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mockingjayne12 · 6 years

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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

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