a/n : this fic is the product of a little plot bunny in my head + a dialogue prompt that the super cool people at timeless-fanfic-prompts on tumblr reblogged a little while back ("Feelings suck, man"). Don't own the show or any of it's characters. Hope you all enjoy it :)

It's been a hell of a week.

Monday's jump had started with a literal bang when the three of them experienced a dodgy run-in with a riotous gang of thieves and deadbeats. From there it had been a seemingly endless barrage of red herrings as they searched for Emma in the dingy alleyways of 1956 Harlem, and the day had ended with Wyatt getting shoved through a plate glass window and landing flat on his ass in the street below. The only bright spot in his day had been watching Rufus and Lucy break out into a somewhat off-key version of a West Side Story duet, each of them reenacting the number with ridiculous enthusiasm and acting equally horrified once Wyatt confessed that he wasn't overly familiar with their source of inspiration.

Less that 12 hours later - after Wyatt, at Lucy's insistence, had fallen asleep on the couch to the musical torture that was West Side Story - they were buckling into the Lifeboat again, headed for a destination that was far more obscure and dismal, not to mention a good fifty degrees colder, than their last location. Lucy was in a tizzy the whole time, horrified for what kind of havoc Emma might bring upon the early construction of Fort Clatsop, Lewis and Clark's struggling encampment positioned in the northern tip of Oregon. The bleak landscape of the West Coast in the early 1800s was no one's idea of fun, so when the unyielding gust of snow swept in and formed an unfathomable barrier between them and the Lifeboat, things got a little ugly. With Lucy shivering uncontrollably for hours on end and Rufus sneezing and sniffling every six seconds, Wyatt quickly hit his limit of helplessness and ventured out into the white-walled squall against the pleading disapproval of his teammates.

And yeah, much as they had predicted, that move turned out to be a mistake...a big mistake.

So once he'd eventually dragged his frozen ass back to their flimsy bit of shelter - after getting turned around in the wrong direction too many times to count - they had to wait out the blizzard for another two days before they could make the journey back to the time machine. Two miserably long days of Lucy lecturing him endlessly on the topic of inflated male ago and the dangers of frostbite, but truthfully, he couldn't bring himself to actually be annoyed with her. Not when there was a persistent shadow of fear darkening her eyes as she followed his every move, like as if she so much as blinked, the blizzard might snatch him up again and not bring him back a second time.

Rufus had taken off immediately once they were finally back at Mason Industries, claiming an insatiable need for the modern gift of NyQuil and a long winter's nap - even though it was currently the dead of summer in present-day San Francisco - but Wyatt had naturally assumed that his real insatiable need was for something else...or more accurately, someone else. Who wouldn't want to run straight into the arms of their significant other after being trapped in a barren winter tundra for the better part of three days?

That seemingly innocent thought had set off a fascinating chain reaction inside of Wyatt, his gaze sliding sideways to covertly examine Lucy before he even realized what he was doing. She was hunched over her laptop in the nearest conference room, her shoulders shaking with an irrepressible chill, presumably a leftover souvenir from their time at Fort Clatsop. His heart lurched in reply and his feet were already in motion, a plan forming in his head as he moved toward her. He'd drag her out to the most sun-soaked spot in the city and force her to drink a countless number of hot beverages until she couldn't even remember what cold felt like, and then maybe after that they could -

But then his phone had chimed from inside of his pocket, and everything else was instantly put on hold.

The number coming across the screen was unfamiliar, but he recognized the area code at once. The call was coming in from West Texas and Wyatt's throat had almost closed up entirely at the sight of it.

His Grandpa Sherwin has been gone for several years, and his mother had passed away even earlier. Jess' family had moved further east after her death, unable to live in a town where they'd be confronted with the memory of their lost daughter everywhere they looked, not that they made a habit of calling Wyatt anyway. He was forever tied to the tragedy of Jessica's death, and he's the first to understand why they might not ever be able to ever look past that.

So before he'd even answered the call, he realized that there was one final link between him and his home state, and damn it if that didn't still make him sick to his stomach even after all this time had passed. That world class son of a bitch must be calling him for a favor, a lousy request for money, legal help, or God only knows what else. Wyatt had slunk off to a private corner of the facility and prayed for anyone else to be on the other end of the line even though he'd known otherwise.

When he'd disconnected the call several minutes later, it had been with a weary sigh of relief. The old man was drunk off his ass and angrier than ever, same old same old, but that's nothing Wyatt couldn't fix. His father's new number was blocked and deleted from the call log as fast as his fingers could snap into motion.

