Chapter Text
Lucy was awakened by a sound that reminded her vaguely of a large dog’s bark. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she blinked into the semi-darkness of her bunker room. Nonsense. She must have dreamt it.
Abandoning the thought, she dozed off once again.
The second time she recognized the thunderous sound as a loud sneeze followed by a quiet sniffle – and her eyes flew wide open.
She had to stop making a habit out of this. Falling asleep in his personal space wherever they went. Groaning silently, she propped herself up on one elbow.
“Sorry,” came Flynn’s gruff voice from behind her and he cleared his throat.
“Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?”
A pause ensued as fabric shuffled.
“Early. Just after six.”
Another groan left Lucy as she willed herself into a sitting position and rubbed the back of her hand over her leaden lids.
“Too early.”
She had been a morning person once. When she still had been teaching. Always up with the birds, grabbing a book and a cup of coffee to pass the time until her first lectures. Now she was constantly tired but unable to rest, nonetheless. Except when, as it seemed, she was around him.
“Sorry for falling asleep on you.”
Flynn chuckled and the armchair creaked as he leaned back.
“As I said, I don’t mind. Besides, you’ve been quite productive last night. I looked over your notes.”
She nodded absentmindedly and followed his gaze to the floor. Sheets of paper were strewn all across it. Amidst the notes laid the journal. It had gained volume by now. All thanks to the masses of colored sticky notes poking out in countless angles from numerous pages.
“Wake me up next time,” she chided as she threw her legs over the edge of his cot into the crisp morning air.
“You’ll catch a cold if I keep stealing your bed.”
“Yes, mom.”
“Ugh, don’t.”
She made a face, grabbed the pillow and chucked it in his direction. With a thud, it hit him straight in his smug face.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, seems you’re a bit slow today.”
“May be the result of sleep deprivation,” he countered and fluffed the pillow that had limply dropped into his lap.
“Get some then.”
Stretching her tired limbs, she stood and gestured to his cot.
“I need you awake and attentive in the meeting later.”
She dreaded it. That fruitless daily exchange of ideas. Four days had gone by since their return from 1912 and she had eventually devoted most of her time to bury her nose into the pages of her future diary.
Until now without much success. Whatever progress she made in finding a way to bring back Rufus always somehow lead her into a dead end. It was frustrating.
Suppressing a yawn, she kneeled and shuffled the notes around until she had neatly stacked them into a pile.
“I’ll- well, just sleep. I’ll meet you later.”
Catching his lopsided grin as she dropped the stacked papers onto his desk, she felt herself return the gesture and left him to his own devices.
***
The past few days had been busy but slow. No sign of Rittenhouse so far. No jump of the Mothership. The common guess was, that the organization was recovering, rearranging, now that Emma Whitmore and Jessica had taken over the lead. And while the ‘bunker family’ was generally grateful for a few days of rest, the thought of Emma scheming behind closed doors was rather alarming. Therefore, each and everyone of them had busied themselves with the same task: Bring back Rufus. One way or the other. Not just because he was sorely missed, but also because he seemed to be essential to the downfall of their mutual nemesis.
To accomplish that, they all pursued different approaches.
Jiya was focused on the Lifeboat. She had become deeply absorbed by it and spent every second of her day (and much of her night) tinkering, researching and hunting for one single goal: Make it possible to visit a time where you already existed.
If she accomplished that, they would be able to prevent what happened in the first place. Sometimes, however, she withdrew herself, disappeared into her room, not to be seen for a few hours. Without doubt to hunt through another vision in a desperate attempt to gain something useful from it. A tendency that had Flynn worried. For all he knew, she never looked decidedly happier, when she reappeared from her hideout.
And as much as he wanted to believe she would have success with her improvements on their time machine, he wasn’t very convinced. Even with Mason’s help and the upgraded future Lifeboat as testimony of their combined ingenuity.
Or maybe because of that? Question was, if her future self hadn’t succeeded in it already before providing them the upgraded Lifeboat, was it even possible? No matter how he twisted it in his head, the ruminations always rather tied knots into his brain than providing any kind of epiphany.
Agent Christopher had made it her task to investigate undisclosed medical possibilities. So, as far as he had understood, literally bringing Rufus back from the dead after he had died. He was even less convinced of this approach. It was… just plainly wrong in some disturbingly weird way. Especially if it involved poking through the poor man’s brain to get it back to shipshape.
