#lucy's lifeboat library | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mockingjayne12 · 6 years ago

Text

Beyond - Chapter 2

(Lyatt / Timeless Fic)

Chapter 1

Lucy sits in the library, her pen working furiously to scribble in her journal. The frustration she’d felt with her mom earlier that morning still ringing in her ears, demanding it be written out, a documentation of the event inked into existence by her account.

With a sigh, she pauses, tracing the string of the brightly colored bracelet on her wrist, a ghost of a smile appearing on her lips, the one calm in her otherwise irritated day. She’d woken up this morning to find that the paper she’d written the night before had been deleted. What she had thought had been a good analysis of Gettysburg, had led to her own Civil War this morning.

It wasn’t the first time she’d woken to find a hard night’s work deleted because it hadn’t been deemed good enough. She knew it was meant to be a motivator, and in a way it was. Lucy knew she would spend tonight working to make her paper even better than it had been. But the constant strive to be better often left her feeling inadequate, like no matter what she did, she was never going to measure up, doomed to loom in the shadow of her mother. And while she was usually quite content to do so, sometimes she’d found herself dipping a toe into the light…before quickly pulling back into darkness.

However, that morning, she’d just felt frustration, and she’d stormed upstairs, grabbed her bag and was about to head out, when her little sister, Amy, had rushed up with a sweet smile, her blonde hair falling in her eyes, her small hand holding a friendship bracelet she’d made.

Lucy had kissed her cheek goodbye, and rushed out the door.

xxxxx

Storming back into Mason Industries, Lucy finds tears pricking at her eyes. Shaking her head, she mutters to herself, like if she said it enough, it would be true. She doesn’t even see Wyatt as she rushes back in, slamming right into him.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?” He immediately asks, his hands coming to rest on her arms, shaking her out of the trance she seemed to be in, and instead focusing on the rise and fall of his eye lids as they blink with concern.

“Amy’s gone,” she exclaims, worry rolling off of her in waves. Wyatt’s brow furrows, not quite understanding what she’s saying. His confused look only strikes more panic in her. “Gone, as in, erased from history, like she never existed.”

By now, the rest of the team has gathered around her, claiming the same thing that her now very much healthy mother had, that there was no Amy. Except Lucy knew that there was. The sassy blonde that had encouraged her to stand up for herself, the one who lied to their mother when Lucy’s hand was showing, the one who had made her friendship bracelets and lurked around the corner with an all too knowing toothy smile whenever Wyatt had been over.

“Look,” she fumbles for her locket, her shaky hands opening up the trinket to reveal one side to contain a photo of her sister. “This is her, right here,” she points out, not even bothering to cover the photo on the other side, the one that contains a younger version of herself with wild curls and a blue eyed boy kissing her cheek.

“She exists, I’ve met her,” Wyatt argues, and Lucy silently thanks him, thinking maybe if two of them remember than she couldn’t be going crazy.

“Wait, you knew Lucy before this?” Rufus asks, as if suddenly piecing together conversations that made way more sense now.

“I’d say he more than knew her,” Connor mutters to himself.

“Stop! Whatever changed, you have to change it back. Change. it. back,” Lucy punctuates each word with an air of desperation, her tears threatening to make their treacherous fall, as looks shared between Agent Christopher and Connor Mason to help her.

Her feelings are nearly cast aside for the bigger picture, being forced into that death machine once again to save history. The fear that not only would she once again change her history, but be unable to save the life she once knew, weighing heavily on her.

“Hey, give her a damn minute, she just lost her sister,” Wyatt all but yells, and she finds herself silently begging him to fix this. The cut on his eye twitching at the thought of being helpless, no words able to soothe the emotional wound that had inflicted on her.

“April 14, 1865,” the date rustling her out of her own head, momentarily quelling her concerns.

“What’s so special about that date?” Rufus asks, stunned that Lucy so quickly gave in to another mission.

“The assassination of Abraham Lincoln,” Wyatt answers for her, as she continues up the stairs, crestfallen.

xxxxx

Her fingertips trace over the blue string intertwined with all the other brightly colored pieces, that particular color for some reason standing out to her.

“What are you doing?” She hears, sending her flying in her seat, causing a guttural laugh to escape Wyatt’s lips.

“Do you enjoy scaring me?” She says with a narrowed eye that he doesn’t even acknowledge as actual anger at this point.

He smiles back at her, taking the seat that he’s claimed as his own every school day for the past couple of weeks.

“You know what, don’t answer that. I know you do,” she says, closing her journal, and shoving it in her backpack, while yanking out the heavy history book.

“What do you write in there, anyway?” He asks with an ease, no longer slamming down his own book, attracting the attention of everyone. Instead gently placing the book down, opening it up to the page they’d covered in class.

“Stuff,” Lucy vaguely answers, not wanting to get into what she chooses to divulge into the privacy of a shrouded cover of inked pages. The last thing she would want is for him to find that most of what she’s been writing lately involves him, save for the frustration of her mother. Usually, she found herself writing about how quickly he would get an answer or the cadence of his voice when he asked a question, the exact point where a dimple appeared when he grinned. An endless examination of the exact color of blue that were his eyes, only to settle one one, to find that with a different emotion, they’d shift like the tide, revealing a new depth. But mostly she wrote about their tutoring sessions being the best part of her day.

She was new, she didn’t have any friends. The only person she found herself having a conversation with, aside from her teachers and family, was Wyatt.

“Stuff, huh?” He says with a slight nod of his head. “Am I included in this…stuff?” He asks, a shit eating grin on his face.

Lucy finds herself nervously pushing her curls behind her ear, as she crosses her arms, closing herself off.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you,” she says with a bravado he’s already figured out.

Wyatt leans closer, and she can smell the mint of his gum on his breath, and she finds her eyes wandering to his lips that move with the chew of his mouth. The brown hue fluttering up to the blue that refused to ever leave her own gaze.

“I would,” he all but whispers, his breath hitting her face, causing a blush to rise from her cheeks.

“Well,” she stutters, looking away, breaking the contact, pulling her sweater closer around her. “You’re not.” Daring a glance at him, she swears she sees a flash of hurt pass over him, almost as if he didn’t actually believe that he would be included, like he didn’t register to her outside of these tutoring sessions. But it’s quickly covered by a quirk of his lips, shifting the mood.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one putting up a front when it came to the other.

xxxxx

Lucy precariously makes her way into the Lifeboat, her hoop skirt threatening to hit her in the face, and making her already shaky balance teeter on the edge of beyond clumsy. She doesn’t miss Wyatt’s hands reaching out, almost on instinct to catch her as she maneuvers her way into her seat, hitting him with her skirt on the way down.

“Whoa,” he nearly laughs, and she finds herself apologizing, having no control of the fabric surrounding her. “Sit, please,” he teases, and then bites back a smile, sensing that her nerves are once again surfacing, exacerbated this time with the worry over her sister.

As Wyatt leans forward, grasping both of the straps of her seatbelt, she surrenders to the feel of his fingers guiding over her torso as he makes sure she’s buckled in. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but rather one she hadn’t experienced in a while. This job, the one in which he was essentially assigned to protect her, wasn’t something new. He’d been doing so since the day they met, whether he knew it or not. And it wasn’t because he thought she was weak or somehow incapable of doing so herself. But rather a sign that he cared.

It was this that sent a flare up from her heart through her chest into her throat. The one that had her choking back everything she wanted to say, as she glanced up at his face, her eyes searching his own, until he yanked on the straps, securing her.

“Luce,” he breathes, like a reflex he couldn’t quit if he tried, an exhale to the slow intake of her brown eyes focused on his face, tearing up with emotion, and refusing to leave the steady calm of his blue. “We’re gonna fix it,” he vows, as if there was no other option. They were going to get Amy back. “I promise.”

She lowers her eyes, silently nodding at his words, not even the slightest bit weary on whether he would actually keep his word this time. The conviction with which he spoke, he was being honest. They may not succeed, although she hoped that wasn’t the case, but she knew without a doubt, that he would die trying to fix this for her.

xxxxx

“So umm,” she says, shuffling to the edge of her seat, bringing her leg to sit underneath her, settling in for the next hour. “Did you start your paper yet?”

“Ugh,” he groans, clearly not having given any thought to the assignment. “I bet you’re already finished, right?” His pencil bouncing between the pages, his fingers dexterously spinning it around. She grits her teeth, before she reaches out, placing her hand on his to still his movement.

The gesture not only freezes his hand, but both of them, suspended in a moment, teetering between the fallout, and Lucy swears she can hear the erratic beat of her heart as her hand quickly snaps back to her book, as if she’d been burned. The heat gathering on her cheeks, flushing her eyes to almost a dark black that she knows Wyatt notices.

She expects him to make a snide remark, to tease her, but she finds him just as quiet as she is, a look of realization on his face, of what she can’t decide.

“I’m probably gonna write about…uhh,” she pauses, nervously twisting the bracelet on her wrist.

He waits, not dismissing her, but always wanting to hear what she has to say, as if she were important.

“Well, I did write about…Gettysburg, but…it…got deleted, so…” she trails off again, closing her mouth, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, refusing to look up at him.

“Hmm,” he says, as if sensing that that was more to that story, but not wanting to push her into telling him what had happened. An understanding between the two of them as they delved into their work. “I was thinking of writing about battlefield injuries. Pretty stupid, huh?” He quickly amends, as if embarrassed at the suggestion.

Lucy perks at his topic, thankful for the distraction.

“Actually, that’s a really good idea. A lot of the practices that we still use today were implemented during the Civil War,” she says with all the confidence, encouraging him.

A satisfied smile makes its way to his face, and she’s not sure if it’s about his paper idea or how often she finds herself embarrassing herself with her enthusiasm for the subject.

“‘If we stand firm, we shall not fail,’” she mutters under her breath, a quiet mantra.

“What was that?” He says, leaning towards her.

“Nothing, just…Lincoln,” she says, biting her lip.

“Of course it is,” he concedes with a grin shot her way, and they continue on with their session.

xxxxx

“So Booth walks into Ford’s Theatre at exactly 10 a.m., huh? Not 9:56? 10:07?” Wyatt jokes, and she can’t tell if he’s trying to ease the tension of the mission at hand or is genuinely questioning her knowledge of the event.

“Hundreds of books have been written about Booth’s movement’s today,” she offers up as a testament to the fact.

“Including your own,” he says, glancing over at her with a raised eyebrow, and she finds herself trying to not to show how shocked she is that he actually knows that.

“You…read my book?” She asks, raising her own brow, daring him to admit as much.

“I might have skimmed a few pages,” he confesses, and she files away the fact that he’s been keeping up with her during the years, hidden in a blush and a quick turn to Rufus.

The theatre shrouds them in darkness as her and Wyatt make their way to the stage.

“Did these books happen to mention where the mailboxes were?” He says, a frustrated air to his tone, causing them to split up, and her to run smack into Robert Todd Lincoln.

She tries to hide the awe on her face, but she’s always been something of an open book when it comes to her admiration, and this time is no different. Wyatt once told her that there was an endearing earnestness to her when she was nervously scrambling, and while she’d shot him a look that had him holding up his hands in surrender at the confession, she hoped that the effect would also be charming in this situation.

Robert was handsome and kind, and had such a charm about him that she knew even if his father wasn’t someone for whom she’d admired for most of her life, she’d have still found him someone that made her nervous.

She even finds herself relating to him in a sense at the mention of living in the shadow of a parent. She too has felt nothing shy of paling in comparison to the accomplishments of someone she revered. Even more so now that she’s entered a life where her mother is well and able to continue her work. But she finds herself wondering if pride for her mother always has to equal control.

One thing’s for sure, she certainly didn’t have control over anything that seemingly happened to them, or so it felt.

xxxxx

“Wyatt, you’re bleeding!” Lucy exclaims, once they’ve gotten to the street, sure that Flynn and his conspirators weren’t still shooting at them from behind. “Oh my God,” she says with a shake of her head, one of her hands flying to her mouth, the other reaching out as if to help, but flinching back, not wanting to hurt him further.

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking off her concern, but he hisses when he moves, and she knows he has a high tolerance for pain, but a gunshot wound isn’t something to downplay.

Sending Rufus for supplies, they head for the hotel, and even though he’d claim otherwise, she can hear the hiss when she refers to Wyatt as her brother, again, playing it off like it was his injury. But she doesn’t miss the flash of annoyance at having to be related, not through marriage, but blood.

“Wyatt, you need a doctor,” she says, shuffling him into the room, the crimson red having soaked through his white shirt, a bullet hole marring his skin, as he yanks his shirt up.

It’s her turn to hiss as she sees the damage inflicted upon him. It’s not the first time she’s bared witness to such an act, but it’s certainly the first inflicted by a gun.

Lucy’s face contorts in worry, eyes flickering to the door, hoping for Rufus to bust through with the supplies they need.

“Help me get this off,” he pleads, her hands coming to help him, but he grunts in pain at the pull of the wound with his arms extended, the sound reverberating in her own side, sending a sharp intake in her chest.

“This would take fifteen minutes to patch up at home. Here, I’m gonna die of sepsis,” he says, looking down at this wound.

“Don’t say that,” she nearly whispers, the thought of losing him too threatening to be her undoing so soon after Amy.

Grabbing her eye with a tilt of his head, she knows he can see the tears gathering.

“I’ll be fine, Luce.”

And she refuses to break her stare even when Rufus comes in, scrambling as he’s nominated to retrieve the bullet.

“Why me?”

“Because she’ll faint,” he points to her with a knowing smile that quickly turns to a grimace as he moves.

xxxxx

Wyatt had left with Jessica, leaving her to collect her things, gathering them in her bag before heading out of the school.

She quickly throws up her hair as she heads out, the heat beating down on her, and refusing to let up. She was still unaccustomed to its never-ending shine, her pale skin hiding underneath sweaters, and her long curls only adding to the weight of the heat.

Hair successfully piled atop her head, she continues to her car, until she sees him.

Wyatt’s sitting on the bench in front of the school under an awning, his friends nowhere in sight.

Scuffing her converse as she drags her feet over to him, she grips the straps of her backpack, needing something to hold onto as she approaches him.

“Hey,” she says, and nearly kicks herself for how lame she sounds, a scrunch of her nose indicating to him her insecurity.

She’s beginning to think he spends more time fighting back a smile at her than anything, but she decides she likes that he tries to spare her, even if he fails miserably.

“Hey,” he responds back in kind.

“Where’s Jessica?” She asks, nearly biting her tongue at having mentioned her name.

“I don’t know, probably getting ready for the football game,” he shrugs. Clearly not interested.

“You’re not going?” Lucy asks, Jessica not striking her as someone who would spend her time watching sports, and certainly not without Wyatt.

“Let’s just say I’m not allowed to step foot near the bleachers,” he says with a wink, and Lucy’s face contorts into one of confusion. “Don’t worry, I’ve since…seen the light,” he explains, but doesn’t choose to elaborate further.

xxxxx

She can hear the nerves in her own voice, the shake of her hands as she smoothes her dress down. The soft baby blue playing with the curl of her tendrils.

The biting of her lip, the hunch of her shoulders, signaling for an approval on her appearance. One in which Wyatt was happy to oblige, his crooked, dimpled grin making an appearance, despite an argument on the dealings of fate earlier.

It’s all she can hear in her head as she prepares for her date of sorts with a man whose father is going to die. Wyatt having felt very strongly that there is no such things as meant to be, the past a series of moving pieces that one could just so easily be manipulated to fix a future that he wanted rather than the one he was dealt.

He hadn’t brought up Jessica like she had expected, so sure that she was the one he was referring to when he mentioned the past. The comparison of saving Lincoln with saving her sister had stung. One a tragic event that had been written in time, the other a consequence of having messed with time.

There was something Wyatt wanted to change, that much she knew, and it was almost if he was seeking approval from her in order to do so.

But as she stands in front of him, awkwardly holding a gun, he pushes the barrel down into her purse, both him and Rufus promising to do their part.

“Lucy, be careful,” Wyatt warns, knowing what awaits her later that night.

xxxxx

Rufus’ words, “think about who you save,” playing in her mind as she stares down at her blood stained dress. Her neck pulses with a sting from being choked, but falls faint in her ears under the weight of knowing what had just happened.

Lucy stares numbly ahead, a delayed reaction from the night, tears gathering in her eyes, as she explains how different it all feels when you actually witness the history you’ve long since memorized, realizing it was so much more than just a story one absorbed in a book, but a real life person who was brutally murdered and changed everything.

“I tried,” she tearfully explains, the reality refusing to let up, paralleling with the idea that maybe fate was too strong, maybe even if she tried to get Amy back, no matter what she did, she’d be lost forever.

Lucy closes her eyes, treacherous tears staining her face at all that had already been written, unable for her to undo.

She feels her hand being lifted, a familiar thread of skin washing over her own. Wyatt’s thumb dancing across her knuckles, a gentle squeeze letting her know that he was still there. She hadn’t lost him just yet, not in the way she thought she had just a few days ago. He was back in her life in a sick twist of fate, and she starts to wonder if maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.

