I hope 2022 is off to a good start for everyone :)

Thanks to qwertygal for the beta again.


These are the days
To hold on to
But we won't
Although we'll want to


Wyatt Logan – cell

- 10/26/2017 Thu -

help

2:22 PM

?

2:24 PM

I'm dying. It's so boring.

2:25 PM

must be really bad if you're bored by
history stuff

2:26 PM

not the history :P The speaker. He's 300 yrs old
and racist and misogynist and gives the same
racist and misogynist talk at every meeting and
conference I've ever seen him at. But for some reason
they gave him an award and a keynote, so it's an
hour of him instead of 15 mins. At least he's
ancient, so he's mumbling and I can't really hear
him? But I'm bored :(

2:29 PM

Lucy Preston texting in class. You
yell at your students for the same
thing, don't you

2:31 PM

no comment…

2:32 PM

you'll never get tenure setting such
a bad example :)

2:33 PM

Hey, I am a much better teacher than this guy
ever was. My students pay attention.

2:35 PM

probably better looking too

2:35 PM


Lucy blinked hard at the screen, her pulse quickening, then looked up and glanced around, as if she somehow expected someone else in the room to confirm that Wyatt had indeed sent that. That he'd just… flirted with her?

Of course, that was ridiculous. Both Wyatt flirting, and that anyone could know what he'd texted. No one could see her screen and they were all meant to be listening to the speaker anyway.

The speaker. Right. She should be paying attention. Chastened, Lucy flipped her phone over, pressing the glowing screen against her thigh, lest someone notice her complete and utter lack of focus on the talk.

Her good behavior didn't last long. Even in the somewhat dimmed room, Lucy couldn't help but be drawn back to the message.

Probably better looking too

What did that mean? At face value, it could just be an insult to her teaching, insinuating that the only reason her students paid attention was because any thirty-something would be better looking than an octogenarian. Not that Lucy really thought Wyatt could have meant that.

But what did that leave then? Probably just the more innocuous variation on the same theme – that it would help anyone's already good teaching to not look like a wrinkled old guy with a cane, at least when it came to holding student interest.

Or… could he possibly have possibly meant that she, specifically, looked good?

But the notion that Wyatt could possibly have explicitly – or almost explicitly – complimented her looks… It didn't make sense. Did it?

Lucy had wavered for the entirety of Tuesday night between thinking that he might actually, possibly feel something for her and being one-hundred percent convinced that it was all a figment of her own imagination and wishful thinking. And Taylor's interruption hadn't exactly done her any favors in terms of figuring it out, unfortunately.

She wasn't convinced she would have mustered up the courage to invite him upstairs on Tuesday anyway, even in the best of circumstances, especially knowing that she'd had responsibilities for the workshop early the next morning. But since then? There was no pretending that she hadn't let her imagination drift to what could happen if their next dinner went well too. Plenty of snippets of daydreams had played out in her mind, many of them involving Wyatt making better use of his room key than he had last time.

Lucy had just started to involuntarily let her mind travel down that path again when a round of applause jarred her from her fledgling fantasies. She jerked her head up and focused on the podium; the keynote was over.

She obediently joined in on the clapping, only slightly belated in doing so. But as the din died down, with the audience beginning to disperse and head out of the room in the direction of where the coffee break was due to be held, Lucy was left with her phone. And that text.

She had to say something back.

With a hard swallow, she weighed her options, both in that moment, and for when she saw him again the next day.

If the text had been entirely innocent and not actual flirtation, and if there was no… she hated to use the word 'vibe', but well, if there was no vibe, on Friday, well then, he really was just a nice guy she happened to work with on a once-in-a-lifetime project.

If things did seem… flirty, or in any way… heightened over their last meetup, which had already seemed like maybe it was over the first time they'd gone to dinner? Well, then she might just have to resort to a little more liquid courage and put herself out there. For once, she didn't have a flight that night or early morning responsibilities. Worst case, it would go horribly wrong, and he'd reject her outright, and then she'd drown her sorrows in even more alcohol, after which she'd crawl to her flight, hungover, in the morning, never to see Wyatt again.

