"Hey, can you hand me…" Wyatt sticks his hand out from underneath her car, and she pauses, mid-bite, her mouth full of the burrito she'd just bitten into.

"You're eating aren't you?" He calls out, and she quickly tries to chew, before giving up and just answering.

"No," she says, but the word comes out garbled with her full mouth.

Sliding out from underneath the car, his shirt clings to every muscle, particularly his arms, accentuating their girth.

"I thought you were going to wait until I finished, you know, doing you a favor and changing your oil," he claims, trying to use a stern voice, but cracks at the end into a laugh.

Quickly swallowing, she licks her lips, claiming it was for the crumbs lingering, but in truth an involuntary reaction to the attractively disheveled man in front of her.

"I didn't ask, you volunteered," she raises a brow, daring him to disagree with her. It was the only time they knew her mom would be away from the house.

Grabbing the beer sitting in the driveway, he takes a swig, before pushing his hair back.

"Next time, extra cilantro on your burrito," he points with his bottle, and she scrunches her face.

"You wouldn't," she narrows he eyes teasingly.

"You're right, I'd never hear the end of it," he shrugs, until she holds out her burrito to him, and he takes a bite, before shaking his head back in forth in contemplation.

"Mine's better," he goads with a dimpled grin.

"They could barely close yours. One bite and it's going to spill right onto your lap," she jokes, right as her phone rings.

"Don't mock the perfection of my burrito," he jokes, before grabbing what he needed and heading back underneath the car.

Rolling her eyes at him as she answers, she expect to be called into work when she saw Agent Christopher's name pop up.

She's surprised to find that's not the case after hanging up. Kneeling down by her car, her hand lightly lands on Wyatt's knee, trying not to scare him into hitting his head.

"So how do you feel about coming to dinner with me at Agent Christopher's tonight?"

xxxxx

"Ugh, I don't get it," Amy says, groaning loudly. "Can't we order pizza already? I have to leave soon," she huffs at Lucy.

"This is supposed to be fun," Lucy laughs, standing on a ladder, a near feat in itself that she hadn't lost her balance. The two of them had been decorating the house since getting home from school. They were officially on winter break. And after having gone out of town for Thanksgiving, she was looking forward to an open schedule the next few weeks of nothing but spending time with her sister and her boyfriend.

"I check them and then they go out as soon as I put them up," Amy says, matter of factly, and Lucy bites her lip to keep from laughing at her younger sister. "Why can't we just toss them up like normal people?"

"Because we want them to look good?" Lucy tries, placing each strand perfectly spaced as she winds them around the tree.

"But why can't we use the colored lights? It looks so much better than the white," she continues to argue.

"She's got a point," Lucy hears, whipping around quickly, nearly tumbling off the ladder, before catching her balance, but losing the Santa hat she was wearing. The red garment falling to the floor.

xxxxx

Lucy wasn't unaccustomed to awkward dinners. She'd become an expert on them over the years with her mother. But tonight felt different.

Quietly, she eats her food, making sure to chew each bite for as long as she could before swallowing. The dark eyes of Agent Christopher seemingly watching her every move from across the table.

Quickly averting her eyes, she goes back to cutting into her chicken. She wasn't even really that hungry, having just eaten a little while ago, but it keeps her distracted, so she shoves another piece into her mouth.

"How are they?" Agent Christopher asks, her wife walking back into the room.

"Olivia's conked out, and I just busted Mark for playing that crazy violent video game again," a knowing tilt of the woman's head suggesting there wasn't much she could do.

"Thank you for having us," Lucy chides in. "A home cooked meal is a rare and exotic thing in my life these days," she admits with a smile.

Wyatt nearly snorts with laughter, and she moves to kick him underneath the table, her leg just missing, having been too short to reach him.

Lucy shoots him a look, and he doesn't even have the decency to wipe the grin off his face.

"Believe me, it was my pleasure," she laments, and Lucy's eyes shift back over to Wyatt, the glint of curiosity refusing to leave from his smirk. "So how long have you two been together?"

A sharp cough shoots out of Lucy's mouth, choking on her chicken at the question. Wyatt's hands come to rest on his chin, waiting for her answer, amusement playing on his lips.

"We're not…we're not…together. We're just…colleagues," Lucy clarifies. For a brief second, she swears she can see the hope falter in Wyatt's eyes, but just as quickly they recover, landing on Michelle with a raised brow.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just…I assumed…"

Lucy waves her hand nervously, not wanting to embarrass the woman.

