outweigh the bit of sentimentality of families reuniting and all that.
With the movie selected, he set down the remote and turned back to Lucy and the kitchen area, where she was heaving a giant CrockPot up onto the counter from a cabinet below. He couldn't help but just… watch her, taking it all in as she finished that task, then transitioned swiftly into plucking cinnamon and sugar from the pantry, setting those down near the cookie sheets she'd already put out.
"…I didn't figure you'd be a… baker," Wyatt suddenly heard himself observing aloud. "Or the …cooking type, really."
That got a wryly dubious glare sent in his direction. "What's 'the cooking type'?" she inquired. "And why not?"
"I dunno," he shrugged, feeling like he'd already fallen into a trap. "Your job… Hillary Clinton, baking cookies and all that."
Lucy just let out a soft snort and shook her head before lecturing, "There was more to that quote, you know. And feminists have to eat too, Wyatt," she smirked. "Even cookies."
Wyatt let out a little relieved chuckle. Somewhere in there, he was pretty sure he'd gotten credit for knowing that smidge of First Lady historical trivia, even if the rest of it sounded like a mild scolding. "Just didn't figure it was your thing," he rephrased, as a peace offering. "Or if you could cook."
He did not expect her to lash out with an exasperated growl. "Ok, seriously though, why?" She exclaimed out of nowhere. "Why does everyone suddenly think I'm incompetent in the kitchen?"
"Whoa, sorry," he apologized immediately, his hands raised in mock surrender.
To which Lucy's response was her own apologetic sigh. "No, sorry," she muttered as her shoulders slumped. "I just- My mother was baffled when I made a stir fry a couple weeks ago, and Noah-"
"The fiancé?" Wyatt interrupted, trying – and failing, he was sure – to hide sneer he felt unwittingly appearing on his face.
"Yes," Lucy confirmed with another harried sigh. "That date?" she began to explain, "It was here."
Wyatt blanched; he really didn't want to hear the details of her dating life. Nor did he want to consider why he was so against hearing about such things.
But he didn't have much say in the matter; Lucy kept right on going with her recounting of that ill-fated date she'd mentioned as they'd picked costumes.
"And he- he basically implied I was utterly useless in terms of cooking and that I couldn't possibly have made the actually really simple food we were eating. And ok, fine," she conceded, pausing her rant momentarily, "I hadn't actually made it that night, but that's only because I kept chickening out and wanting to cancel, until it got too late to actually cook, so I had to order in. But I could have made it," she contested, indignant. "Anyone can cook. Just read the recipe. I promise I can read."
Wyatt's hands flew up in mock surrender. "Sorry I asked," he chuckled.
Which calmed Lucy down a bit. "No, it's ok," she breathed with a wan smile. "I just- Oh."
"What?" Wyatt asked, concerned about why she'd just… stopped.
She gripped the countertop, looking rattled. "You know," she said softly, finally looking up and focusing on him, "I didn't realize until right now why. Or why now, in this timeline."
But Wyatt still had no idea what she was getting at; he lifted his eyebrows quizzically in response.
Lucy's eyes fell closed for a moment, then she focused off into the distance as she explained, "My dad taught us to cook and bake. My mom- well, she was all career." She rolled her eyes at that, and finally met Wyatt's gaze briefly before looking down to pick at some imagined bit of something on the counter. "My dad worked too, but he made the cupcakes for class birthdays and brownies for girl scout meetings. And dinner, most of the time. He taught me, and Amy, but now…"
"…that wouldn't have happened," Wyatt breathed, finishing for her. "Shit," he hissed. "I'm sor-"
"Wyatt, it's ok," she sighed, cutting him off and sounding resigned. "It's just… how things are."
Except he felt awful, and she sounded miserable, so he protested, "Yeah, bu-"
But nothing. Lucy was clearly done talking about any of that; she interrupted him sharply, completely changing the subject. "So," she said, louder. "We do have a big CrockPot," she pointed out, gesturing to where she's just set the appliance on the counter. "You can just return the one you bought if you're not going to use it for anything else. This one work for the pulled pork, right? And I know you were going to use it for your chili too, but couldn't you also just do that on the stove in this?" she asked, holding up a regular large pot. "Faster?"
