Hi. Hello. Another Future!Lyatt fic comin' your way, however this one is a tad different. It's the future Lyatt we saw in the finale but we're starting about 2 years after they lost Rufus, so another 3 years to go before they go back to save him. Shout out to my goats for inspiring this fic but also yelling at me the whole time about how I was breaking their hearts. Hope you enjoy :)

Wyatt carries her out of the Lifeboat in a bride-over-the-threshold style, the time-traveling duo almost bursting at the seams with the joy carried in their laced-together hearts. A cover involving flapper dresses and loose suit and smoky bars and dancing had them both in a daze of unexpected bliss despite the night ending in its usual shootout, making for an unforgettable mission. The dimmed lights of chandeliers still hazing her eyes. Coming back to the fifth dark and secluded base they'd been transferred to in the last two years would do nothing to dampen this high.

"Successful mission?" Denise assumes as she approaches the pair.

"Either that or someone spiked the punch at whatever party they were clearly at," Jiya quips with a smirk. It's been two years since they lost Rufus, two years of devoting every second to stopping Rittenhouse and finding out how exactly to get their beloved pilot back from the dead, and she's adjusted better than anyone believed was possible. The first few months had been spent with them all licking their own wounds, trying to heal from the gaping holes left in the wake of their shared tragedy, but for Jiya it took almost a year before she seemed more like the Jiya she was before 1888, even before 1954, and it was then she harnessed her grief as fuel for her tireless research into getting her love back. "Although if that was the case, I doubt you would've been in much danger, Lucy," she points out.

"No punch for me," Lucy smiles, a hand falling gently over her still flat stomach. "But a successful mission, yes." Wyatt sets her onto her feet, her heels clicking onto the concrete floor, but there's a sudden waiver in her step, a black streak flashing across her vision.

"Whoa," Wyatt catches her by the elbow. "You alright there, Luce?" She looks up to meet his eyes, marred with concern. He'd been very blunt about his doubts concerning her insistence to continue traveling after they'd found out. Even after Mason had explained that so long as no one else went on the Lifeboat, she and the baby would be completely safe, he hadn't been so convinced, and it had led to a series of not-so-loving confrontations about his incessant hovering.

"Yeah, I'm—" A sharp pain strikes in her abdomen, causing her to fold into herself slightly. "I'm fine," she insists albeit unconvincingly. "Just some stomach pains. Nothing a hot shower won't fix." The sudden cramp fades and she straightens up, running a hand across his increasingly long scruff. "Think you could lend a hand for a massage afterwards, Soldier?" His gentle gazes bathes her in a soothing warmth, wiping any fear from her mind.

"Of course," he whispers, leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Anything you need." She squeezes his hand tightly before leaving him to review the mission with Denise.

The warm spray is a welcome relief on her tired muscles. The constant rush of being on missions with the added stress of growing a human has been taking its toll on her both physically and emotionally despite what she's been telling everyone. While the news hadn't been expected, it had reigned joy over her life like she hadn't felt in ages, and she would take any slight aches and pains that came with it. This little life had filled both her and Wyatt with new sense of purpose, given them something new to fight for.

She had paced outside their bedroom door for the better part of half an hour before his voice brings her to a halt.

"Lucy, if you were trying to be discrete, that ship sailed when you ran into the door 20 minutes ago." His voice is muffled by the steel door, but the ever-present adoration that seeps into his every word to her cannot be mistaken. "So do me and your feet a favor and tell me what's going on." She slowly and hesitantly opens the door to find him with one of her books now draped across his broad chest, an inquisitive glint in his eye.

"Hey," she says shyly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Hey, yourself," he chuckles, throwing the book to the side and pushing himself to the side of the bed. "So you're clearly stressing about something," he observes with a smirk. "Care to sh—"

"I'm pregnant."

She hears herself say it before it occurs to her that the words have indeed left her mouth. If she had waited for him to ask his question, she isn't sure if the statement would ever have come out.

Any and all humor melts from his face, leaving only the raw expression of shock. Whether good or bad is yet to be determined.

A panic swells in her chest as he just sits there for a moment that feels all too long. But they hadn't expected this, hadn't planned for it, and his experience this far with women telling him he was going to be a father hadn't exactly been stellar. So could she really expect an off-the-bat positive reaction from him?

"I'm sorry. I know it's not what we were expecting and it's not exactly the most ideal time and everything that happened with Jessica must make this really confusing, but still I really don't know why I'm apologizing. I guess I just—" Her rambling explanation is wrecked from her thoughts when she's hit with a crushing force, his arms sweeping her up off the ground.

By instinct her arms loop around his neck and her face burrows into the crook of his shoulder.