Ugh, Lucy grimaced inwardly, now that dire scenario would be all she could think about. Crap. Daydreaming about Wyatt in her hotel room had been a lot more fun, if a lot less likely…

She was grateful when a friend waved from near the doorway, beckoning for her to join a group for coffee.

But she hadn't replied.

Bottom line, she had no idea what to make of that 'better looking' text. So she ignored it, instead quickly swiping out a benign apology. She'd figure the rest of it out tomorrow.


Wyatt Logan – cell

probably better looking too

2:35 PM

sorry, his talk finally finished. Had to
pay attention to session again.

3:02 PM

that's what you're there for

3:06 PM

gotta go. Tomorrow at 6 in the lobby?

3:07 PM

yup, see you then

3:07 PM

k

3:08 PM

- 10/27/2017 Fri -

OK if you meet me at 7811 Herschel Ave
instead of lobby? You can still park at

hotel

5:12 PM

Pub instead of Mexican? Ok by me

5:14 PM

No, just here with work people. Everyone
voted to cancel the business meeting thing
at the end and get drinks instead. Just meet
me here – can leave them and still go to Mexican

5:16 PM

You should stay there.

5:20 PM

If you want, we can. Food looks good

5:21 PM

You stay. I'll skip tonight. You still
have
work stuff going on

5:23 PM


Lucy's heart sank as she read the newest text from Wyatt. No. No. She wanted to see him. She wanted… him.

She mumbled a quick excuse to the others at the table, then hurried to the front door, tapping the 'call' button just as she burst out onto the sidewalk in front of the bar.

It took a few rings, but Wyatt eventually answered. And Lucy could swear she could hear his reluctance even in the simple greeting of "Hey."

Not that his reluctance stopped her from voicing a protest without even offering a greeting of her own. "You can't not- I still want you to come," she stammered.

She could make out a sigh before Wyatt deflected, "You don't need me there."

Yes, I do, her mind wanted to shout. But she couldn't say that. Unfortunately, all she could – and did – say was a jumbled, shaky dissent. "But… it's not work," she spluttered. "It's just… happy hour. You can come. Or we can still go somewhere else."

Lucy cringed even as the words were still coming out of her mouth; she sounded pathetic and desperate, and she knew it, but she couldn't help it.

It wasn't helping anyway. "Lucy," Wyatt pointed out, "you told me yourself you only did this meeting… conference-thing… to network for tenure. That's-"

And she knew where he was going, and she knew he had a point, but she tried to protest regardless. "But-"

"-what it sounds like you're doing," he finished anyway. "You gotta stay there."

"No, I… We're just at a bar," Lucy tried futilely, knowing she was well on her way to defeat. "You can come," she insisted. "You already met some of them."

"You're helping your career," Wyatt reminded her gently. "You don't need me for that."

He was right. He was absolutely right. And she hated that he was right. Because all week she'd been trying to work up the confidence to just tell him… something. That she liked him. That she wanted to be with him. Or something. Whatever decided to come out after the help of a few margaritas. But something. Finally.

But she couldn't. Not if he wasn't even there. And if she didn't see him now…

"Well, what about after?" she blurted out. "Drinks. Historians are boring. And lame," she rambled, trying anything and everything to convince him. "They'll all be back at the hotel asleep by 10. We can still go… somewhere. Or, what about breakfast? My flight's not until 10:45."

There was a pause, and Lucy was desperately hoping that it meant he was considering it, but then Wyatt said simply, "…Can't. I have PT. Early."

Her shoulders sagged, and one last weak protest slipped out. "But…"

"Lucy," Wyatt said, reiterating firmly, "do everything you can to get tenure. You love your job. Go have fun. You can schmooze without me."

Defeated, Lucy fell silent. He wasn't wrong. He wasn't avoiding her for no reason… right? He had his own job to do tomorrow.

But her heart, and maybe her pride too, after essentially begging him, hurt.

She must have stayed quiet for too long, because eventually she heard Wyatt put forth a tentative offer. "You said there's one more trip, right? We can do something then."

She hated the excited little flip-flop her stomach did at that prospect. This would all be so much easier if she didn't care so much.