"So you're a professor?" She asks, the curiosity of her guests spoken in awkwardness to them with a change of subject.

"The history and anthropology of American political movements," Lucy proudly admits with a sway of her head, like it was a burden of sorts, tucking her hands into her lap.

"She writes books on them too," Wyatt throws out with another bite of his food, a proud grin on his face leaving Lucy to heavily sigh.

A knowing smile seems to pass over Michelle's face.

"Well, that alone makes you the most interesting colleague of Denise's I've ever met," she admits with a laugh. Wyatt soon joining in. "You two are also the only colleagues I've ever met."

"Ignore her. She's teasing me," Agent Christopher jokes, the first smile she'd seen from the woman…ever, maybe. She was always so serious whenever they were on missions. It was different to see her in a setting like this - comfortable, laid back, wife and kids.

"I know how that goes," she not so subtly gestures towards Wyatt.

"Seventeen years, nada," she goes on, the tone teasing with an underlying tension, the type that only secrets between significant others could spark. Lucy also knew how that went.

"Michelle," Denise nervously teases, taking a sip of her wine.

"Hey, I don't ask questions. And knowing what she does, I don't want to ask. But out of the blue, it's 'Make the mustard chicken, Lucy Preston's coming over.'"

Picking up her wine glass, she swirls the liquid around, a quirk in her smile.

"To be honest, it came as a shock to me, as well," she shyly admits, sending Michelle's glance towards Denise.

"Hence me here," Wyatt says, breaking the tension, downing his own drink.

xxxxx

Rushing over, Wyatt picks up her hat, grabbing onto her arm to steady her.

"You okay?" He asks, checking over her, and Lucy can feel her cheeks heat with a blush, following his blue eyes with her own as they flutter over her.

She nods, not making a sound, just a goofy grin on her face.

He carefully places the hat back on her head, his fingers never refusing a moment to get lost her curls.

"But more importantly, Wyatt agrees with me," Amy chides in, causing Lucy's lip to once again be tucked between her teeth, breaking the moment.

She raises a brow, waiting for his answer.

"I mean…they both…look nice," he tries.

"Nice save," Lucy says, turning back to the tree.

"What color do you put up?" Amy asks, and when they're met with silence, she turns back to find Wyatt staring down at the floor, almost like the question had rendered him frozen.

"Hello, Wyatt," Amy chides, tossing a piece of garland at his face, shaking him out of his reverie.

"My mom always liked the colored ones," he whispers. "But white's good too, looks like snow."

"I guess," Amy concedes, causing Wyatt to smile, but Lucy continues staring at him, having never mentioned his mom before, she finds herself curious, but knowing his family is always a topic he tends to avoid, she decides to let it go.

"So pizza?"

xxxxx

The water runs, slicing the silence with its noise, washing the dishes from their dinner clean.

Lucy maneuvers around the table, collecting cloth napkins, attempting to help clear the table. She felt it was the least she could do, the confusion still playing on her mind of why she had been asked to this impromptu dinner.

"Your family is lovely," she tries, edging into the topic of why she was here, dancing around with pleasantries, although sincere, still just that, sidesteps. "Wyatt and Mark seemed to really hit it off," she teases, knowing full well that he was upstairs playing that video game with him right now.

"Thanks," Denise says with a laugh, drying the plates, distracted. "I wanted you to meet them," her tone taking on a more serious note.

"But your wife does have a point," she fidgets with the napkin before finally setting it down, letting her hands flop back to her side. "Why did you invite me over?"

Her words cut to the chase, having been curious about the strange invite since she'd called earlier that day.

Leaning heavily against the counter, Denise sways.

"I've been up most nights lately worrying," she admits.

Lucy's face tightens, the idea of their lives hanging in the balance not something new, but still something they worried about the deeper they got.

"I know Rufus told you about Rittenhouse—"

"Rittenhouse?" Denise interrupts her. "Yeah, that's part of it. And I'm looking into it, believe me. But what's really been keeping me awake is your mother."

She can feel her heart jump at the mention. Her mother had always been a point of contention with her, dissipating into reverence more so than before when she got sick. But now that she was well, she felt the cord cut, a little more freedom every time she stepped into that Lifeboat. She wanted nothing more than for her mom to understand what had happened - that she had another daughter, that they were a family. But it sounded insane even to her sometimes.

"My mother?" She asks, scared of what the next part of this explanation would be.

"As hard as it must be for you to remember your sister, what's worse for me is that your mother doesn't." The worry is written on her forehead, the concern in her voice. "She has a daughter she doesn't even know existed."

