Again thank you for the support! Special shout out to my goats and pandas! This chapter has a lot of poker lingo, but if it's foreign to you don't worry! Here's a quick break down:
-a tell is the subconscious sign a person makes usually when they're bluffing
-to call means you're matching the previous players bet
-to raise means you're raising the bet
-to fold means you're tapping out of that hand
-The flop are the cards in the middle of the table any player can play off of
If you have any other questions leave them in comments! Or just comment :)
Enjoy!
How can I just let you walk away
Just let you leave without a trace?
When I stand here taking every breath with you, ooh ooh
You're the only one who really knew me at all
He's discharged from the hospital after a day of observation and given an insane amount of pain meds that he tosses in the trash as soon as he makes is back home (they make him feel funny, and Advil has yet to fail him). He scoffs as he enters the front door.
Home.
This isn't a home.
Home was a half-a-century old missile bunker. Home was were there was one bathroom with a broken lock. Home was were he slept on a twin cot with a roommate like he was a damn college kid. Home was were he woke up to walk out and see his family: a former billionaire, a homeland security agent, an ex-terrorist, a psychic techie, a pilot, and his historian every morning (even while Jessica was in the bunker he managed to keep the two parts of his life in separate boxes, and now after all he discovered, he's glad he did). That would never be the case again. He hopes in the deepest parts of his heart that there may come day that he wakes up to Lucy like he did for that one morning in 1941, but even that seems against odds.
So he assumes he'll settle for this right now.
A lot of people would like to think of it as modest living, but he sees it for what it is. It's a damn box of an apartment he hasn't seen in almost a year. He had thought is was kind of Denise to ensure they all had homes to go back to after… after everything. Well… he and Jiya at least. Rufus and Denise had families waiting for them. Mason had managed to keep his high class living amenities, and Denise had helped find new living arrangements for Lucy. But now he wishes he could have had a do over as well. Everything has a layer of dust covering it, cobwebs in every corner; he shudders at the thought. He's never been a fan of spiders.
He drops his bag on the ground at his feet and just plops down on the couch, coughing when a cloud of dust puffs up around him. Fan-fucking-tastic. A new couch is probably going to be a good investment. He leans forward to grab the TV remote, but when he attempts to turn the screen on, there is no response. He adds a new remote to the list. Or at least a new batteries.
Writing all this down might be a good idea.
He stands from the couch and presses the power button on the TV, needing some noise to drown out the thoughts that haunt him, but, like everything else, he's greeted with disappointment. A blank screen with a taunting NO SIGNAL stares back at him. It makes sense. Denise might have managed to keep their apartments but he wouldn't have wanted her to go as far as to pay the cable bill. Maybe he'll luck out and there will be some beer in the fridge. He would would worry about rotting food if he had ever kept much food in the fridge to worry about. If he bought food, it was typically frozen, and he was never one to let leftovers, whether it be take out or homemade, go to waste.
Sure enough, five of a six pack of Shiner had sat patiently waiting for his return. Maybe he should be concerned at the oddly long shelf life of bottled beer, but after all he's been through he actually can't think of anything he cares about less. But as he's about to open his first bottle, he hesitates.
If he drinks this first one, when will he stop? He knows this Jessica had filled his head with lies, but that was one thing that rang true in her words.
You're drunk five nights a week.
Memories of his drunk father flash through his head, and before he can register what he's doing, the bottle's contents are emptied down the drain. He's not dumb enough to think he's going to stop enjoying the casual act of drinking, but right now, in this state, alone, drinking will not lead him down a path that brings him back to the life he wants. He imagines what Lucy would think if he began drinking himself down a hole. No, he has to be better than a man who hides his pain in a bottle if he wants to earn her trust, her love, back. It takes less than 2 minutes and the other four beers have followed the path of the first.
After the bottles have been tossed into a fresh trash bag he walks down the hall to his room. Same room, just more dust. He wants to get under the sheets and sleep for a week, but they'll need a good washing before they're ready for that, so he just shrugs off his jacket and lays atop all the covers, allowing his eyes to fall shut.
Yet it's only second before his eyes shoot back open at the feel of something on his arm. Sure enough a little eight legged demon is making its merry way across his forearm, and his reflexes see the menace squished before he can think twice. His head flops onto one of the pillows and a sigh escapes his lips.
He really should just get a new apartment.