But the damn apple doesn't fall far from the damn tree, so he'd quietly informed Lucy that he was heading home with a promise to leave the hall light on for her. She'd nodded, a telltale crease forming between her eyebrows, but hadn't pushed. Wyatt had locked himself away in his bedroom that night and drank more Jameson than he's allowed himself in quite some time. It had probably been his first real bender since that initial call to report to Mason Industries, but the memory of meeting Lucy that night had threatened to open another can of worms, so he'd swallowed it away with another dash of warm amber liquid and welcomed the dulling blankness that followed.

Thankfully there had been no call from Agent Christopher that night, or any Emma-related activity for the rest of the next day. Lucy eyes him cautiously from her corner of the couch when he finally emerges from the darkened cave of his room well past noon. They don't discuss his shit-faced scowl or bloodshot eyes, but she does offer to make a batch of pancakes and he simply nods gratefully in response before stumbling toward the coffee pot.

He suspects that Lucy had reached out to Rufus at some point that morning - or afternoon, rather - with news of Wyatt's pitiful condition, but he's got no proof of their exchange. Either way, the invitation pings through as a group message between the three of them later that day - Game night and drinks at my place? Jiya is at a family thing and I'm bored.

Wyatt accepts without hesitation. Not only does he enjoy hanging out with Rufus in their free time, but the third member of the team makes for a very effective buffer when Wyatt's brain starts to go haywire with the unavoidable delusions of what he and Lucy could be doing inside of his small one-bedroom apartment if he'd just let himself act on his physical impulses. There's just something about a post-hangover stupor that has him craving her even more than usual, but he's sure that this is not the right moment to cross that line.

So he gratefully takes the bait and throws himself into the prospect for some uncomplicated time with his friends and a bit of fresh air. It also helps to assume the responsibility of getting Lucy to and from Rufus and Jiya's place without incident, a task that always manages to snap him out of a self-destructive frame of mind. After suffering the aftereffects of last night's whiskey binge, he's practically flinging himself into the role of designated driver this evening.

As it turns out, however, it's been less than half an hour since Rufus greeted them at the door and Lucy is already passed out on the couch, officially dead to the world without ingesting more than a sip of alcohol.

"I don't think she slept at all in Oregon," Rufus says with a sad smile. "She was shivering too hard to relax. Must have woken herself right back up every time she could close her eyes."

Wyatt stares down at her, his gut twisting as he realizes the likely ripple effects of his actions last night. Drinking that much whiskey had undoubtedly made him numb and ineffective, meaning there's no way he would have stirred if she'd been tormented by her usual round of grisly nightmares. It's not a nightly occurrence by any means, but the bad dreams do tend to rear their ugly head every time she comes back from a particularly unpleasant jump, probably the result of bottling up too much stress while they're on the job. Once she's crashed for a few hours, the scenes play out in her head without reprieve. She relives the worst of their close brushes with death, imagines confrontations with her mother or Emma, finds herself in that same car accident from years ago, or Wyatt's least favorite of all, has visions of permanently losing him or Rufus...or both of them at once.

He must be wearing his guilt plainly across his face, because Rufus startles him with a clap on the back and a cheerful reassurance. "She'll be fine, just let her sleep. C'mon, I really didn't want to lose another game of Trivial Pursuit anyway...did you?"

That brings a half-smile to Wyatt's face as he recalls the ruthlessness of Lucy's victory over them the last time they had agreed to play with her. "No, that was brutal."

"Agreed. Guess it's guys night now, and you know what that means."

Rufus is off to cue up the TV along with one of his many game systems, but Wyatt still struggles to leave Lucy's side. Her face is smooth with the solace of sleep, seemingly untroubled - for now - by any of the dark ghosts that live in her subconscious.

He knows Rufus will soon take notice of the way he's weirdly rooted to this spot, so he backs away reluctantly, suddenly wishing that he had never agreed to come over. Now all he wants to do is to curl up against her and hold her while she sleeps, but that is so not how they behave in the presence of additional company. Hell, they don't even do that when they're alone unless she's already fighting through the grips of a nightmare, which is not the case at the moment.

In short, he's totally losing his mind and needs to get his shit together pronto.

Wyatt throws himself into the blur of color and motion that dominates the TV screen, glad for the distraction of shooting fake guns for a fake mission that feels absolutely nothing like the real thing.

