The Seminar

Author's Notes: Next in the "Revenge" verse! (The Business Trip, All's Fair, The Meeting)

Thanks to Jessica Johnson for sounding board duties and gif inspo supplies.

Wyatt sighed. Again.

He'd definitely gotten past the point of being embarrassed about it. What good would that do? What even was there to be embarrassed about? He missed his wife. And that was that. She was brilliant, funny, and smoking hot. Of course he missed her! Unfortunately, a whole lot of men were not quite so evolved and would definitely tear him apart for not wanting to be separated from her for a mere week, so he kept it to himself. At least with Homeland Security a lot of the agents had wives and families and home lives too. Not that army guys didn't, but he could definitely tell a difference.

Wyatt and Lucy had both been surprised when the army had called him up and requested he join a week long "trial program" at Fort Hood. While technically still in the military, Homeland basically had an agreement that he was "theirs". The military, however, was apparently trying out a new, cross-discipline training program, and were inviting representatives from across all branches of the military. They thought Wyatt's unique experiences and position would benefit the trial. How, he didn't know. It sounded like it was one of the "get everyone together to try increase cooperation and morale" kind of ploys the military pulled every now and then. Rather than actual physical drills and exercises, they would apparently be participating in a series of educational seminars, and something called "Awareness" training.

Lucy of course thought it was a great idea. Always one to encourage education, she also figured he might be able to catch up with some of his old friends. Wyatt admitted that while that would be nice, it wasn't like he could tell them anything about where or what he'd been doing for the last several years.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to have fun," she'd patted him on the chest consolingly.

"I'd rather stay home and have fun with you," he'd smirked back.

Wyatt sighed again at the memory. Yeah, he would so rather be home.

Instead, he was on day three out of five of boring lectures, stuffed into a cramped, too-hot classroom as they had been for the duration. Several of the participants had been calling it "high school" all week. Now, Wyatt could admit it wasn't all bad. Some of the seminars had been very interesting, like the day on emerging technologies and how the military hoped to implement them. And he'd been looking forward to today.

Military history.

Every soldier was required to go through basic military history at the beginning of their careers, but Wyatt knew firsthand how much more there was to know. How so many people who'd made significant contributions to shaping and maintaining their country's way of life were lost to the pages of time. He wondered if the speaker would go over any time or place he and the team had been to. Thinking about the speaker, however, he frowned. Most of the lecturers and their topics had been posted in schedules around the base, but todays had only said "To be determined." It would probably be some old guy with a fine layer of dust still hovering around his tweed jacket like a shroud. The lecturers for the week had been a mix of military and civilian and so far, the civilians had not inspired much attention. If they were a relic the army had found in an old library, he probably wouldn't learn a thing, and was debating whether he could secretly text Lucy and see if she was around to distract him. Most of the soldiers were not holding out much hope for the day, hushed plans being exchanged for how best to catch a quick nap.

"And now," the sergeant at the front of the room was saying as Wyatt fiddled with the phone in his pocket, "For today's programme of military history, joining us from Palo Alto, California, Professor Preston."

Wyatt jerked up straight in surprise, phone tumbling from his pocket to clatter on the floor. No one seemed to notice though, because Professor Preston, HIS Professor Preston had just walked in the door.

What. The. HELL!?

She was technically dressed very professionally. A black suit with a crisp white shirt, her hair tied up and away behind her neck. Managing to wrench his eyes from her perfect face for a moment he saw a flash of skin before she stepped behind the podium at the front and shit. It was a skirt suit. With tall black heels.

Yeah, not a single man (or perhaps even woman) in the room was going to hear or see his phone drop. Every eye was glued to the absolute vision that was Lucy Preston. She was like a breath of fresh air in the stifling room. A drop of water in the desert. A bright light amongst the camouflage.

Yeah, he'd missed her. Badly. But what the hell was she doing there? Had an old coot backed out at the last second? Had a family emergency and bailed? Keeled over themselves? How would the army know to call Lucy? Wyatt knew she was world class, but she hadn't been back to teaching for that long, and wasn't putting her name out for any events yet. How could… why would… when did this…

"Good morning, everyone!"

