Chapter Text
Hello
Something exploded in the wreckage of the Hindenburg. It was just enough of a distraction for the mercenaries to get the drop on Flynn. Two of them had their guns trained at him, his own held loosely in his hand, pointing it at the ground so as not to give them a reason to shoot him while he thought of a way out of this.
Damnit, where is Logan? Flynn mentally cursed the man for disappearing after that reporter.
“I’m not your enemy,” the brunette woman said as she stood between the ex-military soldiers for hire.
“Then surrender yourself, and the Mothership.” He couldn’t help but try to throw some charm into his words. It had helped him out on more than one occasion.
She almost smiled at him, as if remembering something that made her happy and sad. “I can’t do that, Garcia.”
“You’re a respected history professor, Miss Preston,” he said, trying to appeal to her. “I would think someone who loved history as much as you would want to save it, not burn it down.”
“I am trying to save it.” Preston moved forward, holding out a small journal. “And you’re going to help me.”
The pages of the journal were filled from edge to edge with notes and comments. Some of it was in English, some in Croatian. It was his handwriting, but that was impossible.
“You’ve always helped me,” she nearly whispered, then there was a slight upturn of her lips. “Apparently, we make quite the team.”
“Help you?” Flynn looked into her eyes and she seemed so sure, so confident… yet. “Why would I help a woman who murdered her own sister in cold blood?”
Pain flashed across her face and she stilled her jaw. “Rittenhouse.”
“What?”
“When you go back, ask them about why you were chosen. Ask them about Rittenhouse.”
A shot rang out and one of the mercenaries was hit, but didn't go down. Flynn’s so-called partner had finally showed his face. More shots were fired, further chaos ensued. By the time it was all over, the woman got away with the help of the second hired man, and the reporter was dead, having not escaped her fate.
Hours later, they were back at Mason Industries, and it all felt a little strange, a little off, that history had changed and they were the only ones who knew it.
“So, that’s not how it happened?” Mason asked as he sat in front of the computer. The newspaper article he brought up stated that the Hindenburg exploded upon takeoff thanks to the actions of an anarchy group.
“No,” Logan said while Flynn wrapped his head around it. “Everyone knew that the Hindenburg blew up upon landing. ‘Oh, the humanity’ and all that.”
“Oh the what?” Jiya blinked, sharing a blank look with everyone else.
“Nevermind.” Logan shrugged it off.
Agent Christopher crossed her arms and looked rather pensive. “So what was Lucy Preston trying to do by blowing it up on takeoff and killing, what did you call him?”
“One of History’s greatest dicks,” Flynn supplied, in reference to Rockefeller.
“Right.” She gave him a dour expression. “Is she trying to make the world a better place or something?”
“Depends on how you want to look at it,” Flynn said, once he finally settled on what his gut was telling him. “I think she’s trying to destabilize the US. Kick the country while it’s still on uncertain legs.”
“Why would she want to do that?” Mason asked. “Other than the fact none of you can make a proper cup of tea.”
“I think it has something to do with Rittenhouse.” Flynn looked right at Christopher when he said that.
“What’s Rittenhouse?” she asked.
“You tell me.” He watched her every expression.
“I don’t know what that is,” she told him, then reiterated when he kept his eyes on her. “I don’t know. But I’ll look into it. Okay.”
Flynn had been around long enough, as a soldier in a war, and as a spy in the NSA, to know when someone was lying to him. Agent Christopher didn’t know who Rittenhouse was. And more frightening, Lucy Preston absolutely believed they were on the same side, would work together, in the future.
“Alright,” Christopher sighed. “The damage seems to be at a minimum, so let’s take this as a win.”
“Preston’s still out there,” Logan pointed out.
“And we’ll go after her the next time she jumps. So keep your phone on you, you’re on call,” Christopher told Logan and the man nodded like a dutiful soldier. She then turned to Flynn. “We were in a pinch and you were the closest person who could handle a gun and knows his history. I’d like to keep you permanently on loan from the NSA until we stop Preston, but I’ll understand if you want to walk away.”
“I do know my history,” Flynn told her. “And I take it as a personal offense she’s trying to destroy this country. I may be a proud Croat, but I’m also American, my mother was from Texas.”
“Huh,” Logan glanced over at him. “So I am.”
“I’ll make the arrangements then,” Christopher said as Flynn gave Wyatt a side glance. “Consider all three of you on call.”
“Me?” Rufus went pale.
“You’re the only pilot we got.”