But she did. So what could she do but agree to his offer? "Ok," she replied, hoping she sounded slightly less pathetic now.

"Ok," Wyatt replied, then instructed, "Go do your thing. Good luck."

"Yeah," Lucy murmured, still crestfallen that she wouldn't be seeing him again on this trip. "Bye."

And, once he hung up, she obediently returned inside, trying to live up to Wyatt's expectations of her 'doing her thing'.

Except she couldn't. 'Do her thing,' as it were. Lucy had built up the possible outcomes of their night out so high in her mind, to have it all fizzle before it even started… Suffice it to say, she was not even close to being in the right headspace for forcing fake smiles and small talk, never mind actually trying to flesh out plans for new projects and collaborations.

So, while she absolutely should have made herself stay out with the others for dinner and more drinks later, the moment someone in the group mentioned that he had to leave for his flight, and another elderly colleague chimed in that she wanted to go rest in her hotel room, Lucy seized the opportunity to tag along with the others. She rather lamely – not that she cared at that point – feigned a headache, but promised the others she'd see them at breakfast at the hotel in the morning.

Thankfully, the walk back to the hotel wasn't all that long, and flight-guy and nap-lady held their own on the small talk front, so Lucy could hang back and not contribute much to the conversation. How could she have contributed anyway, she wasn't sure, not when the whole of her brain was consumed by a really great combo of disappointment over Wyatt bailing and just feeling like an idiot for having gotten her hopes up.

After the requisite superficial goodbyes to her walking companions, Lucy made her way back to her room to mope, where she promptly crawled onto the bed in defeat.

But… was it defeat? Lucy rolled over, flopping onto her back.

She liked him, she really did. And sometimes it really did seem like he felt the same way about her.

Other times…

Was he just not ready? After Jessica? Or was he, but he really just didn't feel anything for her?

That thought made her feel sick to her stomach, especially considering how ridiculous she would have sounded on the phone, practically begging him to still come out. She winced, hearing her words over in her mind, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Which just made her feel even more ridiculous. So she pulled herself up to sit, sighing as she swiped at the corners of her eyes and regarded the room.

6:52 pm. Too early to go to bed, but honestly, what else was she going to do?

Resigned to a night that was miles away from how she'd hoped it would end, Lucy hauled herself up off the bed. She tugged off her clothes as she made her way to her suitcase, and she couldn't help but let out a tearful snort of wry laughter when she traded the slightly uncomfortable, lace-trimmed push-up bra she'd chosen that morning for the baggy pajama pants and oversized t-shirt she'd been wearing all week.

Clothes were quickly changed, her face scrubbed, teeth brushed... and it was all of 6:59.

She rounded the corner from the bathroom back into the main room. Lucy shook her head and rubbed her eyes wearily. Seven. Pathetic.

So she doubled back to the bathroom and, after rummaging in her small toiletry bag for a moment, surfaced with a Benadryl pill. She downed it quickly, then crawled under the covers. She might wake up early in the morning, but at least she wouldn't have to deal with tonight anymore.

Except the Benadryl didn't kick in as quickly as she'd hoped.

He had been right about work; she should have stayed to network… And he did have his own work tomorrow, so he couldn't do anything for breakfast… And he had brought up the fact that she had one more trip to make…

So maybe there still was something there? Maybe her being there in bed – alone, and at only 7 o'clock – wasn't necessarily because he wasn't interested?

And if he was maybe, possibly, actually interested… should she put herself out of her misery next time, and just come out and admit how she felt? Go for broke and get it over with? Maybe help things along with a few drinks? Best case, he feels the same. Worst case, he laughs in her face. At least she wouldn't be in this awful limbo anymore, torturing herself to the point of hiding alone in her hotel room before the colors of sunset have even fully faded.

Still, she was torn. Was she just delusional, clinging to that hope?

More than likely, she told herself as she pulled the covers up higher, he just wasn't interested. And it would be better in the long run if she just gave into that reality.

Lucy groaned aloud; she was getting absolutely nowhere with her brain just running in stupid circles. She needed to just… not think about him.