The first one is so quiet, so subdued, that he thinks he must have imagined it. Sometimes his brain can be a real bastard like that, constantly manufacturing false alarms and worst case scenarios when everything is perfectly fine. Life - and love, if that applies here - has not been one to treat him too kindly. The byproduct is an overactive sense of dread, an inclination for anticipating trouble which really kicks into gear far too often now that he's surrounded by people that he actually cares about for the first time in far too long.

But then he hears it again. It's a soft whine, high in pitch and all-too-familiar as of late.

Wyatt glances over at Rufus, but his face is screwed up in utter concentration as his fingers fly over the controller with uncanny hyper-speed, totally oblivious to the noise that's emanating from behind them.

"Dude, did you see that?! That son of a zombie bitch went down hard."

"Um, yeah," Wyatt mumbles, his head twitching to the side, straining to listen for another sign of her distress over the roaring commotion of the video game. "Good one."

Rufus lets out another whoop of satisfaction as he fires away at another crop of zombies. "Take that, suckas."

Wyatt attempts to cover Rufus' back as their players enter a new room on the screen, but his efforts are sloppy and unfocused. His thumbs move in an automatic rhythm across the buttons, but his head isn't in it anymore. He can't stop thinking about Lucy, and it's only a matter of time before Rufus -

"What the hell, Wyatt? That one was totally yours!"

...only a matter of time before Rufus calls him on it.

"Sorry, man."

"You're the one with years of real military experience, right? Because it's a little disconcerting that the guy who gets paid to save my life on a regular basis can't even clear his corners in an animated zombie apocalypse."

Wyatt opens his mouth to brush off the grumbling criticism, but then he catches another fragment of that agonizing sound for the third time and he's completely over it. The game can wait. "It's Lucy."

"Huh? What do you mean it's - " Rufus cuts himself off as Wyatt abruptly drops the controller to the floor and stands up, " - whoa, where are you going? We just got to this level."

"She's having a nightmare," he mutters, already crossing the room and perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of her before Rufus can protest further.

Just as he suspects, Lucy's face is warped with severe lines of anguish and she's trembling from beneath the quilt that Rufus had thrown over her earlier. Her long legs are huddled up against her torso as if she's trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible. Wyatt leans closer and starts rubbing her back in slow, even strokes. She whimpers again, her brows scrunching together as she folds further into herself.

Rufus looms over the couch, his words falling around them with unconcealed awe. "Bro, that is some type of freaky sixth sense you have there. How did you just know?"

"How did you not? It doesn't count as having a sixth sense if you're within hearing range, Rufus."

"Uh huh, sure," he returns with a cluck of his tongue. "Then explain how I was sitting right next to you and had no clue."

"You just don't know what to listen for," he says absently, his forehead ruffling when another tremor darts through Lucy's slight body.

Rufus makes a noise that's suspiciously close to a barely-contained laugh. "Right. That must be it. I'm just not as attuned to Lucy's needs as you are..."

Wyatt glares up at him, the blatant innuendo of that statement hanging heavily between them. He's spared from having to defend himself when Lucy unconsciously slurs a few panicked words together before kicking weakly against the blanket, and Wyatt doesn't think twice. He bends lower until his mouth is less than an inch from her ear, his hand kneading gently between her shoulder blades. "Shhh, it's okay, Lucy. It's okay. You're alright, it's just a dream."

The tension in her spine melts away after a beat, and her puckered expression softens shortly thereafter, the worry lines unfurling bit by bit as she relaxes into the couch cushions once more. He continues to run his hand up and down her back, watching intently until her head droops soundly against the pillow and her breathing evens out again.

It's only then that he remembers that Rufus is still there. He towers above the coffee table, standing there with his arms crossed and an irritating grin stretched broadly over his face. "Well if that wasn't the cutest thing I've ever seen..."

"Can it," Wyatt says sternly, rising to his feet and pointedly avoiding his friend's gaze.

"So not happening, man," he laughs in reply, stepping into Wyatt's path and blocking him from scooting back around the table. "You didn't even have to wake her up. She went right back to sleeping peacefully just knowing that you were there. I don't know about you, but that's giving me some serious feels."

"You know I hate it when you talk like that."

That statement only serves to brighten his smile even further. "You know what I hate? When two people who are obviously perfect for each other won't do anything about it."

Wyatt scoffs and cocks his head to the side. "Remind me again, Mr. Casanova...you and Jiya knew each other for how long before you made a move?"