The look he’s giving her stands as more than just a comforting okay that everything would be fine, but rather one she’d seen before, laced in fear with a promise that they’d get through this together. His hand an anchor that he wasn’t going anywhere without her, until he did. But this time, as he reached over to strap her in, he never broke eye contact. She needed him, and he was there.

xxxxx

“Oh, umm, did you…need a ride then?” She finds herself asking, and even his eyes looks shocked at the offer, mirroring the wide brown of her own. She’s not sure where that question came from, except she does, the part of her that enjoys spending time with him.

“Sure,” he says standing, before she can find an out to her offer. “Lead the way,” he gestures with his hand, and she awkwardly makes her way towards her car.

She’s silent as they shuffle through the empty parking lot, everyone else having headed home, leaving just the two of them. Wyatt not so slyly glancing over at her as they walk, but she chooses to pretend that she can’t tell until they reach the black car in the corner.

Unlocking the door, they climb in.

“You gonna turn on the car or do you enjoy watching me sweat?” He jokes, and she has to bring her teeth to bite down on her lip to keep from answering that question honestly.

Turning the car on, she waits for the air conditioner to offer them some relief in the interior that resembles that of an oven, having been sitting out in the sun all day.

Reaching for her seatbelt, she goes to buckle herself in, forgetting where she was, and scalds her hand on the metal.

“Shit,” she shrieks, immediately dropping the offending object, having it slap back to the side of the car, as she shakes her hand, bringing it to her mouth.

“Here, let me see, “ he grabs her hand, and she’s only mildly aware of what’s happening until she finds her hand being cradled by his two much larger hands. There’s no visible injury, just a warning pinch of a burn on a hot day,.

“It’s fine,” she chokes out, not wanting him to let go, but also finding herself unable to say much else.

His fingers dance across her palm, as if he’s reading her lifeline, and if here were skilled at doing so, he’d find that her heart was about to give out right at that moment, as he sat gently tracing the lines of her hands, making sure she was okay. His thumb moving over her knuckles, simultaneously relaxing her while also tensing every muscle in her body.

She almost lets out a groan when he lets go, only to weakly inhale when she finds his whole body leaning against her, as he reaches for her seatbelt, those same dexterous hands that had twirled his pen now working with the strap to come across her chest and over her stomach, his scent overwhelming her, the heat from him lingering between their bodies, threatening to engulf them both in the Texas sun. This close she can see every fleck of stubble that lingers on his face, the curvature of his jaw, and the tiniest hint of a dimple as he moves.

It’s only when she hears the click of the seatbelt that she’s shaken from her reverie.

“Umm, thanks,” she gets out, nearly breathless.

She half expects him to laugh, but she hears nothing.

“No problem,” he says, almost as if he couldn’t believe he’d just done that either.

xxxxx

“Who should we call to pick you up?”

“I’ll…uhh, call a cab,” she hears him as she turns the corner.

“It’s fine, I’ll drive him,” she speaks up with a half smile, casting a glance at the wound.

“You know, you didn’t have to do this,” he says from the passenger seat, as Lucy makes her way around the city.

“Shut up, Wyatt, I wasn’t going to let you take a cab home when you’re hurt,” she throws a look at him, one he knows is best not to argue with.

“So Jiya, did she…help with your sister?” He asks, and she finds herself swallowing the anger she felt at her mother.

She nods, wanting nothing more than to shut her eyes on this day, but knowing that a confrontation was going to happen, so she relished the quiet contentment resting in the car with him.

“My umm, dad…wasn’t really my dad. My mom’s been lying to me my whole life,” she says with a sardonic tone.

Wyatt lets out a huff of a laugh, but not in a way that he actually finds the situation funny, but the kind where he’s not at all surprised by her mother’s actions. It has her twisting her face, because she has a feeling she can’t even begin to know when it comes to her mother.

“She’s a piece of work,” he says with a shake of his head, and while she can’t see him well in the darkness, it feels like there’s more to his claim than just what she’d told him.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

“It’s just up here,” he points, and she pulls into the parking lot.

“This is where you’re staying?” She asks, peeking through the windshield at a nondescript building.

“It’s fine, Lucy. I just got here, remember? I haven’t exactly had time to make it home,” he says, not quite reaching for the door.

“Do you want me to walk you in?” She says, images of his wound playing in her mind.

“And delay the conversation with your mom? I don’t think so,” he says with a jerk of his head, as if he were looking forward to the confrontation himself.

xxxxx

They sit in silence long enough that the air actually starts to become cold, startling Lucy into pulling out of the parking lot.

“Where’d you get the bracelet?” He wonders, having seen it when he’d checked her hand.

Lucy can’t help the smile that appears on her face at the thought of Amy.

“My sister,” she offers, the smile refusing to leave. “She gave it to me this morning,” and she reaches over to trace over it again, the string of blue.

When he doesn’t respond, she continues.

“She’s a lot younger than me, so she’s always making me things in school. She can be a little annoying at times, but I love her,” she laughs. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” he says curtly.

“Ahh, you’re the favorite then,” she tries to tease, but the laugh that comes from him isn’t like the one she’s used to. This one is more sardonic, as if the thought of him being liked was something foreign to him.

“You can drop me off up here,” he motions to a gas station.

“What? I can drop you off at home, it’s no big deal,” she tries, but he’s not having it.

“No, here’s fine,” he argues, refusing to budge on the offer.

“Oh…okay,” she says pulling into the station, dejectedly, feeling like she’d done something wrong.

“Thanks for the ride, ma’am,” he says, as if his mood had changed already, back to teasing her.

She tries to keep from rolling her eyes, but he’s already out the door, leaving Lucy confused by everything that had just happened.

xxxxx

She gives an unsure sigh.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures her.

“I…I don’t know if I can do this,” she admits, and if there was ever a doubt of how well he knew her, she takes it as a sign that he knew she wasn’t just talking about her mother.

Wyatt turns in his seat, a grimace flashing across his face until he’s facing her.

“You are the smartest person I know, and pretty damn strong too. You can do this,” he says, reaching out, his thumb coming to trace the already forming bruise on her neck, before tucking her hair behind her ear, his brow furrowing, as if just realizing something.

“What?” She questions, and he just kind of shrugs.

“Your hair is straighter now,” he states with a grin, dropping his hand back down.

She gives another sigh at the loss of contact, thankful that the darkness is able to conceal the slight heating of her cheeks that he’s managed to cause even years later.

The ringing of her phone interrupting them.

“My mom,” she points, refusing to answer.

“Give her hell,” he says, as he turns to exit, leaving her with her thoughts of anger and confusion as to what exactly her mother had been up to all these years.

xxxxx

A/N:

well helloooo. some very exciting things have been happening in the timeless fandom, including two heliclockters being flown over sdcc with a huge banner to #SaveTimeless. due to all my excitement over that, this chapter was a bit delayed, but hopefully it’s worth the wait.

you’d think at this point it would get easier for me to post fics and not have my stomach be in knots over whether people are going to respond in a positive way to them. you’d think. however, as i write this note, i can’t help but be nervous.

if you didn’t know, this is the first multi-chapter fic i’ve written for a show. meaning, this is the very first second chapter i’ve put out there. ever. i’ve written continuations, i’ve written one-shots that could be included in a series of other one-shots, but continuing with one plan with many chapters is a big deal for me, and clearly not something i do.

as i impatiently sit over here waiting for news that timeless has been picked up and we’re getting a season three, i’ll continuing writing these chapters, as long as y’all keep reading them.

and yes, seatbelt burns are a real thing.

#lyatt #lucy preston #wyatt logan #timeless #lyatt fanfic

105 notes · View notes

lafiametta · 7 years ago

Text

For @gentlesleaze, with whom I seem to share so many fandoms!

So I guess the messy bed is actually Jiya’s, not Wyatt’s (as I had earlier thought), but regardless, I thought that the near-kiss scene with Wyatt and Lucy merited a little further exploration… :)

He can’t believe he’s really looking at her.

But there she is, dressed in a borrowed pair of Jiya’s sweats, her dark hair still slightly damp from the shower she insisted on taking the minute they finished with the debrief. Wyatt had understood that part, at least. War had a god-awful way of making you want to wipe every trace of it from off your skin as soon as you got the chance, and he was sure that Saint-Mihiel wasn’t all that different from Kandahar in that regard.

He’s imagined her here so many times, he’s heard the ghost of her laugh echo from the mess, watched her shadow stride purposefully along the narrow corridors.

Sometimes it had hurt too much to think about her – especially when it seemed like he was the only one who really was – and then all he could do was try to lose himself in distraction, trying to make himself not think at all. But there were only so many things he could do in that confined, underground space, only so many sets of chin-ups and bench presses he could hammer out, only so many times he could cajole Rufus or Jiya – whichever one didn’t have their hands busy with the Lifeboat – into taking him on in a few rounds of Mortal Kombat. He had even tried making headway into the bunker’s tiny library, until that one afternoon when he had found it there, missing a dust jacket, sandwiched between a biography of Patton and a dog-eared investment guide from 1994. The World’s A Stage: The Booth Brothers and the Plot to Assassinate Abraham Lincoln, it read along the spine. By Lucy Preston.

He had pulled the book from off the shelf and held it like a relic in his hands, feeling his lungs kick back in as they remembered the necessity of breathing. Somehow, just at that moment, he had known, felt it in some deep, hidden part of himself. She was still alive. She had to be. And even though he didn’t know where she was – hell, he didn’t know when she was – Wyatt knew that he would see her again, that he would do everything he possibly could to find her.

She looks so tiny, standing in the center of the bunk room, her body swallowed up by the shapelessness of the sweats, and he wants to say something, anything, that would make her feel just the tiniest bit better. Even though he can’t see her face, he can still sense how adrift she feels, what the six weeks they’ve spent apart have taken from her.

“It’s not exactly what you were expecting to come home to, huh?”

He wants it to be funny, a stupid little joke meant to make light of this altogether shitty situation, or perhaps just a commentary on what a mess Jiya’s side of the room is, but it comes out rougher than he planned, and not really that funny at all.

Not that jokes would have helped all that much. The way she answers him, her voice clipped and unforgiving, makes his chest ache, and he just feels so damned useless. He may have gotten her back, but he can’t undo what’s been done, everything she’s gone through.

She turns and looks at him, her eyes pink-rimmed with heartbreak, and all he wants to do is go to her and wrap her up in his arms. But he’s the worst kind of coward, so he settles for shuffling a little closer, his hands awkward in his pockets, watching as she sits on the neatly-made bed across from Jiya’s. Wyatt won’t ever tell her that he’s the one who made that bed for her, right after she left for the showers, tucking the sheets and the blanket under the mattress with military sharpness, just the way he had first learned it in boot camp.

She tells him then, tells him everything, about the man she killed, about her plans to destroy the Mothership and possibly herself along with it. It’s almost too much for him to hear, even now, with her alive and back with them again. Because she was out there all alone, really alone, with no hope that he or Rufus or any of the rest of the team was still alive, and it only hits him now what that must have felt like. For six weeks, he’d been a wreck, but he’d still been part of a unit, knowing in the end that they were all working together towards the larger mission. Perhaps more importantly, he had known she was out there, driven by the faith that he would finally find her. But Lucy didn’t have anybody at all.

She holds it together for a little while, trying to be strong, as if by this point she had anything to prove to anyone. But it’s the realization about her mother that finally makes her break, barely-contained tears edging along the corners of her eyes.

“I’ve lost everything,” she whispers, her face crumbling, and there’s nothing left to hold him back, nothing left to do but close the distance between them and let her know she still has something, for all that it might be worth to her now. And, god, she’s so warm, so small in his arms as he clasps them around her.

He pulls her closer, each of her sobs tearing like a knife into his heart, and it hurts so much because he remembers exactly what this was like, feeling like he had nothing left to live for. As if every light in the world had gone out all at once, leaving him empty and alone in the darkness. Because he wants her to understand – he needs her to understand – that she won’t ever have to be alone, not anymore.

For a moment, Wyatt remembers what Rufus had said to him back in 1918, when they were driving in the car, and how quickly he had denied it. Because it hadn’t seemed possible, not after everything he had gone through with Jess. But now, as he holds her, he’s not so sure, because everything seems to have shifted so suddenly, when he wasn’t even looking, and if this isn’t love, then it sure feels a hell of a lot like it.

And then her hand reaches up towards the side of his face, clutching at him in need, and he’s powerless to stop it, even as he knows what’s about to happen. But he’s always been powerless when it came to Lucy, he realizes: it’s just taken him this long – and losing her for the third time – to finally admit it.

He turns his head down towards her, slowly catching her gaze with his own. Her eyes are full, still bright with tears, but all he can see is her.

#nbc timeless #timeless #wyatt logan #lucy preston #lyatt #2x01 #fanfiction

50 notes · View notes

fancitycentraltv-blog · 6 years ago

Text

OneShot: Weekly Fandom News

A/N: This newsletter contains spoilers for The Originals 5x13 and The 100 5x13.

“What if Cole Sprouse made a tweet about Cole Sprouse? Wrote “I miss the old Cole Sprouse”? Man, That’d be SO Cole Sprouse! That’s all it was Cole Sprouse, we still love Cole Sprouse, And I love you like Cole Sprouse loves Cole Sprouse.” – Camila Mendes wishing Cole Sprouse a Happy Birthday in the form of Kanye West’s classic “I love Kanye”.

This week in Fandom

The Originals ended, poorly. The 100 got a leaked video. Shadowhunters officially wrapped filming. You ready to save Rufus or what? #LuciMerch for the win. Some of our favs are coming back to their iconic franchises. Tell me a Story full of CAOS in October.

I Don’t Know How To Say Goodbye

Why Julie, why? This is why we have trust issues. The Originals ended their five season run last Wednesday with a lackluster finale, to say the least. The Originals had been building up Klaroline all season, baiting fans into believing Klaus and Caroline were finally going to get their happy ending. What we actually got was a heart breaking AF goodbyeand a poorly written ending to two beloved (all be it problematic) favs. We’re not sure how Plec expects fans to stick around for Legacies after that finale, but according to interviews she’s happy with the ending. We’re still over her balling our eyes out and screaming CAROLINE FORBES DESERVED BETTER.

The Heart and The Head

Are we still breathing? Last week like most of the fandom we were ready to give up on The 100 (again) and then two days ago came a leaked #Bellarke video *cough* thanks Jason *cough* and once again we are trash. Damn you Jason for instilling hope in our Bellarke filled veins. Here’s hoping we all survive Tuesday, may we meet again.

Lighting In A Bottle

“I do have to commend you guys on all the good you’ve done with the Save Shadowhunters campaign. With the Trevor Project and all the other causes you’re supporting, so incredible. You should be so proud. You came together to be a part of a movement that’s surrounding love and unity and joy and something everyone who’s a part of it is passionate about. So thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done.” –Katherine McNamara (Insta Live Aug 5 2018)

Last Friday Shadow Hunters officially wrapped and we’re still not ready to say goodbye. We LOVE being a part of this beautiful, inclusive, positive fandom. A fandom who’s show is ending far too soon. Thank you to our amazing cast and creators for the fantastic stories, stunning romances and Bropts for days. We are honoured to be Angels #SaveShadowHunters #ShadowHuntersLegacy #MalecForever

Flynn it up Flynn

You ready to save Rufus or what? After #SaveTimeless cupcakes, Lifesavers, Fan rewatches, Twitter sprints, countless post cards, Lucy’s Lifeboat Library, deleted scenes, script pages and 2 Heliclockters, Timeless is FINALLY getting it’s 2 hour finale this Christmas. Well it’s not the exact news we all hoped for, it is amazing knowing we’ll get resolution on a show that ended on a MAJOR cliff-hanger. Only five months until the holidays, in the meantime we’ll continue the good fight to save our favs, *whispers* stay strong Jan, we’re right there with you.

Surprise Me

Lucifans have started a campaign to get official #LuciMerch from their network. Tweeting the likes of Warner Bros, Netflix and Funko with reasons they deserve everything from Funko Pops and adult coloring books to Lux tank tops and replicas of Chloe’s necklace. We’re here for this campaign. Honestly Netflix just take our money.

Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.

Patrick Stewart announced at Star Trek Las Vegas Creation Con last weekend that he will be reprising his role as Jean-Luc Picard in CBS’s all new Star Trek series. Elsewhere in a galaxy far far away it was announced Carrie Fisher and Mark Hamill will be returning to the Star Wars universe in Episode IX.

Coming Soon

Is it October yet? We finally got a premiere date for the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, October 26th, thank you Netflix. CBS also dropped the trailer for Paul Wesley’s new series Tell Me A Story, which premieres October 31st, as if fall wasn’t already our favorite season. SKAM Austin season 2 was also announced and thank god, we NEED Grace’s season like yesterday.

Our Favs

Our weekly fanfic rec goes to Every Letter by Kayla ‘aka @bleebug’. We’ve re-read this classic Captainswan fic more times than we care to admit. Finally we’ll leave you with this Bellarke fan vid by the amazing Juli Grisel, prepare to have your heart shattered.