So she flipped on the TV and cycled through the channels until she landed on the Weather Channel – the one place she figured she wasn't likely to hear anything that might remind her of Wyatt. Another tropical storm forming in the Gulf, after so much of the southeast and Caribbean had already gotten slammed this summer? Yet another fire popping up in Riverside that day, never mind the raging ones up by Napa and Sonoma? Nothing like some natural disasters to put her disaster of a night into perspective, she supposed, sighing and slumping back against the pillows.

Except then they mentioned another small fire, which just happened to be burning on the Camp Pendleton base. Her eyes went wide, worried and wondering why Wyatt hadn't mentioned anything, until the news coverage reassured her that it was in one of the remote training areas of the base, mostly contained, and not threatening any structures in the area.

First there was a sigh of relief, and then there was a wry laugh at just how ridiculous it was that even the freaking Weather Channel was a conspirator in keeping her pathetically obsessing over Wyatt.

The Benadryl - not to mention the repeating cycle of weather forecasts and stories - eventually kicked in a bit later, but Lucy was just as dejected the next morning, and the 'blah', defeated mood followed her, yet again, to the airport, on the flight, and back to the airport where Amy was already waiting for her.

Lucy climbed into the car without a word. Not that it deterred Amy; she was barely reaching for her seatbelt before the interrogation began.

Not bothering to pull away from the curb yet, her sister gave her a skeptical onceover and wondered aloud, "Ok, why do you go these trips, or meetings, or whatever, if you're always going to look like that when you get back?" She wrinkled her nose, presumably at Lucy's miserable appearance, continuing, "Now what happened?"

The seatbelt fastened, Lucy slumped back into her seat with a sigh. "Nothing…"

"Right," Amy snorted, clearly believing absolutely nothing about what Lucy had said. Which, considering Lucy was lying through her teeth, wasn't exactly unexpected…

"Just… the stupid workshop people," Lucy tried again, "they dragged me out last night."

But Amy wasn't particularly convinced by that either. "So you're hungover?" she queried, her eyes narrowed with skepticism in the direction of the passenger seat.

"No, I just-" Lucy sighed; she was in absolutely no mood to discuss any of what her dejected disposition was actually a result of. So she reiterated a little more strongly, "No." Then, nodding impatiently at the traffic just off to their left, she prompted, "Can we just-?"

Amy's response was to roll her eyes with a huff, but at least she still conceded. Turn signal flipped on, and a few seconds later, they were pulling into traffic and heading for the airport's exit.

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief; at least she could mope in peace.

But somewhere in the maze of exits and ramps and loops that led to the main highway, Amy had the nerve to recall an inconvenient detail of the last time she'd picked Lucy up from the airport after one of her San Diego trips.

"Wait, hold up," she blurted out, sneaking an accusatory glance at Lucy. "Isn't that what you wanted last time? When you were bummed you all had to work late instead of going out?"

And at first, Lucy truly didn't really remember what exactly Amy was getting at, leaving her to ask, "What?"

Still keeping her eyes on traffic, Amy recounted, "You were pissed last time I picked you up from a San Diego trip. Because you guys couldn't go out after working… And this time you're pissed that you did?"

Right, Lucy cursed herself inwardly. That had been the last Wyatt-related evasive lie she'd told her sister. And now the lies made no sense together. Idiot. She really had no out, but she still protested, "No, I-"

Amy was already having none of it though. She cut Lucy off with a wicked smirk, "Doesn't add up, my dear. What gives?"

"Nothing," Lucy mumbled, going back to the evasive tactic she was praying would work. "Long week," she added, closing her eyes and leaning back against the head rest in the hope that Amy would take the hint and just drop it.

Except Amy dropped it about as well as a puppy playing tug-of-war. "No," she said adamantly. "No – I still check stupid Facebook sometimes. Someone did tag you yesterday at some bar. So I know you were out. But you're pissed that you were there?"

Lucy groaned to herself, practically able to hear the wheels turning in Amy's head as she worked to figure out what was going on. She just wanted to be left alone to stew in her own melancholy over Wyatt. Again, unfortunately…

However, Amy kept going. "So you didn't want to be out with them; you wanted to be doing something else. Which means last time was a lie, but whatever. What else would you do down there?" she mused, her question clearly rhetorical because Lucy had no intention of answering. "Do we know anyone down there? I mean, it's not like you're doing drug runs to Tijuana or something, right?" she added, clearly ribbing at Lucy.

