Wyatt figured that the simplest way to distract himself from his unnerving attraction to Lucy was to keep himself busy…preferably away from her.
Knowing all too well that John Fraser had suffered a grisly injury to his leg that would prevent him from effectively managing his farming and trading empire, he therefore set out to help rebuild and replant John Fraser's farm. After all, he was only had a roof over his head because of John Fraser and his kindness and it had been agreed before any of this happened that in repayment of that kindness, Wyatt would help work the fields, hunt or do whatever else needed to be done. In his mind, therefore, he was killing two birds with one stone; fulfilling a promise to his 18th century landlord and more importantly, keeping himself at a safe distance from Lucy.
When he arrived at the farm, however, he found that in the way of replanting, much of that work had already been accomplished in the two weeks he had been recuperating…thanks to Rufus' ingenuity.
Since fire had consumed much of John Fraser's fields, they had to be plowed and replanted all over again…a grueling task in the best of times, but with winter coming on fast it was imperative that it be done…and fast. As Wyatt discovered, however, Rufus…with the help of Tom, had made this task simpler by fashioning a seed drill out of a few old rusty wheelbarrows.
"He just saw this picture," Tom explained tossing Wyatt a farmer's almanac, "and said he could build a better one…and damn it all if he didn't. We done seeded three times as many rows with his as we could with the one old Mr. Tull invented there."
"Mr. Tull?" Wyatt asked, before he peered at the small lettering beneath the illustration featured broadly on the first page of the almanac and chuckled, "Jethro Tull? You got to be kidding me…"
"Why? You know him, too?" Tom asked innocently. "Rufus said the same thing…"
"Huh?" Wyatt asked blankly, "Oh, no…it's just…that name," he explained awkwardly, "it just…it reminds me of…I mean, I've heard it before…" he continued stammering, before shaking his head with another chuckle and dismissing, "You know what? Nevermind."
"Well, if you know anything about farming, you should know that name." Tom replied, eyeing him suspiciously, "Jethro Tull is all anybody ever talks about in these almanacs…he had all kinds of ideas for measuring the compounds in soil to make it better for growing, and hoeing by horse, and using drills, like this here." He said patting the seed drill. Glancing uneasily at Wyatt, Tom explained in a hushed voice, "I hope you won't say anything…Rufus and I have an agreement, you see. He's…teaching me to read and I'm teaching him about blacksmithing."
Wyatt stared back at him for a moment in confusion before realization dawned on him. Handing Tom back the farmer's almanac, he assured, "Um…you don't have to worry, I won't, um…tell on you or anything."
Tom nodded back at him appreciatively, "It's not that I think Master Fraser will care, but I…I don't want anybody thinking I'm flittin' away my time on useless things…especially when there's so much work to be done."
"I don't think it's useless." Wyatt answered with a shrug, "And besides, that's why I'm here…I mean, to help out with all the work that needs to be done."
Tom eyed him warily, "Aren't you still hard up, yourself?" He nodded towards Wyatt's side, "I don't reckon you ought to be wearing yourself out seeing as how you're still blistered and such."
"I'm fine." Wyatt huffed out impatiently, frustrated that everyone seemed to be worried about his damn side. "I know what I can handle, I just…I want to do my part, okay? So, what can I do?"
Tom rubbed a rough hand over his chin, still eyeing Wyatt thoughtfully, "Well, I suppose getting the kitchen and washroom back to working order is something you can lend a hand with. Mind, there won't be much help for you until the plantings all done…but there are one or two young 'uns that'll be able to share the load."
"I don't mind." Wyatt assured him...and he didn't. Sure, he was used to being part of a team, but right now, his greater concern was less about teamwork and more about keeping himself busy…and distracted.
Setting straight to work, therefore, Wyatt immediately began helping to rebuild the burned-out kitchen. Most of the debris from the fire had already been cleared away, though there was still some work to do on that front. The stairs and loft above had all but been destroyed and needed rebuilding and though the massive hearth escaped a lot of damage, the chimney had cracked and split in several places and was in dire need of repair.
It was hard work, but much like his earlier repairs on the cottage, he found the labor satisfying and fulfilling. It filled his days from almost immediately after sun-up to long past dinnertime when darkness, alone, would send him limping his way back down the lane where he would find Lucy…quietly practicing whatever new skill she was determined to learn out of the book she had received from Mrs. Poe.
He never asked what she was up to and she never seem inclined to share. If she asked about his day or how he was feeling, he merely grunted in response, desperate to keep his distance from her in all aspects of their relationship. She would eye him suspiciously in those moments, but if she had any idea as to the why he was avoiding her, she didn't let on, nor did she press him to talk…and he was pretty damn grateful for that. After scarfing down whatever Lucy had prepared for him, he went straight to bed. Being so exhausted from a hard day's work, his sleep was deep and thankfully, dreamless. He hardly noted or cared that Lucy was curled up beside him and if, in the morning, he woke to find himself wrapped around her, he would simply get up and set off again before she stirred, all while trying to keep himself from dwelling too much on the fact that that waking up with Lucy nestled in his arms was the best damn part of his day.