As always, long live Netflix & Fanfics.

youtube

2 notes · View notes

deathsweetblossoms · 6 years ago

Link

Heyyy Lucy’s Lifeboat Library got a shout out!!!

#Lifeboat Library

2 notes · View notes

gianttrashcroatiantree · 6 years ago

Text

Garcy coffee shop AU

Chapter 1

Enjoy y'all

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302250

Life is hard. Everybody knows it. But life is particularly hard if you are history professor who is writing a book about Abraham Lincoln, but your fuckin’ motivation is currently droving in the see of lost ideas. Lucy sighed and closed her laptop. She looked around the library. All the students in there were absorbed in their textbooks hoping that some of that knowledge with stick with them for an exam. Lucy didn’t know why she agreed to Amy’s idea to write in the library. She had all the materials for the book printed or in pdfs in her laptop, but Amy insisted that Lucy should go out to people not just sit in the apartment or in her office. She could sit in her favorite café in the city, but the café was closed down due some health violations. That’s kinda disturbing. Well it would be if Lucy’s deadline for her first draw wasn’t getting closer and closer. She was still in the woods. She picked her phone and searched for some cafes nearby. The first that popped out was called Rittenhouse, but the inside looked too snobbish for her taste and it had low rating. So she searched for another one. There was one that looked quite cozy it had big bookshelf on one of the wall, the furniture looked vintage but comfortable and it was actually close to university. – I can at least try it out – thought Lucy as she went to the café called The Lifeboat.

When Lucy walked into The Lifeboat she felt like she walked into another time period, maybe another dimension. She could hear deep voice of Louis Armstrong as La vie en rose played in the speakers. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled her with joy. She looked around. Some people were reading books, some looking in their laptops, but all of them seemed relaxed. It looked like an old picture. She went to a counter and then she felt her knees becoming soft as a cotton, because of the sight in front of her eyes. Behind the counter was a man who was like an embodiment of classic 40s gentleman. He was wearing dark three piece suit with burgundy tie. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, his sleeves where pull over to his elbows. She could easily admire how well-built he was. His dark hair was combed back and he had a small stubble on his face that made him look like a James Bond villain, Not that Lucy was complaining. He looked at her with question in his eyes and then she realized that he asked her something.

– Sorry I got lost in my thoughts.

- I asked what can I do for you ? – the man said with a smile and a light blush for some unknown reasons. His accent made Lucy think about many things he could help her with. She also blushed slightly.

- Yes. I would like to order big vanilla macchiato with cinnamon on the spot please –she answered still not quite believing that this is real.

- That will be three dollars – that’s cheap for an order like this and Lucy hoped that coffee would not disappoint her – so what bring you here apart from the lack of caffeine ?

- Well I needed some place to work on my book and this place seems like a right spot for me – she replied.

- Book about what? – he seemed genuinely interested with her answer.

- Abraham Lincoln – she looked at him as he was making her coffee. She assumed that any interest he could have in her would disappear with this response, but his reaction indicated something entirely different.

- Oh my God I love Abraham Lincoln. He’s my favorite president. Tell me more – he was excited like a literal puppy about her book that she couldn’t help herself and she smiled at him – I mean if you don’t mind.

- Not at all. No problem, my students aren’t so interested in this subject so that’s a nice change – she giggled and he gave her this big smile that could definitely melt ice bergs.

- You are a teacher ? – he asked.

- You can say that, I am university history professor at Stanford - he’s eyes gone wide with excitement – Returning to your question about my book. I am writing a biography of him including some less-known fact like that he was the only president to have a patent: Lincoln invented a device to free steamboats that ran aground.

- You could add that he defended the son of his most famous wrestling opponent from murder charges– he remarked and gave her coffee. - Maybe I will – she smiled impressed with his knowledge – My name is Lucy, Lucy Preston by the way.

- Oh yes. Name, I should have started with that. Garcia Flynn at your service – he said that as he bowed a little with a smirk.

- Well I will go write my book, but I see you around – Lucy said. Damn Lucy why do you always end with awkward saying of course you will see him around, he fucking works here.

- See you around Lucy – the way he said Lucy made her feel heat in her stomach.

Oh she is in trouble. Amy definitely won’t hear about this. She would go to him and ask him out on her behalf. She thought and she sat at the small table in the corner. Lucy tasted the coffee it was the best coffee she ever had. Maybe a date with him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Garcia Flynn knew he was bad at flirting. That just wasn’t his thing. Rufus and Jiya noticed it quite early on, but that didn’t stop them from trying to find him a date. The truth is he just gave up trying to find ‘the one’ long time ago. He was almost forty and he never found a person he would like to settle in. Well there was Lorena and Zlatko, but it just wasn’t IT. After all the wars he was in and NSA job he just wanted peaceful life so he opened a coffee shop. God that sounds so cliché, but that’s the truth. However when Lucy Preston walked into his coffee shop he was ready to renew his search. Good God she looked amazing. She was so tiny compared to the amount of books she was caring with her. She was wearing green blouse and a black jacket it looked professional and casual at the same time and he was sure that with the time she came to the counter he stopped breathing. Garcia focus. She is a client ask her what you would normally ask any other client.

- Can I do you ? – shit, fuck, kurva, sjeban sam, that’s not right.

For fuck’s sake Garcia you are literal garbage. Wait, she didn’t seem to notice the mistake. He thought and blushed. When she told him to repeat the question he felt like God gave him a second chance and he took it and when she blushed at his words he felt like he was floating. Think Garcia think, conversation starters, you live long enough to carry one good conversation he thought as he managed to came up with the most trivial questions of them all – what are you doing here. And her answer was anything but trivial. And when he found out that the book she was writing was about Abraham Lincoln he was almost jumping with excitement. God he was lost cause already. The fact that she was history professor made him almost lose it and ask her out on the spot, but he was cool about it. You know like an functional adult not like a schoolboy. He love history all his heart. He actually wanted to become a history teacher, but it always seemed like a wrong time to do it so he never become one. When she gave him her name he felt like an idiot, because that’s like a human person starts conversation. With. A. Name. Of. Corse. And then he bowed for some unknown reason. Why can I act like a normal person he wondered. But she didn’t seem to mind as she went to write her book.

While she was there she came to his counter few times to ask for a refill, she was so deep in reading some historic papers that she didn’t even notice that he convince her to eat something, because she was sitting in the café for few hours and she should probably eat something. She noticed that time passed when Garcia was cleaning the tables. And then she looked at her watch, it was ten minutes to midnight. She was sitting here since 6 p.m.. She looked around, none was in the café expect for her and Garcia who just stopped cleaning and started to observe her.

- Oh my God. I am so sorry. You probably should close the café long time ago. I am sorry I will get going – as she was saying it she stand up very quickly and her legs wasn’t ready for such sudden movements and she almost fell over. But Garcia managed to catch her in just in time.

- Don’t worry Lucy. My closing time is in ten minutes so you don’t have to hurry – he said it with a smile, he was still holding her and Lucy must say she didn’t mind it at all.

- Thanks and thanks for the food. My sister always complains that if she wouldn’t put food in front of me as I work I would starve to death – Lucy explained. He finally noticed that he was still holding her so he moved them apart.

- No problem. How’s your book going ? – he asked and sat on one of the tables.

- Good, surprisingly good. I guess that’s thanks to your amazing coffee – she smiled as she packed her things.

- Always at your service - he winked at her – It’s rather late do you have a ride home ?

- I think so, I’ ll message my sister, we live nearby so she can easily pick me up since my car broke down – Lucy messaged Amy and she responded immediately that she’s on her way – she will be here any minute. I can wait outside if you have to close the café.

- No worries. As an owner I can close any time I want and I don’t mind a company while cleaning – Garcia responded.

- You own this place. That’s must be awesome. This place is awesome – you are awesome she thought.

- Yes – he grined – it’s really fun thing to do. But I guess not as fun as teaching history ?

- Well it’s can be challenging, but in the end is fun – he thinks that teaching history is fun, where the hell he was all my life Lucy thought to herself. She noticed that Amy pulled over – That’s my sister so I guess I’ll be going

- It was nice chatting with you – he said as both of them move outside so he could close the door – I guess I see you around Lucy ?

- Yes definitely – she smiled even wider than before – I see you around Garcia.

She walked to Amy’s car still smiling and blushing.

- Now I know why it took you so long to message me. I can’t blame you – Amy smirked at Lucy.

Oh God it’s gonna be a long ride.

#garcy #fanffiction #own #timeless #coffeeshop au #garcia flynn #lucy preston #rufus carlin #rufus x jiya #jiya marri #wyatt logan #connor mason #fiction #fluff

2 notes · View notes

timelessduo · 7 years ago

Text

What could have been

(Here it is guys! chapter four! thank you to everyone who has expressed their love for this story! We read every comment. Please keep telling us your thoughts so we know to keep going!

ENJOY!)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wyatt woke first. For a moment, he kept his eyes shut against the morning light. He pulled the warm body next to him closer to his bare chest. He put his lips on Jessica’s golden hair and cracked open his eyes.

Wait.

This was wrong. The hair he saw was curled and brown, smelling of a different perfume.

Lucy.

Not Jessica. She was dead. Right.

He rolled back over, flat on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. Sighing, Wyatt pulled the sheet off him and sat up. He looked back at Lucy and quietly left the room.

Lucy pretended to sleep until he was gone. It had been like a scene from a movie. She woke up warned by the sunlight and the heat of his chest against her back, willing her breath to slow so she could make it last.

Her heart skipped a beat as he pulled her closer. It stopped completely when he whispered Jessica's name into her ear.

It was like a cold bucket of water was thrown on her. Of course he still missed his dead wife, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

She was confused. She didn’t know why she loved the feeling of Wyatt. Well, she knew, but she didn’t want to accept it. Not when he was still grieving.

Wyatt must have been making breakfast because she heard pots and pans being thrown around. That was going to take some getting used to, having someone make breakfast for her every morning. Jessica was a lucky girl.

Lucy scolded herself, she needed to stop thinking about how they woke up. She needed to stop thinking about Wyatt's life with Jessica. It was just going to hurt her in the end. She could tell it was already hurting him, even if he was trying to move on from his wife’s death.

His wife was murdered, she thought to herself. That's not the kind of thing people get over.

She stared at the wall in front of her as she reflected, before deciding an adequate amount of time had passed. She carefully peeled back the covers and stepped out of bed flinching at the cold floor. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Lucy slowly walked into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watched Wyatt. Subconsciously, she pulled her lip into her mouth as she watched him work. Had Wyatt always been this.. well, attractive?

He was in the middle of flipping bacon, his tongue poking out of his mouth from concentration, and was still very shirtless. Honestly he could be a male model, hell, she wouldn’t doubt that he used to be.

“Looks like your arms are healed up,” she called. The sudden noise broke his concentration, and he turned around, bacon grease swinging haphazardly in the pan.

Wyatt jumped, barely able to escape the bacon grease from hitting his side. He turned to her and smirked, “Yeah, they healed up well. Thank you Ma’am.” He said playfully before taking the bacon off the pan and placing it on two plates that already had eggs and hash browns on them.

“You better pack an appetite because Christopher called and she wants to know if you wanna see your mom before they ship her off to a lockdown facility.” Wyatt said as he finished pouring the milk and pulled out her chair for her.

Lucy twirled her scrambled eggs around her plate. “Yeah, I think I should. I have to. I need answers, you know? How could I have gone my whole life and not known my mother was part of some evil cult!”

Wyatt gave her a sympathetic look. “Yeah, no offense Luce, but your mom matches with my dad on the ‘shitty parents’ awards.”

Lucy cracked a smile and through her head back laughing. “A few months ago I would have disagreed, but now, I couldn’t agree more.”

They both scarfed their foods down, and Wyatt was pretty proud of himself. “So, since I made this amazing dish, you have to do the dishes.”

“Fair enough.” Lucy said, smiling brightly. Wyatt had that effect on her; the butterflies, the giggles, the flirting. That was stuff she never experienced, and experiencing it with Wyatt… well, she didn’t know what it meant, or if it even meant anything.

Together they washed the dishes, until Lucy and Wyatt had gotten into a small bubble fight. She'd thrown the suds first and that was downright treasonous. He had to respond in kind, and now the floor was covered in water with both of them soaking wet.

When they finally left for Mason Industries, after having to change numerous times because of their little fight, Lucy didn’t know how to explain her feelings. She was angry at her mother, but it went deeper than that. Lucy had felt her heart clench the moment she heard her mother say those words, and it had never let go.

She'd gone her whole life thinking she'd known her mother. She grew up loved. She grew up on trips to the beach, on carnival's, on being walked to the library every Saturday afternoon. That didn't fit with rittenhouse. That kind of love couldn't be found in someone doing what they did, believing in what they do. It was so shocking that her mother was part of such an evil organization. It was unbelievable. She thought about what Amy would say, how Amy would feel.

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Anything Lucy felt more comfortable in Wyatt’s presence, and it was to the point where she didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing anymore. She thought back to when Wyatt briefly mentioned that he was ‘open to the possibilities’, but it seemed that now they just had too many obstacles in their way. Lucy didn’t even know if Wyatt fully forgave her for what she said about Jessica. She wouldn't have. Not truly.

When Wyatt parked the car, he gripped her hand before she could fully get out. “Are you going to be okay? I could go with you, if that's what you want.” He murmured, looking at her with concern. Lucy let out a small smile. She liked the caring side of Wyatt.

“I’ll be okay. This is something I have to do on my own. I have to confront her. I have to end this.” Lucy said, her voice growing stronger with every word. “I can't go through my life not knowing why.”

Wyatt nodded in complete agreement. “I get it, trust me.” He squeezed her hand one more time before they both exited the car and walked into Mason Industries. Agent Christopher gave them both a grim smile, “She’s in the very back, it’s a holding cell for you to talk to her.”

Lucy nodded, taking deep breaths before releasing Wyatt’s hand and going into the back of Mason Industries, Agent Christopher following behind for backup.

Rufus and Wyatt was sitting in the front of Mason Industries. Wyatt was violently shaking his leg up and down and looking at the direction Lucy went. She had been gone for a few minutes now, what if something was to happen to her? What if her bitch of a mother hurt her? Should he go check on her?

He must have been very noticeably concerned because Rufus was just staring at him, his eyebrows raised.

“So, you and Lucy. You're a thing?”

Wyatt’s head snapped to his friend quickly, “What? No.”

Rufus gave a knowing smirk, and shrugged. “Could have fooled me. Look, all I'm saying is you two are living together. People tend to get close in those situations. I got eyes you sly dog.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes, “Because her mom's crazy!” he defended himself.

“You two keep driving together.”

“It's just more convenient Rufus!”

“You always go to each other first. She called you.”

“I was just there. Look, she needed someone and I was there. That’s what friends are for.”

“Wyatt. ‘Friends’ don't look at each other like that.”

“And how exactly do we look at each other love whisperer?”

Rufus grinned, “You really want me to tell you? Because I think you know.”

Wyatt snorted, and turned his head down the hall Lucy had walked through, and sunk back into his worried thoughts.

He couldn’t have feelings for Lucy, he was just worried about his friend, Rufus had it all wrong. Right?

Wyatt cleared his throat, “So how’s Jiya?’

Rufus sobered immediately. “She's… there's something she's not telling me.” He rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath.

“What do you mean? Is she okay?”

“She had a seizure in the hospital. They think it's epilepsy, but it seems like more than that. Something's not right, and I don't even know what it is. I don't know how to help her. I just know it’s something to do with being a fourth person in the Lifeboat.”

Both minds were brought full circle to worry. Rufus wanted to help Jiya. He… well, maybe he loved her. He could help her with sickness, but he couldn't do anything if she didn't tell him. His mind was a world away. Wyatt's was down the hall.

-------

When Lucy walked into the room, she was startled into a pause. To see her mother handcuffed to the table, flanked by armed guards, in a plain gray jumper was something she hadn't even thought to brace herself for. Hearing it was one thing, but to see it? To see her mother looking like a violent criminal caused a new wave of pain Lucy never expected to feel.

“Hello, Lucy.” Her mother’s familiar kind tone sent shivers down her spine. “I didn't expect you to visit me.”

Lucy moved to sit down in the chair across from her mother. “Don't expect to see me again. I just have some questions I need answered.”

“You always were very to the point. A good quality in a historian, I always knew.” Lucy studied her smile in sick fascination. That smile had accompanied her first memories, her graduation, every happy memory she had ever shared with her through her childhood. When had it become so twisted?

“Why are you doing this?” Lucy pushed her chair as far from the table as she could, sitting herself on its edge. “Going through memories and making small talk like you aren't a terrorist!”

“I'm still your mother, Lucy. I want the best for you! I want you to great! I always have. Rittenhouse will let you do that. You would rise.” She reached across the table, almost touching her hands that Lucy promptly pulled back. “No more corruption or the rouse we call ‘democracy’. Nothing will stop you. You can make the change you've always wanted!”

