Before she even opened her eyes, she stretched and smiled. It'd been weeks since she felt this relaxed, this well-rested. She breathed in deeply and exhaled just as much. That's when realization hit her.

She wasn't at home.

Slowly, one eye opened, then the other.

This was not his couch, which is where she should've been.

After a pretty large helping of his "world famous" spaghetti (the Texas hot sauce was the key), they'd spent a few of the wee morning hours talking, reminiscing, and simply being in each other's company. They discussed life and history the way it used to be, you know, before time machines and Flynn and chaos. Back in the true "good ol' days" as Wyatt so eloquently put it.

They'd laughed about how many times Lucy fell off or into things. (Like horses and windows and stairs.) They tried to count how many historical figures they'd actually met (30? 40?) but Wyatt gave up after a while. He'd rather forget most of them. She didn't fail to notice how he dipped his head and went quiet when Lucy mentioned how many men she'd "dated through history."

Of course, they skirted around that most infamous mission. The one that changed it all.

Bonnie and Clyde.

She'd noticed a change in him ever since. While she'd never admit it, at least out loud, it had changed her, too.

How was she ever supposed to look at him the same? It was like the best chef in the world giving you a sample of their most delectable, sensuous, mouth-watering, tantalizing, feel-it-from-the-top-of-your-head-to-the-tips-of-your-toes amazing dessert and then saying, "Oh, sorry. You wanted more? Too bad. Samples only."

It was heartbreaking. She knew as long as he was still grieving his late wife he'd never be an option for her. And that was okay. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through and, frankly, hoped she never did.

They had an unspoken understanding. They'd reiterated in those wee morning hour discussions that if he could get Jessica back, he would. And she'd get her sister back. And life would go back to normal. Whatever that was.

But there was a part of her, if even a small part, that wished things were different. A part that wished they'd met under different circumstances. A part that hoped, maybe, if there was a world without Rittenhouse, they could've met some other way and fallen in love. No strings attached. No fiancés or deceased wives. Just the two of them. Single and willing.

But it wasn't that simple. That wasn't their life.

So, therefore, her confusion was completely understandable when she woke up in his bed.

She turned her head and blinked in the sun shining through his bedroom windows. He was on his side, facing her, still fast asleep.

Many years later, she'd say it was when he straightened her tie before going into a Nazi den or when he held her hand after she witnessed Lincoln's assassination, or how he always helped her in and out of the Lifeboat. Or, perhaps, all those times he buckled her safely in on missions.

However, she'd be the only one who knew it was as she watched him sleep peacefully beside her in the morning light.

That's when she knew she was in love with him.

How long she lay there watching him, she wasn't sure, but it was long enough to feel something she hadn't before. What was that? It was a strange sensation, this being drawn to someone else. It started in the pit of her stomach and she could've sworn she felt a pang in her heart. There was a lump in her throat and she didn't know why. (Oh, but of course, she did. She'd just rather not admit it…yet.)

Her emotions were still a bit all over the place and she wasn't sure if she should cry or laugh or snuggle up beside him. It was a feeling of realizing that, no matter what happened, you just wanted the other person to be happy. If Lucy Preston's sole purpose in life was to make Wyatt Logan happy, she'd do it.

He must've known he was being watched (Delta Force, you know), because he began to stir. He breathed deeply and slowly opened his eyes. He paused for a moment and just looked at her, that half smile creeping up.

And for a moment, it was just them. No chaos or Flynn or time machines. No missions. No history.

Could he hear her heart pounding as much as she was sure it was?

"Hi."

She was surprised even that came out. Usually, it took at least two cups of coffee before she'd attempt talking in the morning.

"Hey."

And she melted a little more.

What, was she 13? A guy says "hey" in a silky-smooth, gorgeously sleep-filled voice and you melt?

Yes, yes she did.

A shiver ran through her and he noticed. He pulled the blanket further up around them.

She smiled appreciatively and sighed a little more into the pillow. The warm, soft pillow that smelled like him.

"How did I end up here? I could've sworn I fell asleep on the couch."

She knew she did. She remembered talking to him and trying to stay awake. But the spaghetti was so good and she was warm, comfortable, and with him, which meant she felt safe. It wasn't difficult to see that sleep would be inevitable, especially with the lives they led. She was always exhausted.

He blushed and diverted his eyes, focusing on fluffing his pillow and making himself more comfortable.

"Oh, you just looked like you'd be cold and uncomfortable on the couch, you know, out there. So, I brought you in here."

Her face was burning, she just knew it.

"You – you carried me in here?"

Part of her was extremely embarrassed that he picked her up and carried her. But the majority wished she had been awake when Wyatt Logan carried her into his bedroom.

He glanced around, looking anywhere, everywhere. He ran his hand across his face and huffed slightly, placing one hand under and the other over his pillow.

"Yeah. I couldn't leave you out there alone. Not after…"

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"After?"

He took a small breath before looking in her eyes, speaking softly but determined.

"I've already lost you twice. There won't be a third time."

There it was again. That pang in her chest. There was also a pretty acute flutter in her stomach.

She couldn't help it. It was happening before she knew it.

Her hand reached out and cupped his face, her fingers slowly sweeping away a few strands of his beautiful hair.

Her voice was shaky, but confident. Tears stung her eyes.

"Wyatt. You've never lost me."

He closed his eyes, almost reverently.

"Lucy, if something were to happen to you..."

Her hand was soft but firm against his cheek. She spoke only for him.

"Wyatt Logan. I'm here. I'm right here."

He placed his hand over hers.

"Lucy –"

It was natural, automatic. Her body instinctually moved closer to him, so close they were practically nose-to-nose.

She lowered her voice to barely a whisper.

"I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

He smiled and exhaled. It was a breath, he would later tell her, he never realized he'd been holding.

His forehead fell softly against hers.

It was that moment, she'd learn years later, when he fell in love with her.