The storm blew in from out of nowhere.
Much like the French attack, there had been no sign, no indication of its arrival; It just exploded onto the scene with a violent fury that left Wyatt desperately scrambling through the fields as thunder and lightning exploded all around him. He was grateful that his navigational instincts had been honed after covering this ground so many times, but even so, the driving wind and rain made it nearly impossible to find his way…much less find Lucy.
He shouldn't have let her go to the farm…he was feeling better and needed the exercise, but she had overruled him…insisting on getting the water herself…which, given the fact that it was currently pouring - was more than a little ironic. Now, with the worst storm he had ever seen in his life blowing through this God-forsaken country like a freight train, he was kicking himself that he had ever allowed her to convince him to stay in that damn bed.
A dull pain throbbed in his side while he ran through the sodden fields, his feet sloshing through pools of standing water and mud, absolutely soaking his stockings and covering his shoes in mucky grime. She had already been gone too long before the storm blew in…he had already been getting anxious…but now? Now, he needed to find her, and quickly…but as desperate as he was to get to Lucy, he was trying his best to not over-exert himself, knowing full-well that she was right; he was not yet completely healed from his last run-in with the French, despite his repeated insistence to her that he was fine.
When he had raced out into the storm, he had imagined he would find Lucy struggling along the path, on her way home, but after no sign of her on the muddy lane, he was convinced that she must have been at John Fraser's farm when it had hit and had taken refuge there. He was prepared to find her safe and sound…and absolutely fuming that he had been so reckless, running out in this dangerous storm…but he considered he would rather risk a lecture from Lucy Preston, than deal with the guilt that would certainly come if anything had happened to her because he hadn't.
Either way, he knew he wouldn't be able to rest easy until he knew she was safe – and so with no sign of her as he crested the hill to the Fraser farm, he figured after coming this far…he might as well just keep going.
Racing through the back gate to the Fraser farm, Wyatt peered through the relentless wind and rain towards the water pump, where predictably, there was no sign of Lucy. Hardly surprised, he made his way to the house where, dripping wet and panting, he burst through John Fraser's back door and found himself face to face with a confused and alarmed Mrs. Poe
"Gracious me!" she exclaimed, "What brings you here when it's raining pikels out there?"
Clutching his side, Wyatt swallowed hard, gasping for air as he explained in one word, "Lucy."
"She hasn't got the sickness, has she?" Mrs. Poe asked in concern. "Some of the soldiers…"
"No," Wyatt replied, his anxiety mounting, "she came to get water…but…then the storm hit…" he looked at Mrs. Poe desperately, "are you telling me she isn't here?"
"I certainly haven't seen her." Mrs. Poe answered with a shake of her head, "T'aint anyone been at that water pump since noon…I know because Tom was making repairs to it just before the heavens opened."
"Shit." Wyatt cursed, making his way back out of the door and onto the porch, followed closely by Mrs. Poe. "Lucy!" he called out, but once again, his voice was lost in the din of howling winds and rain.
"Have you checked the barn, dear?" Mrs. Poe shouted at him over the screaming wind, "She can't have gotten very far…unless…" she wrung her hands in concern as Wyatt turned to stare at her, "Well you know since that night there have been attacks all up and down this side of the river?" she asked anxiously, "I…I don't mean to be the bearer of ill tidings but Mr. Fraser just received the report not one hour ago…another raid just five miles from here…a whole family killed right in their home, God save them."
Horrified, Wyatt didn't even respond, he raced back out into the storm, heading straight for the barn…but he knew, even before he got there, Lucy wasn't inside – the doors were mercilessly closed and locked from the outside.
Desperate now, he sprinted back down the muddy lane, his feet sticking fast in the ruts and grooves carved out by the storm, splaying at odd angles each time they made contact with the soft ground. The wind blew hard against him, cutting through him like a knife, chilling him to his bones. Far from deterring him, it only served to urge him on that much faster.
He had to find her.
"Lucy!" he shouted - his voice, however, was drowned out by another loud crash of thunder sending him into a state of full-blown panic. Was Mrs. Poe, right? Had the French made another sneak attack? Had they ambushed them again and disappeared with her into the storm? Frantic, he raced down the lane towards their cabin, hoping that maybe they had just somehow missed each other in the storm. "Lucy!" he called out again, now absolutely terrified that he had lost her.
And then he heard it.
The faint sound of his name sounding over the howling winds as he was sliding down the hill towards the cabin. He tried calling back to her, but his voice was lost in the gale-force winds, carrying it off to some other corner of the rolling fields and forests surrounding them. "Lucy!" he shouted in reply, terrified that he had imagined it. "Lucy! Lucy!" Every second feeling like an eternity as he waited in vain for her to answer him. .
A feeling of dread and hopelessness nearly overpowered him as he opened the door to their cabin, finding it unnervingly empty. Breathing heavily, he wiped the dripping water off of his face and peered back out into storm, silently resolving to petition John Fraser to order a search party when he heard it again, the faint sound of his name…stopping him dead in his tracks.
"Wyatt!?"
It louder this time…but there was something else…something more frantic in her voice that unnerved him more than he already was. "Lucy?" he called out, scanning the storm-tossed hill scape for any sign of her.
He waited with bated breath, praying to God he wasn't losing his mind, when a definitive "Wyatt, I'm here!" reached his straining ears. Desperate, he followed the sound of her voice, racing as fast as he dared down the hillside to where he found her, next to the creek and sprawled underneath a fallen tree, her ankle trapped beneath one of its heavy limbs. The muddy ground in front of her bore evidence of the multiple attempts she had made at trying to pull herself free and the closer Wyatt got to her, he could see that she was not only freezing, but absolutely exhausted. "I can't…it's stuck." she gasped out in explanation, as he knelt down beside her.