Trying to avoid Lucy at all costs, therefore, Wyatt spent the next week working from sunup to sundown on John Fraser's farm…and for the purposes of curing him of his "nightmares" as Lucy had called them, it seemed to be a winning formula…even if a part of him did feel like a bit of an ass.
One day, however, things changed.
Instead of remaining at home at a comfortable distance from Wyatt, Lucy began making trips to the farm herself. He would see her, while he was working, side-eying him with concern as she made her way to the main house. At first, he didn't think much of it – she would occasionally come to Mrs. Poe for supplies or herbs…but when it happened three days in a row, Wyatt began to get suspicious.
"Why is Lucy here again?" he remarked to Rufus one afternoon by the water pump.
Looking over his shoulder to where Lucy had just disappeared into the house, Rufus shrugged, "I don't know…maybe she just wants to help out too."
Wyatt scoffed, "Yeah, right. Help with what?" Shaking his head, he was making his way back to the unfinished kitchen before he turned around and argued, "She's spying on me…isn't she?"
Rufus stared back at him with narrowed eyes, "Spying on you?"
"Yeah," Wyatt spat out, "Because she's all worked up about me not being well enough to do anything but lay in that damn bed all day."
"Well," Rufus suggested weakly, "you are working an awful lot for someone who was as badly injured as you were. Don't you think you should…I don't know…take it easy?"
"I know my limits." Wyatt remarked with an eyeroll.
"You knew your limits in the 21st century," Rufus reminded him, "Out here? Wyatt, we were lucky that penicillin worked for you. Seriously man, you could have…"
"I'm fine, Rufus." Wyatt gritted out as he stomped his way back towards the kitchen, angry that both of them seemed determined to coddle him like a child.
That anger didn't subside that evening, either. Walking into the cabin, his nostrils were immediately assaulted by the pungent odor of whatever Lucy had cooking over the hearth…though, he noted, with relief, it didn't look like it was dinner as his own was already laid out and waiting for him. "Sorry about the smell," Lucy began, noting Wyatt's reaction, "but I'm…"
"Look, I don't give a damn what you want to do to fill out your day, but will you please stop coming by the farm, it's pretty damn obvious what you're doing."
Lucy narrowed her eyes in confusion, "What do you…" she began, completely bewildered, but Wyatt cut her off roughly as he buried himself under the covers.
"Just leave me the hell alone."
But yet the next day, just like clockwork, there was Lucy, basket in hand, slowly making her way through the yard, taking care to cast a nervous glance his way before making her way into John Fraser's house.
And it annoyed the hell out of him.
It wasn't like he didn't know his own limits…he was a soldier for Christ's sake. He knew he needed to be careful and he was being careful – he made absolutely sure not to lift anything too heavy or push himself too much, relying on others to do the work he knew would push him past the point of his current ability. Why? Because he knew one false move would land him right back in that damn bed…which was the whole reason he was out here to begin with.
Well…that and he was helping out his fellow man, dammit.
He did his best to ignore the growing resentment he felt as he continued working well into the evening, trying his damndest to finish the kitchen as soon as possible so that he could go work on something else that wouldn't require him to be in a position where Lucy could easily keep tabs on him. He'd work in the fields, the woods…hell, he would freeze his ass off and check on all the fish traps in the river if it meant she couldn't watch every damn move he made.
The sun had just dipped below the horizon, marking the end of another workday when John Fraser came limping towards him, his weight supported a roughly hewn cane. Peering up at Wyatt, who was making his way off the newly built roof, he remarked kindly, "So it is true…I have you to thank for this new kitchen?"
"Well, not just me." Wyatt grunted as leapt down to the ground in front of his landlord, "I had some help every now and then."
"A beautiful job you've made of it too." he noted as he assessed the newly built walls. "I sincerely hope you didn't do all of this because you believed I expected it of you?" John Fraser asked him with concern. "You aren't well, yourself and…"
Dismissing any concern for his own health, Wyatt wiped his brow and muttered, "It's nothing…I just thought that you could use some help."
"That's very kind and thoughtful of you, sir." Nodding at him, John Fraser added, "All this hard work deserves a bit of celebration, don't you say? Would you join me in the drawing room for a drink?"
Wyatt readily agreed, immensely grateful for an opportunity to unwind given his piss ass mood from earlier…but almost immediately after the whiskey had been poured, he regretted it. Now seated comfortably before his fire, John Fraser assessed Wyatt with a frown and remarked, "I've been told that you have been working on my farm day in and day out for almost two weeks now…even," he added quietly, "on the Sabbath."
"Winter is coming." Wyatt began gruffly, "It's gonna be a hell of a lot harder to fix this place back up when…"
"A hearth fire is fine for cooking the necessities as I'm sure you and your wife are well aware." John Fraser dismissed with a wave of his hand, before continuing with a meaningful nod, "How is your wife by the way? I cannot believe she is too pleased about how hard you've been working considering…" he made a gesture to Wyatt's side as he added, "in fact, I'd say she was rather put out that you have spent so much time here – tending to my house, while you neglect your own."