The guard to her left hit his club threateningly on the edge of the metal table she was cuffed to. “Close enough,” he growled as Lucy watched her mother's hands pull back to cross in front of her chest.

“I was already great!” Lucy leaned toward her mother. Her words became venom, spitting past her lips like acid. “I am a great professor. I was recruited for time travel. I've changed history for God’s sake! I have two people who love me! With them, I don’t need you.”

Her mother scowled. “You mean the soldier?”

“How do you know about Wyatt?” Lucy’s eyes widened.

Her mother rolled her eyes, “I work for rittenhouse Lucy, of course I know about the poor soldier who begged for his dead wife.

“You should be with Noah, and together you can make great rittenhouse legacies. You both would thrive. Noah hasn’t been converted yet, but he will be. He's a smart man, he'll come to his senses with a bit of persuasion. He knows what's right.”

Lucy stood, chest burning with emotion, she had heard enough. “I am already great. I don't need other people to prove that, certainly not Noah. I don't need to manipulate people into seeing it. I was better than you. I am stronger than you. You should have seen that.”

“Oh Lucy, of course I see it darling. I’ve been preparing you for your whole life to be better than me. That way you can carry on the Preston name. Pass on your noble blood.”

“You disgust me.” Lucy spit out, her heart thudding painfully against her chest. She needed to get out of there. “I will never join you, and we are going to end rittenhouse, once and for all, while you rot in prison.”

“Now Lucy, that’s no way to treat your mother.”

“You're not my mother. Not anymore.” Lucy spoke quickly, and walked to the door.

“Goodbye Carol.”

“You act like I'll be in here forever. I had such hope for you, sweetheart.” Her mother's voice was calm and collected behind her. Lucy tried not to shiver as she pulled the door shut behind her.

Lucy leaned against the metal door, hearing it seal closed. Her eyes burned, but no, she would not give her mother the satisfaction of making her cry. Never again. She wouldn’t let herself feel love for that-that heartless creature.

Agent Christopher looked at her, “You okay?”

Lucy took a deep breath and collected herself, “I will be.”

Christopher nodded and patted her on the back. “Wyatt and Rufus are up in the front. Go home and get some rest.”

Lucy couldn’t agree more as she nodded and headed up front. As soon as her eyes connected to Wyatt’s she ran over and buried herself in the arms of her friends. She had one arm flung over Rufus’ shoulder and the other over Wyatt’s as she buried her head in his neck as his arms wound around her. She breathed in her friends, her family, as she tried to hold the tears in. They were here for her, she was going to be okay, she had too.

Wyatt, as he proved hours later, had the perfect solution to shitty days. One in the morning found them on their fourth Bond movie. It happened to be the movie they were in. They threw popcorn at the exaggerated scenes that no, damnit it didn't happen like that and I certainly did not kiss James Bond.

“I bet that Lucy sleeps with Bond in this one.” Wyatt smirked at her. They sat next to each other on the loveseat, sharing a blanket covered in kernels and popcorn grease, beers on the table. Lucy laughed, and flung a handful of popcorn at him.

Wyatt caught some of the popcorn in his mouth, laughing.

“Shush you, I cannot help that historical men love me.” Lucy said while chuckling and flipping her hair playfully.

“Yeah, they love that you're beautiful,” Wyatt spoke smiling, not realizing what he just said.

She shifted back into couch, smiling at Wyatt as she snuggled back into the crook of his arm. She pulled her feet under the blanket, pressed her cold toes against him, laughing as he flinched at the sudden temperature.

“Jesus women, your feet are like ice.” Wyatt muttered, taking a deep breath, smelling her rose scented hair. It was different than Jessica’s, hers always smelled like oranges. He liked the change.

She knew she looked a mess. She was wearing a stained college shirt and grey sweats, her hair knotted up into a bun atop her head. But she knew it didn't matter to Wyatt, and that's what made it perfect.

Well, it was perfect until she felt Wyatt’s hand slide to her waist. Right when she thought he was going to pull her closer, he dug his fingers gently into her side repeatedly, tickling her.

“Payback’s a bitch!” He smirked.

Lucy gasped out in uncontrollable laughter. Damn my weakness! She giggled as her legs flailed, knocking down the beer on the table.

Wyatt was relentless, tickling her until her legs kicked out so hard she rolled straight off onto the floor. Wyatt, ever the gentleman, rolled with her, laughing and cradling his hands under her head. She caught her breath on the ground, both of them covered in popcorn and beer, high off of giggles and electric skin.

Wyatt stared at her, a laugh of his own falling past his lips as he watched her, his electric blue eyes staring down at her own coffee colored pair. Her eyes drifted from his own to his lips above her own.

In that moment she was aware of every molecule in her body. She could feel every cell of her skin that touched his. His body was burning on hers, she could feel every muscle on him tense and move. She felt the zapping of electricity from his arms on either side of her face.

It felt like everything in time stopped in that moment as the pair just looked at each other, studying hungrily like they'd never see something as beautiful and pure as this moment. Wyatt’s eyes darkened slightly as he licked his upper lip. She tilted her chin up ever so slightly, his moved down… She could feel his breath on her lips, just about to connect-

RING… RING … RING

Lucy looked away, suddenly feeling the intensity of the air. She cleared her throat, and reached for her phone. Wyatt still on top of her, he coughed softly and tried to move, but they were tangled in each others limbs.

“Yeah, this is Lucy Preston.”

“We need you and Wyatt down here now. The mothership has been taken.”

(Alright that's it! comment for chapter five and join us next Friday, June 23rd!)

#wyatt and lucy #wyatt logan #lucy preston #we might fall #lyatt #lyatt fanfiction #timeless

5 notes · View notes

ravenwritesstuff · 8 years ago

Text

Repetition (3/?)

Fandom: Timeless Pairing: Lyatt (Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan) Rating: Very M A/N: “Ain’t nobody got no time for your shit, Lucy. Pull it together.” - says the author as she writes Lucy as a complete and total train wreck. Whatever. I am what I am.

[ part one ] [ part two ]

She knows she shouldn’t have expected hot and heavy sex against a tree in 1882 to bring her sister back, to erase her journal, but still she feels a hundred years older when she finally gets home and nothing has changed.

She is still Lucy Preston.

Amy still does not exist.

And Garcia Flynn still is so much more than an annoying splinter that refuses to be removed. He is a violent, festering time bomb waiting to blow them all to bits. That isn’t the worst of it though.

The worst of it is that she is willing to let him.

….

When Wyatt shows up at her door she is mostly surprised because she did not know that he knew where her door was. She had, wrongly, assumed that since she had not known where he lived that he would not know where she did but here he is and she isn’t wearing a bra which is not a big deal since he has seen it all but still she clutches her wrapper a bit tighter than normal. Maybe it is less about protecting what he has seen, and more about shielding herself from the words he is saying.

Of course he is going after Jessica.

He should. It is the right thing to do. Or at least as right as anything can be when you are altering the space-time continuum.

Her head hurts.

She slumps onto the stairs.

This is not what she wants, doesn’t know what she wants, but she is certain she does not want to care about what he is saying to her, to care about what it means in relation to them because there is no them. There is Lucy. There is Wyatt. There is no Lucy and Wyatt, which is exactly why she should not have go after him when he leaves..

She should not have grab the sleeve of his leather jacket (so fucking cliche that he would have one of those and that he would look so damn good in it) before he is even off the stoop. She should not pull him back inside and shut the door with the momentum of her body slamming into his for a desperate kiss. She should not grab him by the hand and lead him up the stairs. She should not take him into her room, the same room she’d had as a child, and lead him to her twin bed. She should not let him tear off her clothes, should not rip off his, but she does.

She does, and she would do it again and again because this is goodbye.

No matter the outcome of this mission, this is the end of them - whatever messed up, nameless thing they are.

She cries, but not in an obvious way. Tears streak down her cheeks like hidden rivers in the dark as she licks the column of his throat just to taste a different kind of salt. The attempts to reconcile the delusion that this ever meant anything and the knowledge that once he walks out that door that their entire whatever will have to be forgotten history is a Sisyphean task at best. So instead she focused on the slide of his skin against hers, the shape his shoulders take beneath her palms, and the tightening and release of muscles as he thrusts into her.

This is real.

When he comes back, it may not be.

Will she remember it? Will she remember the slide of him in her hollow places, the way the tips of her fingers fit so perfectly in the grooves of his back, the wholeness in the way he kisses her? Or will that fade to nothing like her sister? Will it disappear - will she? Will he forget her? It is too much to fathom.

She hooks her legs around his hips as if she can pull him into her so he can never leave, as if she can force him to implant his memory inside of her womb where it can grow and undeniably flourish. Or can it? She has no idea. She used to know everything. Now she knows nothing but how much she cannot want this, how much she does.

A faint rap of knuckles ghosts across her door.

She freezes, but he doesn’t. He keeps his pace, deep and steady within her as if the rest of the world had melted away. Their eyes catch.

“Lucy?” It is her mother. Lucy hears the jangles of the doorknob as her mother rests her hand upon it.

She doesn’t respond at first, fear and disbelief choking her. Lucy knows the rules of time travel. She knows you cannot go back to a time where you already exist as you may not come back whole, but she does not know what to do when your mother may find you fucking your teammate in your childhood bed. Wyatt, however, does not seem so conflicted. He just shortens his thrusts so that they are swift and silent, his eyes stay on hers.

She thinks to respond.

She bites her lip to stay silent because there is no way she can talk right now.

She doesn’t know which is worse: her mother knowing the truth between her and Wyatt, or her mother staying gloriously oblivious. Both would be a relief in their own right.

In the end, she hears her mother’s hand fall of the door and she can breathe again. Well. That is until he slips a hand between them to the apex of her thighs and she falls apart. He follows suit.

….

She walks him downstairs, careful to be silent as tombs down the stairs so as to not wake her mother, and pause at the bottom.

They don’t say anything.

There is nothing left to say.

They are always saying goodbye.

History repeats itself.

She is used to it, will never be used to it, which is probably why she does not put up a fight when he grabs the back of her neck and swallows her kiss. It is like he is charting the terrain of her tongue, the caverns of her cheeks, like he is the master cartographer of her mouth and she does not complain despite the fresh tears the prick her eyes. He is kissing her like he doesn’t want to forget her, but they both know that is beyond them both.

No memory is safe when the fabric of time is up for alteration.

He pulls back enough to look her in the eyes. She left her wrapper upstairs and she wishes she had grabbed it. She crosses her arms over her chest as a defense instead.

His lips part as if he to speak. She holds her breath, but his brow furrows and she knows whatever moment had come was now beyond them.

She lifts onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his rough cheek.

I love you. She thinks, but does not allow her thoughts to go beyond that. She loves a lot of people, but she can think of a precious few that make her heart ache the way that Wyatt does as he walks out that door.

This time she does not go after him.

….

She should have called Agent Christopher immediately. She should have called her before he was even out the door because this is insanity, but as things stand she can hardly breathe much less pick up the phone. It feels like everything she knows is collapsing around her ears.

She has always relied on facts, cold and quantifiable. It is easy to point to dates and events that happened on said dates and just know that they won’t change. But what if they do? What if you change them?

What would you do to preserve history?

She does not know any more.

She pulls a history volume off the shelf of her mother’s library and thumbs to the Hindenburg. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt what happened at that event, but as she reads she is reminded of a different truth. She is reminded of a world she shaped, she created, that erased her sister, and she should not have this much power.

No one should.

So she waits to call because if this power exists it should exist to help those who deserve it.

He deserves it.

Wyatt deserves it.

She wonders just what she deserves.

….

She gives him four extra minutes before she calls, but she still hopes to whatever being out there might be listening that they catch him before he goes somewhere she cannot follow.

She is a little disgusted at how sad she is to hear The Lifeboat is already gone, and she swallows down the lump in her throat. Her sadness is unearned. She has no title to it. Yet it is there.

She wonders, just briefly, what forgetting him would feel like.

….

Going into Mason Industries was never her idea of a good time, but this is a fiasco.

I'd do it myself if I thought it would bring Amy back.

She’d said and it left her shaking from the truth of it.

There was a time in her life, not that long ago, where if someone asked her if she would change history to save someone she loved she would have laughed. She would have said that it was a silly question because history is immutable. It is irrelevant to even consider such things since they can never be, but that was then.

This is now.

Now time is fluid and she is barely able to ride its currents.

Agent Christopher’s eyes are hard, unrepentant. She is doing her job, Lucy knows, but Lucy is done doing hers. Not until she sees some definite return on investment.

She looks to The Lifeboat’s empty bay.

She is done accepting heartache as payment.

….

If you care about someone, if you trust someone, if you might even love someone… you’d tell them something like this.

Lucy raises her chin to hold back the tears burning behind her eyes.

If you might even love someone.

She cannot consider it, cannot even entertain the idea that Wyatt could feel so deeply for her. It complicates things, and for the first time in her life she hopes that the boys do something stupid. She hopes they mess something up and somehow these feelings in her chest will be ripped out by the new order of things. She hopes they will step off that lifeboat whole and full and she will not feel a thing beyond coworker-ly companionship because something is different.

Might even love someone.

Words she is dying to hear, but not now. Not like this.

Lucy looks away from Jiya’s knowing glance.

….

No matter how many times it happens, it is never any less terrifying or any more expected when she is at the end of a barrel of a gun. Desperate times call for desperate measures and she should have had Jiya stick that tracking device on her butt or somewhere not so easily found. Anthony isn’t the type to pull a trigger, but then again she isn’t the type either and she had. A braid of fear tightens her spine and she finds herself longing for Wyatt.

If he were here - but he isn’t. He is trying to resurrect his wife and she cannot entertain these thoughts any longer so she listens to what the older scientist has to say.

Anthony paints a picture for her in shades of gray, each stroke as strange and ephemeral as the last, and she misses the days where black and white existed. When he is done, when she is free, she is nauseous.

What would you do to preserve history?

She would lie. She would steal.

What would you do to preserve history?

She would fight. She would kill.

What would you do to preserve history?

She would bend the very laws of the universe.

With each thought she grows more and more certain that Anthony is right. These machines cannot exist. They are too dangerous, and if she can lie and steal and fight and kill in the past - who is the say she cannot do it now in the present?

What would you do to preserve history?

Anything. Everything.

Amy…!

She throws up in an alley before hopping into the back of a van and heading back to Mason Industries.

….

The Lifeboat returns in a flash of heat and light, but she doesn’t feel different. The deep ache in her chest is only compounded when she realizes his mission had failed. Jessica is still dead. She is still dead and she is the one who has to tell him.

Her words taste like betrayal.

His face shows it.

Time is not their servant. History bows to no man.

“I’m sorry.” She hears herself saying again and again. “I’m sorry,” but she knows she is only partially apologizing for keeping Jessica in her grave.

She is sorry that she loves him.

She does not have time for many more words before they take him away but she can see his horror - his panic. He had failed her again. Her: Jessica. Her: Lucy. The women of his life stack up like collateral damage

Time hasn’t broken her yet, but love will.

Love will.

[ previous ] [ next ]

#lyatt #timeless nbc #timeless #timeless fanfiction #lucy preston #wyatt logan #raven loves timeless #repetition

31 notes · View notes

deathsweetblossoms · 6 years ago

Text

Hey Lucy’s Lifeboat Library has almost completely fulfilled the wishlist for Kids Need to Read! That’s awesome!

Lucy’s Lifeboat Library

Hey Clockblockers! We’ve definitely been in the trenches this past month trying to save this show we all love so much. We’ve been fighting our most noble and honorable battle yet! Everything is pretty uncertain, and the only thing we know for sure at this point is that we LOVE TIMELESS and want to do right by it. If you’ve been inspired by the educational impact this show has had, like so many of us have, I invite you now to do what Lucy would do, and share that love by giving back! Spread the love of learning that this show has inspired in all of us by participating in Lucy’s Lifeboat Library, a book drive backed by a lot of love and hope from a LOT of Clockblockers all over the world.

We’ve teamed up with the Lucy Preston Literary Society and reached out to different charities devoted to gifting used books to people in need – from underfunded schools, literacy programs, prisons, wounded soldiers, you name it! Our goal is to give selflessly, to spread the beauty of reading and knowledge to those in need, and to make a difference for the better - like the characters in this show and the wonderful writers who have created them.

HOW TO GET INVOLVED

Below is a list of the charities, with an explanation of what they do, and their respective Amazon Wishlists. (Please note that it’s okay to buy these gently used from Amazon sellers, they will be accepted by the organizations). On the gift receipt: include a supportive message as part of your donation, share your name (if you want), why you’re doing this, and include the #LifeBoatLibrary hashtag so they can see all of the other donations we’ve made! Remember to also let us know on Twitter which book you’ve added to Lucy’s Lifeboat Library, via #LifeBoatLibrary and don’t forget to include #SaveTimeless and #Timeless!

Do not go gentle in into that good night, and donate a book or two while you’re at it!

