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The first time she held a gun it felt foreign, uncomfortable in shape and weight, as if her hands weren’t made to hold something so deadly. Maybe that’s why she had felt so powerful, a rush of adrenaline surging through her veins and making her head buzz.
The first time she pulled the trigger the gun had kicked back with the force of a ferocious punch, her hands shaking as the bullet hit where she had wanted. The gunshot so loud in her ears she had them ringing for hours, like the thunder had taken home in her head. She didn’t feel powerful then and there had been no adrenaline rush, she had only felt hollow.
This emptiness had followed her for days and weeks, becoming heavier at times and lighter at others until the weight suddenly dropped on top of her and the ground opened up under her feet.
The only thing keeping her afloat had been Wyatt’s hand holding her tight, keeping her head above water.
“You nervous?”
Lucy focused on his voice, the smirk lifting up one side of his lips. “I have shot before.”
“An unarmed, unmoving target. We’re dealing with someone much more dangerous than Jesse James.”
We. Wyatt had taken upon himself the perils of her life. She was Rittenhouse and fighting it, and her entire life seemed to be a lie, a constructed play that had her as the unwillingly, unbeknownst main star. Wyatt had almost lost his control when she told him about her mother and in an uncharacteristically moment of anger he had lost his temper with Agent Christopher, blaming her for what was happening and taking upon himself the job of protecting her much more seriously than he ever had.
So he demanded she learned self-defense, learned to control her fears – including claustrophobia – learned how to use a gun and shoot.
I can’t be around 24/7. If anything happens and I’m not there to protect you, you need to know how to protect yourself, he had said and the reply was at the tip of her tongue, but she felt that saying she wanted him to be with her 24/7 didn’t seem like the most appropriate response.
They had been dancing around whatever was happening between them since his admission at Mason Industries that he wasn’t ready to say goodbye and there never seemed to be the most proper moment to approach the subject. So she just ached for his present whenever they weren’t together, the need to feel him near amplified by the knowledge that they were a possibility now.
Wyatt checked the gun and handed it out to her. It was bigger and heavier than the pistol she used to shoot Jesse James, similar to the one she pointed at the soldier that replaced Dave Baumgardner. It had been easier to hold a more modern gun, designed to fit a hand better, to be more powerful. Her fingers had been all over each other, squeezing the gun too hard in fear of it coming to life before Wyatt showed her how to properly hold it.
“And I’m the bossy know it all.” She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but smiled when he playfully bumped her.
“Come on, get in position.” He stepped beside her, hands on her hips to move her body to a slightly better angle and her breath hitched. He didn’t seem to notice, focused on leveling her arms, and easing her shoulders. “Legs slightly apart, make sure your knees are relaxed and your feet firm on the ground.”
She did as he asked, placing her feet apart, shoulders angled, arms raised. She knew how to hold the gun from a previous, short lesson, so unfortunately the amount of time he spent on showing her how to stand was shorter than she would have hoped.
“Shouldn’t I just aim and shoot if I’m in distress? It’s not like I’ll be in the state of mind to really think.” Lucy closed one eye and squinted at the gun, aiming at nowhere in particular as she tested her sight.
“That’s the thing: you have to always be in the state of mind to consider your options. If you don’t, you may end up hurting yourself.” He spoke, covering her hand with one of his own, pulling her aim down a few inches. “Always aim a little lower. The bullet will make a curved trajectory when you shoot and hit higher than your original aim.”
Lucy did as he told, feet apart, one hand supporting her hold on the gun, aiming a little lower. She didn’t pull the trigger yet, just testing how it felt, learning the weight of it, calculating the recoil, feeling the soft breeze carrying his after shave towards her.
They had driven out to a desert area for shooting practice instead of a real range under the justification that when they were among so many people, anyone would easily find out what she was doing, especially Rittenhouse. The less they knew the easier it was to catch them by surprise. She hadn’t seen any fault in his logic then, and now being alone with him in the middle of nowhere, only the sun and the sand everywhere she looked, she felt some thrill buzz through her body. She had wanted to be alone with him for a while now, maybe finally be able to start a very overdue conversation, but now that she had the chance she was at a loss of what to say. She didn’t want to talk, she just wanted to listen to him speak, let his voice wash over her and pretend the circumstances under which they were there were normal.
Wyatt stepped closer, pressing the front of his body against her back, his arms coming around her sides to hold the gun above her hands, imitating her stance, his legs next to her legs, left hand supporting right hand around the gun. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Don’t squeeze the trigger, pull it gently.”