Friday poker night at Denise's house becomes a regular thing soon after the mission ended. Michelle always cooks them a fantastic dinner, and they all take the opportunities to unwind from their weeks in the way they all prefer: together. Mason has been in the midst of high level negotiations with NASA and Lockmen with Rufus and Jiya still working for him. Denise had received the promotions she deserved from Homeland Security, now overseeing all operations on the West Coast. He's been back at Pendleton doing all he can do while waiting for his next assignment which mostly consists of training regimen for his physical aptitude as well as his shooting and a bunch of other tedious shit. It's been 3 months since their mission ended, and Wyatt already feels the itch to be anywhere other than his new apartment (it took him all of three weeks to be moved out of the first. Beyond the dust and the spiders, he really just needed a fresh start). But at the same time there is someone keeping him from seeking out any available mission.
Lucy was about to resume her old post at Stanford for the spring semester, but he heard from Rufus that she was beginning to seek out other opportunities. Opportunities that were not in Palo Alto, California, and the thought makes him sick to his stomach, but he still keeps his distance. She made her stance clear in that hospital room. Any progress will have to be on her terms. So he does his waiting.
"Hey there, Logan," Rufus nudges him. "Your turn." Wyatt realizes how lost in thought he was.
"Sorry, guys," he chuckles, glancing down at his hole cards. A Queen of Diamonds and 9 of Spades. He grazes his eyes over the the flop. 3 of Clubs, 7 of Hearts, and Queen of Diamonds. Not enough reason to fold. He's still got time. "Call," he sighs, pushing three green chips in the pot. The round continues, and he does what he does best, analyzing his friends for their tells. Beside him is Rufus who, when he's bluffing, says 'call' in a slightly higher pitch than when he's shooting straight. Jiya yawns. Mason wiggles his nose, Denise he has yet to determine a tell. She seems just as stoic when she's bluffing as when she's got a Royal Flush from the first flop. Then there's Lucy. She folds the most out of any of them, not one to take the bigger risk, but she occasionally will. And everyone at the table thinks they know her tell. They think it's the most obvious; she bites her lip. But Wyatt, he knows her a little better than the others. It's in her fingers. When she's bluffing, she taps her pinky finger. 3 quick taps, 3 long taps, 3 quick taps. He almost burst out laughing the first time he realized what it was. She was actually tapping out SOS in Morse code when she bluffed. She hates lying, so much so that when she tries here she sends out a silent plea, and it's just another one of those things he adores about her.
Denise lays out the Turn card. 4 of Clubs. He takes a deep breath as he considers his options. He has a pair. He can check, and let Rufus make the first bet, he can fold, or he can make his bet and hope another pair will come from the River.
What the hell?
"100," he sighs, pushing a black chip into the middle and hoping it'll weed out the bluffers.
Rufus folds, Jiya calls, Mason folds, Lucy raises. They meet eyes across the table, and he catches a mischievous gleam in her eye. He eyes her suspiciously and she just shrugs with a grin and looks back down at her hand. Another deep breath is required after that. They've begun rebuilding everything, and he's hoping it's pushing them in the right direction, but it's looks like that that steal his breath and fills his lungs with a hope he hasn't felt since Hollywood.
Maybe tonight, he always thinks after moments like that, yet nothing has come from it.
Maybe tonight.
Another round goes. Denise lays out the final card.
7 of Spades.
He has two pair. He can take this, but it's a low hand still. He doesn't have a whole lot to lose.
"Last bet," he states. "200."
Two black chips find their way to the middle. Jiya calls, placing her chips out. Wyatt keeps a steady gaze on Lucy. Her pinky begins a subtle rhythm. She folds. Time to put cards on the table.
Jiya throws down her 4 and 5, making a flush and beating out his two pairs. They all share a laugh as Jiya gleefully pulls her winnings into her pot, and he joins in their laughter. He feels so much lighter with this group of people, and he can't imagine a life without any of them. Even the weeks when Flynn finds his way into Denise's home for a round of poker, he can't but think about how lucky he was to receive the mission that brought them together all those years ago. Or maybe it wasn't luck, maybe it was the Rittenhouse connection he never knew he had until it was too late, but regardless he's grateful. In some twisted way he guesses he does owe this all to a terrorist and the secret society they helped bring down. It brought him a family. It brought him his best friends. It brought him to Lucy. He would go through that hell again and again so long as this is where he ends up.
They go through another three hands before Wyatt's reckless betting finds him with an empty pot, so he excuses himself from the table, walking into the kitchen to refill his drink where he finds Michelle cleaning dishes from their dinner.
"Care for an extra set of hands, ma'am?" he asks.
"That's nice of you, Master Sergeant, but you go have fun," she smiles, gesturing to the sound of laughter from the dining room. "I can take care of this."