If he really thought that would take Rufus down a peg or two, it doesn't work. He barks out another laugh, his head reeling backward before he can compose himself. "Even better than I expected. You're not denying that I'm right and you're comparing yourself to an actual established couple. Amazing."

"I don't have to justify anything to you. I know you're full of shit, but there's no use in telling you that."

"Mhmm, sure, I'm the one who's full of shit." Rufus nods down at Lucy, taking in her serene features with a smug look. "This little arrangement of yours must be working out pretty nicely, huh?"

"Oh yeah, it's really something," Wyatt responds dryly. "Did I tell you that she rearranged all of my DVDs about five seconds after she moved in, first by genre, and then alphabetically once they were set up in their 'proper' sections? That was right before she insulted my 'cheap coffee selection' and insisted that there's a funky smell coming from the hall closet. I trip over a stack of her books at least three times a day, and based on her recent inspection of my kitchen, I have a bad feeling that there's going to be a chore list posted on the fridge by the end of the week."

Rufus is still shaking with laughter for reasons that Wyatt can't even begin to understand. "And so between all the cranky married couple behavior, you've also become the expert at anticipating her every move and chasing away the nightmares each night?"

"Come on, Rufus," he sighs, dropping the snarky tone and shifting fully into weary exasperation. "What kind of asshole do you take me for? She has bad dreams all the time, which is really no surprise with everything she's been through lately. What am I supposed to do, ignore her when I know she's upset? Hope that the nightmares go away on their own? Are you telling me you'd pretend it wasn't happening if you were in my place?"

That finally silences him for a moment. His face straightens, the jeering smile evaporating in a flash. "No, it's not that...but there's a reason she chose to go to you that first night instead of coming here. You're good for her, and that's been true even before she knew about this crap with Rittenhouse and her mom. Now if only you could admit that she's good for you too..."

Wyatt presses his lips together and sighs again. "It's complicated."

That aggravating smile returns to Rufus' face, but he keeps his voice level as he puts a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "And you're officially a walking cliche. No wonder the zombies are whooping your ass. They can sniff out how lame you are through the screen."

"Don't I know it." Wyatt turns his head, examining the gruesome image of exploding zombie guts that they somehow managed to freeze into place right when Rufus had hit the pause button. "Feelings suck, man."

"Ahh, there it is," Rufus returns triumphantly. "A sentiment that I fully understand, my friend, but it doesn't have to be this way."

"It's not the same, Rufus. I'm not scared to tell her, I just..."

"Just don't know how to address the widowed elephant in the room?"

Wyatt swivels back to pin him with a disbelieving scowl. "Did you just call me an elephant? That's really not how that expression goes."

Rufus shrugs, looking more than a little chagrined at his own choice of words. "Yeah, Jiya's been telling me that I need a better filter...?"

That brings an unexpected chuckle out of Wyatt. "What is it that you were saying about cranky married couple behavior?"

"No way, not gonna work. I have a real girlfriend, Wyatt. She's allowed to be cranky with me. She's earned the title."

Wyatt squirms for a second, letting his imagination wander off with the idea of Lucy owning the same title in his life, and if he's being honest with himself, it's not too far from their current reality. He'd be the last one to arm Rufus with this kind of information, but there's a lot more going on between them than reorganizing DVDs and fighting over preferred coffee brands. They haven't crossed the line on anything too damning, clinging to the thin premise that their closeness stems from nothing more than friendly camaraderie, weighted ever so slightly with the indistinct thread of possibilities floating somewhere out in the atmosphere beyond their reach.

But there's only been one other woman in his life who'd gotten the same treatment as Lucy - the spot on his lap that's reserved for her head, the comforting kisses dropped against the curtain of her hair late at night, control of the remote even if it means he's stuck watching sappy rom-coms until she falls asleep - and that woman had been his wife. The haunting feeling of betrayal comes and goes at odd intervals, but more often than not, allowing Lucy into his everyday routine usually feels far more right than it ever does wrong. He'd spent so many years believing that there'd never be room for anyone else after Jessica, and yet it had somehow happened before he could even recognize the signs.

There hadn't been any deliberation on his part when it came to Lucy, just instinctive action. So what if he stayed with her on the couch when she was plagued with nightmares? Was it really such a big deal that he'd taken to tucking her close against his chest until the shaking sobs subsided? Does it really mean anything if the tempo of his heartbeat accelerates into double time when she readily cuddles into him and whispers his name in her sleep?

"You already love her, don't you?"