Wyatt took her face in his hands as if to convince himself that she was real, overwhelmed with relief at finding her relatively unhurt after thinking the worst just moments before. "Don't worry Lucy, I'm gonna get you out of here…I've got you." he promised, but she shook her head at him anxiously.
"No, Wyatt…you can't…you're not…."
"I'm not going to leave you out here in this storm." he dismissed with a huff as he threw himself against the limb, using all of his weight to move it just enough for her to wriggle her ankle free.
Muddy and shaking from both the cold and her over-wrought nerves, Lucy tried to stand, but stumbled the moment she put weight on her foot. Seeing this, Wyatt reached out for her anxiously as she tumbled back to the ground, "Lucy!"
"I'm sorry, Wyatt." Lucy groaned, as she scooted herself backwards onto a patch of grass, "I…I don't think I can make it up that hill…"
"Here…"he instructed with a sigh, "put your arms around my neck." When she made to argue with him again, Wyatt threw her arm over his neck himself and scooped her up into his arms. "I told you," he said with a huff, "I've got you, ma'am." Staggering uphill towards the cabin, laden down as he was with Lucy was difficult, the muddy slope of the hillside hampering his efforts considerably. His side screamed in pain, but he hardly gave a damn, he had to get them both to safety. Nearly falling several times, he fought against the wind, rain, and slick mud to carry Lucy back home, but of more concern for Wyatt was how cold she felt in his arms as the icy rain pelted against them mercilessly. "We're almost there…" he muttered in her ear as he staggered forward with her, "just...just a little further."
He could feel her shivering against his chest as he raced to the still open door of the cabin. Upon entering however, he noted with alarm, that their fire was almost dying. Setting her down on a roughly hewn stool, he quickly fed the flame, willing it to spring back to life so that they could both dry out and find some much needed relief from the unrelenting cold that was, even now, piercing through every crevice of the rustic house and chilling them to the bone.
"I'm so cold." Lucy moaned, shaking violently.
"I know…I know." Wyatt nodded, quickly setting more wood onto the fire, "I'm trying, Lucy…just…just hang on, okay?" Blowing at the glowing embers, he willed them to ignite, cursing at how long it was taking, until finally a small twig caught and soon erupted into a full-blown flame. Sighing in relief, he turned to Lucy and knelt before her in concern, "How's your ankle?" he asked.
Unable to speak, Lucy merely shook her head, prompting Wyatt to quickly remove her shoes and stockings to ascertain the extent of her injury. Her feet felt frozen, and though she didn't seem to mind as he attempted to quickly warm them in his hands, the moment his palm closed around her bruised ankle, she let out hiss of pain as she jerked away from him. "Sorry…." he muttered, "but I need to check if its broken." As gently as he could, he rolled her ankle one way, then the other, his hand tenderly massaging the bone as she tightly gripped both sides of the stool, "It seems fine…probably just sprained" he said, finally with a sigh as he gently dropped her foot, "but you're freezing, Lucy…we need to get you warm."
Rushing towards the small chest by the bed, he pulled out a fresh set of chemises and petticoats as Lucy shakily attempted to remove her soaked clothes. Turning, Wyatt could see her struggling, "here…let me help you." he offered as he pulled at the strings securing her bodice at the front until it fell open at the shoulders allowing him to lift it up and over her head.
He rubbed her arms roughly as he handed her a new chemise., "Here," he suggested, "uh…put this on, and then you can slip out of the other one."
Dutifully, Lucy complied, anxious to get out of her wet garments as soon as possible and into something dry. As the spoiled ones fell to the floor with a unceremonious splat, Wyatt quickly scooped them up and draped them over a chair near the fire before making quick change of his own top. As Lucy made to change out of her petticoat however, the weight on her ankle proved to be too much and she stumbled forward into Wyatt.
"Whoa…hey…are you okay?" he asked in concern, pulling her out from his chest, rubbing her arms as he did so. She, however, seemed to want to stay buried there…and as cold as she was, he really couldn't blame her. He hugged her close, roughly rubbing his hands up and down her back and arms until he could feel her warmth springing back to life beneath his fingertips. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he slowed his work, but didn't cease caressing her arms and back even as she pulled slightly away from him.
A hair's breadth apart, they stood together in front of the budding fire, neither one feeling compelled to move away…and neither one wanting to.
"Wyatt…" she began, but no sooner had his name escaped her lips than his own were crashing against them. He groaned as she pressed herself closer, her mouth moving in concert with his own as his hands drifted up her back and buried into her wet hair.
"Wyatt." she gasped as he abandoned her lips to pay due reverence to her jaw and neckline.
The battle that had been raging within him for days, months…years even…had finally been won…but not by him. Somehow, she had fought her way through every obstacle, every barricade, every wall he had built around his heart since Jessica's death and lodged herself deep within...and no matter how hard he tried to push her out…she just would not budge.
Not that he was complaining.
He made quick work of her sodden petticoat, allowing it to collapse into a heap at their feet as he wrapped his arms around her waist and began walking her backwards to the bed, his mouth fused to hers once more. With one hand, he gently supported her back, easing her down as his other desperately clawed at the hem of her chemise, pulling it higher and higher…
"Wyatt!"