Wyatt didn't quite know what to say for a second; he was thrown off by the sudden pivot in the conversation.
But Lucy was still clearly waiting for an answer, so he couldn't really dwell on why she didn't seem to want to talk about that with him. "Um. Yeah," he coughed, clearing his throat, "for the chili, that makes sense."
"Well, here," Lucy replied with half a smirk as she held the pot out to him. "Go for it. Really," she added, "Whatever you need. Let me know and I'll point, or help, or… whatever."
Staring at the pot she was waving at him, Wyatt blinked hard and shook himself out of his stupor. Her feelings about the holiday aside, now he really did have to follow through on his cooking plans.
So he took the pot from, only somewhat hesitantly, and reached for the bags she'd set down, then dropped the whole lot of it all onto the free counterspace of the island. As he pulled all of his ingredients from the bags, he mentally had to revise his plans; he'd been anticipating a half-assed version with a bunch of cut corners, given the limited options at his place. But now? Lucy had a stove top, probably a blender somewhere, who knew what else.
Ultimately he made it work, with Lucy's help. Prep work was largely chopping of various things, which led to some… interesting moments. A combo of scavenger hunt and charades when Lucy, up to her elbows in raw beef and not wanting to touch anything, had to try to direct him to where a long-unused blender might be hiding, resulting in him ducking into the cabinet in front of her and inadvertently gripping her leg when he teetered off-balance in his crouch. And later, her hands on his back as she guided him – blind from the sting of chopping onions, and with residue from chiles all over his hands – to the sink to wash up. All with the backdrop of Home Alone as their companion, and requisite cracks about Rufus probably having been the kind of kid who could have pulled off all the wild anti-burglar contraptions and plans.
It was all very weird, but somehow that weirdness was at least partially rooted in how not weird it was. That same notion of 'comfortable' that Wyatt had had when he'd first arrived at the door nagged at him from the back of his mind as they wrapped up the prep for the chili, him giving the concoction a final stir before leaving it to simmer, while Lucy shoveled what she could into the sink and dishwasher.
So he was grateful when, after wiping up the counter, Lucy jumped immediately into snickerdoodle mode, offering a helpful distraction from his own thoughts.
She pulled her bowl of dough from the fridge, and within a minute had amassed the final array of cookie sheets, parchment paper, measuring spoons, cinnamon, and sugar. She scooped and rolled; he obediently took over the cinnamon sugar step, then arranged them on the baking trays. Those got popped in the oven relatively quickly, and before Wyatt knew it, the cookies were done, and Lucy was placing the last of them on a rack to cool. While she handled that, he investigated just how much space was left in the dishwasher, then gave the chili another stir.
When he'd announced it still had a ways to go, Lucy piped up with a mention that didn't cornbread go with chili, and they probably had all the things needed to whip up a recipe, if he wanted to try making that too? He had to admit, she was right, and it sounded good, so off they went on another round of hunting for something to bake it in, Googling a recipe that looked at least somewhat authentic to him, then rounding up those ingredients. It took almost no time to get that into the oven. Nor did the quick preparation of the marinade for the pulled pork that Wyatt would begin cooking in the morning; he'd bought everything he'd needed for that, so it was really just Lucy finding a bowl big enough, then mixing it up.
Which then left them there in the kitchen, chili simmering and cornbread baking, with a pile of dirty dishes waiting. As Lucy began to fill up the rest of the dishwasher with whatever else would fit and set it to run, Wyatt jumped in and began scrubbing what was left in the sink and on the counter; after all, most of the stuff was only dirty in the first place because he was there. They fell into a quiet rhythm, him washing, her drying, as the end of Home Alone spilled into the beginning of an airing of Elf.