Wyatt's grip tightened on his glass, absolutely furious that Lucy had apparently gone out of her way to snitch on him. Wyatt breathed out a curse and rolled his eyes, "Look, I told her…"
"It is not that I do not appreciate your kindness" John Fraser offered with a grateful smile, "Indeed, I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for the service you rendered me. But I can manage well enough…I have field hands to do the work that I cannot…you have your own injury and a new wife to look after."
"She can look after herself." Wyatt muttered roughly, still furious, but that reply earned him a look of reprobation from his host.
"I hardly think I need to remind you of the dangers we face here." he responded sternly.
"That's not what I meant," Wyatt groaned, feeling like he was getting the reprimand of his life…when all he wanted was some damn space. "Look, I just wanted to help out. I couldn't stand being cooped up in that bed all day…it was driving me out of my damn mind." he argued desperately.
"I sympathize, I do." John Fraser assured him, "There's nothing more exhausting to the body or spirit than not being able to enjoy the thing you once did. But I cannot…"
"I can plough." Wyatt insisted. "I can hunt…whatever you need, I want to do my part – just like we agreed before all this mess. We wouldn't even have a place to live if it weren't for you…"
"But my boy, you have your own injury to consider…" he reminded him, "and a new wife…I cannot allow you to neglect either."
"Don't worry about me," Wyatt huffed out impatiently, "I'll be fine…and Lucy…she'll understand." he assured him, though from the look on John Fraser's face, Wyatt was pretty damn sure he knew that Lucy wouldn't.
"No." John Fraser said with a determined nod, "I would love to humor you my boy, but I feel that you have done more than enough labor for a few days. It's best if you go home and rest up, get your full strength back, maybe fiddle around in that quaint little garden of yours and then come to me after you're well and healed and you can be sure that then, they'll be plenty of work for you to do."
No matter how many times Wyatt tried to assure him that he was willing and absolutely able to do his share of the work, John Fraser refused his help time and time again, all but ordering him to go home to his wife and enjoy his new marriage.
Yeah, right. Wyatt thought grumpily as he trudged his way out of the door.
If he had been angry before, it was absolutely nothing to what he was feeling now. Stomping his way back through the fields, his mind was abuzz with the not-so crazy notion that he had been right…Lucy had been spying on him and this was the result. She had obviously spent her days watching his every damn move so she could complain to John Fraser that he was…what had he said? "Neglecting her and their home?"
What the actual hell?
Hadn't he fixed up that place, basically on his own, so that they could have a roof over their heads? Hadn't he tried his damndest to make their cabin as comfortable for Lucy as he possible could, given their awkward situation? Hadn't he married her so that she would be protected in this damn century?
By the time he arrived back at the cabin, he was fuming so much that when he burst through the front door, he didn't even miss a beat before spitting out angrily, "Why the hell did you have to go tattling on me to John Fraser?"
Seated at the table, Lucy exchanged a look with Rufus, both of them in the middle of their dinner, before shaking her head, "I…I don't know what you…"
"Don't give me that." Wyatt snapped back, "I've seen you…coming over to the farm, watching me…and apparently telling anybody who will listen how I'm neglecting you and…"
"Wyatt, I…" Lucy began in bewilderment, pointing to a box in the corner.
"Do you want to know why I go to that farm every damn day?" he continued furiously, "It's because I can't stand to be here. In this bed. Day in. Day out. It's driving me out of my damn mind. I need space…" he explained with a shout, "and the minute I get that space…there you are looking at me like I don't know how to take care of myself."
"Hey, now." Rufus interrupted, "Why don't you just chill out man? We're both worried about you, okay? You don't have to…"
"I told you to leave me the hell alone." Wyatt continued, completely ignoring Rufus. "Why can't you just do that?"
Lucy, face flushed with anger, stared back at him coldly, "I don't need your permission to leave this house. If I want to go to the farm, I can…it has nothing to do with you. For your information I…"
"Oh yeah, you always go to the farm…because you and Mrs. Poe are such good friends, right?" Wyatt interrupted with an accusatory scowl.
"As a matter of fact, we are….and I like to talk to Mary Fraser." Lucy snapped back, hotly "She understands what it's like to…" Biting her lip, Lucy shook her head, not daring to admit that while Mary Fraser was nice to talk to, one of the main reasons she liked to talk to Mary was because she felt a sort of kindred connection to her, both of them being the second and not quite so great as the first, wife in the respective relationships. "It's not easy being the only woman in this group, you know." she finally answered with a shaky voice.
"So you admit it?" Wyatt accused, "You have been complaining about me to….to…everyone?"
"No!" Lucy exclaimed, but at Wyatt's doubtful scoff, she continued with a shrug, "They asked me how you were doing and all I said, was that I hoped you wouldn't get yourself sick again…you come home so exhausted, Wyatt." she urged gently, "You hardly eat your supper and then you're up and gone again before I can even make you breakfast."
"You know I'm not completely helpless?" he bit back with a snarl, "I can get my own damn food. I don't need you taking care of me, alright? I know my limits…"
"Well, excuse me for trying to help." Lucy shot back angrily, "I mean…isn't that what I'm supposed to do here?" she said as she pulled the worn and dog-eared copy of The Compleat Housewife out of her apron and flinging it angrily on the table.