THE CHARITIES

Kids Need to Read; works to create a culture of reading for children by providing inspiring books to underfunded schools, libraries, and literacy programs across the USA, especially those serving disadvantaged children. Find their list here.

Prison Book Programs. Prison Book Program is a grassroots organization that exists for one purpose—to send free books to prisoners. PBP mails books to people in prison to support their educational, vocational and personal development and to help them avoid returning to prison after their release. We also aim to provide a quality volunteer experience that introduces citizens to issues surrounding the American prison system and the role of education in reforming it. Find their list here.

Stay tuned for our third wishlist

#save timeless #timeless #lucy's lifeboat library #lucy preston #lifeboat library

131 notes · View notes

mockingjayne12 · 6 years ago

Text

Beyond - Chapter 4

(Lyatt / Timeless Fic)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

The cool metal of the locker acts as a cold compress against Lucy’s forehead. The bustle of the afternoon shifting around her, and she pinches her eyes shut to try to block out the cacophony of noises. Her mind swirls with a laundry list of things that needed to be done, but at the forefront sat the mock debate that evening.

When she’d joined the debate team at the start of the year, she thought it would be like her old school, a group of really passionate students who enjoyed research and well formed arguments. Instead, she’d found that most of the students had joined because they needed an extracurricular, and therefore used that time to goof off and gossip, showing up with little to no work done - which would be a good thing for her in terms of winning, except she was seen as some sort of oddity, met with either snickers of laughter or just blatant disregard.

It came as no wonder why she preferred the days she was sitting in the library tutoring Wyatt over the ones she found herself ridiculed by a group of students who thought they were way too cool for her.

With a deep sigh, she slowly lifts her head, twisting the combination lock around, hitting the right numbers before opening up the door to her locker.

The inside was close to bare, having not taken the time to decorate like a lot of the other girls had. She didn’t see the point when she’d be leaving soon enough. This wasn’t her home, her space, she didn’t want to get too comfortable…or at least that’s what she told herself.

Pushing her curls back, she exchanges the books she had in her bag with the ones she needs for her next class.

Closing the door, she turns to find Wyatt, resting against the row of lockers beside her, his leg up, relaxed.

“So…guess what,” he starts, peeking over at her with a sideways grin, like he has a secret he’s dying to share with her.

“What?” She asks, choosing to move right in front of him so he has to move his gaze, the full force of his blue eyes now focused on her.

“See for yourself,” his hand coming out to give her a paper, the edges crinkled and creases appearing throughout, like he’d folded in his hands nervously before making his way to her.

Cautiously taking the paper, she eyes him skeptically, unsure of what he was showing her, until she looks down.

“You got an A!” She excitedly proclaims, throwing her hands down to see his dimpled smile staring back at her, before nearly launching herself at him. Her arms wrapping around his neck, chin buried in his shoulder, while her wild curls rub against his cheek. The warmth of his body seeps into her, sending a shiver down her spine, her breath held in a purgatory of sorts, unsure of where she’d end up, but willing to give it her best to get to heaven. It’s only when she feels his hands reciprocate, wrapping around her waist, the pads of his fingers indented in her sweater, layers away from skin, that she’s shocked back into the present.

Quickly, she pushes away, her once wide smile faltering as she takes a step back. Her eyes suddenly fascinated with her converse.

xxxxx

The last button pops into place, the reflection of a wardrobe from so many different eras stare back, as if mocking her in their existence. For so long she’d wished that she could see the history she’d spent so much of her life learning about, and now, here she was, thrown into these years with little to no guidance, forced to navigate her way through time.

She felt as out of place as these clothes were in this decade. A stitch of life just floating, suddenly unencumbered by the parameters of time and space, a black hole of nothing, sunken into her chest, and unable to grasp onto anything to keep her grounded. That person had once been Amy. The one constant in her life, and now she was gone.

“Hey,” she hears, shaking her from her reverie, the reflection of Wyatt appearing in the mirror. He’s dressed smartly, a concerned look painting his face as he stairs at her wide eyes. “You okay?”

Lucy doesn’t even turn around, not wanting to face him directly. She likes that there’s a separation, a piece of glass keeping them from getting too close.

She nods, but she knows that he’s well aware of her nerves, the ones that creep in her subconscious, rearing their ugly head, until she’s drowning in fear, unable to surface for air.

Instead, she adjusts her lipstick, hoping he’ll get the hint to leave. But instead, he approaches her, not saying a word, just offering his presence, and she feels a bit of ease sweep through her before plummeting back into the deep end.

They walk side by side as they enter the Lifeboat, breaking the silence with a question about the mission.

She’s thankful for the distraction, her knowledge on the subject spotty at best, and she can see the grimace on his face, but his voice never lets on that he’s scared. His fear never stemming from the threat of his own safety, but that of those he cared about.

He begins to buckle himself in, abandoning the task to take care of her first. And although it’s long since been a habit, she still stares in wonder at this man who always finds a way to ease her stress while burgeoning more tension between them.

The rush of the trip never lessens, leaving her woozy and off kilter. The nausea always seeming to hit Wyatt the hardest, which is why it comes as a surprise to them all when the door opens and there stands a Nazi, staring in shocked wonderment at the machine before him.

“Oh, my God,” Lucy utters, frozen in fear as the soldier moves for his gun. It’s the last thing she sees as Wyatt moves for his own, positioning his body in front of her, unwilling to sacrifice her for the mission.

Breathing heavily, she swears her heart has jumped into her throat, a close call if she’d ever seen one. His blue eyes flicker to her’s, and she nods at him, a silent promise that she was okay.

She can see the twitch of his hand, wanting to reach out and make sure for himself, even though he rationally knows no shot had been taken at them, the adrenaline still racing through them all.

Lucy isn’t surprised to find him check back every few seconds, as they make their way through the foliage to their destination, his eyes flickering over her, before carrying on, gun at the ready in hostile territory.

Lucy would be flattered that he was taking his job of protecting her so seriously, but then again, that’s all this has ever been to him, a job. And so with her nerves building up into a wall, slowly but surely closing her off, she follows behind him, barely acknowledging his worried eyes every time they wander to her.

xxxxx

“You seem surprised,” he teases, but she knows he’s not wrong. She is surprised, although she’s unsure why, because if there’s one thing she’s learned in her sessions with Wyatt is that he’s smart. In fact, he’s constantly shocking her with all that he does know.

“Not surprised,” she almost whispers, still staring down at her shoes, until bringing his essay back into focus, glancing at the big A scrawled on the page. “Proud,” the admittance coming out with her own smile beaming up at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, but she knows it’s a lie. She may have pointed him in the right direction, facilitating the action, but it was his mind, his intelligence and hard work that had earned him the grade.

Stepping closer, he nervously straightens, sobering his smile as Lucy’s feet hit his shoes. She can tell that he’s unsure what she’s going to do next. A gulp of a swallow transient in his neck, the movement catching her eye.

Bringing her hands up, so her mouth is hidden by the paper, she turns it around, holding it up so he could see.

“This essay suggests otherwise,” peeking over the ink soaked pages at him, and an almost shy smirk makes its way across his lips.

“Do you ever take credit of your accomplishments?” He teases, but there’s an underlying truth surrounding his words. The belief that she wasn’t good enough never resting even when presented with proof to the contrary.

“Are you saying you’re my accomplishment?” She shoots back, a quirk of her lips, the double lined smiled peeking out, indicating when she found something truly amusing.

“In the flesh,” he quickly says, before giving off an awkward cough, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. However, if it’s possible, she finds him even more endearing with his embarrassment.

“Anyway, we should celebrate. Me being all brilliant, and you…well, putting up with my shit,” he tries, but there’s a shake to his voice, despite the bravado his words suggest. “How about tonight?”

There’s a moment, albeit briefly, where she can feel the hope ascending, the word YES lingering on her tongue, springing forward into reality, until the gripping anxiety stabs her sharply like a bed of nails digging into her chest.

Lucy’s face falls at the realization, and with it, she can see the wind being knocked out of his own sails. Rejection is now going to be the first thing to leave her mouth, and by the look playing on his face, he knows it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, hoping the sincerity of her words come through. The last thing she wants to do is make it seem that she’s uninterested, although she’s probably reading way too much into his offer. Wyatt simply wanted to celebrate his own accomplishment, and she was just a pity invite. One that would’ve gone out to anyone that had tutored him.

You’re nothing special, plays in her mind.

“Right, yeah, no, of course,” Wyatt stumbles over his words, playing it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

“No, you don’t understand, I umm, I have a mock debate tonight,” she offers, nearly reaching out to grab his arm, hoping the nerves of tonight would transfer, proving she was telling the truth.

“A debate?” He asks with a trickling cadence of disbelief, a raised eyebrow to accompany the question.

“Yeah, I’m in the debate club,” she admits with a dip of her head, staring down at her shoes, before taking a deep breath, and meeting his eyes again. “And we have a practice of sorts tonight. I can’t miss it.”

“Hmm,” he nods, pursing his lips. “I guess I’ll see you later then,” he says with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Yeah,” she shrugs with another apology. “Maybe Jessica can celebrate with you,” she offers, sure that she didn’t have any pressing plans that would hinder her from taking him up on his offer.

“She had nothing to do with this,” he says, sliding the paper out of her hands, careful not to cut her.

He moves to leave, pushing off of his stance on the lockers, heading in the opposite direction of her next class.

“Hey Lucy,” he says, turning around, walking backwards through the crowd in a way she could never achieve, not even a little bit. “Good luck tonight,” he wishes, as if sensing that she was nervous.

xxxxx

Carefully, one finger at a time, Lucy removes her gloves. The shake of her hand as she reaches for her whiskey visible to everyone, most of all Wyatt. She can feel her entire body tense, her eyes wide, the beat of her heart felt in her ears, the pulse a fast, syncopated rhythm that threatens to loudly drum.

“Breathe,” he whispers to her, his own eyes fearful, at not only the stiff reaction she’s seemingly having, but no doubt the logistics of how he planned to keep them safe in such a precarious situation.

He seemingly always knew what she was thinking, her emotions worn on her sleeve, and he was surely finding that that habit was one that hadn’t been broken during those years apart. Because she was scared. And he knew it.

She looks up at him, her eyes screaming, the bark brown igniting in flares, sending out a cry for help.

She brings the whiskey up to drink, and the liquid sloshes around in the glass, the tremors like earthquakes, casting waves around her.

His hand reaches out, the pads of his fingers grasping onto her hand, steadying her, as they trace a path over the hills of her knuckles, until she’s abandoned her sip, and settled the glass back on the table before them.

“Breathe, Luce,” he whispers again, only to be interrupted by the one thing that could threaten to take them both out.

She sits frozen in her chair, not sure of what Wyatt’s saying to the Nazi, his stern face unyielding in his intentions. Thankful that in their time apart he not only learned German, but several others, apparently.

It’s only when Wyatt moves to get up, that she pleads with him for an explanation. However, he offers none except for the hand on the small of her back, positioning her in front of him, further away from the man guiding them out.

xxxxx

Lucy stares into the mirror of the bathroom, her reflection looking pale even to her own eyes. Leaning forward, she straightens her jacket, before backing up, and yanking on her skirt.

She can hear the testing of the microphones on the stage just outside, causing a shuttering exhale. Her only solace coming in the form that she knew not many people would be in attendance, including her own mother.

Lucy had informed her of the date a few weeks ago, but given her mom’s busy work schedule, she wasn’t likely to show up to an event that didn’t even count. She could look forward to the critique of her argument later that weekend when her mom got her hands on the notecards currently being strangled in Lucy’s grip.

Mustering her resolve, she moves to head out, the clacking of her heels echoing through the empty restroom, keeping in time with her erratic heartbeat, threatening to out her nerves.

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt with a sigh, she reaches for the door.

“Whoa,” is all she hears as she collides with the individual standing in front of the door. Her questionable balance in heels leaving her floundering on teetering ground.

“Hey,” Wyatt laughs, steadying her shaky frame, the grip on her arms both strong and gentle, enough pressure to keep her upright, but soft enough that it wouldn’t bruise.

“What are you doing here?” She exclaims, glancing around to see if any of his friends, mainly Jessica, have come to ridicule her as well.

“I told you I’d see you later,” he explains, letting go of her arms, as if his presence here right now was something to have been expected.

She nervously moves to straighten her outfit once more, attempting to iron out the wrinkles of her confidence in the form of her clothes. The result unsuccessful.

“I didn’t think you’d show up here,” she gestures to the empty hallway outside of the auditorium.

“Not much of a celebration with just one person,” he says with a wink.

Lucy rolls her eyes, but she fidgets with the button on her shirt, glancing around, like someone was going to see them.

“You okay?” He asks, his smile slipping into one of concern.

“Mhmm,” she says, refusing to look at him.

He raises his brow, before grabbing her hand and leading her over to a doorway, shielding them from any potentially prying eyes.

xxxxx

“That’s Ian Fleming. The Ian Fleming. The guy that wrote James Bond,” Wyatt excitedly claims, all the fear having been lifted from him shoulders the moment he found out that they weren’t in danger, but actually teaming up with Bond himself.

If Lucy wasn’t so stressed, she’d laugh at how much he was freaking out about this.

“Yeah, you’re the one who told me he was actual spy in World War II,” she explains, knowing more about Fleming than she cared to admit, thanks to Wyatt’s enthusiasms for the subject.

“You a Bond fan?” Rufus asks, sidling up to the table they were gathered around.

Lucy can’t hold back the snort of laughter at that. To say Wyatt was a fan was probably an understatement. It’s only then, sitting at the table watching him fanboy over Bond again, that she realizes another promise that hadn’t been kept. A date for a Bond movie, their expiration date a few months shy of its release. The advertisements had been quickly switched off every single time she came across them. And now here she was, face to face with the man who had spurned her vicariously through Wyatt.

“You could say that,” Lucy mutters under her breath, but they both hear.

“I love his movies,” Rufus admits.

“And the books,” Wyatt counters, having always preferred them, glancing down at her at that, knowing she remembers the tattered pages stuffed in his pocket, the ones she’d teased him about.

As Ian walks in, the plan is devised, a toast thrown out, but she can’t help but think of all the danger surrounding them. Once again, she was being tossed into a situation where she couldn’t control the outcome.

It seems as much as she tried to keep her life on track, attempting to rein in her decisions to stay in the lane of control, she’d somehow swerved into a life where she was constantly thrown into the deep end and expected to tread through the events like she wasn’t floundering for something to keep her afloat.

She gets lost in her thoughts, staring at the table in front of her, gazing off, as she contemplates all the ways in which she’d taken a chance, veered from her mother’s plan, and somehow ended up clobbered, literally and figuratively.

“It’s bad form to leave a poured glass full,” Fleming chimes, holding up her drink to her, a charming grin plastered on his face, as if they were inevitable, merely a matter of time.

She smiles, nods at him, humoring the notion, but she never takes a sip, refusing to seal the deal. The last thing she needs is another man clambering to be in her life, only to hurt her.

“Dude, James Bond just hit on Lucy,” Rufus unsubtly whispers to Wyatt, and it’s the first real smile she can muster that day, as she glances back to see Wyatt’s eyes roll with a clenched jaw and a glare shot at the doorway in which Fleming had left.

“You do know I can hear you, right?” She claims, as both give an impish grin.

xxxxx

“You nervous?” He guesses, and Lucy scrunches her face, not wanting to admit that she is, but unable to hide it from him.

“Noooo,” she elongates her word with a quirk of her mouth, and a half shrug, like she was way too cool to be nervous over this.

“Right, so you don’t need to hear how great you are, and how you’ll definitely win…because you’re incredibly smart? Got it,” he lists off, before crossing his arms and leaning against the door. His belief in her abilities enough to leave her heated cheeks now blushing with embarrassment as well as flushed with anxiety.

“It’s not…it’s not that I don’t think I’ll win,” she shyly admits, yanking on the bottom of her jacket. “I just…,” and she peeks up at him, her brown eyes watering, the last shred of control she has threatening to trail down her cheeks like a stream of betrayal.

“Lucy,” he says, reaching out, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him. If she had been any further away, she would’ve tripped into him, but instead, she mopes over, unsure of what’s coming next, but the steady beat of his heart pulses into her palm, calming her a little with just one touch.

“My uhh, grandpa,” he begins, his hand refusing to let go of her own, and she self-consciously wishes that her palm wasn’t so sweaty, but he doesn’t seem to mind, instead absorbing her nerves as his own. “He always told me, ‘Do what’s right.’ I don’t always do that,” he laughs, using his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, as if remembering all the ways in which he had perhaps let his grandpa down in that department. “But I think the point was that, you’re going to be met with people who don’t do the right thing, who will make your life miserable,” he nearly growls out, like he’d encountered someone in particular that was guilty of such, and she finds her heart aching at the thought. “But you have to stick to your guns, despite what they say. Do what is right…for you.”

A small smile plays on her lips, the trust she must have gained to have Wyatt open up to her, even a little bit, to help her, not something she was taking lightly. Choosing to store this information away, and taking his words to heart.

“I think that might be the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time,” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

He swings their hands, before letting go.