Wyatt's eyes dart downward to glance at her, thinking the answer to Rufus's rather precarious question will somehow be written out across the soft planes of her face, but instead of finding the comfort that he seeks, the sight that greets him brings nothing but a spiral of panic.

Lucy is blinking solemnly up at him with bleary eyes, clutching the blanket between rigid fingers as her gaze connects with his.

The air swells with his unease and Rufus senses it immediately. He follows Wyatt's gaze, curses under his breath, and backs away somewhat clumsily. "Uh...I think I told Jiya that I would FaceTime her and...let's be real, this just got awkward so I'm disappearing for at least twenty minutes to let you two duke it out. Someone just holler when it's safe to come back."

Wyatt can't look away from Lucy for long enough to acknowledge Rufus' words. His voice sticks as he tries to force something out, sputtering stupidly as the question shakes loose from his throat. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Not much," she mumbles groggily, "came in somewhere around the widowed elephant comment."

He snorts, but it comes out sounding more pathetic than indignant. "Umm...I - "

She shakes her head with a tiny smile, then moves lethargically until she's sitting up against the arm of the couch, the quilt still snarled around her as she pats the cushion next to her. He complies, albeit with a small dose of skepticism. It's hard to believe that she's anything less than pissed off over the blatant fact that they've been talking about her while she was knocked out, but her actions say otherwise. Once Wyatt has taken his seat at her side, she falls into place against him, her legs stretching over his lap and head nuzzled in the junction of his neck and shoulder. He responds automatically by opening his arm and pulling her snugly to his chest. It's as common to him as breathing at this point, the equivalent of a choreographed move in a well-rehearsed dance routine.

When she speaks, he has to tilt his head to catch each syllable that meekly descends into his t-shirt. "I don't think I've ever been in love before."

Wyatt stiffens at that, not at all anticipating this turn in conversation and at a loss for how to reply.

She saves him from his own ineptness by continuing without much pause. "I've dated around, even gotten serious a few times, but I don't know...it just never really stuck. When the inevitable breakups came around, I was always upset, but kind of in a matter-of-fact way. Never devastated or shattered...just quietly disappointed. Like I'd never expected it to work anyway. I was usually more heartbroken over the feeling that I'd failed at something than I was over the actual loss of the relationship."

"Lucy..." he murmurs against her head, feeling a strange pang of heartache at this confession.

"It's okay." Her hand rubs at a spot on his opposite shoulder, like he needs to be soothed even though she's the one making herself painfully vulnerable before him. "Once I began to recognize a bit of a pattern, I sort of retreated into myself. Didn't see the point in trying to find someone if maybe...maybe I was the problem. Maybe there was something inside of me that just couldn't really get lost in another person."

Wyatt makes an unwilling sound from the depths of his throat. "That's not - "

"I don't feel that way anymore, Wyatt."

It's all he can do to sit still and keep breathing, unsure of what she means by that, but knowing exactly what he hopes it will mean.

She pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, her expression guarded even though there's a sheen of moisture in her eyes that she visibly forces away before speaking again. "Ironically, we both know that love is the one topic where I'm the cynic and you're the believer. I've struggled to understand how fate and destiny can really drive two people toward each other in such an undeniable way, but not you...you've seen the other side of it. You had your 'meant to be.'"

Wyatt folds his other arm around her legs as soon as he feels her withdrawing further. His brain may be too jumbled to form an appropriate response to all of this, but his body is faster and more dependable. He isn't letting her slide away from him, not when her heart is so agonizingly pinned to her sleeve.

"They...they say that lightning doesn't strike twice, right? So it's alright, I get it - "

"No," Wyatt returns hastily, his voice crackling to life with sudden urgency. "That's inaccurate, actually. Saw it on Mythbusters. Lightning can definitely strike in the same place twice."

Her mouth crinkles into a smile as she releases a muted chuckle. "I know, but I was going for more of a metaphor here...not the real thing."

"Well the metaphor is based on a lie, so I think we should toss it out."

She straightens fractionally, her head ducking shyly. "Wyatt...it's enough for me to feel...to feel this even if you aren't there too. You don't have to - "

He takes her jaw in his hands, effectively silencing the words he doesn't need to hear. "I'm not saying this for your benefit, Lucy. I'm saying it because it's true. I've felt the lightning bolt before, right? So trust me when I say that this - us - is something special. I feel it too."

