"I hope you find someone who knows how to love you when you are sad."

- Nikita Gill

"Can we see it?" Wyatt scratched the corner of his mouth. "I mean the drawing Iris made for you."

"I…" Deep creases bloomed on Garcia's forehead, and Lucy felt a bolt of certainty that he would refuse. He moistened his lips, and the gesture was so precious to her in its familiarity that her stomach curled in an odd little dip. "Yes. It's in my wallet," he finally answered, after a brief pause. At this additional glimpse of vulnerability he'd allowed her and Wyatt to see, a swell of gratitude and tenderness washed over Lucy. "It's nothing exceptional. Just a child's drawing. But if you're sure you want to see it…?"

Wyatt's blue eyes softened as he gazed at Garcia without blinking. "I'm sure."

Garcia's chair clawed at the kitchen floor as he rose. Lucy's regard lingered on his back as he left the kitchen. She knew it was only her imagination—a trick of the light, perhaps—but his tall, rangy frame seemed less upright, more stooped than usual: Atlas, supporting the weight of the boundless sky on his broad shoulders.

Wyatt cleared his throat, drawing Lucy's attention. A smile brimming with wistfulness curved his lips and lifted his cheeks. "What makes you put up with either of us, Lucy?"

Lucy stroked her chin and furrowed her brow, pretending to consider his question with utmost seriousness. Because you two are my home. "Honestly, the sex," she said, delivering the quip in a crisp, champagne-dry tone she had probably picked up from Garcia.

Wyatt's eyes widened in surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed, loose-limbed and easy, exposing the graceful lines of his throat. He shone so brightly it was like staring at the sun; she had to look away. When their gazes meshed again, Wyatt grinned, shaking his head fondly. Lucy just flashed him a wink.

A minute later Garcia returned. His eyes tracked from Wyatt to Lucy, a speculative expression unfurling on his face as he took in Wyatt's wolfish grin and the mischief still scrawled on Lucy's face. "I missed something."

"Nope," said Wyatt, "nothing important."

Lucy merely shrugged, attempting to look innocent.

Garcia clicked his tongue and shook his head, skepticism flaring in his narrow gaze. "You're both terrible liars, but I'll let it go for the moment." He laid a small rectangle of folded paper on the table in front of Wyatt. "Here you go."

All traces of laughter fled from Wyatt's face, leaving it somber. He cocked his head, a question gleaming in his light eyes.

"Yes." Garcia nodded. "You can look at it."

Wyatt unfolded the paper with great care, fingers moving slowly until it lay spread open on the table.

Lucy scooted her chair closer to Wyatt's so she could see the drawing more clearly. The paper seemed thinner and more delicate along its creases, though it hadn't torn yet. It was just as Garcia had described it, three crayon mermaids done in bold, broad lines, obviously drawn by a child's hand. All wore similar lopsided smiles. One had short, rainbow-colored hair, while the other two had long hair with flippy, upturned ends.

Nothing exceptional, as Garcia had said.

But to look at the naked lines of Garcia Flynn's face while he watched one of his lovers stroke the colorful page, was to know that this simple drawing was his heart laid bare.

"Thanks for showing it to us, Flynn," Wyatt said. "It's...Well, 'beautiful' doesn't seem like the right word, but it's all I've got. I get why you kept it."

"It's all I have left of her," Garcia said in a voice like cold ash, both hands gripping the edge of the kitchen table. The significance of the day, combined with the remembrances they'd each shared had left Garcia uncharacteristically shaky. The sun's hot kiss on the glacier of his grief had started the melting process; now he was left mopping up all the water.

"We know." Wyatt tilted a look at Lucy. Sighing, he stood and settled his hand on Garcia's back, sliding it down and then back up again in a hypnotic motion, gentling Garcia like he was a skittish animal. Which he was.

When Flynn finally eased his white-knuckle grip on the table, Wyatt squeezed his shoulder. "Better?"

Garcia only nodded in answer.

"Good." With a final pat on Flynn's back, Wyatt walked away. "I've got something for you guys," he called over his shoulder.

Collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs, Garcia closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Lucy got up from her seat and stood behind him. With her arms curled around his shoulders, she rested her chin on his dark hair. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said.

"Proud? Why?" he asked in a smoky rumble. His warm, slim fingers slotted into the spaces between hers.

"Because you talked about them, and I know that was difficult for you. Because you showed us Iris' drawing."