“Yeah, well, it seemed like you needed it,” he shrugs with a smirk. The loss of contact leaving her yearning for more.

“Your grandpa…he sounds like a wise man,” she ventures, picturing an older version of Wyatt.

“He was,” he admits with a forlorn expression, one that she can’t quite make out the meaning to.

“You’re really gonna stay for this?” She jerks her head towards the auditorium, a grimace on her face for putting him through this kind of torture.

“I’ve got this if I get bored,” he pulls out a book from his pocket to sho her, but a twitch of his lips suggests that he wasn’t likely to actually read it here.

Still, she twists to see what he’s reading, and bites back a smile at Moonraker.

“I didn’t realize you were such a nerd,” she teases, the irony of the situation given where they were only causing him to shake his head at her.

“It doesn’t get any cooler than Bond,” he tries to defend.

“Way too cool for me,” she admits, and a part of her knows that that statement is far too true. “But sure, right,” Lucy bites down on her lip, her curls bouncing as she gives a slow nod, humoring him.

“Says the girl who has a giant Harry Potter and the something of fire book stuffed in her bag right now. How many times have you read that thing anyway?” He counters, leaving her with an affronted look on her face.

“Only a few, and it’s Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” she says, correcting him, twisting the toe of her shoe on the tile below, somehow always managing to stick her foot in her mouth.

“Right, yeah, and when was it released?” He teases.

“A couple months ago. But okay, you see, Hermione—“

“Okay, save the debate for in there,” he laughs, not wanting to rile her up in an argument of Potter versus Bond.

“This isn’t over,” she raises a finger with a playful squint of her eye, and he nods back with a smile.

“Oh, I have no doubt, ma’am,” the raise of his eyebrows with a teasing purse of his lips suggesting he knew she wouldn’t let it go. Nudging her with his shoulder, she turns to head into the debate, the weight of the situation feeling just a little bit lighter thanks to Wyatt.

“Hey Lucy,” he calls after her, her name echoing through the empty hall. “You’ve got this.”

xxxxx

“Explain to me why I can’t kill Flynn?” Lucy can hear the grit in his tone, as he exasperatedly storms back into the house.

She can feel his frustration, once again, rolling off at him, a habit that seemed to be forming when it came to every mission. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with him, but they just couldn’t see eye to eye on much these days.

“We can’t risk Von Braun. We need him alive,” she explains, her hands held out at her sides, refusing to surrender the issue.

“He’s the father of their rocket program. He’s a genius,” Rufus attempts to help her, but Wyatt’s anger only seems to grow.

“Right, got it. Wouldn’t want to kill a smart Nazi,” he groans in a clipped tone, that has her gritting her own teeth, having to come up with a lie, a twist of the truth to make it sound like it’s their orders that are dictating the outcome that he’s well aware of, rather than another spat, a difference of opinion.

“The allies want him. You know that,” she glares at him.

It seems even Ian Fleming agrees with Wyatt, only further reiterating why Wyatt probably admired his books so much. And in any other circumstance, she’d have been right there with them.

“Yes, but there’s a bigger picture here,” she explains to Fleming, purposely moving her gaze back to Wyatt, speaking more to him than to the spy.

It’s only when Fleming agrees with Lucy and offers her up as the inside agent with him that she begins to balk on her own plan.

“Lucy can accompany me as my secretary.”

“How do I get in?” Wyatt asks, the light from the window he stands beside casting him half in shadow, his conflicting emotions seemingly played out right in front of her.

“You don’t. You and Rufus can provide backup from the perimeter.”

Lucy’s eyes close as he delivers the news, knowing that Wyatt isn’t going to accept this without another argument. He never had a problem with her fighting her own battles, but when she was up against Nazis, even she’d prefer a little backup. His resistance to the idea not something she objects.

He steels his jaw, his eyes storming with persistence.

“She doesn’t get in without me,” his voice taking on a gravely quality, stepping closer to the two of them across the table.

“I can barely get her in, much less you. Besides, she’s a capable operative just the same as you and I, isn’t she?”

And he’s got Wyatt there. If he disagrees, their cover is blown, and he knows it. You can see the defeat weighing in his posture. The look she gives him, not even asking for his trust of her this time, but a look signaling that she was in over her head. The water lapping at her chin, arms flailing, and completely unable to stay above gasping for breath.

But he relents, staring back at her, knowing that there’s nothing he can do except keep his distance and put his trust in a man he’d looked up to for years. The question for Lucy being: was this man really as good as Wyatt had argued him to be?

Exiting the room, leaving them to continue their argument. She can’t reiterate enough to Wyatt how important it is that he must sacrifice his shot at Flynn if it means getting Von Braun.

“I’m sorry, but not this time,” she harshly whispers, leaning forward to get her point across. “He’s too important. After the war he comes to America and jumpstarts our entire rocket program,” her head jerking with words to punctuate their importance.

Wyatt hangs his head as Rufus continues to list all the ways Von Braun is important, as if he knows what’s being said to him, but can’t relent in his quest of giving this guy a pass.

“And he’s able to do all of this because the U.S. pardons him. He never gets punished,” his eyes pleading with her, of all people, to understand his argument. “Right?” The question playing on his tongue, and she turns, knowing what he was referencing. “Yeah,” he shakes his head at her silence.

Wyatt had always tried to do what was right. Consequences always playing in his mind to his actions. The idea of someone getting away with heinous acts of violence not something that he was tolerant of, one of his few black and white opinions.

“And you’re okay with that?”

Lucy hangs her head, his words washing over her.

xxxxx

Looking down, she can see the shake of her hands, a sure sign of the adrenaline having worn off, the nerves she had steeled for the debate now liquidating into something akin to a pool of anxiety, waiting for her to dive in.

The actual debate itself had gone great. She’d won, no contest, and had felt a surge of pride in herself, until she’d looked out into the small crowd, expecting to find Wyatt and instead she’s met with the frowning face of her mother, and next to her, a bored looking Luke.

She stalls, not wanting to go down and face what awaits her. She purses her lips, and with a deep sigh, squares back her shoulders, and like an actor, shifts her facial expression to something akin to confident, and hopefully pleasant, while she bites her tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood becomes present.

Flipping her hair to the side, a pile of curls now falling to the right, her mom disapprovingly frowns at the gesture.

“I told you not to do that,” she nearly whispers, not wanting to draw attention, but unable to keep her reprimand to herself.

Lucy shrugs, not wanting to push the issue.

“Where’s Amy?” She asks, expecting her sister to bound out from behind a chair, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing.

“She’s at a friend’s,” the quickness of her response leaving no room for more questions.

Luke comes up behind her mom, his bored expression still present.

“These things are long, aren’t they?” He asks, and she narrows her eyes. His comment bordering on rude, but phrased like an observation.

“You should see how long the tournaments last,” she chides, and feels her teeth clench down harder on her tongue, not sure why she essentially invited him to come to the next one.

Luke’s eyes grow wide, and then quickly try to settle like he wasn’t dreading the event, all the while hoping he could get out of it.

“Oh, I would never put Luke through that,” her mom laughs, as if attending this was torture enough for them both. The unsettling feeling in the pit of Lucy’s stomach suggesting that no one was more uncomfortable than her in this situation.

“Hmm,” Lucy hums, not really paying attention as she searches the crowd to see where Wyatt had gone, only to dejectedly succumb to the fact that he must have left, his book not even enough entertainment to keep him around here.

“You ready to go?” Her mother asks, and Lucy nods, thankful that she gets to ride home in her own car. Pulling her close, she can feel her mother’s grip digging into her arm, not meant to hurt her, but her focus so intent that she wasn’t paying attention to just how hard she was squeezing. “We’ll talk about what you can approve on when you get home,” she whispers so only Lucy can hear. The statement sealed with a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll see you at home,” she offers, the vice grip loosened as she takes off in the opposite direction, a pit of dread lodging itself in her chest, as she’s left alone with Luke in the hallway.

xxxxx

The pin stares back at her, it’s marking a symbol of everything that was wrong in this world placed between her shaky fingers. It clatters to the dresser in front of her, before she fastens it to her jacket.

The image displayed in front of her in the mirror someone she doesn’t recognize and yet looks so familiar. She can feel herself vibrating on a level she can distinguish, her chest rattling like she was trying to escape from herself…or rather this situation.

Her lips pouts as her bottom lip joins in with a quiver, matching the tremor of her fingers. Her mind both filled with everything and nothing, like she was falling with no discernible ground to catch her fall, just an endless leap with nowhere to land.

Wyatt’s words continue to play over and over, and although she grips the wood of the dresser, she doesn’t feel she has a good grasp on anything anymore. The pointed edge of the wood digs into her palm, a mark of time centered in her hand, and she pulls her hand away, bringing it to her forehead, pinching her eyes shut, not wanting to look at herself, afraid of the image that would reflect back at her.

It’s at the point where she feels she’s bordering on a full blown panic attack, the air getting thin in the room, her labored breathing interrupted by the clicking of the door handle, altering her to someone entering.

Once again, she’s met with the image of Wyatt hanging back in her reflection. The image one that she can’t seem to shake, because she knows it won’t always be that way. She used to think he had her back, was looking out for her, trusted him above anyone else. Only to be blindsided.

“Hey,” he greets, and she leans against the dresser, readying herself for another argument.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Her tone suggesting that she wasn’t in the mood for games. Her hands busying themselves with further adjusting her outfit. Accepting that nothing was going to make this stiff, oppressing attire comfortable.

“I did. Twice,” he replies, not moving an inch.

“Oh, well…” she trails off, unsure of what to say, before turning around to see him, but still unable to meet his eyes directly.

“Good for you,” she finishes with a smile that didn’t remotely feel genuine.

He remains still, as if afraid if he moves, he’ll spook her.

“Look, I…I don’t want to fight anymore,” she tries, looking every which way but at him. But she can feel his eyes on her, the fight from before having been shed by him.

“Me neither. Let’s talk about something else,” he moves to sit on the arm of a chair near her. Her eyes crest with confusion at his shift of conversation.

“Okay, like what?” She tries, keeping busy with her hands, not wanting him to see her eyes, because if he sees the panic, the fear resting in there, it’s all over.

“Lucy,” he mutters, and she moves over to the bed, fidgeting with her back to him. “Lucy,” he tries again, and this time, she freezes.

“I’m not freaking out,” she lies, and he knows it, she can feel the hint of a smile playing on his lips without having to turn around.

“I never said you were,” he chimes in, the shake of her shorter curls at him pretending to know her better than she knows herself bordering on annoying.

“You speak German,” she turns and says. A fact that they both know is true, but one she hadn’t known until today.

“I do,” he sighs, and she shakes her head again, only half turning around to look at him, still sitting on the arm of the chair.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” she almost whispers.

“Nazi Germany? None of us should,” he responds with a crooked grin, half amused, and half horrified.

Turning all the way around, she crosses her arms, leaning against the bed.

“No. I mean…that day…the car crash. That’s when it changed. I kept trying to figure out when it happened, and I kept coming back to that moment. One minute I was driving, going over in my head what I was going to tell my mom, and the next thing I know I’m in the water. And the car started filling up with water so fast,” she remembers, her teeth beginning to worry her lip, her arms squeezing tightly around herself.

She knows he remembers, because his jaw is clenched, as his eyes water, turning the once steady shade of ocean storming into that of a murky river.

“I panicked, my seatbelt was stuck and I’m thinking, ‘This is it.”

Wyatt’s holding his breath along with her memory at this point, rigid, and unmoving in his stance.

“And then you…” she recalls with a watery smile. “You pulled me out. And I thought it was fate. You saving me,” she stares at him like the lifeline she used to believe he was. The memory so vividly playing in her mind of the fear on his face as he pulled her out from that car.

“Lucy, I’m—“ He interrupts, having been pulled from his trance.

“But it wasn’t, because now…I don’t even know what languages you speak. We’re strangers. After you, I tried to put myself in situations that I could control, where I knew the outcome. And every mission, I feel like I’m drowning all over again,” she admits in a strained voice, hollowed with tears, and stained with a feeling she has never been able to shake since they ended.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” she pleads, begging him to pull her out from the water once again.

He opens his mouth to respond, searching for the right words to say, instead crossing his arms, as if keeping himself from reaching out, and she’s thankful because she’s not sure if she wants him closer or to push him further away.

“You know, when my Grandpa died,” he explains, his voice shaking with the admission. “I sort became…lost. I’d act out, almost like a dare because I knew there was no one know to pick up the slack from my dad,” he nearly sneers at the title. “I was so scared that I thought I had no fear, because there was nothing to lose. And then I met you.”

Lucy’s mouth hangs open, as if struggling for air. Her eyes taking on a glassy water as he admits to something she’d known, but never really understood. Only adding to the confusion of how they ended up where they were.

He smiles at the memory, and she can’t help but wonder what it is that he exactly remembers about that time.

“You know, my grandpa’s probably around here, less than 200 miles or so, younger than me, fighting Nazis,” he says with a proud smile, the loss of his grandfather something that he rarely ever brought up. “Which is why saving Nazis and letting Lincoln die…that’s hard for me, Lucy. Because I feel like I’m letting him down.”

“He’d be proud of you,” she tries thinking of how Wyatt was a soldier as well, her voice not even sounding like her own, strangled, and raspy.

“Would he?” He asks, the betrayal of what happened playing on his face, a flicker of hurt and regret paining his features, and she wonders if it’s just the events of history that he’s remembering or does it also include the events of their history?

He waves off the question, not really wanting her to answer.

“The point is is that I found something worth fighting for. That I still had time to do what wasright, and it didn’t always turn out the way I wanted it to,” he shuffles, looking down at that, as if picturing a life where it had gone the way he wanted it to. “But it got me over the hump, suddenly every choice I made mattered, there was a purpose.” he explains.

Her eyes struggling to figure out what he meant exactly, but the implication was there.

Standing, he moves towards her, his hands reaching out to adjust her tie. His eyes look so impossibly blue as he stares down at her, her body still shaking like a leaf at the thought of what was to come and all that had happened.

“You are smart, and more than capable of fighting for what you want. You just have to figure out what it is you’re fighting for, Luce. And then you’ll be okay.”

She gives a brief smile, thankful, but unable to fully unleash a grin at the thought that eventually, she stopped being something he was fighting for. He had another purpose now, and it wasn’t her.

But the notion that she needed to find something to hold onto to anchor herself, to give purpose, was not something new. She’d once had people that she felt did that for her, only to be lost. But perhaps she hadn’t fought hard enough. A renewed strength rising in her, ignited by the embers of her past, sparked by Wyatt.

“Thank you,” she says, and she feels he knows that’s for more than today, because although she might not be meant to be here…she is because of him, for better or worse.

“Sure thing…ma’am,” he adds with a teasing glint in his eye, not one of malice but of affection.

She closes her eyes, her tongue coming out to lick her red lips. A sigh of relief that some things really did never change.

xxxxx

“God, I didn’t think that would ever end,” Luke admits now that her mother is gone.

“You didn’t have to come,” Lucy tries, but he waves his hand as if that were an absurd notion, casting her opinion aside.

“I wanted to see you,” he smiles, but she can’t help but think it resembles that of a sneer, as he reaches for her hand.

Lucy catches the movement in her peripheral, and quickly moves, pushing her stray curls back over to the side.

“There you are,” Wyatt says, quickly striding over to her, out of breath.

Her eyes grow wide at his appearance, a silent thank you quirked on her lips.

“You did great,” he beams, like he’s more proud of her accomplishments than he is his own. “Don’t you think, Luke?” The name coming out with a shuffling of his feet, ending up next to Lucy.

Luke gives a jerk of his head, clearly not having paid a lick of attention to the actual debate.

“Hey,” Luke says, grabbing her attention, before leaning over into her space, and she finds herself unconsciously leaning away for a second, before she can discern there’s no threat, and then she moves forward to hear what he’s trying to keep from Wyatt.

“What do you say we get outta here?” He suggests, and she has to bite her lip from saying the first thing that comes to her mind.

“No, thanks,” she answers, a sweet smile on her face, not a chance in hell she was going anywhere with this guy.

“Suit yourself,” he snidely answers, narrowing his eyes at Wyatt, who stands grinning beside her.

xxxxx

“I hope you’re right about this,” Fleming says with a sharp exhale, as they stand outside, waiting to hand over Von Braun. Their mission hadn’t gone smoothly, in fact there was a moment where they all thought they weren’t getting out of there alive. But they’d successfully completed the task, keeping history the same.

“We are,” she says, glancing over at Wyatt, who while still disagreed, put his trust in her, that she knew what she was doing. The belief in her, enough so that he’d risk his life, was not something she was used to. Usually, people were constantly telling her what was best. And for once, she felt like she had some control over her own fate.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Fleming addresses them, before leaning into Lucy. “But maybe not for you,” he says with a smirk. “I might find myself stateside when all this is over,” he propositions.

“I’m sure you will,” she says with her own grin and a shake of her head at the absurdity, but flattered all the same.

“Will you be waiting?” He asks with a playful raise of his brow.