Which, thankfully, Wyatt realized, was pretty much right on par with Home Alone in terms of walking the line between too much weight on the sappy family-reunification thing and the rest of the silly insanity. Any further into sappy sentimental territory and he might have felt the need to run over to change the channel.
But he didn't, and, soon enough, the dishes were done, dried, and put away.
Dinner, however, was not quite done, so Wyatt offered up the rest of the six-pack of beer he'd bought for the chili recipe.
Which led them to the couch. By the fireplace. With the Christmas tree glowing, Christmas movie playing, and the rich scent of the simmering chili wafting over. Wyatt couldn't deny the warm, light feeling of being there, like that, with Lucy, but, really not wanting to tread on that dangerous ground, told himself it was just the beer hitting him harder and quicker than normal, considering he hadn't eaten yet.
Not that the feeling went away a bit later, when they did dig into steaming bowls of his Grandma's chili, accentuated by Lucy's addition of some grated cheese – borrowed from the impressive stash she'd amassed for Amy's macaroni the next day.
She complimented the food; he brushed it off as all Grandma. Which had let to her asking – and him sharing more than he would have ever expected he would have – about those Christmases when both grandparents were still around.
Lucy reciprocated with a little bit about Amy, and her Dad, but Wyatt could tell she was still a bit reluctant, so rather than push her on it, he instead scooped up their empty bowls and beer bottles. Those got rinsed and left in the sink for later, then he grabbed another two beers, found a clean plate, and placed a handful of the snickerdoodles on it.
That earned him a grateful smile from Lucy when he'd set it all down on the coffee table, and he settled back in on the couch.
Elf became Christmas Vacation, the full stomachs and alcohol pushed them both a little closer to drowsiness than they'd been earlier… and Wyatt didn't hate any of it.
Wyatt blinked awake, and it was a moment before he registered where – and when – he was. Slowly he took it in – yet another showing of Elf flickering across the TV screen, the flames still dancing in the fireplace, the lights of the tree still glowing in the corner, the faint scents of chiles and vanilla still drifting over from the kitchen…
And Lucy, curled up under a blanket a foot or so away, asleep with her head hanging at a horribly awkward angle, her whole upper body even more precariously leaning, leaving her in pretty imminent danger of sleepily collapsing into a hell of a faceplant.
He blamed instinct for driving him scooting closer, his arm flung up on the back of the couch to assist in pulling himself nearer to her, then easing himself just in the right position so her head was nearly on his shoulder. Potential toppling over crisis solved.
Which just left the killer neck crick that she was facing. So, ever so gently, Wyatt slid his palm under her chin, nudging her face high enough that it would loll against the back of the couch instead of hanging forward.
Except halfway up, his hand still cradling her jaw, Lucy's eyes fluttered open, the reflections of the flickering fire and the Christmas lights dancing in them.
And then her lips were on his.
Or were his on hers?
Wyatt didn't know; all he knew was that her mouth was soft and warm against his, and when he nipped at her lower lip, she opened up to him and he could taste the faint hint of sugary cinnamon from all the cookies she'd had.
His hand slid from her face to tangle in her hair, drawing her even closer. As if the tantalizing slide of her tongue over his wasn't enough, a shiver raced up his spine when her hand landed high on his thigh to brace herself. She arched into him, the swell of her breasts just barely pressing into his own chest.
All rational thought completely gone from his mind, Wyatt drank her in. It was everything he hadn't allowed himself to want that night in Arkansas, and nearly every night since.
Just when he'd completely lost his mind and was about to ease them down to horizontal, Lucy pulled away.
She blinked up at him, all wide eyes and shiny, thoroughly kissed lips, looking just as stunned as Wyatt felt. His breathing was ragged and his mind raced – what in the hell had he just done?
But then Lucy's expression faded into a sweet, sleepy smile, and she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and tucking her head against his shoulder.
Wyatt's jaw dropped ever so slightly as he took in a shaky breath.
But then Lucy sighed against him, and what could he do but draw his arm down from the back of the couch to wrap around her and hold her tight to him?
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward, the side of his face against the top of her head.