"Lucy Preston," he whispers into her hair. "Don't you go another step in that direction. This is everything… you are everything I've ever wanted, and the only person I've ever wanted to have this with. Screw what's happened in the past, screw Rittenhouse, every dark thought and worst case scenario that I'm assuming has you so anxious, screw 'em." His words break the barriers of anxiety that had barred the joy she hadn't allowed herself to feel when she first figured it out, and it comes out in a fountain of tears that stem from her absolute love for the man holding her. "Whatever we still have to face, it's you and it's me and now it's this, this baby we have to fight for." She reluctantly pulls back and is shocked to be greeted with a steady stream of tears pouring for his eyes as well. "That's all that matters. And we're going to be okay."

The moment of reminiscent bliss is cut short by what Lucy would assume was a knife to her abdomen if she hadn't been alone in the dimly lit bathroom. She doubles over in pain, gasping, drowning in the measly stream of water falling from the shower head. The pressure is all too much, ripping her open from the inside, but when she opens her mouth to scream a hollow, distant sound comes out. Her thoughts are soaked with the aching torment. Her eyes are stitched shut, the stars are exploding behind her eyelids and if she opens them, she's fairly certain it'll all fade to black. The sensation of her stomach dropping followed by a blunt pain to the back of her head, however, forces her to tear them open.

She's on the floor, curled into the fetal position, laying in a puddle of red. She throws her back against the wall, trying to distant herself as far as she can from the bleeding reality that's now all too real.

It can't be real. It just can't be.

It's inescapable.

Another shockwave tears through her body, slamming her head back to the tile with a force that she wishes had been enough to knock her unconscious. At least in a world of darkness she wouldn't be able to see the nightmare she's been thrust into.

"Wyatt," she whispers, praying that it's loud enough for him to hear. If she says it any louder, the truth might catch up to her, stealing the soul of the child she's not ready to give up.

Another tremor.

"Wyatt!" There's no more room to run.

She doesn't hear him burst through the door, she doesn't hear him call her name, she doesn't see him run up beside her, she only feels. The water still cascading from the shower, the slick tile beneath her skin, the torturous agony still torching through her veins, it's the only grasp she has on reality. The second his skin touches hers she's recoiling away, only to have grab onto her wrists.

"Lucy," he says breathlessly, finally noticing the blood that's engulfed her. "Lucy, oh god. Lucy, what happened? Lucy? Lucy, can you hear me? Please, Lucy, talk to me. Can you stand up? Lucy, we have to get you to a hospital." The knife twists again and she's doubled over onto him, an agonizing cry finally clawing its way out of her throat, but just as quickly as he was there for her to lean on, he's gone. She can't open her eyes.

"Wyatt?" She calls out, her voice cracking, her nose burning with the unshed tears now building up behind her lids. "Wyatt?!"

"I'm here," he replies, shutting the water off and drawing a towel around her shoulders. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm gonna pick you up so we can get you moved, okay?" Finally finding the strength to pull her eyes open, she's met with a fear in his startling blue eyes that in all their years she's never seen.

This can't be happening. It's going to destroy him. It's going to destroy them.

She stays curled in a ball even as he scoops her off the blood-soaked tile, folding into his embrace like a— A sob escapes her again, but not because of any physical pain.

He's saying things, he's calling out frantically, but she can't process the words, like he's too far away while being the closest thing left to her heart.

"I'm so sorry, Wyatt," she whispers, shaking her head frantically. "I'm so sorry." If he responds, she doesn't hear it, but soon hands, a lot of hands, are on her, brushing at her hair, running along her arms, and then Wyatt's walking them somewhere.

The mattress that comes up beneath is her is a great contrast from the stone tile on the floor of the shower, and a rush of relief washes over her; the pain subsides for the first time. Her eyes crack open.

"She's on her way, Wyatt, will be here in as soon as she can," Denise whispers in a low voice. "For now just… be with her. It might not be what you're thinking, but she's going to need you."

"Wyatt?" Her voice is weak, but it's enough to grab his attention.

"Hey," he smiles gently, kneeling at her side. "Hey, there, babydoll." She tries to sit up a bit, pulling the towel tighter around herself, with his hands there to guide her.

"What's… what's going on?"

"We don't know." His voice is tight, reigning in all the terror he can't show her. "Michelle is on her way right now. Mason's getting all the everything set up. It's all going to be okay." She nods quickly, her forehead pressed tightly against his. If he says it's going to be okay, it has to be.

He wouldn't lie to her.

"Let's get you into some clothes, okay?" He suggests before heading off to rummage through their shared closet, pulling out one of his old army t-shirts and a pair of her pajama shorts. "Here you go, Luce." He tries to help pull the shirt over her head, but she pushes his hand away, just handing him the damp towel instead. Guilt twinging in her heart at the flash of hurt that strikes his face, but she pushes past it. As she goes to pull on the shorts, her breath catches.

A dark red stain has already set into the mattress, and it's shouting the unimaginable truth at her.

It's not going to be okay.