Her eyes scan over his face, as she leans impossibly close, but she somehow feels more tension coming from her side, imagining Wyatt’s face at the exchange, than she does with the man standing in front of her.

“Definitely not,” she whispers, and he chuckles softly, before turning on his heel to leave.

“Well, never say never,” he tries to play, like there still could be a chance.

“Again,” Wyatt responds with a huge smile, and Lucy can’t help but laugh, because he really was such a nerd when it came to this guy.

“Seriously?” She asks, and his face falls, like he can’t believe no one else found that as funny.

xxxxx

“So…where’d you disappear to?” She wonders with a tilt of her head, her curls falling over into her face.

“Bathroom,” he answers, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Mhmm,” she says, squinting up at him, knowing full well that that was not where he was.

Walking with her, they head out to the parking lot in silence. As they step off the curb of the school, Lucy groans, stopping momentarily to take off one of her heels, hopping on her bare foot in an attempt to remove the other heel, nearly toppling forward if not for Wyatt’s quick hands finding their way to her waist, his fingers putting gentle pressure on her hips to keep her on her feet.

She slowly strands up straight, the veil of curls hiding her blush.

Once up right, he reluctantly lets go, but stays behind her, as if waiting for her to take a nose dive again.

Finally reaching her car, she opens the door only to turn around, placing her back against the frame, leaning back, molding her body to the curvature of the car.

“So where were you really?” That same tilt of her head, big brown eyes staring up at him, begging for the truth.

“I didn’t want to intrude,” he offers this time.

“Ugh,” she groans, placing her free hand over her face, heels dangling from her fingers.

He gives a guttural laugh that has her peeking through her fingers at him.

“So was the celebration everything you hoped it would be?” She teases, knowing full well that what he sat through could not have been his idea of a good time. Despite Luke’s rudeness, he hadn’t been wrong in his assessment.

Sitting down in the car, she doesn’t expect him to reach for the door, holding it open, leaving her to stare up at him, the stars more present here, not obscuring city lights to hinder their shine, instead illuminating his silhouette in the night.

“Even better,” he admits, leaning down to where he’s eye level with her.

“Okay—“ she starts, only to freeze, when he reaches over to grab her seatbelt, once again trailing over her stomach to strap her in, before almost bouncing back to his position on his haunches in her space.

Never ceasing to be stunned by the action, she turns on the car, the soft music beginning to play, one of the few country songs she enjoys on the radio, reiterating that lovin’ might be a mistake but it’s one worth makin’.

“Hey, so what’s so special about Bond, anyway? Is it because he always gets the girl?” She asks, curious about why, of all the books, he’d chosen that one.

“He doesn’t always get the girl,” Wyatt points out.

Lucy scrunches her face at that.

“Pretty much,” she counters, at least in everything she’s seen.

“Well, if that’s the case, then he’s way too cool for me too.”

She can’t help but smile at that, one that carries with all the way home that night.

xxxxx

Lucy walks out of Mason Industries, her heart still racing at the demands she’d made with Agent Christopher. Wyatt had told her to figure out what she was fighting for, and she’d laid her ultimatum down. It was Amy.

Pushing through the door, she sees Wyatt leaning up against the wall, having clearly waited for her.

“Late night,” he says with a raise of his brow.

“Hmm,” she responds with a nod.

“Look, about before,” Wyatt starts, and she squints at him. “I never meant—“

“Wyatt,” she interrupts him, holding up her hand, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. Having been so tense all day, to then have her anxiety dissipate, left her feeling like all her energy had been drained. “Not tonight…please,” she begs, her eyes closing.

She wants to hear what he has to say. She’s been waiting to hear those words for years. But not tonight. The last thing she needs after finally anchoring herself is to be uprooted by whatever confession he might deliver to her.

“Got it,” he says, a bit defeated, but understanding filtering through his thoughts.

“Thank you,” she sighs.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,” he says, and she walks in stride with him, a comfortable silence hanging between them.

“You okay to drive home?” He asks, seeing the exhaustion in her slumped figure.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” and she notes the worried line across his forehead, and she can’t blame him after everything that’s happened.

“Well, goodnight,” she awkwardly says, opening the door, and climbing in.

“Hey Lucy,” he says. “German, Spanish, Arabic.”

“What?” She asks, much too late to be figuring out riddles.

“You said you didn’t know what languages I speak. German, Spanish, and Arabic.”

A drowsy smile makes its way across her face.

“You said four, that’s only three.”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” he says with a wink.

“Okay, Bond, calm down,” she teases, and he grimaces.

“As much as I like Bond, I think I’ll stick to being Wyatt,” he reasons, and she nods in agreement.

“Good call,” she says, grabbing the car door. “I much prefer him to Bond.”

xxxxx

A/N:

yes, hello, hi. it has been a long, exhausting week, in which there were so many instances where i tried to write and was interrupted. that being said, somehow, this ended up being the longest chapter i’ve written so far. weird.

anyway, reviews/comments are always welcome, and in fact greatly encouraged. seriously. they’re everything. i can’t tell you how many times this week i was like, “is anyone even reading this?” only to go back and read what all you lovely people said. y’all are my motivation.

#lyatt fanfic #lyatt #lucy preston #wyatt logan #timeless

69 notes · View notes

mockingjayne12 · 6 years ago

Text

Beyond - Chapter 3

(Lyatt / Timeless Fic)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Lucy moves to check her watch again. He’s late. She sighs heavily, as she looks around the library. She has her history book pulled out, her journal resting on her lap, and her pencil irritatingly tapping against the table.

She hasn’t seen Wyatt since she dropped him off at the gas station on Friday.

Every time she felt like she was getting to know him or at least a little closer to having a conversation that didn’t revolve around school work, he shut her off, changing the subject, or in the case of last Friday, jumping out of her car before she even got to his house.

It wasn’t that he was impersonal, he asked her questions about herself all the time or had discernibly picked up on the details through observation. But whenever she tried to move the conversation, he’d shut her down or try to charm his way into switching the topic back over to her or the assignment at hand.

As she’d made her way home Friday, dejected at how they’d left things, she’d been caught off guard to find that her mom had invited people over. The house had been full of stuffy professor types, and powerful looking people that she wasn’t sure how they were acquainted with her mom.

She had tried to slink past the crowd into her room, but she’d been intercepted by her eager-faced mother, forced to be paraded around to these strangers. The same introduction, always, with a set of plans for her future that she wasn’t quite sure were so much her idea as they’d been set for her since birth. A notion that had been weighing heavily on her mind more and more as the year progressed.

She had put on a fake smile, her dimples never making their appearance, instead a nod of her head, a shake of her hand, a frowning disapproval at her attire, her mother apologizing for her, as if they cared.

“This is Luke,” she’d said with a knowing grin, as she introduced her to a boy her own age. She recognized him from her English class. He’d asked to borrow a pencil from her the other day, but hadn’t spoken a word to her otherwise.

Lucy had given the same smile she’d forced at the dozen other people she’d met. Her mother rattled off his father’s accomplishments, as if they were meant to impress her, before whispering in her ear, “Be nice, you two could hit it off.” Gripping her shoulders, an awkward grimace of a smile coming to Lucy’s lips, as her mom walked off.

“So…” he’d started, giving her a once over, which had her crossing her arms in front of her, narrowing her eye at him, while bringing her long curls forward, almost like a shield to hide her.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my sister,” she’d only half-lied, a disingenuous apology, and a quirk of her lips as she left the guy standing there gawking after her.

Rushing up the stairs, she’d locked her door, sliding down the wall, eyes closed, hair trailing above her as she settled on the floor.

“That bad?” Amy asks, looking over from Lucy’s bed, before getting up and making her way over to the young girl. She may be young, but her sister was wise.

Waving her hand, she gestures for Amy to move over, clumsily kicking off her shoes, crawling into the bed, and wrapping her sister up into a hug.

xxxxx

Lucy’s yellow dress sways with her movement, the 60s attire far more comfortable than the corsets and hoop skirts she’d found herself wearing before. But as she makes her way into the Lifeboat, it’s not the dress that’s weighing her down this time, but the diamond reflecting light on her finger. Her mind swirls with the idea of having to deal with this new person suddenly thrust into her life.

Engaged.

She can’t say she’d never thought about getting married. The notion had crossed her mind more than once, although in every scenario it wasn’t Noah, this stranger, that had given her a ring, instead it was the man that was sitting in front of her that she’d imagined. The one who with a sigh, leans over to strap her in.

“Nice rock,” he jokes, glancing over at the ring, grabbing the strap from that side. “You’re really getting into these costumes,” he says with a laugh, his fingers brushing against her ribs.

Flexing her hand to look down at the diamond adorning her finger, she finds herself pursing her lips with a tilt of her head, almost reluctant in admitting this piece of information to him, but curious how he’d react.

“No, apparently, I’m engaged,” she reveals, almost phrasing it as a question, still unsure of how exactly she’d managed to pull herself together enough to be able to function in a relationship serious enough for marriage after what happened.

Wyatt stills at the confession, momentarily abandoning the task of buckling her in, and stares at her with shock and almost a flash of disappointment sulking on his face.

“To who?” He grits out, his disapproval evident in his tone.

“Exactly. His name is Noah. I’ve never met him before, but there’s all these pictures of us at the beach that I have no memory of.”

“You hate the beach…” Wyatt says, she assumes out of habit. The list of things he knows about her are extensive, one of which being that she doesn’t care for the beach. She’s always preferred something more cultural, a city to explore and discover. The water only furthering her hesitance to spend any amount of time around the ocean.

“Apparently, there’s a version of me that doesn’t, and she got engaged…to Noah,” she frustratingly admits, as Wyatt resumes his task, spinning her this way and that to make sure she was safe.

“You gonna take his name or are you gonna keep yours?” He jokes, focusing on the buckles, before peeking up at her with a half grin, those blue eyes revealing more than just jealousy playing with his emotions, because she swears she sees regret floating in there somewhere too. The fact that there was a point in her life when she thought she’d be a Logan plays heavily on her mind.

“I don’t even know his last name,” she replies matter of factly, putting on white gloves, hoping to hide the ring from prying eyes.

Wyatt plays like he doesn’t care, but if there’s one thing she knows, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t ask.

“Well, look on the bright side…”

“There’s a bright side?” She pessimistically wonders, eyes wide.

“You still have the honeymoon to look forward to. He’ll probably taking you to a beach,” Wyatt says with a wink, like the idea that he knows more about her than her fiancé is something he takes pride in.

“Plus, you get to go to Vegas,” Rufus chimes in, like the city of impromptu elopements was exactly where she wanted to go at the moment.

xxxxx

She’d spent the rest of the weekend rewriting her history paper, and playing over conversations in her mind of what she was going to say to Wyatt come Monday. A script of sorts playing in her head, a plan.

All of which had flown out the window as the minutes ticked by. While irritation and anger competed against each other, at the forefront was dsiappointment leading the race.

She attempts to start her homework without him, but she’s too distracted, and finds herself checking her watch every five seconds. That is until she looks up to see Jessica hanging around one of the stacks, glancing back at her with her friend.

Lucy tries not to make eye contact, the girl having never once said a word to her despite meeting Wyatt nearly every day after their sessions.

“Who’s that?” Jessica’s friend asks loudly, motioning with her eyes towards Lucy, which has Lucy herself ducking her head, pretending to write, so as to not to appear to be eavesdropping, even though they were speaking loudly.

“Oh, she’s just a tutor,” Jessica dismissively replies, and although Lucy doesn’t know this girl, she can’t help but feel every insecurity rear its ugly head. Straightening her back momentarily before slumping forward, her resolve threatens to crack.

Lucy had always acknowledged that she was something of a nerd. She wasn’t naive in thinking that loving history and musicals, staying in to study for a test over going to a party made her cool. But she’d always had a group of friends that at the very least made her feel she wasn’t alone, contentedly self-confident in who she was. Here, she found herself struggling, lost in the crowd, shunned by most, the comment just another reminder that that all she was to everyone, who she was to Wyatt, was just a tutor. A nerd.

Suddenly, the idea of sitting around waiting for a guy who hadn’t given her a second thought, who found her so insignificant that he just completely stood her up, seemed absurd.

xxxxx

“Saving history is your job. Mine is Flynn,” Wyatt shoots at Lucy in the crowded casino. His authoritative tone only making her want to stand her ground even more.

“So you’re calling the shots now? No debate?” She questions, not sure when he thought he was put in charge, but she was about to check him right into place.

“No, there’s no debate,” he argues, and she narrows her eyes.

“You do remember what club I was apart of in school, right?”

“Oh, I remember,” he argues with a jerk of his head, like he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Their fights never lasted long, but they always ended with Wyatt admitting he was wrong, with her stubbornly unable to stay mad for too long.

The interruption of Rufus with uniforms to sneak into the show, ending the argument, for now.

“Really?” Lucy exclaims, holding up what had to be one of the skimpiest looking uniforms that existed in that casino. It looked more like lingerie than something she was meant to work in. It somehow managed to be both low cut and practically non-existent on the bottom. “You couldn’t have found me a thong?” She asks, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Wyatt bends at the side, closely examining the uniform, as Rufus defends his choice.

“I didn’t invent Vegas.”

“Well, go back and invent me a waitress uniform,” she says, folding up the garment and handing it back to him.

The shit eating grin plastered on Wyatt’s face is enough to have her shooting him the same look she’d given Rufus.

“What?” She barks at him. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen.”

He just shrugs, the grin refusing to leave, his eyes roaming over her at the suggestion of the past.

“I didn’t say anything,” he defends himself, holding up his hands. “But glad you remember,” and she finds herself turning away from him at that, waiting for Rufus to return.

xxxxx

Lucy waits until the girls have walked away before standing to gather her things, the tears building, leaving her vision blurry. She nearly throws her history book into her bag in her rush to get out of there.

Of course, just as zips up her bag, she sees him.

“Lucy,” he says, eyes bloodshot, as if he’s been up all night, exhaustion wearing on every part of him.

She chooses to ignore him, as she’s past the point of curiosity or excuses and just wants to go home.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I…”

“I don’t care,” she says, throwing her bag over her shoulder and moving to leave.

“Wait, Lucy, come on,” he pleads, trailing after her through the library.

Suddenly, she whirls around, nearly causing him to slam into her, his face taken aback at her change of direction. Her curls bounce in the movement, a few tendrils coming to land in her face, her hand pushing them back in frustration.

“Do you think this is a game?” She asks, her brow furrowed together, her voice shaking, and she knows he can see the well of tears in her eyes.

“What are you talking about? I’ve been late once, it’s not a big deal,” he tries to reason.

“Maybe not to you, but it is to me,” she gets out, thinking of all the ways he had made her think that maybe she was more than how everyone else saw her, only to quickly sink back into herself, chastising the notion that this was more than it was.

As she turns to leave, she can’t help but see the confused look on his face.

“You’re wrong,” she hears him say, but she continues to walk away, finally allowing her tears to fall.

xxxxx

The door slams in Lucy’s face, Judith Campbell the least of all pleased with her and the team for essentially kidnapping her.

“She’s hiding something,” Wyatt points out, the explanation of who exactly she’s a mistress for doing nothing but seemingly agitating him further. For some reason, he seemed to have a one track mind this mission, and his reluctance to have a conversation about what to do, seemed to only lead to more debate, as she refused to go along.

Usually she was the stubborn one, he reckless, but today it’s as if he’s vying for her position.

Kicking down the door he drags Judith out of the bathroom, her escape thwarted.

“If I have to tie you up,” he threatens, and Lucy jumps in, shooting him a look of disbelief.

“He is not going to tie you up,” she tries to reason.

“Oh, the hell I won’t,” he says, leaning down to make sure Lucy sees how serious he is.

She narrows her eyes at him, unimpressed with his attitude.

What was his problem today?

“Excuse me?” Lucy says, punctuating the words with her hands flying in front of her to make sure he was listening.

He turns from her then, as if not wanting to see how irrationally he was acting, with no need to be stopped by her.

“This guys knows things about me. Personal things that are none of your damn business,” Judith adds, her voice rising.

“Oh what, like screwing JFK?” Wyatt throws out, no regard to the sensitivity of the situation.

“Wyatt,” Lucy hisses, completely thrown by his behavior. “Stop it!”

He turns towards her, leaning so their faces are at the same level, his eyes swirling, as her’s burn. Fire and ice.

“I’m sorry, we cannot play coy anymore.”

She steps closer to him still, his breath erratically hitting her face, his frustration coming off of him in waves.

“Go in the other room,” she sternly whispers. “Please,” she adds, a plea for them to get this right.

With a huff, he angrily makes his way to the other room.

She gives an awkward smile at Judith, Rufus slinking to the window, not wanting to be apart of whatever spat was happening between the two of them.

The tension eventually dies down in the room, the electric energy having vacated with Wyatt.

“Water?” She offers Judith, who shoots her down.

“So, you and brooding blue eyes in the next room,” she broaches. “You sleeping with him?” Lucy nearly chokes on her water, having not expected the question. She can hear a snicker from Rufus by the window.

