Chapter Four

He took the two steps between them, cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed against the skin of her cheeks, taking her tears with them. "I saw your face every night in my dreams for six weeks. I tried to escape so I could look for you because I knew you were out there somewhere. I never let myself believe, for one second, that you were dead. I knew you were alive because you were in here." He took one of her hands a placed it over his chest so his heart was beating into her palm. "Don't you see? Don't you know what you are to me?"

She stared at the sight of her hand against his chest. "I'm afraid that one day you'll look at me and…" she smiled sadly and brought her eyes to his. "We had one night and you had a life with her."

You will regret choosing me. He could hear it as if she said the words out loud. "I only have one regret when it comes to you. I regret leaving this bunker without telling you and everything that came after. I will never regret choosing you. I will never regret loving you. I will never regret putting you first. Never." He gathered her close until his lips were next to her ear. "And we aren't just one night. We are a million moments and memories and God help me, I want to make a million more. I'm gonna put you first for the rest of my life."

Her hands clutched at his back, the bandage around his torso. He could feel her tears against his neck and shoulder.

"What if it isn't enough? What if when this is all over we don't work? What if we only work because of all of this?"

He kissed her then, he couldn't help it. From the shell of her ear until he was a hair's breadth from her lips.

"If we don't work then that's on us. It won't be because Rittenhouse brought my dead wife back or because your mother wants you to follow in her footsteps. If we don't work it won't be because we didn't try. But I don't see that happening. Do you know what I see?"

She shook her head, her dark eyes never leaving his.

"I see a future. I see children with your eyes and my dimples. I see nothing but laughter and love and arguing over everything because that's who we are." He smiled at her watery chuckle. "I want to marry you. I want to fall asleep next to you for the rest of my life. That's what I want. The question is, is that what you want?"

"I don't know what to say."

She looked so bewildered and lost, it broke his heart. "You don't have to say anything right now. I think we both need some time. I want you to really think about what you want. I just told you a lot of things that I wasn't planning on saying and that's on me but if you decide you want me, I'm here. If you decided you don't want me, I'll be here too because I'm not going to let those Rittendicks take anything else from us." He pulled away from her, ran his hands down her arms until he laced his fingers with hers. "Are you okay?"

Her hands tightened on his. "I don't know. I need to think."

"Take however long you need. A month, a year. I'll be here." He let go of her hands and turned toward the mess of supplies on his bed and started throwing them in the bag she brought. "Let's clean this up and I'll walk you back to your room."

She laughed nervously. "I, uh, I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. I let Rufus and Jiya have the room."

He didn't pause in his cleaning up. "You can sleep here. I'll sleep on the couch."

"No, Wyatt. You need to sleep in a bed tonight."

He turned toward her, a small smile on his face. "Lucy, i haven't slept in over 48 hours. It really isn't going to matter where I sleep tonight. It'll be fine. Besides, I've slept in worse places. Trust me."

He watched as that adorable damn crinkle came between her eyes, her jaw firm. She was going to argue. Jesus, he loved this woman. "Listen," he began, put his hands up in supplication. "You sleep in my bed and I'll sleep there." He told her, pointing to Rufus' old bed. She opened her mouth to argue and he had had enough. "Lucy, I'm too tired to argue with you. Just get in bed and go to sleep."

He fell asleep before Lucy was done puttering around the room. His usual sleeping pattern was off, his body fighting off 48 hours of fatigue and heartache. His dreams usually consist of Lucy and his bed or the occasional dream of his Grandpa Sherwin on the banks of that shallow pond on his old property, so when his imagination morphed from Lucy's smiling face to Carol Preston's shocked eyes his mind has no idea what is going on. He felt his M-4 in his hands, his finger inching towards the trigger well. He felt the heat from the fire spreading around him, felt the ache in his bones from the fight. He heard Denise in his ear, Take the shot! His body obeyed before his mind could wrap around the repercussions of what was about to happen, he felt the recoil, smelled the gunpowder as he watched Carol's chest bloom with red blood as she slid to the floor.

Part of him felt victorious, righteous, as he stood over her gasping body. This woman was supposed to protect Lucy, love her. She was just as much of a monster as his old man. While his father might have used his fists, Carol used her love as a weapon. Now she can't hurt her anymore. I kept her safe, he thought. I can keep her safe. His mind took another sharp left turn and he watched in morbid fascination as Carol morphed back into Lucy's lithe form.

Shift.

She was wearing his clothes in the hallway of the bunker and he had his cell phone in his hand with the text from Jessica glowing on the screen.

Shift.

Lucy was bleeding out at his feet, her soft cries filled his ears and broke his heart. He dropped to his knees beside her, throwing his phone in his haste. "Lucy," his hands applied pressure to her chest while his own filled with panic. "What happened?"

"You did this." She whispered, her mouth filled with blood. "This is your fault. You killed me."

"No," He breathed, watching as her blood ran in rivulets across his fingers and hands. "No, Lucy, stay with me. You can't leave me."

Suddenly he found himself alone in the dark, his hands still wet with her blood, with Lucy nowhere to be found. He could hear Emma's cruel laugh somewhere in the darkness, could hear Lucy calling out for him.