Seeing it, Wyatt scoffed, before rolling his eyes and jabbing "You aren't really my wife, you know?"
It took less than a millisecond after those words left his lips for him to regret ever saying them. Not only was there an audible gasp from Rufus, the pain etched on Lucy's face was such that he might as well have slapped her. She hadn't asked to be his wife…that had been his doing…his and this damn century that neither of them belonged in. He threw his head back in exasperation, angry at himself for losing his temper, angrier still that he had obviously hurt her. "Dammit, Lucy…I'm sor…" he made to apologize, but she was already making her way around the table and reaching for her shawl. "Look, I…I…didn't mean to…"
"You don't have to say anything, Wyatt." Lucy responded tersely as she adjusted her wrap around her shoulders and pulled open the door, "I think you said enough, don't you?"
"Where are you going?" he asked, his shame mounting with every step she took away from him.
But she didn't respond. With not even a glance behind her, Lucy pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stepped out into the night, shutting the door behind her with a deafening click.
Wyatt stood, staring after her, kicking himself for flying off the handle, completely oblivious to Rufus' continued presence until the scrape of the heavy chair against the bare floorboards alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone. Pushing himself away from the table, Rufus stood and silently picked up his own hat and coat and made his way to the door. "I…I didn't…" Wyatt began weakly, but Rufus cut him off with a shake of his head.
"You said you wanted space," he replied with a meaningful look, "Looks like you got it, man."
"I just don't understand why she had to keep checking up on me every damn day." Wyatt spat out defensively. "You saw her…she was always there…."
"Yeah, she was." Rufus snapped back, "but you didn't give her a chance to explain herself, did you? No," he continued hotly, not waiting for Wyatt to respond, "you had to make out like it was all about you. Well, I've got news for you man, Lucy and I may have spent a lot of time taking care of your ass these past few weeks, but we do have other things going on in our lives here that don't involve you – and maybe, if you had actually been around here and hadn't been so busy trying to get all that space you wanted, you'd know what those things are."
"What…"
"Oh no," Rufus spat out with a shake of his head, "You don't get to ask those questions now…especially not to me, when the one you should have been asking was Lucy…instead of busting in here like a complete jackass and accusing her of spying on you."
"She was spying on me." Wyatt snapped, frustrated that what seemed so obvious to him, was completely lost on Rufus. "How else can you explain the way John Fraser came up to me today? Telling me I had better look after her and this place instead of helping him out at the farm?"
Scoffing, Rufus wrenched open the door turning to Wyatt with a meaningful glare as he replied, "She didn't rat you out to John Fraser, " he said meaningfully, "I did." At Wyatt's surprised expression, he explained with a jeer, "I told you we were both worried…but you still took it all out on her." Shaking his head, he added gruffly, "After everything she did for you, too."
Wyatt, feeling completely abashed now, stared back at Rufus, speechless. He hadn't even considered that it might have been someone else…he had just automatically assumed it was Lucy…and that made him a complete and total ass. Rufus was right, after everything Lucy had done for him over the past few weeks, how the hell could he have treated her that way? And why? Because he was mad that she was hanging around the farm when he was trying to avoid her? Trying to avoid her over something that wasn't even her damn fault.
Rubbing a rough hand over his eyes, Wyatt let out a heavy sigh, "I need to talk to her." he muttered as he stalked towards the door, but he was stopped by Rufus' outstretched hand.
"You know what?" he said with a quirk of his lip, "I think it's best if you give her some space for tonight because, " he added cooly, "if she's feeling a quarter of what I'm feeling towards you right now, she's not going to want to even be in the same room with you."
And with that, Rufus turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him, leaving Wyatt alone to consider just how big of an ass he had really been.
"I…uh…hope I didn't come at a bad time?"
John Fraser was standing in the doorway of the cabin, a kindly expression on his face as he considered a disheveled looking Wyatt sitting miserably at the table, nursing a steaming mug of something he wished was a hell of a lot stronger than tea.
The sun was shining brightly, the promise of an unseasonably warm day doing nothing to lift Wyatt's mood as John Fraser shuffled his feet awkwardly on the front porch waiting his answer.
Wyatt merely grunted in response, not feeling up to conversation, but grateful for the presence of anyone after being left so utterly and completely alone the night before, with nothing but his regrets to keep him company.
Of course, that had been his own doing…and, richly deserved…so he sure as hell couldn't blame either Lucy or Rufus for that.
Taking Wyatt's grunt as invitation enough, John Fraser limped his way into the house, a package tucked under his arm as he made his way over to the rocking chair – the very chair, Wyatt noted with a pang of renewed guilt, that Lucy had practically lived in while nursing him back to health. Groaning as he eased himself down to sit, John observed with a light laugh, "I see you took my advice, though I'm afraid you might have misunderstood me, my boy. When I said your wife needed looking after," he said with a serious nod, "I didn't mean that I should be the one performing that duty."
Wyatt kept his eyes fixed on the table before him, fully prepared to get another well-deserved reprimand from a man whom he had come to respect and admire more than anyone else in this century. "I know." he replied quietly.
"She was in a right state, last evening." he continued with a frown, "Reminded me a bit of my own wife when I drag my muddy hunting boots all over her newly swept floors."