Another unsteady breath, and then a sigh.
Maybe… Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing.
After tonight? That he'd been so apprehensive about? Turning out kind of… nice?
And this?
Maybe…
Maybe possibilities – possibilities with Lucy – wouldn't be so bad?
It was with that thought in his mind, and the sweet flowery, fruity scent of Lucy's shampoo wafting up towards him, that Wyatt drifted back to sleep.
The next time he woke, it was far less of a cozy scene.
Lucy was nowhere to be found; he was alone on the couch. The kitchen lights – previously off – gleamed harshly behind him, the fire was out, and both the TV and the lights on the tree were off.
Wyatt frowned, rubbing his eyes.
"Oh, I put the leftovers in the fridge," chirped Lucy's voice suddenly. "And I added a little more vinegar to the marinade because the pork wasn't quite covered."
He spun around, still a bit bleary and confused. They'd… kissed. And she was worried about… vinegar?
But she kept going, adding, "I'm glad you're awake – I was going to head up to bed, but I realized I never showed you the guest room. Or the bathroom upstairs."
Frowning, Wyatt looked around. What the hell? Bathroom? Guest room? Ok, no, one kiss didn't mean he expected… sex… or… happily ever after or anything, but… leftovers and the guest room? No… acknowledgment… of anything?
"You ok?"
Lucy's voice jarred him out of his stupor; she was lingering in the doorway to the hall, her hand hovering on the kitchen light switch.
Wyatt stood, poised to follow her, only because he didn't know what else to do. But… why was she acting like nothing had happened? He glanced around in confusion once more; had it happened? Granted he had fallen asleep on the couch, but… He couldn't have dreamt that, right?
His hand absently drifted upward, two fingertips tracing over his bottom lip. A bit tender, but… from Lucy? Or just the spices of the chili?
"You can stay if you wan-"
"No," Wyatt cut her off, "it's fine. I, uh, I'll come up…" He frowned once more at the couch before heading across the room to trail obediently after her toward the stairs.
Out in the foyer, he glanced up; no mistletoe. Jesus, had he imagined that too?
No, he breathed to himself a moment later; a small stepstool leaned against the wall at the base of the stairs. She must have used it to take the mistletoe down? What the-
He really didn't know what to make of any of it. Even if the kiss had happened, should it have? He… cared… for Lucy, yes, on some level, of course, but… Jess.
Fuck.
Yet, even as he trudged up the stairs after Lucy, having snagged his duffel bag from by the front door, for all that confusion, a part of him really wished it had actually happened, because that same part just wanted to follow Lucy to wherever her room was and curl up with her for the night.
But that didn't matter, whether he really wanted it or not. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Lucy eyed two doors off to the left. "That's the, uh, guest room. There," she clarified, nodding. "And you can have this bathroom," she added, "I'll use the one in my mom's room to stay out of your way."
Wyatt nodded, frowning again… Was he crazy? None of this made sense. "Lucy, wait-"
She paused in the doorway to her bedroom, glancing back over her shoulder. "Yeah?"
"I, uh…" he stammered. "I… Did… Uh, Merry Christmas," he finally spat out. "Thanks for inviting me over."
She shot him a soft smile in response. "You too. See you in the morning…"
And with that, she ducked into the dimly lit room, and closed the door behind her.
Wyatt practically deflated, his shoulders sagging as his breath escaped in a woosh. What the hell had happened?
He knew he wasn't going to get any answers just standing there in the hallway, so he made his way into the spare bedroom, flicked on the lights, and set down his bag.
It was a non-descript room. Bed, dresser, desk, bookshelves. Nice enough, but pretty fucking depressing, considering all the personality that Lucy's sister was supposed to have.
Not that the lack of Amy was what was what he was most concerned with. It was the lack of acknowledgement by Lucy that they'd kissed.
They did, right?
He still couldn't fucking figure it out.