Wyatt had gotten his hands onto the second (or the first?) journal. It was quite confusing actually, now that there were two journals. The one that he had given to Lucy before his arrest. And the one that future Lucy had given them later on. To differentiate them in his head, he referred to the former one as ‘his Lucy journal’ and to the latter one as the ‘future Lucy journal’. After he had given ‘his Lucy journal’ to Lucy in exchange for the USB-stick, she had in turn given it to Denise for safe keeping. Around that time all of them had hoped Rittenhouse to be thwarted. Eradicated for good. Well, way off the mark.
She had given it back to Lucy three days ago and Lucy had requested his help to thoroughly compare both journals to each other. There was no real difference - Apart from one almost having been read to shreds by himself.
The content was the same. Therefore, she had given the ‘future Lucy journal’ to Wyatt and kept the other one to herself.
The following days, she had come to his quarters regularly. Sometimes to ask for his opinion on several cloudy passages, sometimes to just enjoy the silent company while working. He had complied with either and given her all the assistance he could offer.
The entire time had been spent innocent. Companionable. Platonic. He would never pressure her into anything. For the moment he was completely satisfied to just have her around and know that she enjoyed his presence.
And while he would lean over her shoulder and read with her occasionally, he fully understood and accepted their tiny unspoken signal for him to back off and let her read on by herself. Just a raise of her hand or her fingers brushing against his neck over her shoulder.
I need a moment, it meant. And he complied without complaint.
When she had finished the last page, she had dropped the journal into her lap and just stared at him for several even breaths. Until he shrugged and she bit her lip. They did not speak that evening.
Still she had fallen asleep against his shoulder soon after and he had carried her to his bed, tucked her in and returned to his trusty armchair once again. A routine that was certainly more pleasant for his mind than it was for his back.
Each afternoon, all of them would meet around the tables of the kitchen compartment and trade the information and theories they had come up with. Most meetings had, predictably, ended in endless discussions merrily going round in circles and circles and even more circles until one of them snapped. Twice it had been Wyatt and the rest of the team had speechlessly witnessed him stomp off fuming to wherever he went to blow off steam.
This whole endeavor was, meekly worded, disillusioning.
In his eyes, it all unfolded into some weirdly twisted kind of equivalent exchange. If there was something you aimed to acquire by changing the past, it always came with a price, with casualties. Give and take. It all depended on what you were willing to give up for what you intended to achieve.
Still deep in thought, he took another sip of lukewarm tea, chamomile, to soothe the persistent itch in his throat that had soon developed after hours spent on a stagnating lifeboat out on the icy sea. At least to that the slow days spent in the bunker came in handy.
Lucy had left his quarters about thirty minutes ago, after his accidental sneezing fit, to take a shower and have some breakfast. He had willingly obeyed her advice and wrapped himself into the still warm blanket on his cot. When had he last caught a cold? He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had allowed himself to actually grant his body some time to recuperate. Well, he hadn’t even allowed himself the option of getting sick in the first place. He had just… kind of willed it away. Simply not accepted it happening.
With a yawn, he shifted onto his side, getting comfortable and letting his mind drift into the hazy realm of dreams.
***
Lucy's hand slid into the back pocket of her jeans. The pocket that contained the unremarkable slip of paper that she had torn from the journal when she had first leafed through it. That tiny slip of paper that contained a letter from herself to herself. A cryptic letter that she had decided to keep hidden. For now, for her eyes only.
She fished it out, fumbled with its partly torn edges. Fleetingly checking if she had closed the bathroom door, she unfolded the letter and ran her index along the lines.
She read it again.
Dear Lucy, this may be strange, for I am addressing you, my former self, personally in this text. But what I want to tell you, might help you to make some important decisions. Whatever you do, as cliché as it might sound, please, go with your heart. Don’t try to go about it with nothing but logic. Because, and this is the important part, we are happy now. We all are. Despite the hardships we went through side by side. And I want you to be. Want him to be. So please Lucy, don’t you ever let him believe he’s expendable.
Good luck.
Lucy Preston
12.24.2026
With a sigh, she folded the piece of paper back together and shoved it into her pocket before she began to undress for her shower.
Whatever her future-self had tried to convey, it was hard to discern. The only answer she had was, that the path this particular Lucy had taken, somehow had led her to a future where she and her friends, most likely the people around her now, were happy. An image that almost seemed too good to be true, given the fact that one of them had already died. And who exactly of the people around her did she mean by him? Not that there was a big range of people to choose from, but still...
With a sigh, she tilted her head back and stepped under the tepid spray of water.
***
At first there was darkness. Here and there a blurry of motion. Some scrambled, undistinguishable sounds. Flecks of light and shadows.