The attempt at levity wasn't lost on Wyatt, but he wasn't in the mood to joke about what had happened the previous evening. So instead, he just sat there with a scowl firmly planted on his face.
"Do you know," John Fraser said quietly when Wyatt didn't respond, "your wife worried herself sick over you for…oh, well over a fortnight? If she wasn't at my door herself, asking for more herbs and things from our stores to ease your suffering, she was sending your man over. I don't know that I've ever seen someone so committed to nursing someone through a sickness as she was." He chuckled as he shook his head, "I almost thought I was going to have to order the latest medical journals from Leiden just to satisfy her."
Wyatt swallowed hard, his guilt compounding.
"I didn't mean to upset you, lad…" John Fraser admitted with a sorrowful sigh, adding in explanation, "when I asked you to come home to your wife, I thought you'd welcome it…but I stand by what I said, even without a word from your man, I would've come to you myself. You worked yourself too hard."
"I was just trying to help." Wyatt responded flatly.
"My dear boy. A man who had had such a close brush with death…on his wedding night, too – wouldn't be too quick to leave the arms of his new wife as you have been. Indeed, I hardly think you can have spent more than an hour's time with her in a day, can ye?" When Wyatt didn't respond, he nodded sagely, "Aye, I didn't think so."
"I was cooped up with her the whole time I was stuck in that bed." Wyatt replied defensively, already feeling that maybe it was better to be alone with his miserable thoughts, after all.
"Cooped up?" John Fraser replied with raised eyebrows, "That hardly seems the language of a man madly in love with his pretty new wife. Indeed," he remarked sagely, "a poor way to repay her after all the trouble she took to get you well enough to get out of that bed…and from the looks of it," he added with a nod towards Wyatt's bandaged side, "you still aren't quite well enough to have done the work you did…I cannot believe she even allowed it."
"She didn't." Wyatt said with a scoff, his guilt mounting. He knew, of course, that Lucy had stayed pretty much by his side since that awful night…but he had no idea that apparently during those times where he had lost himself in sleep, she had been doing everything she could to help ease his pain.
And how had he treated her?
No…he wouldn't think about it, because feeling guilty over his ingratitude towards Lucy was just playing into the idea that she meant something to him…and right now, he was trying to make it very clear to his deeply confused brain that that was absolutely not the case. She was just Lucy – his co-worker and teammate.
Certainly not his wife…or anything else like that.
"Well, as you say." John Fraser observed with concern, "she didn't allow it, so how can you go against her wishes so implicitly? And at risk to your own health and well-being too? My dear boy, does she mean so little to you?"
"No." Wyatt replied before stammering "I mean, yes…I mean, no…I mean…" he breathed out a curse as he held his pounding head in his hands, "It's complicated."
John Fraser observed him for a moment before asking with a quiet nod of understanding, "Because of your deceased wife?"
Wyatt slowly lifted his head out of his hands and glanced over at John Fraser. There was no judgement in his voice, no look of condemnation in his face. Why would there be?
He was a man who understood more than anyone else he had ever met, what he was feeling.
Nodding slightly, Wyatt swallowed hard as a flurry of emotions fought their way to the surface, filling him with a sense of conflict he didn't think was possible where Lucy and Jessica were concerned, "Yeah." he replied quietly, "yeah…that's…" shaking his head, Wyatt looked at John with confusion, "How do you…how can you…" he stammered, not quite sure how to articulate his question, "be married to someone else…you know, move on…without feeling like…like you…like you are betraying their memory? Especially when…" he bit his lip, biting back his tears as he admitted ruefully, "it was my fault that she died. I left her alone."
"I don't think you ever quite 'move on,' as you say." John Fraser replied softly, "A part of you will always grieve them, love them…but," he added with a voice full of emotion, "another part of you still has to live, my boy…even with the guilt of knowing that things might have been different…if you had been there."
Wyatt swallowed hard and nodded thinking over how he had "lived" these past five years…if he wasn't combing through every piece of evidence searching for Jessica's killer, he was on some dangerous assignment taking his continued frustration over the lack of any substantial leads out on any jackass with an IED. His eagerness in battle had earned him a reputation for bravery, but for him, it was nothing more than an empty accolade.
What good was bravery when you couldn't even bring you wife's killer to justice?
Seemingly reading Wyatt's thoughts, John Fraser considered him for a moment before observing, "I haven't known you long, to be sure, but from what I've garnered - you take very little heed for your own safety and well-being. The way you charged into Fort Duquesne, the way you handled yourself in battle…saving my life and Tom's, the way you work yourself to the bone, ignoring your own injury" he acknowledged with a meaningful nod. "While some may say it makes you brave, others might consider that…a bit cowardly." Wyatt looked up at him sharply, but John Fraser went on undeterred, "A man who has nothing to lose is hardly as brave as the man who has everything to lose and still marches into battle, aye?"