He sat up with a start, his heart pounding fast in chest as Lucy stood over him, gently caressing the side of his face, her eyes narrowed in grave concern. "Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly, "It's your side, isn't it? Is it hurting you again?"
Gripping her hand momentarily, he took in his surroundings, completely confused. Sunshine was pouring in through the open windows of the cabin, there was not a cloud in the sky, he was in the bed…and Lucy…Lucy was standing over him…
Fully dressed.
Oh shit.
Groaning he held his head in his hands, pressing his palms to his eyes as he desperately attempted to knock the mental image of Lucy writhing beneath him out of his sex-starved brain.
It had been fifteen days since the results of his heroics against the French ambush had landed him in this bed and while he had resigned himself to the necessity of sleeping in the bed early on in his recovery, it was now becoming a bit of a liability…not that he could do much about it. It still hurt too much to lift his arms to clamber up to the loft himself and he wasn't about to ask Lucy to sleep up there…
Because she was claustrophobic…of course.
Forced to sleep next to her, therefore, Wyatt spent every restless night breathing in the sweet honey and lavender scent of Lucy's hair, waking up to the feel of her cold feet entangled with his own, and finding himself huddled against her in an attempt to stay warm after she stole all the damn covers. But that wasn't even the worst of it – his injury meant that he was also forced to surrender himself over to her medical ministrations…her fingers dancing all along his bare torso…several times a day…every damn day…for two weeks.
Torture didn't even begin to cover it.
Completely oblivious to Wyatt's inner struggle, Lucy continued to fawn over him anxiously "Wyatt? What's wrong?" she asked again as she moved her hand across his face in concern, checking for fever. "Are you in pain?"
Flinching away from her, Wyatt retreated to the middle of the bed, desperate to keep as far away from Lucy as possible…at least until he got himself under some semblance of control. Lucy cast him an admonishing glare as he did so, turning back to the table and producing the medical kit, "I knew it." she said with a shake of her head, "You should have taken that willow bark tonic last night. I know it tastes gross, Wyatt…but you always wake up in pain when you don't…"
"I'm fine." Wyatt grunted out, his head still buried in his hands, too mortified to even look at her.
"Mmmmhmmm" Lucy hummed doubtfully as she made her way over to the table mixing some acrid smelling liquid into a paste. Setting it down on the small table next to the bed, she added, "I think I'll be the judge of that. Take off your shirt."
"What?!" Wyatt exclaimed in alarm, recoiling away, "Why?"
"Why?" Lucy asked incredulously, "You were groaning" she explained, "Deny it all you want Wyatt, but I know you are in pain. Come on, we need to check those burns…let me see."
"No," he shook his head frantically, retreating further away from her, "Just…just leave me alone. It's fine. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." Lucy said appraisingly as she sat down next to him on the bed, "you're all flushed and sweaty again. Wyatt…" she urged anxiously, reaching for him again, "you had an infection…it could have come back…"
"Dammit Lucy, trust me." he spat out as he swiped her hand away from him, "It's not an infection. I'm fine."
"Okay…it's not an infection," Lucy scoffed, her voice dripping with skepticism, "but you still need to have your bandages changed, Wyatt. The doctor said every…"
"What the hell does he know?" Wyatt spat out, "You said yourself that 18th century medicine was a crock." he added as he scrambled out from underneath the covers the minute her back was turned.
"Not all of it." she maintained as she began coating fresh bandages with the paste she had mixed, "Cleaning your wounds? Making sure you have a fresh bandage on? Those are pretty standard for the 21st century, Wyatt" she argued before turning and finding, much to her surprise, Wyatt out of bed. "What are you doing?" Lucy asked him blankly.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Wyatt grimaced as he limped his way over to the corner, "I'm getting the hell out of here."
Wincing, he shoved on his jacket and slipped into his shoes as Lucy protested, "No, Wyatt…you can't…you aren't in any condition to…"
"Just leave me alone, okay?" Wyatt demanded as he flung open the door…only to find Rufus awkwardly standing there before him, his hand poised as if to knock, "What the hell do you want?" he spat out.
"Well good morning to you, too." Rufus sneered as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed again, I see."
"Good morning, Rufus." Lucy called from over Wyatt's shoulder, "I was just trying to give him his medicine…"
"And I told you…I'm fine." Wyatt gritted out again.
Lucy swapped a meaningful eye roll with Rufus, "Oh yeah," he quipped sarcastically as he pushed his way past Wyatt and into the cabin, "anyone can see you're just fan-freaking-tastic." Taking a spoonful of porridge out of a bowl on the table, he nodded towards Lucy and asked with a mouthful of food, "Seriously, is he always this grumpy in the morning?"
"Yes." she supplied implicitly over Wyatt's emphatic "No."
"Uh-huh." Rufus replied doubtfully, "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it, man." he added as he slapped Wyatt on the shoulder and sat down at the table with a groan.
"How are things at the forge, Rufus?" Lucy asked handing him a jar of honey.
"It's going." he replied with a heavy sigh, swirling honey into his porridge. "With Tom's shoulder still healing and a whole literal army demanding supplies every damn day…" he groaned again and rubbed his arm, "I am now an expert on musket balls and horseshoes."
"Musket balls and horseshoes aren't going to get us home." Wyatt reminded him gruffly.
"You don't think I know that?" Rufus snapped, "I'm trying, okay? It's not as easy as it looks, you know." He cast Wyatt an annoyed grimace before turning to Lucy. "Listen, I didn't mean to interrupt your um…quiet morning at home… but I just wanted to let you know that I talked to John Fraser and he thinks it's best if we dig out another water pump before the frost sets in."