But first things first. They'd had not a small amount of food and drink, including alcohol, so he ducked into the bathroom that Lucy had pointed to. He did not dwell there, however, considering that Lucy's phrasing about using her mother's bathroom for the night strongly implied that this was her bathroom, meaning she must spend a fair bit of time in there naked, and he did not need to be thinking about that…
However, he also skimped on dental hygiene for the night and didn't brush his teeth, lest it erase any lingering sensation of that kiss…
Back across the hall, he closed the door to the guest room and swapped his jeans for pajama pants before turning off the lights and crawling into bed.
Sleep didn't come, however. Not when he knew Lucy was right across the hall. And not when he didn't know what on earth had happened – or not? – that night.
It really had been a nice night. He hadn't expected to… actually like the mundane tasks of just cooking in a shared kitchen with Lucy. Of eating together, of laughing together at the stupid humor of Home Alone and Elf. It was… comfortable. Nice. A nice he hadn't had with anyone, for a really long time. Even with Jess, toward the end… well, suffice it to say that things weren't exactly nice.
And it hadn't been awkward, dodging each other in the kitchen. The initial questions about where he could find this bowl or that knife had given way to a smoothly choreographed dance around each other, a hand on a hip here, on a back there, just effortlessly working together.
It was nice, having someone around like that.
The kiss? More than nice.
But why would Lucy have basically disappeared, never to speak of it? She'd seemed just as into it as he'd been, right?
Which, Wyatt realized grimly, as he tossed and turned yet again in the darkened room, basically left two options.
One, he really had dreamt it up, which meant he was in even deeper with… whatever he was feeling for her than he'd realized after Arkansas. And he shouldn't be 'in' at all, never mind in deep…
Two, it had happened, and Lucy was unwilling to acknowledge it because she saw it as a colossal mistake.
Wyatt snorted and rubbed at his eyes. Hell, even if he had dreamt it up this time, odds were that option two would become the reality if it ever did happen.
Playing house tonight? Fancy kitchen, working together, snuggled together on the couch by the Christmas tree? It made sense for Lucy someday, but not with him. He'd had it, or something like it, once. That kind of Hallmark-y crap hadn't been in the cards for him, not again. And it certainly still wasn't, not with Lucy. She was too damn good for him, and she knew it, and he knew it.
No, he needed to go right back to what he'd been doing since Arkansas, before tonight – trying his damndest to forget that kiss had ever happened and re-focusing on Jessica.
Forget Lucy, focus on Jess, he told himself. Forget Lucy, focus on Jess.
Unless, as was the last thought that drifted across his consciousness before he finally fell asleep, Lucy did acknowledge the kiss in the morning, reviving those pesky possibilities…
She didn't, though.
The next morning proved an odd déjà vu.
Initially, Wyatt crawled out of bed early, around 5, so he could throw the pork into the CrockPot Lucy had left on the counter. It needed seven or eight hours, and he really didn't think he could take staying well into the afternoon. With the cooking started early, it would just be lunch and then he'd be on his way, trying to put the whole holiday behind him as soon as possible.
With the CrockPot set, he'd checked the sink and dishwasher to find both empty already; Lucy must have taken care of all that while he'd been asleep on the couch the night before. He puttered around for a bit; he could go back up and try to fall asleep again, but he figured the odds of that were unlikely, considering how hard it had been to get to sleep the night before, knowing Lucy was just across the hall.
In the end, he did doze off, but on the couch again rather than back upstairs. Which meant he woke to Lucy as she crept around the kitchen to get coffee going.
She'd showered, he could tell – parts of her hair still looking damp, and a little more wavy than he was used to seeing. Her clothes weren't too dissimilar from the night before, jeans again, paired this time with a red shirt rather than the green sweater. Still, pretty…
And it was that thought that had Wyatt shaking himself to his senses. He needed to stop thinking along those lines (unless she brought up that kiss…). He also needed to go get real clothes on, because he was feeling comparatively underdressed in his pajama pants. Though he was at least grateful that he apparently hadn't been dreaming of about any kissing while there on the couch, because the thin, loose flannel of the pants could have led to Lucy possibly seeing something she really wasn't meant to if his subconscious had opted to relive those moments while he was asleep.