Wyatt said nothing for a while as he thought over John Fraser's gentle, yet pointed reflections. Initially his pride refused to believe that he was anything less than the brave and decorated Delta Force solider who carried with him a reputation for reckless bravery that had earned him more than one medal and commendation letter. Hell, the whole reason he had the job at Mason was because no one else would do it…at least, that was what he had been told. "It was dangerous" they had said. "Extremely risky" he was warned, but yet he jumped at the opportunity to lay his life on the line…not because he was braver than any of the other men in his platoon…but because he just didn't give a damn.
His thoughts drifted back to that awful moment at the Alamo, when, in the heat of battle, he was faced with standing his ground and dying or escaping - knowing that when they got back to Mason, he was done for. A failure in every sense of the word, he would have been kicked off the team, sent back to Pendleton with a red mark on his folder…and left alone…again. It was a no-brainer for him. He would rather die with some meaning and escape his miserable existence then even entertain the thought of facing another dangerous assignment, with another team…praying that one of these times he wouldn't get so damn lucky and "survive." Hell, he was hardly living.
But Lucy wouldn't let him.
What about us? We're counting on you.
The next guy's going to handle it.
I don't want anybody else. I trust you. You are the one that I trust. Rufus needs you. I need you, okay?
He had wanted to die among the heroes he had, until that day, only read about – not because of bravery or some damned romantic idea of an honorable death…but because he had nothing else left to lose. He thought, at the time, he was being noble...but John Fraser was right…he was a coward. He had only been thinking of himself and his own grief and failures…until Lucy took his face in her hands and made him realize that after five years of not caring and having nothing to live for…he suddenly did.
"My wife," John Fraser continued wistfully, pulling Wyatt out of his thoughts, "she was the best kind of woman. Tough as nails, but with the kindness and patience of a saint." He frowned as a darkness clouded over his features, the same darkness of guilt and regret that Wyatt knew all too well, "I was occupied with my own affairs the day she left the Fort. She was weary of fort life and I was trying to establish new connections, new trading partners…far too concerned with business than to accompany her on that trip back home…and I tell ye lad, there isn't a day that goes by, that I don't grieve for that short-sightedness on my part." He let out a shuddering sigh, "When I finally made my way home and found that she hadn't arrived before me, we sent the search party out and found…well," he cleared his throat, "it was clear she wouldn't be coming back home ever again."
Wyatt nodded in understanding, before responding quietly, "My wife and I had a fight. She…hadn't been faithful." he admitted with a pained voice. "I…I tried to make it work, but one night we were out at a party and…there he was." Wyatt sighed heavily, "I got so angry, seeing that sonofabitch…I acted like an ass. She was embarrassed, we left…but then she asked me to pull over the car….the carriage to let her get out so she could get the hell away from me." He scoffed and he shook his head at the memory of his reckless foolishness, "I drove off and left her there. I drove off." he admitted ruefully, clearly hating himself even now for that decision, "When I came back for her…she was gone." Wyatt frowned as he blinked away his tears, "I should've never let her out of my sight."
John Fraser eased himself out of the rocker and joined Wyatt at the table offering his shoulder a comforting grip as he slid onto a stool across from him. "It's a hard thing to go through, to be sure. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy…not even the French." he added with a teasing smirk.
Wyatt let out a small chuckle, but otherwise kept his head bowed as the memory of Jessica's death weighed heavily on his mind, reminding him of why it was so damn important that he get out of this century…to change that night. To fix that one regret.
He had explained that much to Lucy almost as soon as he met her…though he wasn't sure why. She had been moaning about her historically inaccurate underwear and berating him over bringing a modern gun to 1937…a gun that had saved her ass more than once on that mission, irritating the hell out of him. But when she asked about why he was so desperate to save Kate Drummond, he…let her see that side of him that he fought so hard to keep hidden. That vulnerable, weak side, weighed down by sorrow, regret and a hell of a lot of guilt.
At the time, he had regretted opening up to her…it was none of her damn business, after all. But then they had come back to find her sister had disappeared, and he saw in her the same desperation and fear he had felt that night when Jessica was murdered…and well, he couldn't help but feel a tug of sympathy for her…especially when no one at Mason seemed to give a damn.
Lucy had been right. Changing history, even just a little bit, had had devastating consequences and while he had scoffed and rolled his eyes at her in that hanger, her sister had vanished into thin air. He could have been more focused on that mission, more concerned with finding Flynn than saving Kate Drummond in his weird desperate attempt to make up for not being able to save Jessica…and maybe, just maybe they would have realized Flynn's plan sooner. Maybe just maybe Amy Preston wouldn't have disappeared. Hell, he didn't know. He just knew they were a team…and they were going to fix it…as a team.
Besides, he had thought at the time, if they could save Amy...maybe there was hope that he could somehow save Jessica.
"How long since your wife passed?" John Fraser's voice called him once more out of his thoughts.
"Five years." Wyatt admitted with a gulp.
"That's a mighty long time to carry around that burden." John Fraser with a sad smile, "And even now, with the gift of a new wife, a chance to start over, you still feel like you have nothing to lose? Nothing to fight for?"
Figure out what you're fighting for and you'll be okay
Wyatt smirked at the memory of getting Lucy "over the hump." She had been terrified…and rightly so. She wasn't trained to be a damn spy, hell, she didn't even speak or understand German, yet here she was, about to march straight into a castle full of Nazis. She may have needed that pep talk, but she knew what she was fighting for. She was fighting for history, for the people in it, for every damn person that could be erased from the future, from someone else's family just because Garcia Flynn wanted to stick it to this Rittenhouse.