Her sweet voice cut through his confusion. The sound washed over him, and his tensions eased, just a bit, but any relief was welcome. She always had that effect on him; could calm him down in even the most extreme circumstances.

"I'm honoured to be here," she was saying. "But before we start I'd like to thank each and every one of you for the heroic service you provide for our country. I know many of you have made incredible sacrifices, and I will be forever grateful."

There was an audible shifting of chairs as most of the soldiers stood up a little straighter. Wyatt could see several proud smiles. A lot of people said things like "Thank you for your service" when they met soldiers. It was just the thing to do. But he knew that Lucy meant it. And they could tell. God he loved her.

"Now, let's jump right in." She reached down to the briefcase she'd brought with her and drew out some papers, settling them in front of her. Then she picked up something else. A pair of glasses.

Oh god, no!

She fiddled with them absently as she spoke. "Oh, and by the way. I'm Doctor Lucy Preston, but please, just call me Ms. Preston." Then she drew the glasses up and as she deliberately put them on, suddenly pinned her eyes directly on Wyatt. "No one calls me ma'am."

He didn't notice the interested looks a few sent his way. He didn't feel the nudge of the guy beside him kicking his boot. He didn't notice anything but the look in his wife's eyes.

The witch! The little minx! The she-devil! This was planned. This was her doing. This was a mission! Not to save America, or its history, but to get back at him. He knew it, instantly. This was her revenge for him showing up at her big meeting. Getting into that meeting had been easy though. How the hell had she infiltrated the largest active duty post in the United States? They had surely been planning the event for months before he'd even ever heard of it. How had she secured her spot? When?

The man beside him kicked him again and this time he felt it.

"Ow," Wyatt hissed. "Jesus Kawalski, what's the deal?"

"Dude," the soldier hissed back. "I know she's freakin' gorgeous, but could you maybe put that tongue back in your mouth before I have to wipe drool off the table?"

Wyatt clapped his mouth shut, not realizing it had been open, and gave the man a glare. He just rolled his eyes and looked back to Lucy. Wyatt reached down to quickly snatch his phone up. He apparently wasn't fast enough.

"Master Sergeant Logan," Lucy barked. Yes, barked. Full scolding teacher voice. Oh god how was it so hot when she did that? "Is there a reason you're halfway on the floor?"

Every head in the room turned to look at him and he grit his teeth to not turn red.

"Just dropped my pen, Ma'- I mean… Professor."

She raised a delicate, yet highly sceptical eyebrow. "It's Preston," she said cooly. "Miss Preston."

She'd emphasized Miss. As in not married. He scanned her hands and realized she wasn't wearing her ring. He felt something ignite deep in his belly. An ingrained, ancient kind of need. He wanted her marked as his. He wanted the world to know she was taken. By him. She'd tear him apart for being a Neanderthal, but he couldn't help it. It was primal. They'd fought so hard to get to where they were, where they could finally, proudly show the world they were two halves of a whole.

The hell kind of game was she playing here?

"Sorry, Miss Preston," he ground out. "Won't happen again."

She nodded primly. "Be sure that it doesn't."

A few of the guys snickered. Wyatt's teeth ground harder.

The lesson continued and things only got worse. Not because she called him out again. Or because he got kicked again. It got worse because Lucy was so damn good. As soon as she started into the actual history stuff, she came alive. He had never really appreciated it while they were on missions, usually too afraid they would get shot while she prattled on. But when they weren't in a life-threatening situation Lucy in history-mode was a sight to behold. The way her eyes shone. The way her voice lifted and sank and sped up or slowed down, weaving the picture right in front of your eyes. The way her body moved with the story, hands gesturing wildly one moment, then softly the next. She cast a spell over her audience, even the ones who were most outspoken about dreading a boring old talk about dead people that had no bearing on their lives or careers. Lucy was proving them wrong. The people of history did matter, they did affect every modern-day citizen's daily life. From the rights they enjoyed, to the borders of the states they all came from, to the names of the streets they drove down.