Still. Real clothes would be better anyway.
So he coughed, making himself known, and the two of them exchanged the requisite 'Merry Christmas's before he excused himself to run back upstairs momentarily.
Wyatt was pretty sure he could still smell residual chile on him – his hair? his shirt? – so as much as he really didn't feel comfortable showering in Lucy's bathroom, he still forced himself to duck under the spray for approximately 90 seconds. That done, he threw the day's clothes on and headed back downstairs.
Where Lucy had apparently already done a head-first dive into breakfast prep, with pancake mix, eggs, and a whole bunch of bowls and utensils all over the counter.
And so began the near repeat of the night before.
Not a peep from her about the kiss.
Just the easy back and forth of cooperating on making a meal. No awkwardness – at least aside from what he was feeling internally, still baffled by whatever the hell that kiss had or had not been – but also no increased anything else that might make him think she'd ever even have wanted to kiss him in the first place.
So it was… nice. Again. But also freaking confusing.
But what else could he do but go along with everything? They ate their breakfasts perched on the high stools at the island; dish washing followed again.
Then she'd slid a wrapped package over to him – his go-to whiskey, he was surprised, and touched, to find – which prompted him to run back upstairs, grab her gifts, and reciprocate with her candle and wine.
With time to kill before their late lunch of pulled pork, the TV went back on – Home Alone again, then Home Alone 2. Lucy even pulled out an old checkers set just to keep them entertained, but that gave way to a chessboard when they surprised each other with revelations of their respective chess prowess.
As noon neared, another round in the kitchen took place as they teamed up to grate cheese, prep a roux, and put together Amy's famous mac and cheese to bake for a while.
All perfectly reasonable.
And still nothing from Lucy about the night before.
Even when the pork was done and they gorged themselves on Grandpa's and Amy's specialties, Lucy let on nothing.
So by the time Wyatt was preparing to leave, he'd once again managed to convince himself that he really had dreamt the whole thing up. She was nothing more than kind-hearted colleague, one who'd been feeling a little lonely herself for the holiday and took pity on him when she'd realized he was just as lonely, and even more pathetic, with his sad little studio and CrockPot.
That stupid show kiss for Bonnie and Clyde – it had seriously messed with him, even more than he'd realized, if he was dreaming up even more kissing. And more than kissing. And just… being with her.
It wasn't going to happen. It just wasn't. He had a freaking time machine at his disposal. He was going to get Jess back.
And nothing was going to happen with Lucy.
So he gathered up his duffel bag and the gift from Lucy, plus the stack of Pyrex containers full of all sorts of leftovers, thanked her sincerely for having him over, wished her a Merry Christmas, and headed home.
He'd survived. They hadn't kissed. And he was going to save his wife.
Wyatt couldn't help but softly shake his head, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He'd just slid under the covers after having been the one to volunteer to retrieve the clothes they'd inadvertently scattered on the floor around the bed and at least relocate them to the chair against the wall. But Lucy, having only had to roll over and tug the blankets over herself, had already managed to end up half asleep. Maybe even three-quarters asleep, Wyatt observed, their 'making up for lost time' apparently having hit her harder than it had him. Still, with her last shred of consciousness, she tucked herself even closer to his side under the ratty blue blanket, so he couldn't really complain.
And, as she got herself situated, he wiped a hand over his face, still somewhat stunned at the reality of the moment. He had absolutely no idea how she'd been able to get past all the shitty things he'd done to her, but he'd be spending the rest of his life beyond grateful that she had.
A swell of that gratitude in his heart had him pressing his face to the top of her head, brushing a kiss over her hair and breathing in the generic flowery scent of whatever shampoo it was that she and Jiya had been sharing.
And then he relaxed back onto the pillow, letting his head loll back even as he shook it once again in disbelief. Seriously - how the hell had he, the one who had royally effed up pretty much every stage of his life, ended up here, with her? At all? Even back in Hollywood, never mind after how utterly horrible he'd been to her?