But Lucy's heart seized as Amy unwittingly touched on that very real thing that Wyatt had shared about his own teenage years. Still, she managed to keep her composure and scoffed right back, "No!"

"So what would you…" Amy trailed off, frowning and clearly befuddled. "I mean," she eventually continued, "I went down there that one time with Emily and Morgan, but they mostly just wanted to hook up with military guys-"

Lucy couldn't help it; that was two close-to-homes in a row, this one even closer. Panic hit her and her eyes went wide. And god damn her terrible poker face, because by the time she'd realized what she'd done and tried to school her expression back to some version of depressingly neutral, Amy had already noticed.

"Oh shit!" her sister yelped, whipping her head in Lucy's direction with a wicked grin. "Were you hooking up with a military guy? Who do you know in the military? Navy? Marines?" She rattled on excitedly. "How would you know anyon- Wait, your weird secret project. That guy," she drew out, facing Lucy momentarily, jaw dropped in shock. "The hot one. …Will? No… Something 'W'. Wes? W- W- Wilder? Wyatt? Wyatt. Is hot-Wyatt stationed down there? Lucy Preston, are you hooking up with the hot Marine?"

Lucy's stomach dropped further and further as Amy's rapid-fire connect-the-dots played out. Rapid-fire in actuality, but more like a slow-motion train wreck to Lucy. By the time Amy managed to finish her rambling thesis, Lucy truly was sick to her stomach at being on the precipice of her patheticness having been figured out.

And she had no idea how to respond to any of what Amy had just blurted out. So she stupidly muttered the one thing that came to mind. "…Army."

Except Amy took that as confirmation of her accusation and squawked excitedly, "You are?"

"No!" Lucy denied emphatically. "No." Not that she hadn't maybe kind of hoped that the weekend might turn out that way, but Amy did not need to know that… "Just- Wyatt's Army," she mumbled.

"And is hot-Army-Wyatt in San Diego?" Amy shot right back in a sing-song tone.

Yes… Not that Lucy was willing to acknowledge that – Wyatt's presence in San Diego or his hotness – aloud.

Apparently, Lucy's silence said enough in Amy's mind. "He is!" she declared. "Are you guys together?"

"No," Lucy insisted.

Amy just raised her eyebrow and grinned cheekily as she rephrased, "Sleeping together?"

Lucy stifled a dejected snort. As if that was ever going to happen. "No," she scoffed.

The car had conveniently reached a red light, giving Amy the opportunity to turn and scrutinize Lucy, who had been trying her damndest to school her expression into something akin to blandly neutral.

It didn't work. A wicked smile spread across Amy's face almost instantaneously. "I get it…" she surmised, very clearly being purposefully evil. "You want to be and the workshop dorks cock-blocked you."

Lucy's jaw dropped and she felt her cheeks flame; she was shocked. How? How did she know? So caught off-guard by Amy's perceptive deduction was she, she couldn't manage any more of a rebuttal that a stammered, dangling, "I-"

"Ding ding ding," Amy cried gleefully, "we have a winner!"

At that point, it was all too much and Lucy knew she had to pull herself together to do damage control. "No," she stressed. "I- Amy, no." She sighed, not even really sure how to describe the whole mess to her sister. "I-" she tried again, then rephrased once more as she ran a hand through her hair. "We're friends. We caught up over dinner. I- If he wanted to date, or something, yes, I… would be interested," Lucy was surprised to hear herself admit. "But it's not going to happen," she added with glum finality.

"Why the hell not?" Amy scoffed.

"His wife died," Lucy explained sadly. "He's not… in that place. And even if he was, this-" she paused, gesturing at herself, "-is not what he'd be looking for."

"Hey," Amy scolded, "you are just as hot as hot-Wyatt."