Lucy can feel the wound opening up, tearing away from the stitches she'd so carefully laid upon herself, a strangled scream settling in her throat.

"Before the time machine, my worst fear was losing them. And now it's that I could lose them and never know they were here," she solemnly confesses. "I get it, Lucy. The pressure you must feel to keep history in tact so more people aren't just…erased."

It's a pressure that Lucy tries not to carry around with her, but with each mission, the weight becomes just a little heavier on her shoulders. She'd already lost Amy. The idea of something that she did or something she couldn't prevent erasing someone's child absolutely terrified her.

"I want you to do me a favor," Denise asks, digging into her pocket. "Keep this in the Lifeboat for me," she hands over a flash drive.

Lucy hesitantly reaches out to take it.

"What is it?"

"It's them," she simply says, realization passing over Lucy's face. "Pictures, photographs, kindergarten art. It's our life in a disk. It's my locket."

Lucy unconsciously reaches for the locket, the only tangible evidence that Amy existed, that that part of her life existed at all. Her fist wrapping around the necklace, refusing to let go of her past.

"If you come back someday and they are gone…promise you'll show it to me and tell me everything about tonight. I need to know they existed," she finishes, her voice choking on the last word.

Lucy can feel the tears sting her eyes, every memory of the two in her own locket beating against her palm, having long since sunk into her skin, weaving into her being, only she able to recall their existence.

"Yeah," she nods with a half grin. "I will."

xxxxx

"I can't believe you eat those," Wyatt makes a face at Lucy as she shoves a mushroom that had fallen onto her plate into her mouth.

"They're good," she says with a scrunch of her nose, not at all apologizing for her taste in food.

"They're slimy," he says with a shake of his face, a laugh attached as she continues to inhale her food.

"And think, you kiss that same mouth," Amy teases, eating a slice of her plain cheese pizza.

Lucy lets out a boisterous laugh at that, a blush accompanying the noise. Wyatt had been spending quite a bit of time at the house. Always carefully planned so that he never actually ran into her mom. It wasn't hard since she had night classes and stayed late often, but it soon to be made more difficult with the semester coming to an end.

Wyatt sticks his tongue out at Amy, and she rolls her eyes at him. Lucy smiles to herself, the two of them bickering like they'd known each other forever giving her a feeling that maybe Wyatt was always meant to be here.

"What?" Wyatt asks, turning back to her, a goofy grin on his face, like he'd just caught her staring at a future they didn't know they had.

"Nothing," she says jutting out her chin with a closed smile so big it closed her eyes, peeking out her dimples. He doesn't even have to steal a kiss, Lucy more than willing to give him one.

"You guys are even more gross than mushrooms," Amy says, only half teasing, causing Wyatt to duck his head in laughter.

And Lucy takes another big bite of her pizza.

xxxxx

She'd found Wyatt upstairs, having followed the glow of the television screen, animatedly playing a video game with Denise's son. She hadn't seen him this carefree in a long time. He usually had a worry line, one he might as well name Lucy, because if he wasn't stressing during a mission, he was cryptically keeping her at bay during their downtime.

Leaning against the doorframe, she doesn't want to intrude, but he has this lightness about him, his smile not quite the one he gives to her when she's said something he likes, but close. He was having fun. She hadn't seen it in years. The way his tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way his knee would bounce in nervous excitement, the dimples displayed in all their glory.

"Shit, busted," he'd said, turning around to find her watching.

Lucy raised her brow at him cussing in front of a kid.

"Don't tell your mom," he'd pleaded with a quirk of his lips.

Lucy stifled a laugh, Mark clearly old enough that that's not an issue, but finding it cute that Wyatt was worried.

Looking over at him in the passenger seat, she can see him staring ahead, deep in thought. That carefree Wyatt she'd seen was gone, replaced with the one that seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

"So what did Agent Christopher want?" He asks, breaking their silence.

Lucy's grip on the wheel becomes just a tad tight, shifting in her seat, sending his eyes towards her.

"She wanted her own locket," she grins, and she doesn't miss his eyes moving down her to where her own locket sat resting against her, ever so slightly jostling with her movements.

"I mean, she seems nice and all, but I'm not sure how Michelle would feel about that," he ribs her, causing a small laugh and a shake of her head. When the silence settles, he almost whispers, "I can't believe you kept it," with an almost self-deprecating look.

"Yeah, well, I thought about throwing it at your head a few times," she says with a teasing grin.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a grunt.

Silence engulfing them once again.

"Why didn't you?" He finally asks, curiosity apparently getting the better of him tonight, as well.