Wyatt turned to Rufus in confusion, "Whoa…whoa…whoa…what are you talking about?" he asked, "What's this about a water pump? I thought you were learning how to be a blacksmith?"
Rufus gaped at Wyatt, "I am." he answered slowly, somewhat annoyed by his interruption, "But the one at the farm is all jacked up right now and with you all laid up and the French doing their thing, Colonel McKee thinks it's a good idea if no one goes traipsing down to the river or the creek…especially alone…you know they lost two more soldiers this week?" Rufus added with a shake of his head.
Lucy shot an anxious glance towards Wyatt and muttered, "Mrs. Poe stopped by this morning and told me a whole family had been killed…about five miles from here."
Uneasy for more reasons than one, Wyatt clenched his jaw and looked out of the window as Rufus whispered tensely "Just between us…this whole thing with the French is making me really nervous…even more now that Colonel Whatshisface is taking all of his troops back to Fort Cumberland for the winter."
"What!?" Wyatt barked out, looking even more anxious than he had before, "since when?"
Rufus gaped at him before stammering, "Si…since a letter came in from Williamsburg telling them they needed to prepare to m…meet some big wig General and his army."
"Not General Braddock?" Lucy asked, turning towards him suddenly with a gasp.
"Yeah, that's it" Rufus replied with a shrug, "Why?"
"Because," Lucy groaned, "he's not supposed to land in Virginia until February…he's not even supposed to be here until July when he leads his disastrous expedition against the French….and they don't even get this close. They French head them off before they get anywhere near Ft. Duquesne."
"Define disastrous." Wyatt asked tersely.
"Disastrous in that just about every British officer is killed…including Braddock." Lucy explained as she paced in front of the fireplace, "George Washington barely escapes…he's shot through his coat three times…ugh…this…this is not good." She bit her thumb anxiously and muttered, "This could change everything."
"Let's not panic, yet, okay?" Rufus replied, trying to calm her down, "for all we know it could still happen the same way. They're only a couple mon…seven months early, right? And with winter coming," he encouraged further, "they probably won't do a damn thing but sit around that fort, roasting marshmallows and telling stories by the fire. I mean, who attacks in the dead of winter?"
"Washington." Lucy and Wyatt replied together.
"The Crossing of the Delaware, Rufus?" Lucy reminded him, "Christmas Day 1776 – he took the Hessians completely by surprise."
"You think?" Rufus asked incredulously, "Who the hell attacks on Christmas?"
"If the British are sending Braddock now," Lucy murmured thoughtfully, "they must be planning an attack, especially if they're recalling these troops…if the French find out, it'll be war.
"It was already war." Wyatt griped impatiently.
"Not officially." Lucy argued.
"Official or not" Wyatt spat out, "these two have been going at it for months now. So, what if the dates change a bit? War is going to happen whether we like it or not…and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be here when it happens."
"But Wyatt," Lucy pleaded, "what if this battle does happen early and Washington is killed? What happens then? Or what if Braddock survives? You know Washington's leadership after Braddock's death is what earns him the respect that elevates him to lead the army during the Revolution?"
"Look, you two." Rufus interjected, "I get it…this isn't exactly the way the story is supposed to go…but we could be worrying ourselves over nothing. There's no guarantee that they're going to attack early, right? He may just be coming to get the lay of the land. Besides, we've got more important things to worry about right now," he added as he took another bite of porridge, "like, where do you want your water pump?"
"We're supposed to be trying to figure out how the hell we're going to get out of here." Wyatt spat out coldly, "Not…not putting in plumbing!"
Rufus and Lucy exchanged astonished looks before she narrowed her eyes at him in confusion, "Wyatt…we still have to live…"
"We're not going to be doing much living if we're stuck in the 18th century for much longer." he growled, storming out of the door in a huff. Clothes all askew, limping slightly and favoring his side, Wyatt made his way through the yard and down the well-trodden path towards John Fraser's farm, leaving a bewildered Lucy and Rufus in his wake.
Shaking his head slowly in disbelief, Rufus turned to an equally stunned Lucy and scoffed, "What the hell is his problem?
"I'm not sure." Lucy said slowly, her eyes narrowing as she watched Wyatt's retreating figure slowly but surely make his way up the small hill towards the ridgeline.
Rufus scoffed, "For a guy who spent two weeks fixing up this house…"
"I don't think it's about the house." Lucy interrupted thoughtfully as she turned back towards the table with a sigh, scraping the paste she had made into a small jar. At Rufus' puzzled expression she explained, "I think it's getting to him…being stuck here."
"And what the hell does he think it is for us? A vacation?" Rufus spat out at her incredulously.
"No." Lucy said with a shake of her head, "But…I think…with his burn…he's been really worried…we all were." She looked at Rufus with a frown, "He could have died, Rufus…I mean, we almost killed him for heaven's sake."
"We?" Rufus gaped at her incredulously, "Oh no, no…there was no "we" about it. That was you and ol' Nurse Ratched." Rufus chuckled darkly as he dove into a bowl of porridge, "If anything, I saved his life…and you'd think he'd be a little more grateful."
Lucy sighed heavily as she set aside Wyatt's unused medicine thinking over everything that had transpired over the last two weeks.