Lucy had plenty to fight for, that's why she was still on these missions.
But why the hell was he still around?
He could've packed it in any number of times before and since the Alamo…but here he was, stranded in 1754 with a team that…now that he really thought about it, he had never really appreciated. Sure, they had betrayed his trust, lied to him, kept secrets from him…but they had also saved his ass…more than once.
He thought about every rule he broke for them since they began these treks through time. His objective had been clear – to take out Garcia Flynn. No excuses. No explanations. But time and time again he found himself caught between his objective and the protection and well-being of his team…something that had been explained to him, was not the priority.
Not that he ever told them that.
Shit.
He wasn't any different than Lucy or Rufus. He had kept his own damn secret where these missions were concerned. He had flown off the handle like a damn hypocrite the minute he found out about Rufus' spying and Lucy's chats through time with Flynn forgetting that he himself hadn't been completely honest with either of them about his own role on the team. He wasn't their protection…he was just the damn hired gun.
Except that he wasn't…or at least, Lucy didn't see him that way. She had told him as much, hadn't she? She didn't give a damn that Bam Bam was waiting in the wings, ready to take his place. She didn't want anybody else.
She trusted him.
She needed him.
He had gone so long without anyone seeing him as more than just a soldier, a grunt – he had almost forgotten what it felt like to…to be needed and cared about.
"I imagine that is why you rushed off as you did, on your wedding night?" John Fraser observed, calling him once more out of his reverie. "You gave no thought for your new wife - only your grief?"
That wasn't true.
While Wyatt had welcomed Rufus' interruption given the awkward situation he and Lucy had found themselves in, he had charged into battle not because he didn't care, but because he did. For the first time, in a long time, he charged into battle because he had everything to lose – his home, his family, his new-found friends…he was fighting to survive.
He was fighting for them.
Yet even as he thought that, he knew it was a lie…that it was hardly the first time since starting these missions that he had felt that way. He might have been pissed as hell at Lucy and Rufus when they first landed in this damn century, but when he lost them to the French that awful, awful night? The desperation he felt? Hell, he would have burned that entire fort to the ground if he had to, just to get her back…
Them back, he mentally corrected himself…but even as he did, he knew that it wasn't Rufus who dominated his thoughts while he was racing through the woods in a desperate attempt to bust into that damn fort…it was Lucy. His concern for her and her welfare had far exceeded that of his concern for Rufus. Maybe it was because as a man, he felt some kind of primal need to protect Lucy…or maybe his concern for her stemmed from the fact that she had been half-naked when she was abducted. Either way, she was the one he was desperate to find safe.
Not Rufus.
Hell, even after seeing that she had some kind of security in the form a French officer, he still couldn't leave her side. He didn't go off and look for Rufus, he didn't take the opportunity to do a bit of reconnaissance. No, he watched over her…not trusting her protection to anyone else but himself.
And really, wasn't that why he couldn't truly think about actually leaving the team?
Somewhere along the way, he had started caring again…not about himself or the missions…but about them. They were more than his team, they were his…family. He might have started these missions out of grief and a certain sense of self-destruction, but now he absolutely had something to fight for. Not history, not a chance for Mason to get back his time machine, not for or against whatever the hell this Rittenhouse was…
He was fighting for…her.
And Rufus, he admitted begrudgingly…but mostly, for her.
It was Lucy who had made him feel needed and wanted in a way that he hadn't felt…hell, if he was being honest…since even before Jessica died. It was Lucy whose protection and well-being was first and foremost in his mind. It was Lucy whose opinion mattered more than anyone else's had in a long, long time.
"Son?" John Fraser once again, gently called him out of his reverie.
"Where is she?" Wyatt asked, looking up at his forgotten companion suddenly desperate, "Lucy? Where is she?"
"Mrs. Poe has her doing the laundry, I believe." he responded with a nod, producing the small, yet heavy package he had carried in and handed it to Wyatt, "She uh…asked me to leave this here - some more tallow." he explained, "you wife had been helping keep my stores of candles filled so that Mary can spend her time fussing over me. I tried to tell her it wasn't necessary to worry herself so much, but truth be told, we would have been completely at a loss without her daily deliveries."
"She was making candles." Wyatt responded flatly, his guilt and shame weighing heavily on him like the solid block of fat he now held in his hands.
"Aye." John Fraser replied. "She came to the house one day in search of supplies and found Mrs. Poe and Margaret in uproar. She offered to help take some of their burdens off of them. It was the one job she felt she could do with little trouble." he offered Wyatt a meaningful nod as he added, "Fine girl, that lass."
"Yeah." Wyatt breathed out, remembering how he had accused her the night before…realizing now, how very wrong he was.
"It's not my affair." John Fraser said as he leaned forward in his chair, arresting Wyatt with a kind, but serious gaze, "And Lord knows, I have my own faults…but, I feel it incumbent upon me, as someone who has loved and lost to remind you, son. There's a fair few well-bred women who would follow a man out into the wilderness like she had done. Even less that would have had the grit and determination to nurse you back to health." He added with a good-natured chuckle, before adding softly, "She cares about you a great deal, lad…you can't let the grief of your past blind you to the path set before you now."