Lucy finds her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her thoughts scattered, but one memory pervades.

"I needed to know we were real."

xxxxx

"Amy, what are you doing?" Lucy yells from the couch, having settled down to watch television.

"You'll see," she yells back, and Lucy leans back into Wyatt's arm, playing with the fringe of the blanket she had wrapped around them.

"What is this?" He asks, laughing at the screen.

"Wait," she leans forward, her hand landing on his thigh. "You've never seen Friends?"

"I'm scared to say no," he teases, his eyes dancing with the kaleidoscope of the images reflecting in blue, the glow of the lights they'd hung around the living room turned on.

"Okay, that's what we're doing this break, catching you up into this decade," she teases. "That is the holiday armadillo," she says matter of factly, and he looks at her with the most adorably confused face, until they're both cracking up at each other.

"Lucy, my ride's here," she hears Amy yell, as she skips into the living room.

"Okay, call if you need anything," Lucy yells back, before Amy's head peeks around.

"Bye…" she practically sings. "Be good," she says with a wink.

"Oh my god, LEAVE," Lucy says, tossing a pillow at her head, that has Wyatt laughing, Lucy's blushing face burying in his shoulder.

xxxxx

"Where's the real Austin Roe?" She asks, her patience wearing thin, as she trails her team and Flynn into a more private room, a long wooden table extending throughout.

She'd gone from awe at her location, a bit struck by the situation she'd found herself in, sequestered into a room by George Washington. The threat of eliminating another piece of history, of changing their world so dramatically with the death of what would become the first president of their country enough to beg Wyatt to put his gun down. To let Flynn get his way, play along with his ruse.

"Dead in a ditch," he admits, and she can't even act surprised.

"You're a bastard," she says matter-of-factly, no one willing or able to argue otherwise.

"What is all this, Flynn?" Wyatt demands, and she knows he's not in the least willing to play his game, to put any of them in danger of being betrayed like their own Benedict Arnold.

"I need Lucy," Flynn confesses, walking closer, and she can't help but unconsciously find herself stepping closer to Wyatt, hoping he didn't come across to their side of the table. Her eyes buried somewhere deep in the pocket of Wyatt's safety. "She'll know how to find Arnold. She knows everything about him," and she swears it almost sounds like praise.

"Why?" Wyatt grits out, becoming more frustrated with each word. "So you can help him?"

The question was loaded, Flynn admitting to doing what he seemed to do best, beating the hell out of a man to get what he wanted.

Tossing the scrolled note from the key Bonnie and Clyde had, she can't control the slight shiver or the shift of her eyes towards Wyatt, his own pairs of blues meeting her's at the mention of what had happened with the pair of thieves.

They still held the possibilities of that night on the tip of their tongue.

"Read it," Flynn demands, Lucy slowly opening the parchment.

"It's a letter Benedict wrote to his wife. It says something about a Rittenhouse meeting," her words sinking in to everyone in the room. "Are you saying Benedict Arnold was a member of Rittenhouse?"

"He wasn't just a member. He was a founding member. This is the year it began. We're gonna kill Rittenhouse in the crib. We're gonna stop them before they ever get started," Flynn says with such conviction, like he can see the outcome of the future if this were a success.

Lucy can't say that the idea doesn't intrigue her, the chance to go home and have Amy waiting for her.

"You're going to hunt these people down and you want us to help you?" The question coming out sounding as far fetched as this day was becoming.

Rufus argues against the subject only spurring Flynn's frustration until he shares a deal.

"I'll make this easy," he practically seethes, before straightening. "You help me here, now, and I'll hand over the keys to the Mothership, all yours," he offers.

The deal sounds too good to be true, except that it will literally do exactly what Agent Christopher and her had discussed earlier - change history in a way that could erase even more people, their family and loved ones, in ways they couldn't possibly imagine.

The suggestion of this possibility not going over well with Flynn, instead urging him to threaten to continue this chase, with a hundred more trips, changing history as they go.

"We can end this, Lucy, now," he bangs on the table with his fist, causing her to flinch, as he soothingly whispers at her in a strained tone. She stares at him, trying to examine why he wants this so badly, if the risk is really worth it.

She glances over at Wyatt, his eyes narrowed, his fingers flexing, attempting not to form into fists.

Leaning back, Flynn yanks out the journal, the one he'd been taunting her with since the beginning. Wth a raise of his brow, he rips out several pages, handing them over as a sign of goodwill, letting her read how bad Rittenhouse was in her own words…or so he claimed.