"Eh, I had an empty pot anyway," he insists. "And you made dinner, so the least I can do is wash some dishes." She laughs before shrugging and handing him the wash cloth.
"I guess I won't refuse the help," she laughs. "If you have questions about where anything goes, just ask." He nods and quickly pushes the sleeves of his navy long sleeve shirt up his forearms before dipping his hands into the scalding, soapy water. The feeling brings him back to a creaky trailer house in Snyder, Texas where his 12 year old self would lovingly yet begrudgingly help Grandma Bess with the dishes while all his cousins went out and shot cans off the fence with Grandpa Sherwin. He misses them with his whole heart, but he likes to think they'd love this eclectic family he's found just as much as he does.
"Need a hand there, soldier?" He jumps at the sound of Lucy's voice beside him. She casts a glance at the dishes in his hand.
"Oh, um," he stumbles for words. "Yeah, uh… I wash, you dry?" She nods and pulls a dry towel from the oven handle, getting to work beside him. They work in silence for a bit, and he wonders if he has the same effect she has on him. He feels nerves he hasn't felt in years, but he'll be damned if he calls them butterflies.
"You excited to be back at Stanford?" He asks, hoping to bring back some more normality between them.
"Eh," she laughs. "It feels tainted now, and pretty boring, if I'm being honest. I mean my mom got me that job in the first place, and she—well really I'm thinking about looking at other universities after this semester…" she begins to fade off by the end of the statement.
"Yeah, Rufus told me," he tells her, handing a freshly washed plate her way. "Outside of California."
"Wyatt, I know I should explain—"
"No, Lucy, you don't have to," he cuts her off because she doesn't deserve any guilt she would place on herself. He pushes pause on the dishwashing to look her directly in the eyes. He can't remember the last time they did that. "If finding a fresh start is what you need, then do it. If moving as far from California as you can is how you are going to change the world then do it." The looks she gives him is full of everything he wishes she would just say, but instead she keeps it too simple, too casual.
"Thank you, Wyatt," she smiles softly.
"Sure thing," he replies, and they both wait for the next word, but he can't bring himself to say it. It's too heavy with the past. With waiting rooms, and Germany, and drowning cars, and broken men going to save their past dead wives, and aching hearts, all wanting for something.
They both turn back to dishes and continue in silence, the laughing from the next room the only noise keeping them from shattering.
"How are things at Pendleton?" She asks after a few minutes, placing some plates in the cabinet.
"Nothing too exciting," he admits. Time between missions for most of us isn't exactly what we look forward too." Especially for those of us without someone to come home too. "Mostly just day to day training stuff to get us ready for when we have to leave again." She doesn't look at him when she asks her next question.
"Are you looking forward to… getting back out there? Out… wherever they send you next?" He doesn't want to read too far into her question, but it almost feels like she's reaching out to him.
"Just ready for the monotony to be over," he shrugs. "Train, go home, sleep, repeat. The same routine between every deployment, and then every deployment and honestly, Lucy, it sucks. As nasty as all the Rittenhouse business was at least it gave me a bigger purpose again, at least it was more than six months in some desert country, and now that's all I have to go back to. No time travel, no secret government to take down, no—" No you. He swallows hard. "So yeah it'll be better than what I have now, but it won't ever be the same." He sees her tense ever so slightly, and he feels like a dick. That was probably the last thing she needed to hear. "I mean don't get me wrong. Y'all are still the reason I keep on fighting, but I never realized how much having you and Rufus fighting with me changed how I viewed all this standard military shit. In Delta, everyone sees things one way, but you and Rufus made me think differently. You made me better. You still do."
Their eyes meet again, and for a moment he wishes their communication had never become so solid that he knew what she was thinking by looking into her golden irises because the conflict he sees tears at him. He longs to ask what he can do to ease her worry, but he knows this is something she has to do alone. She has to heal. She's still healing.
"Wyatt…" she whispers. A movement catches his eye. Her pinky is tapping rhythmically against the countertop. 3 quick taps. 3 longs taps. 3 quick taps. Does she even know she's doing it? Whether she does or not, he understands. She won't be raising her bet.
Not tonight.
"I should get home," she tells him, breaking their eye contact. "I have a lot to prepare for on Monday." She rushes past him, says her goodbyes to everyone still in the dining room, and is out the door before he can move from the spot she left him.
It was the one skill he had in the world of gambling, yet, in her case, he wishes he had never learned to read a tell.
Ooh, take a look at me now
Well there's just an empty space
And you coming back to me is against the odds
And that's what I've got to face