Wyatt considered this, hardly knowing what path did lay before him now.
For years, he had rejected any idea of…trying again. While his marriage to Jessica may have not been the picture-perfect fairy tale he liked to remember, he had failed in the worst way as a husband and his wife was murdered because of it. Guys like him…they didn't get second chances…hell, he didn't even deserve a second chance.
Yet, here was a man who had similarly lost his wife…a man whom he respected and admired, who had somehow found the strength and determination within himself to let go of his guilt and remarry again, even in a place that had to remind him every damn day of what he lost…and how he lost it.
He had no such real hope with Lucy. What John Fraser didn't know of course, was that Lucy hadn't really followed him into the woods. She hadn't really left her fiancé to run away with him. Hell, there was nothing even between them except a fake marriage and a couple of NDAs at Mason. As far as he knew, Lucy saw him as only a friend and a teammate…and after his jackassery of the night before, he wasn't sure he even still qualified for either of those positions. Besides, their arrangement had been clear – this was a marriage of convenience…one that was strictly platonic…one that was only arranged to help them survive the 18th century until Rufus fixed the Lifeboat or, they died of any number of diseases or afflictions common in this era…which, in the case of Jane Fraser, could involve a torturous death at the hands of Native Americans.
But the thought of possibilities…no matter how unlikely it seemed…hell, something he had never even considered before any of this…was now suddenly and enticingly open to him. Maybe he did need to focus on the path set before him. Lucy, for whatever reason, was his wife now. All he had to do was…
Move on.
Notes:
Greetings readers!
I don't know what week of quarantine we're in now...I've sort of lost track, but I hope life has been treating you all well, despite the chaos in the world right now.
I apologize for the delay, I truly lost track of time...my mother had pneumonia (not COVID), I was in a one on one language class that was taking up three hours of my day ever day, I was homeschooling, and then I got sucked into the drama of the Joe Tiger King documentary...and well, before I knew it, my day was gone and I'd only gotten to write two paragraphs. I have been hitting the writing HARD this weekend, so hopefully that means I can update again *soon* - though with as nutty as life has been these past few weeks, don't quote me on that...because who knows what other craziness 2020 has in store for all of us?
Now for the story notes: Leiden was actually THE place for medical training in the 18th century, I make one small reference to it in here and so I wanted to explain WHY.
As for Lyatt - I realize this is a SLOW BURN of epic proportions but it is meant to be that way, not to be torturous, though I admit, it is a bit, but I promise I'm not trying to be cruel - I'm trying to be true to the characters and the show..and while that may have you throwing up your hands in exasperation, I promise you by the end of this thing, you'll understand why...though I will say, I dropped a big hint a few chapters back that no one as yet has picked up on...at least, I haven't received any comments about it. I wrote the LAST chapter of this fic at the same time as the first...so every torturous Lyatt moment is one step closer to getting us to that end...but I promise you, there will be plenty of heart fluttering moments before we get there - not to torture you, but to build up this relationship of trust and understanding that we love so much.
Wyatt is finally starting to sort through his feelings. He's not quite at that "OMG, I'm in love with Lucy moment" but he's starting to consider the possibility of moving on WITH HER...and while that may seem like we're moving at a snail's pace, we really aren't in the confines of this fic...though, I have been writing this for, what? A year now? YIKES. We're actually not too far from the end...I think I have maybe 4 or 5 chapters left - again, don't quote me, I always tend to misjudge the length of my chapters (this one, for instance, was supposed to include what will be in the next chapter). What I think will take a paragraph or two inevitable turns into 5k words...other things that I think will take up half a chapter end up taking only a couple of paragraphs. So again, don't quote me...it just depends on how the narrative flows.
I know I said this before but John Fraser was a real person, he actually did have a wife named Jane and yes, she was lost to him on the road to Fort Cumberland. The location of where he lives, his ties to George Croghan and Alexander McKee (though I don't know the full extent of their friendship and camaraderie) is also historically accurate and so when writing this and seeing his story, realizing that he was within miles of our Time Team during the 1754 mission, I had to include him here FOR WYATT for THIS chapter especially. I needed somewhere for the team to live during this whole debacle...I couldn't have them living the entire time in the woods given the very real dangers present for them there (seriously, if you read anything about this time in American history, it's abductions and gruesome murders left and right...it was pretty bad out on the frontier.) and so when I stumbled upon John Fraser he was the PERFECT fit. His farm & forge had been taken over by the French (at the beginning of this fic - where they were building Ft. Machault) and had sent him to Turtle Creek (where they are now) where he operated his trading post and made his own weapons...all well within traveling distance for our team during this mission...and of course, the sad tale of his wife (more on that tale in the next chapter) that paralleled so well with Wyatt's just made him the ideal historical figure to include to give Wyatt someone to relate to that would move his relationship with Lucy forward.
Okay, that's all I've got for now. I hope you enjoyed this update and thank you so much for reading! Stay healthy and safe!