Lucy sometimes thinks, it would be easier, if Emerson had turned into a complete stranger. It would hurt a lot more, but she would find a way to work alongside that new person she didn't know, and the past would stay where it belonged, buried and forgotten.
Instead, Emerson is still Emerson. With additional forty eight years of life Lucy was not part of, which she hates with every fibre of her being. Of course, there is no way somebody can stay the same for so long. Unless one had awakened one morning to find herself half a century into the future, that is. So yes, Emerson has changed, and Lucy hates that. As little as they actually talked about it, she did want to grow old together.
Instead Lucy picks up a habit of browsing through Emerson's things, whenever she has a chance. Books that on their own accord open on certain pages, ties that don't go with any of his other clothes, snowball with a palm tree inside of it, there is always something she finds that has a story behind it. Stories aren't nearly enough, but they are a whole lot better than nothing.
Today Lucy notices a crack on the Emerson's favourite tea mug. Emerson just came back, without much success it looks, and Lucy is preparing a tea. Light hits the mug she is holding at just the right angle and Lucy wonders how she never before saw the thin line going all the way from top to bottom.
"We lost him. Again." Emerson heavily sits down at the table and Lucy half-turns, dividing her attention between him and pouring tea into their mugs. Emerson looks angry and tired.
"We'll get him," Lucy promises, setting both mugs on the table and sitting down. She wishes she could do something, but for now monitoring the pretty much always silent computer alert system seems to be her limit.
"I wish Ray would've taken my offer. We'd have better chances then." Emerson stares somewhere through his tea, deep in thoughts which Lucy is not ready to guess. Besides the fact that she hates having a killer roaming free, Lucy selfishly wishes Tommy Madsen and other inmates behind bars again, so that Emerson and her would finally have time to figure out their own lives.
"It's strange, how Madsen is an ultimate criminal now," Lucy muses aloud, not sure if she wants to share that particular thought, but unable to keep silent. "He was ruthless and relentless back in the sixties, but most of the inmates were. Madsen was good, not great. And now we treat him like he is a new Ripper."
What Lucy is not going to say, is that it's not Tommy Madsen she is really concerned about. Sure, she is confused about an ordinary killer turning into such a big threat, but the real problem is, she is afraid to find herself in a similar position. She had stepped from nineteen sixty three into two thousand eleven unchanged, but Emerson had almost fifty years to modify his perception of her. Lucy's fear that he'd forgotten all about her lasted for about five seconds, now she's afraid of the opposite. Fifty years is more than enough to turn her from human into some ideal image inside Emerson's head. Image that she won't be able to live up to.
"We treat him as a runaway criminal he is." Emerson sounds a lot harsher than Lucy expected and she feels a pang of guilt. She didn't want to disappear and jump in time, but it's still her fault. "Nothing has changed. You just never saw, how seriously I take my job."
Emerson keeps a straight face saying it, but Lucy is fairly sure the last part is meant as teasing. She smiles a little and relaxes a death grip on her mug.
"Not true. Why do you think I noticed you?" Lucy doesn't expect an answer, it's an old joke between them. Older than she can really contemplate. Tough three months or forty eight years ago Lucy would never imagine Emerson so bitter and cold, the part of him being great at his job is no wonder. "So, any particular history behind that tea mug of yours?"
Lucy knows she is avoiding a whole lot of things they need to talk about, but for now she is content with just talking. She has forty eight years to catch up on.
Emerson looks down for a moment, then back at Lucy and smiles. Some things don't seem to change. The way the corners of her lips tilt up on their own volition, the anticipation she is feeling, the way she could stay up all night with him. "There is."