"Wyatt," she whispers desperately, eyes still glued to the crimson pool between her legs. He's back at her side in a heartbeat, his hand gently guiding her hips up so he can situate the damp towels beneath her. His face is eerily unreadable. His brows are furrowed, eyes focused, but his jaw is loose, lips relaxed, no sign of tension. The mix of stress and calm creates another storm of conflict in her chest. Did his sense of calm ease her worry or did it make it worse? Her breath is coming out in short gasps, each one further and further apart.

"Lucy, you have to breathe."

She looks up to find his face now startlingly close, cobalt eyes scanning every inch hers. "For all three of our sakes, you need to stay calm." He smiles gently, trying to put some hope back into her weary heart, knowing the last thing that'll help is her having a full-on panic attack, and to her own surprise a small grin works across her lips too.

It's odd, the feeling of smiling, but what's even more odd is knowing that less than an hour ago her cheeks had ached from wearing a smile like she hadn't in so long. So in love, so full of hope, so utterly and unconditionally happy.

How is it tides change so fast?

The hour that passes while they wait for Michelle feels both too quick and not near long enough. In minutes they would have answers to the questions that felt like they were consuming her, but that in itself brings on a new wave of terror. They would have answers. There would no longer be any room for misguided optimism. The life she and Wyatt had been planning for, dreaming of for the past couple months would be burned alive in the harsh flames of the life they were losing.

At some point, Mason comes in with all the equipment needed to run an ultrasound. When he'd found out two of his adopted family were expecting, there hadn't been a second of hesitation for the tech mogul. In less than 24 hours he had somehow acquired all they would need to ensure Lucy and the baby could be monitored without risk of Rittenhouse tracking them in a hospital. But there isn't the same blanket feeling of joy this time. There isn't much of a feeling at all.

The only noise comes from the machine rolling against the concrete floor, the blunt sound from all the cables being appropriately plugged in, and the faint humming of the computer that would soon stomp out any hope she had left to hang onto.

He hesitates by the door, turning his head ever so slightly, like he wants to offer a word or a touch of encouragement, but he doesn't, and she's thankful. Any more words of feign belief would solidify this nightmare and send the unbearable weight crushing down onto her.

Michelle comes in minutes later as a gentle breeze, but her presence strikes Lucy like a hurricane. She wants to run. She wants to hide, to keep the truth from finding her, but it's Wyatt's calming squeeze of her hand that keeps her grounded.

"Lucy," she greets with a reassuring smile. "How are you feeling?" It's a question she doesn't know how to answer. How was she feeling? How is she supposed to feel? How does she turn her suffering into words? How does she translate that agony? How?

"Fine," she bitterly lies. They all know it, but who's going to dare correct her? A tense silence swells in the room as Michelle begins preparing the equipment.

It had played so well in their favor when Denise revealed Michelle's past as on OBGYN. Again another solution to how Lucy could manage a pregnancy without the luxury of a hospital just fell into their lap… but it's almost laughable now. Everything had lined up for them so perfectly that for a while she allowed herself to believe it could happen, yet, as their life tends to prove over and over again, they don't get to be that lucky. They survive, and she assumes she should be grateful to that much.

"Alright, Lucy. I need you to roll up your shirt."

The cold of the gel on her stomach shocks her back to less than a week ago when the room instead of cold silence had been filled with the steady, strong sound of their baby's heart beat.

"Luce, do you hear that?" Wyatt asks, his voice quiet but the teary-eyed smile that stole across his face speaks more than his voice ever could. "That's our baby." She has her head resting across his lap on the tired old bed they share. His hand grips hers tightly, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss onto the back of it.

"Of course I hear it," she laughs, a few tears already falling from her eyes. "I'm the better listener anyway; we both know that." The look he casts down to her has another wave of tears beating at the back of her eyes. She never in all her life imagined the look of unconditional love and adoration a man would give her one say. To be fair she never imagined a man like Wyatt Logan coming into her life in the first place.

But here they are. Everything she had ever dreamed they could be and so much more.

"That's a strong heartbeat," Michelle tells them, her own beaming smile shining over the expectant parents. "Although with you two as parents I don't think I would have expected anything less." Lucy feels the ache in her cheeks, but it's the least of her worries. She'll take the ache forever so long as this feeling of utter joy never fades.

But this time there's no heartbeat.

No sound.

Nothing.

"Michelle, that's her right there, isn't it?" He asks, pointing towards the screen, the the desperation in his voice chipping away at her hope. They had been certain from day one it was going to be a girl.

She sees what he's pointing to. Their growing girl where she had been beginning to take her own shape, and a sob tears from Lucy. She's still there, but she's not.

"Michelle?"

"I…I'm so sorry, Lucy, Wyatt, but…" A sigh of disbelief interrupts her. "The baby… she's gone."

Her scream shatters the glass wall she'd been holding around her heart.

If you survived, I promise you a happy ending, but hit up the review box in the meantime.