"You're so full of crap, it's coming out of your ears," Wyatt mutters at him, as Lucy snatches the pages from Flynn's hand, scanning over the handwriting that looked identical to her own. "We're not going to help you. Not after everything we've been through."

It's as if they had stepped right into his trap, Flynn having anticipated that that's exactly how Wyatt would react. And Lucy can't help but wonder how much is said in this journal. If it really was her future self, did Flynn know everything?

"I figured you'd say that, so I'm sweetening the pot. You help me, and I'll tell you the name of the doctor."

Wyatt's mouth hangs open in shock. Flynn having rendered him speechless, over what, she's unsure. Staring at Wyatt, another secret, one that apparently meant more to him than she ever did, has her ducking her head back to the pages she was holding. Her lip finding its way between her teeth.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Wyatt accuses, teeth gritted, and a determined look on his face now, in place of what was once shock.

"Don't I?" He claims, waving the journal like it held all the secrets of the universe. "You looked for him, nothing came up, like he didn't exist. He does," he says with a conspiratorial smile, and Lucy looks between Wyatt and Flynn, trying to decipher the cryptic conversation they seemed to be having - one in which her future self apparently knew all about.

The deal out in the open, the promise of all of this ending if they only helped Flynn.

And before she knows it, they're running right into the camp of the enemy.

xxxxx

Standing in the kitchen, she looks up to see the time, waiting for their hot chocolate to be done. One of the few things she could make without burning, if it was in the microwave.

"You need any help?" Wyatt's blue eyes piercing through her, leaning against the island across from her.

"Nope, I haven't burned the place down…yet," she teases, and he nods in a way that makes her stomach flip.

Straightening, he moves to her side of the island, his back now against the hard granite, arms extended, reaching towards her to bring her into him.

Her hips meet his with a soft laugh, her hands landing on his chest to steady herself. His fingers settle on the skin flirting with the air between her jeans and sweater.

His eyes keep wandering, causing her brow to furrow trying to figure out what he's doing.

Slipping his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans, he moves her ever so slightly to the right.

"What are you doing?" She laughs, his eyes gesturing up for her to look. A sprig of mistletoe hanging above them.

"You did this?" She asks, surprise tinting her voice, her arms moving to wrap around his neck, bringing them closer.

"Your sister," he grins. "With my suggestion…"

"I think that's against the rules," she chides, barely hitting his lips with her finger.

He brings his face ever so close to her own, his words whispering across her lips.

"I think we're already breaking a few rules—" His words barely escaping his mouth, their tease enough to have Lucy launching herself at him.

The mistletoe hanging above them as his warmth pressed into her lips, her whole body slowly molding into him, his tongue moving against her lips, before she pulls back, the sound of the microwave going off.

Her cheeks red, and her eyes still fluttered closed. She feels his soft lips on her forehead before moving to grab the mugs.

xxxxx

The candlelight casts a shadow across Lucy's pensive face, her fingers pressured by her lips, teeth threatening to bear into the flesh.

"Okay, Arnold and Flynn will be down any second, what do we think?" Wyatt asks, standing close to her, his hands on his hips, his voice already hinting at a tone that suggests he's going to agree.

Lucy looks up at him, lowering her hand to her neck, tracing where her locket should be, having left it in the Lifeboat.

"I'm in," Rufus agrees, no hesitation, and Lucy's head snaps over to him. She couldn't believe how readily they were willing to head into dangerous territory to change history so much that the world they came back to would be unrecognizable.

"You're the one that called us a bunch of Benedict Arnolds," Wyatt jokes with a half grin, but Lucy's face remains stoic. Rufus' impassioned speech about taking off the head of the snake, killing one man in order to free him and his family, enough to get his vote.

"I vote yes too," Wyatt says with a tilt of his head. Her hands wring around her neck, as if begging for something to hold onto, a link to her past, something to anchor her to what they were about to do.

Her eyes plead with Wyatt for more time, not the first time she'd shot him that look. Her teary eyes not quite wanting to accept that this might actually be the end.

"If we do this…history's going to change," she throws out. "What if—what if more people vanish like my sister?" She argues, at the real issue of why she was hesitating. Here Flynn was taking out important people in history, but every person in history was important to someone. You didn't need to be included in a history book to mean something to someone.

"What if more people are saved?" Wyatt argues, and she avoids his eyes, crossing her arms, wrapping them around herself. "Hell, what if you come home to Amy?"

The thought had crossed her mind, but was it a sacrifice she was willing to make? Kill one to save others? Her panicked eyes flitter over Wyatt, her throat bobbing with indecision.