“What? Um, no, no, we’re not…no, not sleeping together,” she gets out in likely the most awkward way that suggests that while she was not currently sleeping with hi, she wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. She felt she was constantly wavering back and forth with every exchange she had with Wyatt. There was a part of her that was still holding on to what had happened before, and just as she began to warm to the idea of him being around again, they start fighting.

“Well, he could use it. He’s wound pretty tight,” she observes, effectively sending Rufus out of the room.

Adjusting her hair, Lucy sits, now that everyone was gone and it was just the two of them.

“We uhh, we used to…”

“Sleep together?” Judith offers.

“Yeah…but it umm, it didn’t work out,” she says, staring into her water with a sad smile.

“Hmm, I can’t imagine why,” Judith says with a twitch of her eye.

“He’s not…he’s not usually like that,” she tries to defend him.

“A man who acts irrationally like that,” Judith explains, gesturing to the next room. “It’s because he thinks he’s got nothing to lose.”

xxxxx

“You heading to lunch?” The question seemingly coming out of nowhere. Lucy looks around to find Luke, from her mom’s get together, attempting to catch up with her. Apparently, he hadn’t been deterred by her quick departure the other night.

He keeps in stride with her as she makes her way through the hallway. She’s never much minded enclosed spaces, in fact she almost found comfort in the walls being so close, as if keeping her safe. But as she pushes through the throng of people milling about in the hallway, she can’t help but feel the tiniest bit claustrophobic.

Gripping the straps of her backpack, she turns to look at the guy who’d just asked her a question.

“Umm, yeah,” she awkwardly shrugs, not sure what to say. She’s tired, having spent the night curled up in bed dredging up every embarrassing moment she could, emotionally torturing herself, and when she felt like she’d had enough, she’d started in specifically on the moments involving Wyatt.

“Hey, have you started on that Hamlet assignment, because I don’t get it,” he asks, pushing through the doors to the cafeteria, getting her attention.

At her old school, she’d always brought her lunch, bypassing the line, and ate outside with a few of her friends. The overcast sky having always offered them an excuse to pull their sweaters a bit tighter, their boots a fashion accessory that could last the whole year as the fog hovered above.

Here, however, to venture outside to eat was just asking for you to show up to your next class completely soaked and sunburned. Which left her with limited options, usually choosing to bring her own lunch, finding a seat in the back, her company whatever new book she was currently reading, as she quietly ate her lunch.

“Umm, yeah, I have, actually,” she responds, and he smiles at her. He seems nice enough. Cute in a goofy kind of way. She’s not sure she wants to act as a tutor to someone else, further cementing her title as exactly what Jessica had referred to her as, but he’s the first person to speak to her on his own volition, so she finds herself smiling back.

“Do you think we could go over it?” He asks, and she nods, as she takes her seat at her usual table, and he takes off to get in line for his food. She finds she’s only slightly disappointed that her company wouldn’t consist of fictional characters.

Pulling out the folder with the assignment, and her sack lunch, she notices that her journal is missing from it usual spot. She hadn’t taken it out at home the night before, but now, somehow, it was missing. The panic begins to rise in her chest, and she quickly takes everything out of the bag, looking in the dark, empty space with no journal in sight.

“No, no, no,” she mutters to herself, trying to think of where she could’ve left it.

Distracted, she doesn’t look up when someone sits down next to her, expecting it to be Luke. But she finds herself gasping with relief when she sees her journal appear in front of her, only to feel dread sink in when she sees the hand attached belongs to Wyatt.

“Looking for this?” He asks with a sad smile.

She quickly takes the pages into her hands, as if they’d reveal where they’d been and who had breeched their spine to read.

“Where did you…” she trails off.

“You left it in the library yesterday,” he explains, but she knows he can still read the panic on her face. The idea of him having read what she’d written, about her life, about him. The blush of embarrassment already heats her face.

“I didn’t read it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he replies, and she expects a smirk, but he’s serious.

She narrows her eyes at him, not sure if she can trust him.

“You really think I’m that terrible?” He asks her, and while she’s still mad at him, the sincerity staring her in the eye suggests that not only was he telling her the truth, but that the thought of someone invading her privacy like that made him angry for her.

“No,” she concedes with a sigh. A shy quirk of her lips telling him that while he wasn’t off the hook, she did believe him. “Thanks,” she says, holding up the book before safely tucking it into her bag.

He quietly nods, curiously glancing to his side.

“Friend of yours?” Her brown eyes flash up to see who he’s referring to.

“What?” She asks, confused by his question.

Wyatt gestures to Luke, who’s giving side-long glances at them from the line against the wall.

“Why? You jealous?” she teases, popping a grape into her mouth, and she swears she can see him shakily follow the movement of her lips with a grin that sends her right back to that car, the gentle whisper of his fingers against her torso.

He doesn’t bite back a smile at this, reaching over and grabbing a grape from the bag, before popping it into his own mouth, his hair hanging over into his eyes, as if begging for her to push it aside to see the blue staring back at her. Her hands unconsciously move into fists to resist the urge.

“No, I…just…his name his Luke,” he says, as if that were explanation enough, no jealousy required.

“And…” Lucy ventures with a raise of her brow.

“Well, if you two get married, you’ll practically have the same name…Luke…Lucy,” he says, and she snorts with laughter.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Logan,” she jokes, emphasizing the L in his name, nearly rolling her eyes at how not jealous he is.

xxxxx

“I need a word,” Lucy says, an argument having broken out again, as soon as Wyatt had entered back into room with a reckless plan for Judith.

He’s left with no choice but to follow Lucy into the next room over, but heels dug in, and unwilling to budge from his stance.

“We can’t risk this. She’s too important to history,” Lucy pleads, her eyes wide with conviction.

He steps towards her, as if holding himself back, but she doesn’t flinch from her position.

“I cannot do my job boxed in like this, worried about knocking over a salt shaker and somehow changing history,” he says, his face contorted in something resembling anger, but she can tell there’s more than that lingering behind the mask he’s choosing to wear.

She straightens, unsure of what he’s trying to convince her of. She’s more than aware how easily history can change - the vanishing of her sister, the diamond planted on her hand, and that’s just in the last few days. The shifting of the present had been something that she’d had to accept several times over in her life, waking up one morning to everything she’d planned suddenly ripped from her, forced to adjust to a new reality.

“This is not a game,” she warns, and she knows he can tell it’s not just this history that she’s talking about. The one surrounding them also precariously in flux as they navigate their situation, floating pieces, unsure of where they fit.

“I agree,” he admits, like a ghost of his past staring back at him. “Which is why if I have a shot to take out Flynn, I’m gonna take it, whether I have to do that alone or not.”

Going head to head with him, she leans forward so he can hear her in their hushed whispers.

“I don’t take orders, Wyatt. I’m not a soldier,” she sneers. “That was your choice, not mine. You’re not taking her.”

With a shake of his head at her confession, he gathers his jacket off the bed, leaving her standing there, blatantly ignoring her argument.

xxxxx

“What are you doing here, anyway?” She asks, popping another grape into her mouth, not quite ready to forgive him for yesterday, but unsure as to how he was sitting next to her right now. They usually had different lunches.

“Showed up late,” he says with a shrug, and a grimace of pain briefly flashes over his face at the movement, so quick she’s almost not sure she saw it, before his lips settle into that grin she can’t stop seeing even when she closes her eyes. “Figured I might as well eat before heading to class.”

“You don’t even have any food,” she quips back, finding him with only a coffee cup sitting in front of him, but wanting to make it clear in her tone that she didn’t support him skipping class. Although it did comfort her to know it wasn’t just her he managed to show up late for.

“And yet,” he says grabbing another grape. “I seem to be eating,” he finishes with a wink.

“You seriously skipped class to eat with me?” She asks before she can catch her words, the urge to kick herself never more present, as he so easily picks up on her distinction, one he hadn’t made. She hates how easily she seems to fall into his charm, unable to stay mad at him.

“Oh, no. I didn’t know you were in this lunch.”

“Oh,” she says, her cheeks lighting up in a blush. “Right, of course, you were just…”

“I’m kidding, Lucy,” he says with a smirk, which in turns causes her to give off a laugh, a big toothy grin playing on her lips, that catches his attention, lighting up his blue eyes to a color she’d have to identify later.

He slides his cup in front of her, and she scrunches her nose, to which he laughs.

“It’s tea,” he says. “Consider it a peace offering.”

Lucy tries to hold the shock from her face. Taking a sip from the cup, she finds it’s not just tea, but her favorite, chai. She can’t believe that he remembered. It had been an offhand comment she’d made one time during one of their sessions. And here he was, discernibly showing her that he was trying, that he wanted to know her.

“Look, about yesterday,” he starts, and she finds herself holding her breath for what he’s about to say. “I didn’t mean to be late, and had I known, I would’ve found a way to let you know. I uhh, I wasn’t even at school, I just came in to turn in my history paper and went to the library right after. I’m sorry.”

She wants to stay mad at him, to shield herself from his charm, ward off any feelings she had begun to harbor for the guy in front of her. But she can’t. Her hands warm underneath the heat of the tea, tingling her fingers.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t…I was having a bad day, and I heard something, and it just set me off, and…I took it out on you, so I’m sorry,” she says, running her warm fingers through her hair, pushing her curls to one side.

“Hmm, and what exactly did you hear?” He asks, grabbing another grape, but not immediately putting into his mouth. He rolls it around between his fingers, trepidation in his actions for what it was that she heard, almost like he expected it to be about him.

She wants to tell him, but a part of her knows that badmouthing Jessica probably wouldn’t go over well, and she doesn’t want to put them right back where they had been yesterday - an insecure feeling bubbles up inside of her.

She was just a tutor.

“It’s not important,” she dismissively answers, looking down, examining her own food.

He opens his mouth to respond when Luke walks up holding his lunch.

xxxxx

Watching Wyatt walk off, defeated from the betrayal of Judith, shoulders slumped, hand coming to touch where he had been hit, she can’t help but feel bad for him, despite being right about the situation. She holds back her I told you so, and instead follows after him down to the lobby of the hotel.

She sees him standing against the counter, dictating a telegraph. Quietly, and carefully in her heels, she walks up behind him, wondering what it is he’s doing, exactly.

“…and know that you love her more than anything,” she overhears, stopping her dead in her tracks. The realization of what he must be doing leaves her breathless, her hand tingling as she silently holds her breath. Tears spring to her eyes, and she wiggles her fingers, her nails digging into her palms.

When he turns, he finds her standing there, having heard what he said, although he can’t be sure just how much.

He looks broken,the telegraph a last ditch effort to get back to a time he was happier. His face creases, still young, but different than the last time she was able to trace over every line when he smiled, when he cried. The worry lines more frequent, creased from events she knew nothing about.

“It worked in Back to the Future 2,” he shrugs, trying to play off the seriousness of the situation.

“Wyatt,” she calls out to him, as she tries to brush by her. Stopping, he turns to face her.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets, shielding himself from her.

“No, you don’t,” she tries, because even back when they were inseparable, he’d laugh at how often she surprised him, despite knowing her so well. “I get it.”

“Do you?” His gravely voice shaking at her admittance.

“Yeah, I would do anything to get my sister back, so I get it, you want to change things to stay with Jessica,” she explains, attempting to keep the flinch away from her face at having to admit it wasn’t her that he was fighting so hard for.

He gives a soft laugh, shaking his head at her, like this wasn’t ever how he pictured things going down. But in that moment, her heart clenches, even surely, as here as they are now, she knows that the pain of what happened still left her with a fragile heart, fractured but never healed.

“Look, about before, I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your job to keep history the way it’s meant to be,” he explains. And she nods, unsure of where he’s going with this apology. “But I don’t believe in meant to be or fate, Luce. Not in the way you do. Because if that were the case…” and he pauses, as she swallows the truth of his statement.

“You’d still be with her,” she finishes for him, refusing to accept his belief.

“It’s all just dumb luck and random chance, Lucy,” his eyes say, searching her’s as if they hold the answer to a solution he can’t come up with.

She brings her lip between her teeth, listening to him essentially say that everything that had ever occurred between them was nothing more than happenstance, a roll of the dice. It’s no wonder they ended up where they did. Where she saw it as a second chance, he was telling her that it was a coincidence, one he didn’t care for.

She opens her mouth, searching for the right words to tell him that what they were was fate, was something that had shaped their entire lives, leaving them to meet again all these years later, but Rufus interrupts, leaving her to swallow her confession.

xxxxx

“Wyatt, I didn’t think you were in this lunch,” Luke says, taking a seat on Lucy’s other side, so she’s sandwiched between them both.

“I’m not,” he answers, offering no further explanation, but she can see the clench of his jaw.

“Wyatt was just returning something of mine,” she explains, trying to break up the awkwardness, which seems to have the opposite effect judging by Luke’s affronted look and the smirk playing across Wyatt’s face.

“Mr. Logan,” says a man Lucy recognizes to be the P\principal. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He asks, and she’s grateful that while she can see Wyatt’s blue eyes roll, his back is faced toward the stern looking man.

Turning around in his seat with an impish grin, he plasters on a fake smile if she ever saw one.

“I was just heading there now,” he says, in a tone that suggests he was placating him and everyone knew it.

“I suggest you get there,” he says. “You don’t have any strikes left,” he warns, as if suggesting that Wyatt is here on borrowed time. This has Wyatt’s hand coming to the back of his neck, and she can see the stress wearing on him, a slight redness to his cheeks, almost like he was embarrassed that she was hearing any of this.

Lucy can see the satisfied smile on Luke’s face at Wyatt’s reprimanding, only to quickly slip when Wyatt stands.

“I should get to class,” he says, like the thought just occurred to him. His hand leans against the table, his eyes closing as if steadying himself, before leaning down, and she swears he grits his teeth as if in pain for a second. “I’ll see you after school, Lucy,” he says, leaving no question as to whether he was going to show up. “Promise,” he whispers, his hand dancing over her own in his path to grab one more grape.

She sees him chew, gleaming back at her as he’s escorted to class by the principal.

“Are you hooking up with that guy?” Luke asks, and Lucy’s eyes go wide, not having expected that question.

“What? No,” she answers quickly, hoping her curls hide the better part of her blush at the idea of her and Wyatt doing anything like that, although she can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed her mind. There’s been many a night where Wyatt stars in her dreams, only to banish the feel of his hands from her thoughts the next morning, refusing to give weight to an idea so absurd. But then she wonders, what were others picking up on that perhaps she was too blind to see.

She chances a glance over at Luke, who seems like he doesn’t quite believe her answer. “I’m…just his tutor,” she explains, taking another sip of her tea.

xxxxx

A shiver runs through Lucy’s body, having her crossing her arms around herself. She purposely walks one foot in front of the other, slowing down the process of undressing and heading home.

She ends up stumbling onto Wyatt, apparently doing the same, sitting on a chair, still dressed in his 60s attire.

“Hey,” she says, unsure of where they stand at the moment, but unwilling or incapable of staying away.

He looks up at her, a deep sigh ready in his chest.

“Did your telegram work?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“It was a long shot.”

Sitting down next to him, uncrossing her arms, she leans over, her hands lacing together.

“Heading home to your fiancé?” He asks, the glittering ring hitting them both in the face.

“Something like that,” she offers. “I had several missed texts from him,” she says, raising her brow as if she expected Noah to somehow disappear when she came back. Judging by the clench of Wyatt’s jaw, he was apparently hoping for the same.

Suddenly, he stands, and she finds herself peeking up at him through her dark lashes.

“You know, I umm, I never used to picture my wedding,” she confesses.

He lets out a puff of air, like her words were sharpened, ready to aim right at his heart.

“No?”

“No,” she murmurs. “I used to picture being married,” she sighs, pursing her lips. “Knowing that someone loved me enough to choose me every single day, and that I felt the same,” she finishes with a laugh. “Stupid, I know.” And although she laughs, she finds herself swallowing back tears.

“Not stupid,” Wyatt whispers. “You deserve that.”

Looking up at him, she knows he means it.

“So what you’re saying is I should probably find out Noah’s last name, huh?” She teases, and he reaches for her hand, his touch feeling a bit like coming home, more so than she had felt in years, certainly more than the last few days. Pulling her up, he attempts to release her hand, but their fingertips grip each other, until slowly sliding away.

“You know how I feel about names,” he says with knowing smile, as they walk together to find their every day clothes.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Logan.”

xxxxx

A/N:

OMGOODNESS, Y’ALL, WE’RE GETTING MORE TIMELESS! when i had said last time that i was hoping to write these chapters as we waited for news, i never expected it to come this quickly. so crazy. and let me tell you, while i’m never going to stop fighting for another season, i’m super pumped for this movie. my lyatt loving heart is prepared to melt twice with double the lyatt.

anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter. please, please, leave a review/comment, they are sometimes the only thing that encourages me to actually sit down and write, so they’re much appreciated.

thank you, thank you!

#lyatt #lucy preston #wyatt logan #timeless #lyatt fanfic

73 notes · View notes