Wyatt had been very sick…even after they began feeding him the penicillin and taking a page out of the Egyptians book and applying it directly to his skin, there were some nervous moments where she and Rufus had both been really concerned that they might just lose him…that they had been too late. But then, after many sleepless nights sitting by his bedside, spoon feeding him bone broth and penicillin, he finally turned a corner. Having fallen asleep at the dining table, poring over a new remedy book she had borrowed from Mrs. Poe, Lucy was startled awake one morning by Wyatt's groggy voice, "What the? Um…does anyone want to tell me why I'm laying on…what is this? Bread? And…wha…why the hell is it moldy?"
Relieved to hear Wyatt's voice after so many days of sitting helplessly by his bedside, Lucy launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck…taking him completely by surprise. "Oh my God," she sobbed as she pressed her hands to his face and forehead, "I can't believe it…you…you don't have a fever anymore."
"I told you that was…"he began but as tears began to well in Lucy's eyes, he groaned in understanding, "Do I even want to know?"
As it turned out, he did not want to know.
The minute he found out that Mrs. Poe had cut open his blisters, he cursed and threw his head back admonishing Lucy for not trusting him or his training. "What the hell, Lucy? Didn't I tell you…"
"Yes, but Wyatt," she explained running her hands through her hair, "you were completely out of it…and you were…you were getting worse, okay? I just…I panicked, alright?"
"You could have killed me." Wyatt spat out angrily, "I told you to just leave me the hell alone…why didn't you trust me enough to know that I knew what I was talking about?"
Lucy stared back at him, feeling her error all the more with the utterance of that oh so significant word – trust. Why hadn't she learned her lesson from 1972? Not trusting Wyatt with the journal, with Flynn…even her deal with Agent Christopher had almost ruined their relationship forever. And now, she had again, second-guessed him…had chosen to carve out her own path, her own solution to a problem, despite the fact that Wyatt had told her a fever after a burn was absolutely normal.
And he was right – she had almost killed him in the process.
"I'm…I'm so sorry, Wyatt." Lucy began quietly in a voice quavering with emotion, "But seeing you…laying there like that…I just…"
"Hey, look who's finally up!" Rufus called as he walked through the door, setting down his bag and moving to shake Wyatt's hand. "How are you feeling, man?"
Lucy pursed her lips together and moved to heat a kettle as Wyatt rolled his eyes, "I'd be a hell of a lot better if I didn't know what you all put me through these past few days."
Rufus turned to Lucy with a tense smile, "He found out about the lead poisoning, huh?"
"What!?" Wyatt growled.
"Rufus!" Lucy gritted out meaningfully, before turning to Wyatt with an apologetic shake of the head, "Nothing - it's nothing…we fixed it, okay?"
"Fixed what?" Wyatt demanded.
"It's just…well, Mrs. Poe might have put a lead-based salve on your burns to try to draw out the infection." When Wyatt cursed, Lucy quickly added, "But as soon as I found out what it was, we took it off…and Rufus…"
"Rufus saved your ass." he said meaningfully as he sat down on the stool Lucy had vacated earlier, "You're welcome, by the way." he said as he nodded towards the slice of bread lying by Wyatt's side.
"What? For this?" Wyatt asked incredulously.
"That, I'll have you know, is some first-rate topical penicillin my friend." Pouring himself a bit of milk from the ewer they had cooling on the windowsill, he added as Wyatt raised his eyebrows at him, "That's right, I made penicillin."
"Moldy bread?" Wyatt asked dubiously.
"Yeah, where do you think penicillin comes from?" Rufus scoffed, "The bread was the easy part…"
"And my idea." Lucy interjected as she began preparing a mug for Wyatt, "Well…technically it was the Ancient Egyptians. They used to cover wounds with moldy bread to help them heal."
"Yeah, but actually purifying it and getting it to where you drink it down without gagging? That took some serious skill."
"Wait a minute," Wyatt interjected slowly, "are you telling me that I've…I've been drinking mold?"
"Pen-i-cillin." Rufus corrected, "Purified mold…healthy mold…okay, yes…mold…but it worked, didn't it? You're not lying there looking…"
"So let me get this straight," Wyatt grunted as he attempted to sit up, "you two took it upon yourselves to ignore everything I said, cut me open, gave me lead poisoning and then fixed it all by…"
"Inventing penicillin." Rufus finished for him, "yeah, like I said…you're welcome."
Wyatt stared back at the two of them incredulously as if he wasn't sure whether to be furious at them for not listening or impressed by their quick thinking and innovation.
For Lucy's part, she didn't blame Wyatt for being angry, nor did she hold it against him for grimacing every time she presented him with a cup of "hot mold." It wasn't like it was the most delectable thing in the world, after all. As Rufus had stated when he strained the first batch of moldy bread through a bit of cheesecloth…sugar would kill the penicillin…and so there wasn't much else they could do to make it more palatable…and given that it was literally moldy bread, mixed with hot water, a bit of vinegar, and pressed into a tea, she imagined it didn't taste very good.
She did her best to try to make it up to him, though.
After all their arguments about trust since before they even landed in this century, Lucy felt compelled more than ever to prove to Wyatt that she did trust him…and that he could trust her…and that despite her many short-comings she could be every bit of the wife her phantom version of Jessica was. When she wasn't fawning over Wyatt's burns or offering him medicine, therefore, she was giving him bone broth to eat, helping him get comfortable, or working on improving her domestic skills which, at the moment, included baking bread and cooking dinner.
She could feel Wyatt's gaze follow her as she moved about the cabin, studying her, watching her as she prepared his medicine, tended to his torso, kneaded the dough, greased the pans or ground meal. When, at last, she finally placed a tureen in front of him with a slab of fresh baked bread and a bit of butter, he looked up at her in confusion, "What is this?"
