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She should have known better.
Chasing Emma through time was even more trying than chasing Flynn had been, and Lucy could barely keep the days straight at this point. When Rufus had suggested they all grab a drink after coming back from their latest mission, Lucy had immediately agreed, needing some alcohol in her system after spending far too long in a small closet eavesdropping on Emma’s conversations, pressed up against Wyatt.
They followed Emma, unbeknownst to her, to gather information on Rittenhouse and to thwart her plans. It was almost the same, except Wyatt wasn’t technically contractually obligated to kill Emma; she was still their best bet at destroying Rittenhouse, and Lucy had been adamant that they needed to know what she knew before they took her out. Wyatt was now their bodyguard, self-appointed, of course. Agent Christopher hadn’t even gotten half of her speech out, trying to tell Wyatt that Lucy and Rufus would be fine without him, when all three of them had stood, immediately spouting off how much they needed Wyatt, and Wyatt claiming he needed to be there to protect them for his own personal sanity.
That had struck Lucy. Not only did he need to protect them because they were his team, but he claimed he’d go crazy if he had to sit in the present, trying to go on with his life, not knowing whether they were truly safe or not. Agent Christopher had smirked, having known this would happen, and began debriefing the entire team.
It wasn’t until she snapped at all of them that of course, she wasn’t replacing Wyatt that they all took their seats once more, focusing on the mission at hand.
Another body jostled her out of her thoughts, and Lucy inwardly groaned as she scooted her stool closer to the bar, her stomach flat up against the edge.
She should have known better than to agree to drinks on a Saturday night.
She waved off the drunkard’s half-assed apology as he stumbled into the crowd. The bar was packed. Lucy had barely squeezed herself onto a stool when she’d gotten there about twenty minutes ago, texting both Rufus and Wyatt her location in the bar and warning them of how many people were there. She’d waited for a response, hoping that either of them would suggest another place for them to meet, but none had come. So, she’d slid forward on her stool, clutching her purse, and yelled her drink order to the bartender over the noise.
He’d brought her drink over right away, smiling warmly at her, but she wasn’t in the mood to flirt in this crowd. Plus, he wasn’t really her type. He had refilled her glass twice already, though, so he was currently her favorite person in the room. At least, until her team got there.
“Excuse me, ma'am,” a husky voice whispered in her ear, and she turned towards the man, frowning. He had dark brown hair and emerald green eyes that seemed to glitter in the low light of the bar. He grinned down at her, and she felt a cold chill run down her spine as his gaze swept her body.
“Can I help you?” she asked shortly, her grip on her drink tightening. Give me a reason, she begged silently, to toss this drink right in your face for calling me “ma'am”. She ignored the voice in the back of her mind that reminded her she didn’t mind too much when it came from someone else.
“I just noticed a pretty little thing like you is currently unattached, and I’d love to change that,” he slurred, leaning in close. Lucy coughed, leaning away from the alcohol on his breath. This wasn’t a good idea.
“No, thank you,” she replied, smiling tightly, gesturing around to the crowded dance floor. “I’m sure you can find someone else to your liking.” His grin faltered, then a mischievous glint shone in his eyes and Lucy felt real fear for the first time in a while.
She suddenly wished Wyatt was here.
The man reached out and quickly ran his fingertips down the length of Lucy’s arm, making her flinch uncomfortably. He gripped her hand tightly in his, and she blamed it on the three drinks she’d consumed that she felt too weak to fight him off as he dragged her up from her stool and pulled her into the crowd on the dance floor.
“No, please,” she called out, but he either didn’t hear her over the number of people in the room or, more likely, he didn’t care. He spun her around, shoving her back against the wall, pressing his body up against hers.
Lucy tried to think through the haze of alcohol clouding her brain. How could she have been so stupid? The man latched his mouth onto her neck, his hand holding her head solidly against the wall. Her hands curled into fists as she tried to remember what Wyatt did when he got into situations like these.
True, he’d never been thrown up against a wall with a creep pressing every inch of his body against his own. He had been in situations where he didn’t seem he would ever be able to get out of, though, and Lucy mimicked his actions, her fist reaching up and knocking into the man’s jaw, his mouth ripping from her neck with an obscene pop!
“Ow!” she cried out, cradling her fist against her chest as she looked up to find the man on the ground, holding his jaw. His eyes flashed from shock to anger and he was on his feet again in an instant. Lucy backed herself up against the wall, too frozen with fear to react, when someone stepped directly in front of her, blocking her from the man’s view.
“I’m sure she told you no,” Wyatt growled, glaring at the man. “Take the hint.” She saw Wyatt shift just enough that his gun showed in his holster, and watched as the man’s eyes widened and his face paled.
“Hey, it’s cool man,” he said, backing up, his arms raised in surrender. “I didn’t know she was taken. She’s been here for a while now. I figured she was alone.”
“There was traffic,” Wyatt deadpanned, taking a step towards the man. He flinched before quickly turning and disappearing into the crowd. Lucy recognized the set of Wyatt’s shoulders, seeing he was ready to go after the man, and quickly reached out to brush her fingertips against his arm.
“Wyatt, don’t,” she pleaded, and he turned around, his hands instantly resting on her cheeks, brushing her hair from her face.
“Lucy, are you alright? Did he hurt you? What happened?” he asked, his eyes wide with worry as he quickly scanned her form, assessing her for any injuries. “What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, frowning down at the way she was still cradling her wrist against her chest.
“I punched him,” she said simply, looking up at Wyatt. His face smoothed into what looked like relief as he leaned in closer to her.
“Is that why you screamed?” he murmured, taking her injured hand in his. She frowned up at him as his fingers prodded her wrist.
“I screamed?” she asked. Wyatt smirked at her, gently turning her hand over. She hissed in pain and he immediately froze, slowing his motions as he tried turning her hand over again.
“I might just be attuned to your voice,” he admitted under his breath, his eyes flitting up to meet hers. “But, I heard you scream, ‘ow’.” Lucy blushed, focusing on her wrist again as Wyatt felt around the bone again.
“Ouch,” she hissed again, trying to pull her wrist away as a reflex. Wyatt kept a firm and steady grip on her wrist, frowning down at it. “Where’s Rufus?” she asked, still wondering how he’d even known she was in trouble. Didn’t he always, though? Ever since their first mission, he always knew when she needed him more than anything.
“He’s still at Mason, working on something with Jiya so the Mothership can’t see where the Lifeboat is,” he muttered, gently placing her wrist back up against her stomach, folding her other hand underneath it. “It seems like it’s just a sprain. I’ll wrap it when we get home.”
Lucy’s eyes shot up to meet his at that. She suppressed a smile as he quickly realized what he’d just said.
“I mean,” he backtracked, and Lucy smirked up at him, leaning in closer as his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. It was nice to see a flushed complexion on Wyatt, for a change. “You know, my place. My home. You’re just staying there,” he finished lamely. Lucy nodded, squinting in amusement up at him.
“I’m aware,” she replied wryly and he rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head down, and she could smell his shampoo from here. She fought the urge to close her eyes and breathe in deeply while he was still this close to her, to relish in the relaxing scent that was Wyatt.
“Alright, Punchy Brewster, let’s go.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders, leading her towards the door, tucking her close against his side as they maneuvered their way through the crowded bar.
“Let’s go home?” she prompted, looking up at him, all signs of teasing gone. He smiled softly at her, his eyes bright as he effortlessly led her through the crowd.
“Yeah,” he breathed, leaning in closer to her to whisper in her ear. “Let’s go home, ma'am.”