"And that's important to you."

"It's important to me that we know you," Lucy said, correcting him lightly. "That we all know each other," she added. "Iris and Lorena are a part of who you are. Just like Amy's a part of me, and Jessica's a part of Wyatt."

"Are you so certain I'm a person worth knowing, my Lucy?"

Lucy blinked and dipped her head, nose brushing Garcia's silky hair as she feathered a kiss to the soft hollow behind his ear. He shivered in her hold, causing her lips to fold in a secret smile.

"Yes, my Garcia, I am."

When Wyatt returned, Lucy and Garcia sat side by side, hands linked. With a smile warming his face, he laid something on the table in front of his lovers. Lucy laughed in delight and released Garcia's hand, reaching out and stroking a finger over the matte silver picture frame Wyatt had brought with him. "Where did you get this?" she asked, tipping her chin toward Wyatt.

Wyatt's shoulders rose and fell in a lazy shrug. "Jiya took it a few months ago. I just blew it up."

The frame held an enlarged photograph of three of them sitting at a black restaurant table, clutching their stomachs and making ridiculous faces. Colorful lanterns dangled from the ceiling, and baskets of spring rolls and fried sticky rice decorated the table. They'd had dim sum for Sunday brunch at Great East, stuffing themselves with baked pork buns, shrimp dumplings, and steamed chicken feet, though Lucy hadn't been adventurous enough to eat the latter. Jiya had snapped the picture near the end of their meal, when they were too full to do anything but be silly.

"I love it," Lucy said. "It's a great picture. Thanks, Wyatt."

"Yes, thank you, Wyatt," said Garcia. "Where should we put it?"

Wyatt cracked his knuckles, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Actually, I was thinking that we could find another frame for the picture of us. Maybe we put Iris' drawing in this frame instead. You know, where we can all see it. But if you don't want to, Flynn..." He rubbed his hands together briskly. "You know what, just forget I said anything."

"No. No," Garcia said, and Lucy was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. He shook his head, worrying his lower lip as he stood and moved toward Wyatt. "Just…" His hands lifted in a signal for Wyatt to stop. "Give me a minute."

"OK."

His hands flexed, then fisted at his side. "I don't want to forget this." He spoke the words so quietly Lucy had to concentrate to make them out. "I don't want to forget your kindness." His head tipped down, and his arms folded across his chest. "But I'm not good at this," he said, voice rising with his frustration. "I don't know what to say. I just…" He shrugged, voice trailing off. But he crossed the remaining distance to Wyatt, hands reaching until they found a home on either side of the other man's face. His hair, dark as a raven's wing, fell forward as he leaned down toward Wyatt, who stood several inches shorter. Their lips finally met, in a kiss slow and sweet, and Lucy exhaled.

Wyatt's hands slid over Garcia's back, pulling him closer. Garcia made a low noise in his throat, his fingers drifting into Wyatt's hair before he stepped back. "Thank you, dušo moja. "

"You're welcome," Wyatt replied, and though it was only two words, his face spoke many more. "You called Lucy that earlier, and now me. But you still haven't told us what it means. How do we know you're not cussing us out in Croatian?"

One of Garcia's eyebrows arched. "Does it sound like I'm cursing at you?"

"I don't know," Wyatt said with an impish grin. "You tell us."

"You're not going to let this go, are you, Logan?"

Wyatt's grin widened. "Not a chance, Flynn."

Sighing, Garcia folded his hands together. "My soul," he said, his tone lofty. "That's what dušo moja means."

"Huh. So what you're saying is, you called me and Lucy your soul."

"Mmhmm."

"So do you still want us to let you walk away, so we can be happy without you and your blackened soul, Lucifer?

"I'm old, Logan. And selfish. Too selfish to let either of you go if you're foolish enough to keep me. Though I've learned I can get used to living without anyone, I don't want to learn to live without you both."

"Oh thank god. Now can we please go back to bed?"

"I'm not sure I can fall back asleep now, Wyatt."

"An orgasm should take care of that."

"Are you offering to give me one?"

"You did call me your soul. I figure it's the least I can do. I'll blow you, if you ever stop talking, Flynn. You'll come so hard you'll see stars, and then we can all pass out for a couple hours."

"You do say the sweetest things, Wyatt Logan."

Lucy laughed, trailing her boys back up the stairs to their bedroom.

A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you feel like sharing them. :)

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