Chapter Text
Martin Stein had spent most of his adult life studying time. Since his early studies at MIT, the notion of time – and time travel – had been obsessions. Yet, even now, at age 67, he knew that he was not close to unlocking most of the truly mysterious aspects of time. Nor would he learn them in his lifetime.
There was, however, a funny thing about time that Martin’s two years on the Waverider had taught him. For most people, time is linear. One day flows into the next, until a month, then a year, and then a decade has passed. But the same was not true when you could break that linear chain. When you could travel through time – literally jump from one era to another – the entire notion that time “passes” became a fiction. A time traveler could be younger in 2040 than in 1492. Time itself could be turned on its head.
So could expectations about the future. Something you might expect to happen in 25 years, for instance. When time’s movement was non-linear, such an event might not happen until significantly longer. Thirty years. Forty.
Then again. Time sometimes had a way of correcting itself.
With a resigned sigh, he looked down at the piece of paper resting on the table in the Library. Sometimes what you thought would happen in 25 years might actually happen in 25 years.
On time, one might say.
“Are you okay, Martin?”
Martin nearly jumped in surprise. He spun around and saw Sara standing in the doorway to the Library, her arms crossed. She had changed out of twelfth-century clothing into her regular uniform and seemed to be studying him.
“Of course. Gideon reports that our fellow team members in the Stone Age are progressing nicely. As for our mission, the timeline is corrected. The legend of Robin Hood has been restored.”
Sara did not seem convinced, but she said nothing as she walked over to the table and glanced down at the paper. “Barry and Iris’s wedding invitation?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you get sentimental about weddings?”
Martin knew he had to be careful. Sara was extraordinarily perceptive and his years on the Waverider had taught him there was little that went unnoticed when the Captain was suspicious. “The invitation just served as a reminder that time in Central City is proceeding, linearly if you would, while we jaunt back and forth in the time stream.” He paused, letting that sink in. “I suspect that most of us initially anticipated returning home only moments after we left, but of course that was never truly feasible.”
“No,” Sara agreed. “It would have been pretty suspicious if we aged several months overnight. But come on, Professor, that’s not really what going on. You’ve been locked up in your lab almost every minute between missions. Jax says you’ve been distant--”
“Jefferson tends to worry too much, but I assure you that everything is perfectly fine.” It also gave Martin the opening he needed. “Except . . . perhaps. . . .”
Sara gave him a dubious look like she knew she was being played. “Perhaps?”
Martin ignored the look. “Perhaps we could return a few days before the wedding. I’m sure Jefferson would enjoy some time with his mother--”
“And I’m sure you’d like to spend some time with your family?”
Martin made a point to shrug. “Is it that obvious? Guilty as charged. Thanksgiving is just a few days before. November 23, I believe. . . .”
Sara rolled her eyes. “You could have just asked.” She paused and seemed to think for a few minutes. “I know the past few months have been hard. With all these anachronisms we’ve been dealing with, you’ve barely had a chance to see your grandson. We all understand that you want to go home. And that goes for Jax, too. Probably more than the rest of us.”
“Jefferson is a far better man than I could have ever hoped to have as the other half of Firestorm,” Martin had to admit. “He is remarkably selfless – far more so than most young men his age. Far more, perhaps, than I have ever been. Yet I have a responsibility to him. . . .”
He let his words linger, not elaborating on them. Let Sara think he meant his responsibility to stay on board the Waverider so that Jefferson did not lose his opportunity to remain a Legend.
If only that were the responsibility Martin meant.
Sara just nodded. “Gideon,” she called out. “Plot a course for 2017. November 23.” She looked at Martin and grinned. “I think we can spare a few extra days. . . . And send a message to Barry Allen that the four of us onboard will be attending the wedding.” She paused, continuing to look at Martin. “Good?”
If she only knew, Martin thought, but he kept up the pretense. “Very. Thank you.”
He watched Sara turn and head out of the Library. Martin knew he shouldn’t linger, but he could not prevent himself from looking again at the wedding invitation – or more specifically, at the wedding date.
November 27, 2017.
One day before the date etched in Martin’s mind for 25 years.
One day before he was supposed to die.