The laughter of his old man filled his ears and Wyatt could almost smell the acrid smell of alcohol on his breath. You've lost her, son. I told you you'd never be any damn good. The man with eyes so like his own materialized in front of him, a beer held out in his hand for Wyatt to take. "Cheers, kid. The apple doesn't fall far from tree, does it?"

His eyes snapped open, his muscles locked, ready for combat. His breath came in shallow ragged breaths, sweat sticking his skin to the military grade sheets. He ran a hand down his face and only then did he notice the tears that mingled with the perspiration on his face. How could he have ever thought that this would be easy? He had always prided himself on being a good man, a good husband, a proud soldier. Not only had he consciously, and with intention, thrown away his marriage, he may have alienated the only person in the world who knew the real him because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Wyatt?" Lucy's voice cut through the darkness in his heart, brought him back to the light and the possibilities. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," his voice was filled with a pain he couldn't hide, with a vulnerability that scared him to his core. He cleared his throat, sat up reluctantly against the burning pain in his ribs. "I'm okay." He looked at her then, shot her a smile. "No big deal. Just pain."

Lucy sat up in his bed, her hair a dark nimbus around her head. He could tell she didn't believe a word he said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Her eyes narrowed in the darkness, her feet touching the floor. "Don't lie to me, Wyatt. You're not good at it."

His head hurt, his heart, his body. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It's nothing. I'm just going to go get something to drink."

He could feel her eyes on him as he walked out of the door. He needed a minute alone, a moment to process whatever the hell it was his brain was trying to tell him.

By the time he had made his way into the kitchen his breathing was somewhat normal again. He turned on the tap to cold, ran his entire head under it. He could still hear that bastard's voice in his head. He could feel the fear creeping in, the fear he hadn't felt in over fifteen years.

He turned off the faucet, almost breaking the knob in the process. He wasn't his father. The only thing the two of them had in common was the blood that ran through their veins and the gentle man who raised them both.

But then again…

He watched the droplets of water fall into the sink until his eyes blurred.

Maybe his dream had been on the right track all along.

There was an anger that simmered in him, hidden underneath that false bravado that was Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan.

They called him a war hero, a leader of men. Mothers trusted him to bring their sons home.

He didn't trust himself with a butter knife sometimes.

He had these moments of rage, flashes of vicious anger.

His mind went back to the those dark days after Jessica died. After Lucy went missing. Maybe that's why his mother didn't take him with her when she left. Maybe she knew, deep down, that he wasn't any better.

A towel was thrust into his line of vision, an accented voice closely following it. "Rough night, Logan?"

Garcia Flynn was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. Wyatt glared at him, snatched the towel from his hand. "What do you want, Flynn?"

"Hey now, I didn't know you would be in here trying to drown yourself." Flynn replied, that smug smile that drove Wyatt crazy firmly in place. "I figured I would see Rufus snoring on the couch."

Wyatt scrubbed the towel roughly over his face and hair. The last thing he needed was to be dealing with the psycho while he was on the verge of having an emotional breakdown. His smile was tight as he watched Flynn pour two mugs of coffee. "I'm sorry it's me. More than you know."

Flynn's laugh set his teeth on edge as he handed him a mug. "I heard your wife is no longer with us."

Wyatt's grip tightened against the porcelain of the mug. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Doesn't matter," Flynn murmured, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm sure Lucy is happy."

"I'm not talking about Lucy with you."

"I'm not asking you to," he shrugged as he moved to take a seat at the table. "Don't hurt her, Wyatt. She's been hurt enough."

He knew he didn't have a right to be defensive, considering he had been the one to hurt her the most, but it bled through anyway. "I never meant to hurt her."

"Well," Flynn began as he rose from his seat. "We never mean to hurt the ones we love. It's a byproduct of loving them."

Wyatt watched him leave, more confused than he had been when he walked in.

He took his time going back into the room he was sharing with Lucy, checked all the safety protocol of the bunker twice. He had hoped that by the time he got back she would be asleep, but luck was not on his side. She was making the bed he had been sleeping in, her small hand deft and sure as she tugged the sheet and blanket into place. She barely looked at him before she began speaking. "I've had some time to think and I have come to a decision."

"Okay," he nodded as he crossed over and took her hands in his. "What about?"

She couldn't look him in the eye as she spoke. "I haven't made a decision about us, but I-"

He ducked his head, caught her eye, before he gave her a reassuring smile. "But what?"

"I… do you… do you think you could sleep with me tonight?" The small hesitance in her voice winded him, his love for her unfurling in waves. He didn't miss the blush that stained her cheeks, couldn't find it anything but adorable. "I don't mean.."

"No," he reassured her, steering her towards the bed. "I know." She let him settle her in, made sure she was comfortable before sliding in beside her. He was hesitant, more so than he had ever been with her, he didn't know if he was allowed to touch her. Would she want that? Or did she only want him to sleep beside her? To protect her? He rolled over to his side, facing Lucy to see her watching him. He raised his arm, letting it hover over her. "Can I?" She didn't say anything and he thought maybe he was asking too much, but he waited, hoped that he hadn't read her wrong. He almost gave up before she smiled, turned herself into his arms and rested her cheek against his chest.

Had it really only been three days since they had last been like this?

Wyatt pulled her tighter against him, felt her smile against his skin. The answering smile that tugged his cheek was a smile he never thought he would smile again.

Holding Lucy Preston was like coming home.