"Luce," he whispers, stepping closer to her in the candlelight. "This isn't like saving the Alamo. This is killing one evil person to save hundreds of people possibly," his argument coming out in a soft cadence against her. "I'm sorry, but I don't think 'history' is a good enough reason to let people suffer."

She shakes her head, not wanting to be the reason that suffering continues, but scared of what the outcome might be. She'd spent her whole life studying history, and then trying to protect it on these missions, and now…she was being asked to ignore that. Ignore everything she'd been taught.

Wyatt's hand reaches out, unclenching her grip around herself, letting one of her arms fall to her side, the other softly cradled in his callused hands.

"Lucy, I know you," he says, and god she wished he didn't sometimes. "What you really believe in is helping people," his thumb gently tracing the lifelines of her hand, the ones he knew so well, had followed along with her for so long until breaking off onto his own.

Stepping closer, his mouth hovers above her ear, his every breath a soft gust of a whisper against her.

"We're in this together, Luce. Whatever you decide. I'm with you," he assures her. Not pressuring her one way or the other. He'd argued his side, but had ultimately left the decision up to her.

Her choice.

xxxxx

Lucy plays with the neck of his shirt, tracing her finger over the grooves of the thread holding it together. Staring transfixed, she pays no attention to the static that now plays on the television, her tape she'd recorded the episode on having long since ended.

She's not sure what Wyatt is doing, but he's quiet, as if watching her with apt attention, fixated on her path up and down his neck.

"Wyatt," she murmurs.

"Hmm," he hums, his grip around her pulling her closer.

Most nights they somehow ended up entangled on her couch, Amy on the other side, keeping them from doing much other than a few stolen kisses when she wasn't looking.

Tonight, they were alone. Amy having left to hang out with her friends on their break.

"You said earlier…your mom…," she hesitates, not wanting to bring the mood down, but curious about what he'd meant by the comment. "Used to put up lights…" she trails off, hoping that he'd move to fill the silence.

Resting her head on his chest, she can feel him open his mouth, just slightly, before shutting it quickly. The turmoil inside of him, debating what and how much to say is obvious, the beat of his nervous heart ticking next to her ear.

"She passed away, Lucy," he quietly admits. "It was a long time ago," he tries to dismiss the event, like he shouldn't still be sad about it. His hands hesitate on her back, as if wanting to pull her close, but so used to pushing others away, that he was rendered between indecision.

Lifting her head to meet his eyes, she sees they've quietly filled with unshed tears he was trying to hold in.

Her hand moves to his cheek, her thumb wiping at the moisture gathering.

"I'm so sorry, Wyatt," wanting to take the pain away, and knowing there was nothing she could say that would ever do that for him. "You know…I'm here…if you ever want to…talk," she offers, knowing that although it wasn't necessarily his thing, she was more than willing to have it be her's.

"You being here is enough," he answers against her, the words taking flight in her veins and settling somewhere deep into her being.

"I'm with you."

xxxxx

The rickety wagon picks up again, the horses having now gotten their water. The information Flynn had just given her, faltering her feelings on the situation at hand. Her indecision paired with the uncertainty of what would await them as they got home, unsettling her stomach, rendering her quiet.

"You okay?" Wyatt asks beside her, and she nods, her curls bouncing as the wagon continues on.

She notices that his eyes never stop wandering to their surroundings, always on duty to protect them. But his body was now angled towards her, his words coming out softly as the sounds of the wagon drowned out much of everything.

"Wyatt," she hesitates, not sure how to phrase her question.

"We're going to be okay," he says, thinking that their safety was what she was worried about. Instead it was the idea that what they did in there today would somehow taint her in the eyes of her sister if she were to get her back.

He grabs her hand resting underneath her cape, and intwines their fingers together, aligning their lifelines once again.

"I won't let anything bad happen," he promises, as they stop in front of the house, the horses halting.

She glances over at him, a silent plea for that to be true as they entire the house, a gentle squeeze, before they let each other go.

xxxxx

"I should probably get going," Wyatt says, rustling Lucy awake, having fallen asleep on him. Groggily she glances up at the clock seeing that it's about the time he usually leaves. Neither of them wanting to chance the encounter of her mom coming home early.

"Noo," Lucy moans, grabbing onto his shirt. "Don't leave me," she playfully says, his head cocking to the side, learning that while he had no problem arguing with her when they didn't agree, it was mostly in jest, and when she asked him for something, he had a hard time saying no.