"Your…your dinner…buttered grits and ham." she responded sheepishly, "If…if you don't want it, I can…I can get you some more bone broth…I just thought, well, I thought that you might want something a little more solid…since…"
"You made all of this?" Wyatt asked, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Well, yes" she flushed self-consciously, "Mrs. Poe didn't just come to slice up your blisters, you know." she added with a teasing hint of a smile, "She also gave me a few pointers when it came to cooking some basic dishes…like porridge and grits…and stew." When Wyatt continued to stare at her with narrowed eyes, Lucy made to move the tureen away from him, "It's okay if you don't want to eat it," she assured, "it's probably not that good anyway…"
"No….no it's fine." Wyatt responded, looking at her curiously, "I just…I can't believe I'm about to have actual food," he admitted with a smirk, still looking at her inquisitively, "it's been a while."
Wyatt ate - for the first time since his injury…and while seeing him clean his bowl boosted Lucy's self-confidence in the way of meal preparation, the fact that his appetite had once again, returned allowed her – for the first time in days, to breathe a sigh of grateful relief.
It did not, however, prevent her from doing everything she could to make up for almost killing him. With dinner done, she set aside a bowl for Rufus, who she imagined would come in sometime late in the evening, keeping it warm in the alcove above the fireplace. Storing the rest of their meal in a pot, she took it outside in the cold night air, securing the lid tightly with a few strips of cloth so that they could enjoy it the next morning for breakfast. She also took to gathering eggs, milking their goat and feeding their chickens before she came inside and found that Wyatt had once again, fallen asleep.
Pressing her hand to his forehead, Lucy breathed another sigh of relief to find that he was still mercifully cool to the touch…but she had spent so many evenings sitting by his bedside, worrying over his condition, it was hardly surprising that she found herself, hours later, startling awake, wrapped in her shawl and curled up in the rocking chair beside the bed.
At first, she thought it was the dying fire that had awoken her, the bitterly cold wind driving into every slight crack and crevice of the poorly insulated cabin, making it uncomfortably cool. She moved to throw another log on the fire, when she found her hand gently seized by a very much awake Wyatt who was lying there, looking at her…with the same curious expression he had worn before.
"Wyatt?" she whispered, "What's wrong? Did…did you want something for your pain?"
"Lucy," he whispered back, "You don't have to worry about me anymore, okay? I'm fine. You need to sleep too."
She nodded and shrugged sheepishly, "It's just…just…force of habit…I guess." He released her hand as she made her way to the fire and threw on a few more logs. Turning once more, she noted that Wyatt was still watching her, as if he suspected she would return back to her chair to obsessively watch over him, denying herself some much needed rest…and he would've been right. Unable to return to what had been her bed for several days, therefore, Lucy motioned awkwardly to the ladder, "I'll just…um…yeah…"
"Isn't Rufus up there?" Wyatt asked dryly.
"No…he um...he came by for dinner not long after you fell asleep," Lucy explained as she began climbing the ladder, "he has an early day tomorrow so he's just going to sleep in the barn with Tom. Oh…there's…there's not enough room to…"she stammered as she awkwardly surveyed the tiny loft, "okay, um…I'm just gonna change down here…and then I'll….
"Lucy," Wyatt breathed out in sleepy exasperation, "just get in the bed…it's fine."
"You mean…with…with you?" she stammered.
"Yeah…why not?" Wyatt asked with a slight shrug, "It's not like we haven't slept next to each other before…besides, it's pretty tight up there…not exactly the best place for someone with claustrophobia."
There were plenty of good reasons why not…all of them surrounded by the fact that for all intents and 18th century purposes. Wyatt Logan was her husband…and she was hopelessly head over heels for him…not that that would typically be an issue in a typical marriage situation. But theirs was not a typical marriage…and their relationship, at times, hardly bordering on the platonic.
He could infuriate her more than any man she had ever known – his stubborn, reckless, hot-headed behavior drove her up the proverbial wall. But then there were times, like now, where his concern for her, his thoughtfulness, his care…overrode every maddening thing about him and in those moments…especially when he looked at her, she could hardly breathe.
She knew her heart was in serious trouble…pining after something that could never be…because even if they never did make it back to 2016 – it had been agreed, this was just part of the job.
Besides, even if one day, something did eventually happen between them here in the 18th century, Lucy knew that for Wyatt…it would be settling. He had made it abundantly clear that Jessica was the only woman he could ever love…and she didn't think that being stranded in the 1700s for the rest of his life would change that. He had lived for five years, after all…still pining for her…and Lucy knew, he always would.
There just wasn't room enough for her.
"Lucy," Wyatt's voiced called again, his half-closed eyes peering at her in the firelight, "get some sleep…or I won't be able to."
Resigning herself with a sigh, she quickly made work of her bodice…easier now since this particular dress laced in the front, and slipped into bed next to him, almost immediately regretting that she had done so when she realized how small the bed actually was. If Wyatt noticed any discomfort, he didn't let on, he let out a sigh of his own as he murmured a sleepy, "Night, Lucy." and settled further underneath the covers.
She turned her head to respond in kind, but instead, a stammered apology came out, "I…I'm so glad you're okay, Wyatt. I…I'm sorry for not trusting you. I should have." She nodded and blinked away the tears as she pressed on, "I just…when you weren't getting any better, I didn't know what else to do…" she sighed heavily before adding with a scoff, "I'm just not cut out for all of this."