Her lecturing was so good it was bad. Bad for Wyatt. Because he was now in a state of shock, still confused, embarrassed by her pointing him out, angry about her ring, and now hopelessly turned on. Every so often, much to his dread, she would bring up something he knew. Something from a mission. It could be a casual comment, a throwaway tidbit, or, in the case of mentioning the likelihood of the class having had ancestors who'd fought in many of the wars, like the 101st in Germany, a direct reference. And every time, every damn time, she would glance at him. Oh, it was subtle. She was good. No one else in the room would notice it. She was just scanning across his row, never actually landing on him.

But he knew.

She was winding him up like a corkscrew. And it was working. There was nothing he could do about it. Not a damn thing. He could only sit there and endure the torture. Every time her eyes grazed past him, in those damn glasses, he fought not to shift or adjust too obviously. The camo pants he wore grew tighter and tighter and he wondered how he was going to stand and walk out of there. Kawalski had kicked him a few more times but then gave up. Wyatt was too far gone. There was nothing to be done. Nothing but to get her alone somehow and demand what the hell she was up to. Maybe he could corner her at lunch break, shuffle her off to a quiet corner and demand some answers. Yeah. That's what he would do. Then he could at least be at peace for the afternoon.

He was not at peace for the afternoon. Far from it, Master Sergeant Logan was swiftly approaching the realm of ticking time bomb, and the countdown was getting low. No matter how hard he'd tried to talk to her at lunch she somehow always slipped away from him. She'd pretend not to hear his whispered "Lucy!" and walk right past him. Then she'd stand up to "go to the bathroom" as soon as he got near. But even worse than all that? She legitimately was busy the whole time.

With other soldiers.

Most were innocent in their intentions, just wanting to offer her their thanks for her words at the beginning, or to say they were really enjoying her lecture. This, he could understand. When he was able to concentrate on the lesson instead of her, he would always learn something. Those people he was fine with. It was the group of snivelling sycophants that he wasn't okay with. He'd noticed them in class just a bit before lunch. A crew of three or four in the back corner. How did jerks always seem to gravitate towards each other? Every time Lucy's back was turned to write something on the big white board at the front of class, they would lean into each other and whisper. Wyatt couldn't hear the words, but you didn't have to have a PhD to get the gist. They were definitely not admiring her history lesson. Oh no, they were admiring her.

Now, Wyatt couldn't fault anyone for noticing Lucy's physical perfection. You couldn't help but notice someone like her. Not that there was anyone else quite like her, in his opinion. But any decent human being could be respectful about it. These guys were not, and it made his blood boil. Then they had the nerve to approach her at lunch. Compliment her "knowledge" and her "perspective" and even went so far as to admire her handwriting. Who the hell did that kind of thing!? What did they think was going to happen? She would simper and bat her eyes and sneak off to the locker room with them? Then he remembered she wasn't wearing his ring and his guts felt like acid.

Some of the guys were good looking. Like, really good looking. And taller than him. And more muscled. And… no! Jesus, what was wrong with him? It was like high school all over again. He knew Lucy wouldn't fall for their crap. No, soldiers weren't Lucy's type.

She'd told him so herself. Her exact words were "You are my type." That had been a good night. A really good night.

But anyways, the jerks had no right! No right! Prowling around her like a pack of wolves cornering a lamb. His brain knew she could handle a couple of flyboys but that didn't matter to his heart. By the end of lunch he was nearly ready to report them for harassment.

Then Lucy saved him. As she always did.

She didn't even need to speak a word to do it, either. She simply walked past him and as she did so, let her hand brush against his hip. They hadn't always been the best with words, especially to each other, but their physical connection and understanding was unparalleled. He knew instantly what she meant.

It's okay. I know. Don't worry. I got this.