The man reluctantly accepted his fate. Flynn still vividly remembered Rufus going off on the policeman. He’d been so impressed at Rufus’ tenacity that he had almost forgotten to pickpocket the cell key off of the man as Rufus tore into him.
With a few last words, the group broke up. Rufus headed off with Mason to talk about something, probably technical things. And he and Logan went down to the showers and locker area to change back into their modern clothing.
“Yeah, I know it was stupid,” Logan admitted as he grabbed his wallet and keys from his locker, sliding them into his pants pockets.
“Which part?” Flynn nearly laughed as he opened his own locker.
Logan put on his coat and closed the locker door. “You ever been married, Flynn?”
“Never had the pleasure,” he replied quietly. “But I’ve lost people I love. My father died in the War, my mother not too long after she brought me back here, my brother before I was even born. And as much as I wish I could save them, we can’t chase ghosts through the past. Not when we have the present to protect.”
"Yeah,” Logan bowed his head, trying to believe that.
It hadn’t taken Flynn long to figure out the Master Sergeant. A helping of PTSD piled onto years of toxic masculinity induced by a likely abusive childhood. Flynn had seen plenty of hot-headed young men like Wyatt Logan before.
“Listen,” Logan looked up at him, a bit too much honesty in those bright blue eyes, “it won’t happen again. I know you need a man beside you that you can trust. Just... never time travelled before, you know?”
“My first time too,” Flynn chuckled, thinking it all over. “You know, we work out a few more kinks and I think we’d make a pretty decent team.”
“I think we will.” Logan smirked. “Sir.”
“I am not that much older than you, Logan,” Flynn groused which only fed Logan’s grin.
“Call me Wyatt,” he said, then started to head out of the locker area. “Seeya next time Preston jumps.”
Flynn watched him go and couldn’t help but acknowledge that Logan... Wyatt... was as adorable as he was cocky. This could be a horrible combination. The faster they stopped Preston, the better off everyone would be.
On the ride back to his place, he couldn’t help but think of Lucy Preston and the surety in which she spoke. That was the real reason he wanted to keep on the team. What was the journal that she had showed him? How did she get it?
Who was Rittenhouse?
“Here you go,” the Homeland agent said from the driver’s seat.
Flynn glanced out the window, expecting to see his apartment building. Instead, he was met with a two-story Colonial Revival in chocolate brown with a burgundy trim. It was rather nice, a proper home, but... “This is not my house.”
The agent frowned, confused. “This is where I picked you up from. It’s the address on your paperwork.”
Flynn reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his keys. His apartment key was gone, replaced by a set of house keys and other random ones that might have fit a gate and other things. He didn’t even bother to check them when he put his coat on, just feeling that the weight was there.
“Can you wait here, please?” Flynn asked the agent. “Just for a few minutes.”
“Sure, I guess.”
Flynn got out of the car and headed up the front path to the door. There were a few lights on, which, he had left in a hurry, so that didn’t strike him as odd. He tried the doorknob but it was locked. As he guessed which key would work, he thought about the few times he had considered getting a house. The housing market had never been good enough to warrant the emptiness he’d feel living in a house by himself.
If whatever he did with the Hindenburg affected the market… and if it was a good fixer upper… well, he did enjoy working with his hands.
The door popped open and he was surprised not to hear an alarm pad start beeping. He worried he’d have to guess the code, though he could be fairly sure of what he would choose. But the alarm pad was glowing, operating, just not set.
As he stood in the entry hall, he immediately noticed that the house was pleasantly warm, there was the faint smell of food, and perhaps a tv on in the background.
Laughter tore through the hall. A pixie came running at him and latched its arms around his legs.
Flynn stared down at the seven-ish-year-old girl who was covered in glitter and sticky tape. Two wire and cellophane wings were attached to the brightly colored dress she wore.
She looked up at him with eyes that reminded him of his mothers. “You’re home!”
“Iris,” another voice lightly scolded her. “You’re getting glitter everywhere.”
His head popped up, staring at the woman before him who was wiping glue from her fingers with a washcloth. She was very pretty, with light brown hair and a smirk of a smile that fell into a frown when she finally got a look at him.
On the wall, above the small table, hung a multi-picture frame. The photos were progressive. Of a wedding. Of a birth. Of a day in the park. Of a day at a Croatian beach. His own smiling face staring back at him.
“Sweetheart?” the woman sounded concerned.
It took a moment for him to accept what his head was telling him. This little pixie with his mother’s eyes was his daughter. The woman, she was his wife, the mother of his child… and he’d never seen her before in his life.
Flynn attempted a smile. “Um, hello?”