A shiver runs through her, but he's sure that this one has nothing to do with the aftermath of her nightmare or the temperature of the room. "Sometimes...sometimes I think I dreamed up that conversation after Flynn's arrest. Or that I read too much into it or - "

"No," he whispers, his thumb sweeping up over her cheekbone, "I just...it was easier to talk about it when I thought I would be losing you otherwise. Now that the assignment is far from over, plus with your mom on their side and Emma kicking our asses on a regular basis, the timing felt...off."

"You don't have to be ready right now, Wyatt."

He narrows his eyes at her, because his list of reasons for waiting had nothing to do with whether or not he's ready, and he almost thinks he's misheard her until he sees the way she's looking at him with faltering confidence. "That's not the issue."

She closes her eyes and presses into the touch of his hands on her face. "Are you sure about that?"

He won't lie to her. He can't.

"I-I don't know."

"I'm happy, Wyatt. Or at least as happy as I can be, all things considered." Lucy skims her lips across his cheek and the exhale of her breath on his skin turns him inside out. "I like staying with you. I like that you're always there when I need you. It's enough for now."

He grins slowly, feeling charged with a dangerously addictive amount of electricity that can only be attributed to her. "I think it's time we test that theory. Ya know, like Mythbusters would."

He guides her lips to his, and the sweet pressure of her mouth fully meeting his every movement is almost too much to handle. He gasps softly, reawakened by the kindling of something that he'd only gotten the slightest taste of a lifetime ago in 1934. His hands trace lower, slipping past her neck to her shoulders, then coiling around her back with absolute conviction. Her nails scrape through his hair and she whimpers nearly inaudibly at the hint of his tongue on her lower lip.

God, does it ever feel good to hear her make that sound in response to something other than a bad dream.

He whispers her name against her lips as he sucks in a long, wobbly breath. Her hands land on his shoulders and squeeze tightly, anchoring herself to the moment.

"Tell me this is real," she requests in a tone that is too warm and low for him to truly comprehend at first. He kisses her again and again, greedy and light-headed with desire.

"Very real," he answers when he can't go any longer without breaking away for air, "as real as a lightning bolt."

Lucy lays a kiss on the pulse point that's thumping wildly below his jaw before pressing her face into his neck. "You have a way of constantly challenging everything that I think I already know. It's kind of infuriating."

He laughs and hugs her even closer. "Someone's got to keep you on your toes, ma'am. Life is more exciting that way."

"Life is definitely far from boring with you around."

"Likewise," he returns with a kiss to her temple. "Let's keep it that way, okay?"

She nods into his collar, then shifts sideways inside of his arms before catching sight of the television and letting out a disgruntled noise. "I thought game night meant board games, not whatever the hell that is..."

"You vetoed your right to an opinion when you took a nosedive on this couch and didn't come back up."

"Damn right she did," Rufus pipes up, his face barely visible through the microscopic gap he's created between the kitchen door and its frame. "How are my two favorite teammates, by the way? Because I need my boy Wyatt in one piece to help me maintain our new high score."

Wyatt arches a brow at Lucy, and she smiles back at him with a bubbling little laugh before answering. "I went easy on him, Rufus. But if I let you guys terrorize the zombies for a while longer, that means we play Trivial Pursuit next."

She's met with matching groans from the two of them, but as Wyatt has come to expect, their dissent only adds to her determination.

"What? Fair is fair, guys."

He presses his mouth to her ear and speaks in a voice that's pitched just for her. "Nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise, babydoll?"

Lucy's cheek caresses his as she angles herself higher inside of his embrace. "Hmmm...sorry, don't think so."

She pushes away from him with an impish grin that taunts him to distraction, and for the second time in the last hour, he's downright desperate to be alone with her in his apartment.

In their apartment.

Rufus saunters back into the room with a pompous look, making a grand show of examining both Wyatt and Lucy with shrewd eyes. "So you guys are looking pretty cozy, huh? I'm thinking our first double date could be Sunday brunch at this new place Jiya wants to try. Or a double date karaoke night. Wait, no, this is it - double date cooking classes!"

Wyatt throws a pillow at him as Lucy just shakes her head with an attempted scoff, but they're both grinning too hard to put him off of his teasing.

"Even better, a double date weekend down the coast! I'm thinking Santa Barbara, or maybe Catalina Island. And I know it's still early, but how do you guys feel about couples massages?"

As obnoxious as Rufus is being at the moment, Wyatt can't help but smirk at the rosy hue migrating up Lucy's neck as she grumbles back in response. "Just play the damn game already, will you?"

It's been a hell of a week, but as it turns out, Wyatt's weekend is off to a much brighter start.