This is a one-shot based off of the events of the season 2 premiere...so...spoilers, obviously. I wanted to write something that was pretty much just Lucy breaking down after everything she's been through, especially the whole "forced to kill a wounded soldier" thing that happened. She deserves a good mental breakdown at this point, so I decided to give her one. Enjoy!

She sighed for the fifth time that night, rolling over to stare at the bright red lights of her alarm clock.

03:45

It had been four hours since she went to bed that evening. Four hours since Wyatt shut the lamps off and closed the door to drown out the sounds from the common room. He'd assumed she was sleeping, like he always does. Just like everyone else in this hellhole, she was able to convince him that when she's alone in their shared room, she simply has a headache. If she's used that too often, she admits to being on her period. And if that excuse is exhausted, she convinces her friends that she likes to turn in early. She pretends that she spends those few hours lying motionless in her bed sleeping, as if her mind and endless thoughts allow her even a moment of rest.

This night was no different. She locked herself in her room right after dinner at 1800, excusing herself without a word. She put on sweats and crawled into bed, preparing herself for the nightly mental torture. She cried, as always. She had a panic attack, like always. 3 hours later, she heard Wyatt sneak into the room. She knew by the fresh smell and rustling of a towel that he had just taken a shower. His shower shoes squeaked against the cement as he attempted to creep around the room, his meticulous movements carrying the exact amount of grace one would expect from Wyatt Logan: none. He had gone to bed not long after, leaving Lucy alone to her thoughts once again.

No matter how hard she tried, she knew that sleep wouldn't come. Not tonight. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same face. His face. His light eyes and long nose, covered with dirt and grime. His smile, so warm and unfamiliar; yet somehow she felt like she'd seen it a million times before.

She has seen it a million times. Every time she closes her eyes to fall asleep, every time her mind is idle for over thirty seconds, she sees that smile. Every time she feels deserving of happiness, she remembers every painful second of what she did to him.

And she doesn't even know his name,

"Have you ever been to Adrian, Michigan?" Her soft voice tore through the darkness, disturbing any ounce of peace left in the room. Wyatt was silent, the only indication that he wasn't asleep was the short intake of breath at her voice. She heard him roll over in his cot,

"No," Wyatt whispered carefully. Lucy heard him sit up seconds before his lamp burst to life. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, however, she saw his frame sit up in his bed and lean against his wall, "Never heard of it,"

Lucy released an uneasy breath, her voice caught in her throat, begging her not to speak. He'll hate you for this, a voice inside her said, Who could ever love a merciless killer?

She forced herself not to listen. She had to tell him-tell someone-the torture of her memories. And if anyone understood, it would be him. He had to.

"That's where he was from," Lucy breathed, her voice monotone, "The man I killed. I was-" Her throat closed, a sob fought its way out of her mouth and into the empty air around them. Her hands crept up the sheets and wandered to her head, " I was comforting him. He was worried about his friend and I-" Steadying her breathing, she sat up slowly, maneuvering her back against the wall, "I was telling him that everything was going to be alright. He was so worried. I tried to keep him away but he freaked out when he saw the defibrillator...and that was my fault,"

"That he freaked out?" Wyatt asked. Lucy looked up at him, fighting the tears stinging her eyes. She shook her head,

"That he saw it at all. Rittenhouse has a strict policy: kill anyone who sees any indication of time travel. The Mothership, iPhones, any kind of future technology..." she trailed off, fixing her eyes to the ground once again,

"Like a defibrillator." Wyatt finished. Lucy nodded, her tears threatening to break free at any moment.

"And Emma shot him. He freaked out so she shot him. Right here," She touched her thigh, just above her knee. Her fingers traced lines across her knee as her breathing picked up faster and faster. She was hyperventilating. The world turned cloudy as her eyes closed against her will. She was hot and cold at the same time, her body wanting nothing more than to curl into herself. After a few seconds, she felt Wyatt's presence next to her, his hand gently stroking her back.

She breathed in and out, desperately trying to fill her lungs. Eventually, her breathing calmed and her tears stopped flowing. She had exhausted all of her emotions, leaving her mind blank and detached. The next words she spoke were barely a whisper,

"He begged me," Wyatt's hand stopped moving. He craned his head to face her, her eyes still fixed on the cement floor below them, "He was defenseless. He pleaded over and over; asking me not to do it. But I'd done it before with Jesse James."

She was speaking clearer now, her body and voice void of emotion, "It was different with him. I shot him in the back; just like how he was supposed to die. I was able to tell myself I'd done it for history; that he was meant to die. I told myself over and over that we don't get to play god," She looked up into Wyatt's eyes for the first time, "We can bend the rules of the universe all we want, but that does not make us judge, jury, and executioner. It's my job to keep history the same, not to save the life of a man who was supposed to die, even if it may have been the moral thing to do. James was a bad man, and it was almost too easy to shoot him in the back." Wyatt nodded in understanding,

"But this was different," He said, "You can't justify his death,"

Lucy shook her head. Once again she fixed her glare on the far panel, the blank wall a canvas for her thoughts,

"Have you ever looked into the eyes of a man who was going to die?" She breathed. It seemed to Wyatt that the question wasn't truly meant for him. Such thoughts are too intimate to be anything but rhetorical. The way she spoke made it seem as if she was wondering those thoughts in her head, and they had managed to slip out. To Wyatt's surprise, her voice was inquisitive, no longer shaky and vulnerable, "Knowing that, in just a few seconds, those eyes will no longer tend to a soul behind them?" She felt Wyatt tense behind her as she continued, "And knowing that it's your fault, your power, that will end his life?"

Wyatt pulled away slightly,

"Lucy, you shouldn't do this to yourself-"

"Why not?" She blurted, cutting him off, "What harm can it do to me?" She rose to her feet, her body pacing the small room, "I already did it. I killed him. God, I've replayed it so many goddamn times in my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see his arms reaching out to stop me-"

"Lucy…" Wyatt warned. She whirled to face him, her eyes carrying a warning,

Don't you dare try and stop me.

"Every time I laugh, I can hear his voice over and over, saying the same words. Saying anything to get me to stop." She was practically laughing hysterically, her hands reached up and wove themselves into her hair. Her t-shirt clung to her shoulders with sweat, her eyes rimmed red from the lack of sleep. She's torturing herself.

"You need to stop this-"

"He looked me in the eyes and begged me not to do it!" She bawled, "I don't know the rules of war, but I do know that you never kill a begging man! You never attack a person who is defenseless," Her resolve was crumbling piece by piece, but Wyatt knew it was too dangerous to stop her now. She needed to release everything she had been holding back for so long. Wyatt stood at the foot of the bed, watching her body pace back and forth until she stopped just in front of him. She lowered her voice ever so slightly,

"He begged until his last breath. His last words were ones of surrender. He was injured and-" She choked on her words, "and scared of dying. Do you know what I said to him? Right before I shot him?" Wyatt didn't respond; this question wasn't for him, "I said I was sorry. I apologized as if there is any universe where a man can forgive his murderer. He begged me to stop; begged me to spare him and I-" She took a step back, and another, until she backed into the corner of the room, wrapping her arms around herself like a lonely child desperate for comfort,

"I did it anyway. And do you know what the worst part about it was? What makes me look in the mirror and see a person I can't recognize anymore?" She closed her eyes and slid down the wall to the floor, her body folded into itself,

"I don't even know his name."