"I don't- I don't mean that," Lucy shook her head wearily. "Although I'm not, by the way," she corrected Amy before continuing. "I just- He- I'm a boring history dork," she shrugged. "You just said so," Lucy added, with a look of warning before Amy could even try denying it. "And he's the kind of guy you and your friends were chasing after. I-"

"Hey, I was not chasing," Amy cut in. "Amy Preston does not chase; the worthy ones come to me."

Lucy snorted softly, a wan smile barely making itself known as she offered a wry apology. "My mistake."

It was a bit of an odd place to leave the conversation, but honestly, Lucy was just grateful that Amy wasn't pushing at any further.

Until she was.

It was a silent few moments, but then Amy piped up once more as they neared home. "When?"

But the vague, single-word query left Lucy eyeing her sister quizzically.

"His wife," Amy rephrased, clearly implying the context should have been obvious.

"Oh," Lucy frowned, thrown a bit by her sister going in that unexpected direction. "I, uh… Five?" she guessed. Embarrassingly, she had indeed looked up stories about Jessica's murder, back after he'd tried the telegram, but she'd felt so guilty about intruding on Wyatt's personal life that she hadn't really looked long enough to retain all the details. "Six?" she corrected, still not sure. "Years ago?"

Amy scoffed. "That's forever."

Lucy shook her head slightly, resigned as she refuted, "Not for him. It's… No."

Once upon a time, she'd have thought the same thing – that a few years would be enough for someone to heal, to move on. But she'd had a front row seat to Wyatt's struggles, even this many years later. Kate. Letting Lincoln get shot. Her agreement to save Amy. Stealing the Lifeboat. He may have said it was time to look at the present, but….

Well, either five or six years really still wasn't enough time, or it was, but he just had no interest in moving on with her.

"You really don't think there's anything there?" Amy prompted, sounding skeptical.

Another sigh escaped Lucy's lungs. She couldn't deny that there had been a handful of times when she'd thought – or perhaps it was just irrationally hoped – that there was something between them. But she couldn't deny that Wyatt's unwillingness to see her the night before was a huge, discouraging blow to those burgeoning hopes.

She looked down, fiddling with her nails; she didn't need to see Amy's pity at her pathetic, one-sided mooning over an unavailable widower. "Like I said, it would be… nice if there was," she finally admitted to her sister. "But… No."

Once again, Amy let the subject drop, but only temporarily. Lucy had just closed her eyes and let her forehead rest on the cool glass of the window when her sister piped up again quietly.

"So you like this guy. Wyatt," she stated, very matter-of-fact.

Lucy lifted her head up and eyed Amy warily, confused.

"Like?" Amy continued, her voice suddenly taking on a more gentle tone. "Or more than like?"

Lucy sucked in a sharp breath and tears sprang to her eyes out of nowhere. She stared at her hands in her lap, unable to face Amy, or the question.

Honestly, she hadn't really ever thought of Wyatt in that context. 'More than like'. Even liking him felt so silly and futile most of the time. To even let herself entertain the fleeting notion that she might care for him even more strongly than that? Would be stupid. So stupid.

But, yet again, Amy read into Lucy's lack of answer and drew her own conclusions. And at the next red light, she spoke up again. "I'm sorry, Lucy-Lou. It's his loss."

Which Lucy knew was meant to be comforting – Amy didn't often pull out the childhood nickname – but it rang hollow. His loss? Maybe. But even if it was, it inherently meant that she was losing out too.

She just had to decide whether… whatever it was she felt for him… was enough to push her to try one last time to connect with Wyatt the next time she was in San Diego.

And she really didn't know what she'd do when the time came.

What Lucy did know was that she was not in the right place to discuss it any more with Amy. If she was going to talk about her feelings for Wyatt, it should probably be with him. She did have things to discuss with Amy – the house – though that notion just brought back to mind that night with Wyatt that she'd thought had gone so well, but had ultimately led to absolutely nothing.

So, she was quiet the rest of the car ride, and Amy didn't push it.

Once they pulled up at home, Lucy turned to Amy and murmured, taciturn, "Thank you for the ride. I… need to go grade all the papers my classes submitted while I was gone."

And then she hurried into the house ahead of her sister. She did have papers to grade, yes. But she also had to figure out what the hell she was going to do when she saw Wyatt again next month.

TBC...