Somewhere in those disbelieving musings, Wyatt's gaze happened to drift over to the mistletoe hanging over the foot of the bed.
He smirked with another little shake of his head. How it was legal for a government supervisor to hang something like that was beyond him – and over a bed, no less – but hey, who was he to compl-
Wyatt's train of thought slowed as hints of déjà vu whispered at him from just beyond the reaches of his memory.
…Agent Christopher has a dirtier mind than we thought.
…for some reason, my mother is the kind of person that thinks that's appropriate
His brow furrowed. That was it. The last time he'd come across mistletoe had been last year. Also with mistletoe hung by an unlikely culprit.
And also with Lucy around.
Which was kind of a random, strange coincidence, especially considering that he could count on less than one hand the number of times he'd actually been in any situation with mistletoe in his life. What were the odds…
Wyatt's gaze dropped immediately down to Lucy, and he eyed her sleeping form wildly confused. Had she hung the mistletoe? Today? And last year? And blamed it on Agent Christopher and her mother?
Why would she have done that? He certainly didn't need any convincing to kiss her now, but had she still somehow been unsure of him, of them? And thought he needed an extra nudge? And figured it was easier to attribute said nudge to someone else than to just be honest?
That broke his heart a little, to think that she might have still been doubting them, even after Korea and getting back to the bunker. And that she couldn't just talk to him about it.
But then… Wait.
In processing what might have been Lucy's thinking this year, Wyatt hadn't quite registered what it might have meant last year. But realization was slowly dawning.
Had she wanted… something… wanted this, last year? When he'd gone over to her place to ostensibly borrow her kitchen? And been too shy to bring it up? And hung the mistletoe to try to coax him into a kiss, then blamed her mother when he'd panicked, full-on deer-in-the-headlights?
That broke his heart even more.
Before he could dwell on that feeling any longer, his eyes widened.
That kiss. Or more accurately, that kiss that he'd convinced himself many times over that was nothing but a dream.
But was that actually more accurate?
Or had it actually been real?
If she'd wanted it then too, and had hung the mistletoe… Had it actually freaking happened? And he'd driven himself crazy over thinking he'd dreamt up the whole thing when it actually had been real?
He frowned and his mind raced.
…first time we've done that in the present.
That wouldn't be true if last Christmas had really happened. Then again…
…all this time we had wasted. Just wasting so much time.
But that made a hell of a lot more sense if she'd been talking about a whole year and not just the past few months when Rittenhouse Jessica had been around, or the past week or so since she'd been gone again…
Wyatt had no idea what to make of his jumbled thoughts. There were so many questions, not the least of which was, why wouldn't she have said something? Somehow acknowledged that kiss if it had been real? He was also certainly thinking the more catch-all 'What in the hell?', but he didn't realize that something akin to that sentiment had slipped out of his mouth until he felt Lucy stir next to him, with her murmuring a barely audible "Hmm?" in response.
Half of him wanted to ask her right then and there, but deep, sleepy sigh of contentment from Lucy against his chest put that option to rest. "Nothing," he murmured. "It's ok." And then he brushed a kiss over the top of her head, refraining from waking her just to ask.
It could wait.
And, if he were being honest, for as curious as he was, it didn't really matter. Lucy had been right in the church – there was no point dwelling on the past. They'd made it back to each other now.
It was Christmas. They had each other. No more wasting time.
Pretty damn good place to be, all things considered.
Even if last Christmas remained a mystery a while longer.
FIN
Yes, I hate that Lucy is always portrayed as being dumber than a brick when it comes to cooking. (Based on one line from a guy this version of her doesn't even know?!) Thus my small attempt at setting the record straight on her behalf.
And yes, I know that this now means that Wyatt's "Nice place…" from the 80's episode no longer makes sense, but that's just one little line. I think everything else could still slot in reasonably well, right? So just ignore the fact that he said that, 'kay? :)
To borrow from the title of a previous Christmas fic of mine, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night :)