Wyatt sighed heavily before replying matter of factly, "Yes, you are." When Lucy didn't respond, he turned back to face her and explained, "Lucy, I'm okay, I'm alive…thanks to you and Rufus."
"But Wyatt," Lucy argued, "you were right, I mean, you know all about first-aid…way more than I do…and I still…I didn't trust you." she sighed and muttered ruefully, "It's just like the journal all over again…"
"No, it's not." Wyatt interrupted, "Look, I know I got upset…and I'm sorry, about that, okay?" He let out a curse as he tried to explain, "I need to be able to count on you…but…that's just the thing. You screwed up, yes…but you two did fix it. Hell, you made penicillin…you figured out a way to make this place a hell of a lot safer for us…without my help." he added meaningfully. "I'm not mad." he assured her, "I'm impressed."
"Really?" Lucy asked him dubiously, "because you…you really didn't seem impressed."
Wyatt rolled his eyes, "Well that stuff isn't exactly tasty, ma'am."
"Well, we tried our best…" Lucy shrugged, before adding with a slight smile "but beggars can't be choosers, right?"
"Right." he nodded, with a soft smile of his own before clearing his throat and adding seriously. "Now come on…it's late…you need to get some sleep."
Smiling to herself, Lucy snuggled deeper into the covers, feeling like for the first time in a very long time, she might actually have a good night's sleep. With the bed being no bigger than a modern-day full size, however, she found that no matter how hard she tried to keep from brushing up against Wyatt's arm, she did…until finally, with a sigh, he lifted it and drew her into his side. At first, she tensed at the gesture – not wanting to give into it too much, for obvious reasons. Given all the anxiety she had suffered over the past few days, however, she found that being held by Wyatt was just what she needed. He made her feel safe, warm and content…in a way that no one else could….and he must have felt so too. No sooner had she settled her head onto his shoulder, he began to breathe deep and slow, his steady heartbeat lulling her right to sleep with him.
And such had been their arrangement from that day onward, lying side by side, huddled against each other, both of them taking comfort in the presence of the other as they drifted off to sleep.
But then reports starting coming in of more French attacks, announcing random acts of violence against settlements, women and children slaughtered in the dead of night by their native allies and it all seemed to be weighing heavily on Wyatt's mind. For the past few days, his sleep was back to being restless and fitful…and though he no longer showed any sign of fever, he would wake up…as he had done this morning, flushed, agitated and sweaty. Oftentimes, Lucy would try to wake him, calling his name, soothing his worried face with a caress of her hand and sometimes, this would work to calm him. Other times however, it just seemed to agitate him all the more.
Like it had this morning.
"He's under a lot of pressure" Lucy muttered as she cast Rufus an apologetic frown, coming out of her reverie, "I think with all of these reports coming in…he's afraid…being injured like he is, he won't be able to protect us. And now, with the troops headed back to Fort Cumberland," she added with a sigh, "I think he's feeling it all the more.' She shrugged as she continued, "At least with them here, we had a little more protection."
"Let's not forget that the whole reason the French attacked in the first place was because those troops came here." Rufus reminded her.
"And they came because of what Wyatt did to save me." she retorted back as she wiped her hands on her apron. "And knowing Wyatt, he's probably kicking himself for that too." Grabbing her shawl, she announced with a sigh, "I'm gonna go talk to him."
"Better you than me." Rufus scoffed derisively as he sat down at the table and emptied another bowl of porridge into his own, "Since he's not eating this, I'm just gonna finish it up, okay?"
Casting him a withering glare, Lucy wrenched open the door and made her way out into the leaf-strewn fields. Winter was definitely coming fast upon them, the chill in the air and the nearly bare trees providing enough evidence of that fact as she raced along the road in a desperate attempt to catch up to Wyatt. She could see him, slowly making his way up the hill in front of her, the determination in his step only hampered by the pain he was visibly still feeling as he limped along the path. Quickening her step as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Lucy called out, "Wyatt! Wait!"
He stilled, but not without obvious irritation. Throwing his head back in exasperation, he huffed out a hard breath before turning towards her, "What do you want, Lucy?" he groaned.
Panting slightly from the exertion of chasing after him, she breathed out, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?" She eyed him curiously even as he refused to look at her, "What was all of that about back there?"
Keeping his eye trained on the distant tree line, Wyatt replied with an indifferent shrug, "Nothing's bothering me." He turned to her roughly, impatient to get some distance between them, and barked, "I just want you to leave me alone."
Lucy stared back at him and scoffed, shaking her head in frustration. He was about to just resume his march to John Fraser's house, when she rounded on him angrily, "You know, you talk to me all the time about trusting you…but you know what? Maybe you should trust me too."
"I trust you." Wyatt spat out defensively, turning to her once more, though that admittance was met with a disbelieving scoff from Lucy. And really, why wouldn't it? After all, it hadn't been so long ago, that he explicitly announced that he could not trust either of his teammates…that their deception had called everything he had once believed into question. Hell, he had even been prepared to leave them, these missions, this whole time traveling mess - because of that fact…and yet, now he was expecting Lucy to believe that he had suddenly had a change of heart?
Maybe he had…but with the dubious look Lucy was currently shooting him, he was pretty damn sure he hadn't really done a good job of showing it.