She wanted to pretend his proximity wasn’t affecting her, but her body betrayed her. She was shaking, hands trembling so hard he had to tighten his grip to keep it in place; her stomach was doing somersaults, anxiety mixed with desire taking control of her body. She knew what it felt like to want someone badly, a physical release for a physical stress, but this? This deep, indescribable, intoxicating feeling that weaseled between her ribs and took place around her heart was so strange, so unbelievable that she couldn’t compare to anything she had ever felt in the three decades of her existence.
His mere presence made her bones tingle and her cells come alive.
Was it how he had felt with Jessica? Was it how Jessica had felt with him? Did Wyatt even feel a tenth of that with her?
“Relax,” Wyatt said, his breath teasing her ear, his body warmth enveloping her like a cocoon, and by the flirty tone of his voice he knew exactly what he was doing.
Lucy took a deep breath, wished her body to relax and ignore the fact all she wanted to do was lean back into him, and pulled the trigger as she let her breath out slowly. She hit one of the bottles Wyatt had placed several feet away from them and a smile spread across her face. “I did it!”
She turned to him in excitement, arms flailing and smile wide.
“Whoa, keep the gun down, soldier and put the safety back on.” He was smiling too, watching as she went from giddy to worried and let out a oh sorry as she checked the safety of her gun.
She smiled back up at him, hand up to show the safety was on again, and realized he was so close she could just lean in and press her lips against his.
Wyatt reached a hand out, touched her face, fingers gingerly brushing against her cheek as he pulled back stray strands of hair from her face. “Don’t let your hair get on your face when you’re shooting.” His hand lingered there, against her cheek, thumb grazing against her chin and his eyes flickering to her lips.
So she did what any normal human female would do: she kissed him.
She didn’t expect their first kiss to be so sudden. The romantic in her had hoped he would ask her out on a date after coming back from chasing Emma through history, maybe celebrate they were still alive, and then a kiss would most certainly follow. She hoped he would be the one to kiss her, do it in his own time, when he felt ready for it.
But he had been flirting with her for too long now, eyes that fell to her lips too often, hands brushing against her fingers or her back too many times, long conversations about nothing late at night as they talked on the phone to keep the world around them at bay for a little longer.
She pressed her lips gentle at first, hand sneaking up to brush against his cheek and to her delight he immediately responded, as if he had been waiting for this as much as she had. Wyatt put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, full against is body, hand splayed on her lower back dangerously low, the other grabbing the back of her neck to put more pressure between their lips.
His cheek was scratchy against her palm, the subtle hint of a five o’clock shadow and she learned she liked the feel of it. Liked the way his hand enveloped her neck and kept her in place, liked the way his fingers teased the swell of her bottom, like the way his lips opened up to her and the way his tongue felt against hers. Lucy sighed into his mouth, arms around his neck holding him to her tight, rising on her toes to angle her mouth better.
Desired pooled low in her stomach as their kisses became more desperate, the slow slide of their lips becoming deeper and harder, her fingers sliding in his hair and grabbing the short stands in an attempt to steady her. The movement elicited a groan from Wyatt and a smile broke across Lucy’s face as she filed the information for later.
When they pulled back they were both breathless and Lucy wanted to keep to memory his swollen lips and several shades of pink covering his cheeks and neck. Looking at Wyatt, allowing herself to feel what she always forced herself to ignore, she realized that love wasn’t how she expected it to be.
Because the lightning bolt didn’t hit you with force, loud like a thunder clap but grew like a weed, slowly taking roots and silently expanding until it was suddenly there, everywhere, tightening around the heart, and the lungs, and the throat, making it hard to breath and to think rationally, impossible to remove without causing any damage.
Loving someone meant opening yourself up for pain; you had to be vulnerable to love, and she had never felt more pain or more vulnerable when Wyatt had showed up at her door in the middle of the night, declaring he was stealing the Lifeboat to bring back someone he loved unconditionally. A love she had never been in the receiving end of. She had also realized that day that despite his sorrow and guilt, despite being trapped in the past, she still managed to have a grasp on him. He came for her that night, not because he trusted her or because he needed a head start, but because he needed her permission to go, he needed her to release her grasp in order for him to be let go. Because he probably felt the same and his past wouldn’t allow him to let go.
And in the end he was the one letting go of his past.
“Lessons are over for today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He replied with a smirk before she kissed him again.