Soon – or not soon? He had lost track of time – Flynn was surrounded by familiar images. A living room - warmly lit by that old floor lamp they’d found on the flea market last week. Or the week before? It didn’t matter.
Lorena loved it and though he despised the hideous lampshade, he’d still set it up right behind her favorite spot on the couch. Perfect for reading, she had insisted. How could he ever tell her ‘no’ if she tilted her head like that?
Stretching his tired limbs and dangling one arm off the couch, he scooped up a stuffed lion from the carpet and placed it on his chest.
Poor little guy, his once mighty mane all tousled and matted. Evidence of being the (currently) most loved plushie around. And of the numerous lion king reenactments, that had the poor fella drop off the cupboard in most dramatic ways. Stroking and poking through the knotted fur, he listened to the gleeful giggles of two girls playing in the room above.
A smile curved his lips and he closed his eyes to the sound.
The scenery around him blurred, shifted. Beneath him was no longer the sofa. Did he dream?
A new sound barely registered in his drowsy mind. Whose voice…?
“Huh?” he mumbled into his pillow, snuggling deeper into its softness.
“I said I heard a cough. I’m gonna go check on her.”
“Nah…”, he muttered, brow creasing into a dissatisfied frown. “Don’t. You’ll only wake ‘er up…”
He felt the warmth of his wife’s fingers ghost over the stubble on his jaw.
“I won’t. Just sleep, love.”
He was about to do just that when the situation registered in his mind. His eyes flew open, his body tensed, and he was ready to jump, stumble after Lorena’s fading footsteps.
But he couldn’t.
Glued to the surface of his mattress, he stared into the darkness of their bedroom. A scream bubbled in his throat, turning into sickness as it died away unheard.
Muscles straining, he desperately raged against his paralysis. He would be thrashing, tossing, howling in agony, if he only could.
And then he heard it, amidst the dead of night: Two dull thuds. The sound invaded his mind, resounded with sickening volume within his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing, rioting against the memory.
He could not help it, could not turn away, could not blend it out, no matter how frantically he tried. Not with all his strength he was abe to prevent what was happening just down the hall. Just out of his reach -
With a sharp intake of air, he woke to the tentative rap of knuckles against his door.
“Are you alright?” Jiya’s dulled voice wafted through the door into the deadly silence of his room, only disturbed by his own ragged breathing.
“I heard a yell – I thought I’d just – uh. Well, I hope you’re okay. We’ll meet in half an hour. See you then, I guess?”
He squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the woman’s splutter to regain his calm. Damn her. Damn him. Damn this whole unfair hell of a world.
Grinding his teeth violently, he growled his pain into the damp pillow beneath his face.
***
Lucy sat herself beside Wyatt as Flynn strolled into the room, wrapped in a shell of nonchalance that she had learned to see through. Something was on his mind and she could not quite tell what it was. Guessing from the way he dropped into his chair, he wasn’t willing to talk about it either.
“Where’s Christopher?”
“Family matters,” said Mason, shrugging. “Children and Michelle caught the flu. She’ll be here in a bit to hear what we’ve come up with.”
Flynn grimaced. “She better not brings it here with her.”
Says the sneezing alarm clock, though Lucy but kept her mouth shut.
As per usual, they began discussing their progress. Which wasn’t much, to all of their dissatisfaction. So not long after Lucy had pointed out some new details she had stumbled upon in the journal, they were back to listening to Wyatt’s attempt to gain their approval for him taking out Jessica all by himself.
Flynn rubbed one palm against his chin and shook his head in mocking faux despair.
“Alright, Wyatt, hold on - could you just, for like one second, please, consider the possibility that there is another way than taking the blame upon yourself and solving this by killing your wife? As honorable as your intentions are, the side effects most likely would kill you going there. And as much as it pains me to admit, we might need you just as much as Rufus to defeat Rittenhouse. What about Emma instead? Wasn’t she the one who shot Rufus?”
Mason frowned beside him.
“Isn’t that basically the same thing? Wherever she went, we followed her, so there’s the same risk of side effects.”
A mirthless grin tugged at Flynn’s lips.
“Well, that’s not entirely true. She spent roughly about ten years in Missouri before I took her back to the present. A decade. Plenty of time for us to go back and pay her a visit before I got there.”
The team fell into a stunned silence until Lucy broke it tentatively.
“Are you implying we should go there and-” She halted, struggling for a fitting word. With a displeased expression she finished. “Well, erase her?”
Now that they had caught on, Wyatt seemed eager to pick up the idea. Planting both of his hands flat onto the table, he leaned in.