Wholly unconvinced, Lucy shook her head in disbelief and scoffed, "If you trust me, then why won't you talk to me? Or Rufus? Wyatt," she pleaded, "I know something is bothering you… almost every night this past week you've been tossing & turning, groaning in your sleep…and I think I know why." He flushed and looked away, unable to look at her without recalling the way her phantom self had gasped out his name as he trailed slow kisses up her neck. Rubbing a rough hand across his face, Wyatt willed those thoughts away, inwardly cursing at himself for being so damn weak when Lucy, who had been studying him with a severe eye, sighed and admitted in a small voice, "Wyatt, it's okay. I have them too."
Dropping his hand from his eyes to his mouth, Wyatt gaped at her for a long while seemingly unable to even string two words together as his brain flitted through a chaotic series of panicked questions - Could she…how did she kn…what had she heard…did she…? Desperate to get out of this horribly awkward situation, Wyatt dropped his hand from his jaw and began to shuffle backwards away from her, stumbling a few times as he did so. They couldn't talk about this…no, it would completely ruin their professional relationship…hell, forget about professional relationship…he was pretty damn sure he would never be able to look her in the eye again, let alone live with her.
Which, given the subject matter at hand, seemed kind of silly…she was his wife, after all.
"Wyatt," Lucy almost pleaded, stepping towards him, 'it's okay…you don't have to be embarrassed."
In a last-ditch attempt at nonchalance, Wyatt ducked his flushed face downward and shrugged though he stammered nervously, "Um…I don't know what…what do you mean?"
Offering him a knowing smirk, Lucy shrugged, "It's only natural, Wyatt…being stranded here like we are…dealing with everything we have dealt with." With a dark chuckle she added, "I mean, you were almost killed for heaven's sake. Twice. That can trigger all sorts of…things. She reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as she nodded to him meaningfully, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, okay?" Wyatt swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on her nimble fingers gripping his arm. "Really, Wyatt," Lucy continued, "you're only human. I mean, just because you're Delta Force doesn't mean you can't have nightmares."
Wyatt couldn't help but let an incredulous laugh. Nightmares. She thought he was having nightmares. While a part of him wanted to admit that yes, what he was experiencing were absolutely nightmares in terms of…because he would never…another part of him…the part of him that got a little weak in the knees every time she got close to him, the part of him that couldn't bear to think of actually leaving the protection of his team…of her to anyone else…not even someone he regarded as highly as his old buddy, Bam Bam…that part of him knew that in no way, shape, or form, could those dreams be considered nightmares.
True, they may have scared the hell out of him in more ways than one; she was always in some kind of danger…and he was always desperate to get to her….that, in and of itself was a living nightmare, having lost one wife because of his carelessness. But they also scared the hell out of him because of the deeper implications. Stranded as they were, married as they were…these "nightmares" would only serve to make their living and sleeping situation a hell of a lot more awkward than it already was.
And he couldn't risk that.
But he also couldn't deny that there was something in his feelings for Lucy that spoke to something more than just friendship. Yes, she was his wife…but more than that – she was Lucy. Lucy, the woman who had risked it all to save his life at the Alamo. Lucy, the woman who passionately defended him in front of Homeland Security. Lucy, the woman who had double-crossed Garcia Flynn in order to rescue him from that run-down hotel-room in 1972. Lucy, the woman who had, for the past two weeks, stayed up til all hours watching over him, nursing his injury, feeding him - making him feel wanted and cared for in a way that…he hadn't felt in a very long time.
And that was the problem.
Because he loved Jessica.
Whatever this…this…was with Lucy had just been brought on by their current, desperate situation and the fact that he hadn't lived with or been cared for by a woman since Jess died. That would naturally lead him to…wasn't there that whole Florence Nightingale effect thing? Yeah...that's what they called it in Back to the Future, right? When Marty McFly's mom got the hots for her son? Yeah…because she was taking care of him after her dad hit him with the car.
Except no…that wasn't the same because he was the one who…
Dammit.
Clearly all of this had been brought on because of the ridiculous role playing they had been forced to take on for this mission. His brain was just understandably confused. Add to the fact that Lucy had been taking care of him, nursing him back to health and well, when it came right down to it, he had seen her naked and that certainly didn't help things. Of course, being here, with no real distractions, being forced to keep in close contact and proximity, seeing more of each other than they ever had before - would lead to some sort of primal attraction…solely based on instinct.
That's all this was.
He just needed space - fresh air, sunshine…maybe some light exercise to help clear his head and get him thinking rationally again. So, if Lucy wanted to think that he was suffering from nightmares, why the hell would he bother to correct her? It didn't mean anything…and like she said, given their current situation…it was a perfectly natural reaction to everything that they had been going through. Being cooped up with her for two weeks while she ran her fingers over his torso?
What the hell did he expect to happen?
Feeling a bit better about his problem, but still unable to meet her eye, Wyatt frowned, easing his arm out of her gentle grip, "You're right." he muttered softly.
"Right?" Lucy asked in confusion. "About what?"
"I um…I guess I have been feeling a little stressed." he admitted with a shrug. "Tends to happen when you're all cooped up…" he chuckled mirthlessly, stepping further away from her, "you get a little stir crazy."
"So…you're okay?" she asked, looking wholly unconvinced as Wyatt still refused to meet her eye. "You're…you're not in any pain?"
"Dammit, Lucy" Wyatt breathed out in exasperation, "how many times do I have to tell you? I'm fine."
"Okay….you're fine….but Wyatt, you still need to have your bandages…Wyatt?" she called after him, but it was no use, he was already stalking away down the road, silently determining to not ever let Lucy come anywhere near his torso again.
At least for the time being.