A/N: This started out as tired rambling and turned into an actual fic. Don't ask me how that happened, but I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.

Time.

It's always their problem, in an ironic sort of way. For all of their traveling through it, changing it, and making it their own, it has never truly worked in their favor. (Maybe that's why it hasn't; a sort of payback for the damage they've done.)

It starts with Rufus and Jiya, or so she hears. A thousand interrupted moments, a date gone wrong, and a love confession sixty years late.

She notices it herself with Wyatt, first with Bonnie and Clyde, then at Mason Industries during their talks of possibilities. She thinks it must be worse after she escapes her mother. Her lips almost brush his several times over, only to be interrupted every time.

In Hollywood, time stands still. Just her, and him, and forever spanned out in an instant. They're safe in a bubble, and nothing can touch them. (But bubbles pop, and time cannot stand still forever. It must move forward, dragging them with it.)

Jessica.

Him choosing to walk away, but refusing to let her go.

His anger, white-hot and betrayed, over her and Flynn. (She wants to scream and shout and throw things, but she can't, has to be the one the hold them all together, to keep the team strong. How dare he be angry with her for talking to someone else, for not being completely alone in the world?)

An attempt at comfort, too little, too much, and desperately unwanted.

He tells her he loves her, and time stands still once again. Just the two of them, and a mountain of grief between them. She wishes he would disappear, that he would just leave her alone. She was waiting for Flynn, but now, she has to soothe Wyatt's wounds as he pours salt on hers.

She's tired of fighting against time.

So when her future self leaves, with Wyatt by her side, Lucy gives herself an hour. She showers, brushes out her hair, and even makes a half-hearted attempt at dinner. Then, she goes to the one place she knows time is drawing her to.

"The journal," she begins without preamble. He blinks up at her from his chair, startled and curious all at once. "What does it say about us?"

He freezes. Draws in a breath, deliberately stalling for time. "Us?"

"Us." She's not about to let him play dumb. "Me and you."

A familiar tongue flick. He considers the question, tilting his head back. "It says that we'll work together," he says finally. "To stop Rittenhouse." He stops, clearly hoping she'll leave it at that, but she knows better. There's more, and she's perfectly willing to wait to hear it.

"And?" Maybe she should stop. Should back off, and "wait and see," the way he said. But it doesn't seem fair. He knows so much about their shared future, and she has to rely on him to tell her. (If only she had kept track of the journal. Sadly, she has no idea where it is, can't remember the last time she saw it. Maybe the day she found out her mother was Rittenhouse.)

He exhales heavily, closing his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't say what you're asking, Lucy. The journal never says what we... What we are. Believe me, I wish..." The last part is quiet, and she knows she's not meant to hear it.

"Did I? In Brazil, did I say anything?" Because of course she knows that he didn't tell her everything, that day she asked. She knows him now, knows his tells, and knows he was holding back.

He swallows. Hard. Wraps his arms around himself, as if subconsciously trying to protect himself from her questions. "Lucy..." It's low and pained, almost aching.

And with that, she knows. If she keeps pushing, he'll tell her. But he's terrified, and she's hurting him.

She doesn't want to hurt him. Doesn't want to be that person.

(Doesn't want to be her mother.)

So she takes a step toward him, hesitating when he flinches. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Why did you?" He interrupts, grimacing after, as if he hadn't meant to cut her off. It just slipped out. "Why-?"

"Because I'm scared." Somehow, her voice doesn't shake. She's steady when she reaches for him, resting a hand on his arm. He tracks the movement, but doesn't pull away, and she continues. "Because I keep trusting the wrong people. Wyatt. Jessica." A pang runs through her. "My mother. Because Wyatt told me he loved me, and all I could think about was how much I wished you were there instead."

It's a lot to dump on the poor man, so she pauses, giving him time to process. Wills her heart rate to slow, just a bit.

After what seems like forever, he reaches out, covering her hand with his own. His breath is shaky, uneven, but least he doesn't look ready to bolt. Instead, little flickers of hope are slipping through his guarded eyes, and she wants to cry in relief.

Still, she has one more thing to say. "Because I want this." And she does, she knows it. "But I don't think I can handle one more heartbreak."

A broken noise slips from his throat, and he pulls her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. It's almost too tight, as if he's afraid she'll slip away, afraid this is all a dream. It's as much to comfort him as it is her, but she doesn't mind, just clings to him, pressing as close as she can. Trying to block out the world, and all the reasons she should walk away.

"You kissed me." It's so soft, she almost wonders if she hears it right. "There in the bar. I kissed you, and you... You didn't hesitate." He sounds almost ashamed. "But you weren't-you-I-"

"I wasn't Lorena." Yet another reason to be scared; another widower trying to save his dead wife. But she can't bring herself to pull free.

"You weren't." A deafening silence, then- "I don't know what's going to happen, Lucy. Not with this. I wish I could promise you a happy ending, but I-" He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. "It's like I said before: We have to wait and see. And I understand if that's not… Enough for you."

It shouldn't be. She came here looking for assurances, for certainty. Not this.

And yet. And yet.

He loves her. She knows this, has known this for ages. And she... She could love him. Easily. Maybe that is enough, after all. (She's so tired of being afraid.)

Breath caught in her throat, she manages a single word. "Okay."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I hoard reviews and treasure them. (Am I secretly a dragon? Probably.)