“That might be it. For all we know, Emma has always been pulling some strings of this freakshow behind the curtains. It wouldn’t surprise me if she came up with the idea to… recruit Jessica. Given the way they stick together.”
He nodded, more to himself than to anybody else, as he phrased his thoughts further.
“So, there’s probably a double chance that Rufus will never be shot. First because Emma was the one to pull the trigger and secondly because the trip to San Francisco would have never happened if Jessica hadn’t kidnapped Jiya.”
“The latter one is just your assumption. No guarantee for that. And what about our other missions? Everything that happened after Emma became–” Lucy’s gaze flickered to Flynn, who was listening intently.
“Became the Mothership’s pilot. Lindbergh, Al Capone, Ethan Cahil, all those arrested Rittenhouse members. - The race, Hollywood?” She faltered.
“So much happened after that.”
“Is there any reason why we’d have worked less efficiently without her as our enemy?”
Lucy shook her head, contemplating Wyatt’s question.
“Well, sure there would be a lot of reasons for us to act… differently. To make decisions based on alternate experiences and, to us now, unknown initial situations. There’s absolutely no possibility to predict how events will turn. We could all be dead when we come back. Well, our alter egos in that new timeline, I guess.”
“Or we could’ve defeated Rittenhouse already,” noted Wyatt and Lucy fell silent.
“Alright, let’s vote.”
All eyes fell on Flynn, startled by his sudden interjection.
Lucy shook her head vehemently.
“We can’t just – vote. This decision may be responsible for Rittenhouse taking over the world. How can you just propose to… vote?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Any better suggestions?”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t formulate a reasonable reply. She closed it again.
“Fine.” She finally conceded. “Fine. I vote no. The risk is too high. We can’t possibly anticipate the consequences for not just us, but for everybody around us. Wyatt?”
The man in question hesitated, considering his options. His pained expression clearly gave away that he was still struggling to decide whether he was guilty enough to pursue his earlier proposal or go along with Flynn’s idea.
Jiya raised her hand in his place. “I vote yes, for Rufus.”
Mason followed suit. “Me too. Yes. Let’s go and get him back.”
His voice broke on the last words and it was obvious to Lucy, that he still blamed himself for this entire situation. For everything that happened after he had fulfilled his lifelong dream of building a time machine - Funded by Rittenhouse.
Lucy remembered it. They had done this before. With David Rittenhouse. Back when Flynn was still their enemy and they had barely been able to believe what he revealed about the world around them and the evil within it. One person. Kill one person and possibly save hundreds of lives. It had not worked out well then. She didn’t want to think about possible reasons for their failure again. She had agonized over it for days and days without success.
Finally, Wyatt nodded his consent.
“Yes. One devious Rittenhouse member less can’t be that bad. Fundamentally, all we’ve been doing over the past few weeks was going back to kill sleepers. Nothing different about this one.”
“Yes, it is!” Exclaimed Lucy, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Of course it is different! The sleepers we took out were barely active. That’s why they’re called sleepers. We took them out before they acted. Flynn!”
She turned back to him, searching for help but earning an innocent shrug. It was his idea after all, what had she expected?
“Oh alright. You all know we tried to stop exactly this. Rampaging through history without being able to predict the consequences. This is-“
“The Flynn-Way,” said Wyatt.
“I meant to say insane,” Lucy deadpanned.
“Oh, thank you.” Rumbled Flynn’s scratchy voice from across the table.
She shot him a warning glance. No matter how close they had come throughout the past days and weeks, this was plain wrong. She just felt it. What had gotten into his mind to suddendly propose such a rash thing?
Mason cleared his throat to gather everyone’s attention.
“It’s great that we’re all, well, most of us, agreeing on this. But I highly doubt Agent Christopher will be.”
Lucy crossed her arms defiantly. He was right. Denise would not consent to this. At least one more person to keep a cool head in heated discussions.
Wyatt folded his hands beneath his chin.
“But it might be our best shot. We should at least try to explain.”
“So?” Interfered Flynn. “What’re we gonna do? Sit and wait for mommy’s permission?”
Wyatt scoffed. “Should’ve asked yours to ground you in 1969. Would’ve saved us some trouble.”
A sardonic smile skittered over Flynn's feautures, but he seemed to bite his tongue.
Oh great. So even if both were on the same page for once, the bickering continued.
Rolling her eyes, Lucy sighed. This really couldn’t be happening.
“Let’s go now.”
All heads turned to Jiya. Determination written all over her face, she fixated each of them in turn with a gaze that brooked no dissent as she stood.
“I said let’s go now.”