"I don't want to get you in trouble," he says while standing, always looking out for her. Staring up at him, still holding on his hand, she lightly yanks on it, all but begging for him to stay, five more minutes.

Bending over, she lets go of his fingers, thinking she's won. His hands land somewhere on the cushion behind her, his face inches away from her own.

She takes the opportunity to pull the same move he'd made before, brushing her lips against the soft pair in front of her with her words.

"Please, Wyatt," she begs, her hands coming back to the neck of his collar, pulling him down on top of her.

xxxxxx

Hearing the words of a young boy spouted from a tyrannical opinion of his father, she can't help but both be surprised, and horrified that of course Rittenhouse turned out to be just as bad as they knew them to be when they started with this philosophy.

She hears the tiny man who started it all come in, his small spectacles resting on the tip of his nose, but the air of arrogance saturated the room as he walked through. She kept her head down, continuing to sit in the chair, not wanting to call attention to herself. But he sees her anyway.

"May I get a better look at you?" He gestures towards her, and she can feel her heart jump into her throat. "My eyes aren't want they used to be." His request sounding innocent enough, but she knew underneath his tone was a sinister reason.

The young boy, John, comes over to escort her, and her eyes immediately rush to Wyatt's at the word "examine" that he uses. She can see the worry in his eyes, and the promise he'd made coming into question so soon.

She refuses to meet Rittenhouse's eye, the man who had caused so much pain to her and her family standing in front of her. She can feel Wyatt passing behind her, circling as if to make sure that not one wrong move was made.

Without asking, Rittenhouse reaches out, grabbing her chin, like she was a piece of property that he must make sure is in good condition before he makes his own.

"You have good strong teeth. Good skull proportion," he declares, his grip tighter as she squirms.

"Stop," she demands, wrenching her face out of his grip.

"Your hips are a bit narrow, but no one's perfect," he snidely says, adjusting his glasses. "Tell me, have you reproduced yet?"

She can practically feel Wyatt's anger radiating off of him from behind her, and he eyes wander over towards him as she thinks about the question, before twitching back towards the creepy man in front of her.

"No," she grits out.

"Good."

And before she knows it, a man's arm is around her, a knife put at her throat, the edge threatening to slit her open if she made one wrong move.

"What are you doing?" Wyatt grunts, Lucy's panicked breathing only bringing her closer to the blade of the knife.

"These men are here to kill me," he says, as if it were obvious. "The sweat on her brow, the look on his face, it's not the first time I've seen that look. You mean me harm," he says matter of factly, having already gotten the upper hand.

The man holding Lucy has a tight grip on her, and although she's frightened, she can't help but feel she deserved this. The plan was flawed, her conscience weighing heavy.

"But don't worry, my dear. We'll still find a good use for you," Rittenhouse says as he saunters over to her, looking her up and down, and she swears, her fear grows ten fold, a creak of the floorboard letting her know that Wyatt, even with a gun to his head, hadn't taken too kindly to the comment.

xxxxxx

Up until this point, her and Wyatt had taken things slowly, not wanting to rush into anything, her nerves usually getting the better of her, overthinking things to the point of scaring herself right out of what she wanted.

But this kiss was different than the ones before. They had been treading water, neither one of them wanting to jump right into the deep end just yet, but something about tonight had sparked a need in both of them.

One of his hands tangles in her hair, as her's wander over his chest, her kisses nipping at his lip, a guttural moan escaping from her lips, that at any other time would've sent her in a fit of laughter with a tantalizing blush, but this time only seems to spur her on, his free hand seemingly drawing circles on her bare skin in a way that drives her insane.

His mouth traces her jaw, sending a trail of goosebumps down her spine, before landing on her neck, where she swears she can hear her name etched into her skin with his tongue.

She moves her leg to get more comfortable, and her knee grazes against him in a way that makes his breath hitch in a tense sigh, that only had her yearning to have him make that sound again.

Arching her back, it sends his hand higher, dusting across the bottom of her bra that had her shivering.

"Is this okay?" He murmurs into her neck, and she swears she could feel that question on every nerve ending of her body.

She nods into him.

"Yes."

xxxxx

The gunshots ring out throughout the room, Arnold's body crumples on the floor, several bullets littering his body. This wasn't supposed to happen.

It's the thought that keeps going through her head as the tears spring to her eyes, pulling on the arm that has her in a death grip, the tip of the knife digging into her neck at her movement, before yanking her back to her spot.