His heart slowed about twenty beats a minute from that lightest of touches. Some might call him whipped, to be so influenced by such a tiny thing. He considered himself lucky. He also considered the clique of douchebags lucky. He wouldn't punch them out on the way back to the seminar. But hey, the day wasn't over yet.

The afternoon's program continued much the same as the morning. Lucy would enthuse. Wyatt would squirm. Agent Christopher was good about not sending him away too often. Though it had never been spoken aloud, he was pretty sure she actively made sure he didn't go away if he didn't absolutely have to. He could never express how grateful to her he was for it. Lucy felt the same. Having lived together in a literal bunker for so long, used to working side by side in dire situations on the regular, they'd discovered they weren't very good at being apart. Rufus and Jiya would bug them about it sometimes, of course, but they were almost as bad. It was now just ingrained in Wyatt's DNA to have Lucy at his side. They were still individuals, of course, fully capable of going off to their separate workplaces, doing solo errands, occasionally meeting friends or colleagues. But if there were no such obligations, they were together. That's just how they liked it. With the added perks of not battling Rittenhouse, and getting to make love whenever they pleased… why would they want to ever be apart? Thus the squirming. three days without her was three days more than he was used to. It wasn't just that she was so sexy he wanted to have her right there against the podium. He just wanted to be in her presence. Alone. Smell her hair. Hold her hand.

Okay, and also have her right up against the podium.

After he figured out what her game was.

By the time the day's lessons were almost done, Wyatt was a twisted mess. The shock had worn down, though the wonder remained. The confusion, anger, horniness, and frustration with the clique in the corner had all broiled together into a sickening swirl of pent up energy. He didn't know if he wanted to fight the guys, yell at Lucy, or tear her clothes off, or in which order.

"Master Sergeant Logan."

Wyatt started, realizing he'd completely gone into his head.

Up at the front, Lucy, who didn't have a single hair out of place even after such a long day, was sternly folding her arms. Her white shirt was buttoned to the top and she had the suit jacket on, but he could just imagine the way her chest must be rising up, breasts pushing together and…

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.

"Uh, no Ma-…" Damnit "No, Miss Preston. I don't."

"Then I'd ask you to kindly pay attention."

He gave a brusque nod, not trusting himself to speak. He could hear the snickers from the corner gang and his hands clenched into fists. The final hour was agony. Pure physical and mental agony. He was paying attention, just as she'd ordered. Paying attention to the way her body moved in that skirt. To the way her eyes were almost golden in the light of the room. To the way her lips moved as she spoke so passionately. It took everything in him not to leap up and run to her when the lesson finally ended. He had to purposely take a deep breath, gathering his papers to strategically place in front of him when he walked.

"Logan." Her voice rang out amongst the noise of papers shuffling and chairs moving. "Please stay behind for a moment."

He heard an "Ooooh," emanate from the corner. So help him if he ran into one of those assholes in a darkened hallway that night…

He remained stiffly seated in his chair as everyone filed out, several stopping to shake Lucy's hand as they did so. Of course. Just prolong the agony why don't they. The second Lucy closed the door behind the last person he was on his feet and flying towards her.

"What the fuck!" he hissed.

But he got no further than that. Because as soon as he was within reaching distance she whirled to face him, grabbed him by the face and shoved her tongue down his throat.

"Mmffflcy" he tried to say her name but she was having none of it. It took all of a second for him to give in. The smell, the feel, the taste of her was overwhelming after days without. She flooded his senses like a tsunami and he was lost, his body coming alive as his mind went blank. But as he moved to wrap his arms around her and pull her tight against him she was gone. He blinked, dumbly staring at her as he fought to catch the breath which had left him in a rush.

The devil had a smirk on her face a mile wide. "Women's locker room," she commanded in a deep, husky voice. "Five minutes."

And with that she was gone. The clicking of her heels echoed in the now empty room as he stared at the door. Did he have to report anywhere soon? Was there anything else happening that night? When was dinner? He had no clue. He didn't know anything but the blood thumping through his veins, the faint scent of her still in the air.

He charged out of the room.

To Be Continued….