Rittenhouse's mouth moves with words, but she can't hear any of it, her ears ringing with fear, vibrating through every nerve in her body. It's only when he motions with his hand, bringing Wyatt and Flynn to their knees, that she snaps back, pulling at her human restraint.

"No! No!" She screams, as Wyatt falls to the ground. She tries to catch his eyes, his promise weighing heavy on her. He promised he wouldn't leave again. He promised he wouldn't let anything bad happen.

"You two are sentenced to death," he declares, quickly turning his back to approach her again. "And you are to be brought to my bedchamber."

Her teeth grit together, and she flings her limbs as she's dragged out of the door.

"Wyatt!" She yells, trying to catch his attention, not wanting this to be the last time she sees him. Not again.

A gunshot signaling her fate.

xxxxxx

As Lucy laid on that couch, Wyatt's mouth outlining the way he felt for her with every small movement, she couldn't help but feel something akin to safe. It was the temptation of an emotion that couldn't quite utter, didn't want to think could happen, but bubbled on the surface of her skin in the wake of his touch.

And the way he touched her wasn't searching for a version of her he wanted, it wasn't demanding like he was owed her, it was soft, revered, almost like he wasn't sure he actually deserved what was happening. She was a puzzle he was slowly learning to put together by examining each piece, never anticipating the next move, allowing her to show him.

Lucy eyes hazy, her lashes shielding most of her view, as she gazes down at Wyatt, before moving his lips back to her own, the taste of a promise on his lips.

She doesn't even hear the door being opened and shut, the light footsteps of the heels on the hardwood floor carrying towards the living room.

Lucy doesn't hear a thing but the sound of her name on Wyatt's lips until a sharp gasp is let out and Carol Preston stands behind them glaring down at the two of them with the most terrifying gaze Lucy has ever seen.

xxxxxx

When she pictured how the night was going to go, standing in front of a child, begging Flynn not to kill him, was not part of the plan.

The plan had been to kill one man. One man. Not a child. She'd almost lost Wyatt, nearly flying into his arms when she'd made it back into the room to find her team standing around a bunch of Rittenhouse bodies. One hug, that was it, before they'd separated.

Flynn screams at her to move, his red, angry face an image she hadn't wanted to see. And although he heart threatens to beat out of her chest, she refuses to move.

Her scream isn't nearly as loud as his, but she does it. She argues with the man who has long since crossed the line of decency, hoping for an outcome that she has yet to witness with him.

"You have a choice right now! We all have choices. We can—" she hesitates, the idea of killing a child because of who his father is and what he might be not lost on her. "We can decide to be something different!"

Flynn turns on her, slowly making his way towards the child, a grimacing look on his face.

"Please, no. Please, please, don't do this," she pleads, tears streaming down her face, but her legs refusing to move, not wanting to expose this boy to a fate that never should've befallen him.

Flynn grabs onto her wrist, his hand taking up her entire forearm, affirming how much bigger he was than her. His grip is menacing, his teeth gritted together in an angry sneer. She's gone from the gentle, relieved touch of Wyatt to the rage grip Flynn had on her.

"Get out of my way," he tosses her, not letting go of his grip, instead flinging her like a doll, only to reveal that the boy had escaped.

This only angers him further, Lucy's free hand wrapped around his, trying to loosen the death grip he had on her on arm.

Yanking her around as he looks, he seems to make a decision.

"Where are you taking me?" She asks, her sobbing momentarily stopped, knowing that at least the boy was safe. Unlike herself.

"I thought you knew what was at stake. Come on!" He barks at her.

"Wyatt! Wyatt!" She screams, as she's dragged through the brush towards the Mothership.

"Lucy!" She hears back, Wyatt's panicked voice echoing to her.

"No! No!" She pleads, trying to dig her heels into the ground, but it's no use, he drags her with him.

"Lucy!" She hears again, and she closes her eyes, praying that Wyatt finds her in time.

"Let go of me!" She demands, but Flynn seems to have taken a deaf ear towards her. The fear mounts in her as she's shoved into a chair in the Mothership, the door closing behind her, only the shouts of Wyatt calling her name cane be heard, as a terrifying sneer of Flynn seen.

xxxxx

A/N: helllllllo.

i know, i know. it's been forever a day since i updated this fic. and the longer it went on, the more nervous i got that whatever i put out next had to be perfect in order to make up for the lack of updating. it was a terrible spiral of procrastination and rattling self-confidence that led us here.

but finally, FINALLY, chapter ten is posted.

as always, i appreciate any reviews/comments/feedback. it makes my day and inspires me to write more (both one shots and beyond). so please do so.

i hope you enjoyed.