A/N: If you don't want to read my research into the timeline of this fic, you can skip ahead to the story...you're still here? Okay. The real life David Rittenhouse lived in East Norriton Township, which is roughly 100 miles from Manhattan and 150 miles from West Point, New York, both places mentioned while discussing where the Mothership landed. With a team of horses averaging 10 mph, it would have taken the Time Team 10-15 hours to get from Benedict Arnold's house (which is far enough from West Point that it would take a significant amount of time to travel there, thus being a valid excuse for Arnold's absence that morning) to Rittenhouse's house. However, in order for the Time Team to have met with Washington over breakfast, defected, travelled to Arnold's house then arrived in Pennsylvania at a decent hour, in which the young son is still awake, the trip can't have taken more than 10-11 hours. So, while that might break reality, that's the only length of trip that makes sense in the episode. Therefore, I will say it will take ten hours for Rufus and Wyatt to get back to the Lifeboat after Flynn leaves with Lucy.
A/N 2: I own nothing. Please don't sue.
1780
Both Rufus and Wyatt stared at the space where the Mothership had been in a stunned silence. It was only when Wyatt heard horses' hooves rapidly approaching that he grabbed Rufus' arm and took off in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately his move was too little too late as they were quickly surrounded by a battalion of men, all of whom were training rifles at them.
Rufus saw Wyatt scan the men once…twice…each time looking slightly more and more desperate but even he, in his lack of Delta Force training, could see that they didn't have any options here, not if they wanted to survive.
As two of the men dismounted their horses, Rufus shrugged closer to Wyatt and elbowed him in the back. "Don't," he mumbled.
"We can't leave Lucy," Wyatt immediately shot back without looking over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the two approaching men.
"We aren't. But this right now is a suicide play."
"Quit talking!" One of the men still on a horse yelled, shoving the butt of the rifle deeper into his shoulder and taking a preventative aim.
Wyatt must have realized the truth behind Rufus' words for he just nodded, slouched slightly to take off his defensive edge, and put his hands up.
"Where's the girl and the other man?" the man with the rifle demanded.
"Gone," Rufus quickly answered.
The man cocked his rifle and inched closer with his horse. "Don't you lie to me, boy."
"He's not," Wyatt said, taking a step forward and putting himself between the men and Rufus. "They took our horses, left us stranded."
The man with the rifle stared at Wyatt for a long time, his finger never leaving the trigger of his rifle. After what seemed like ages, he turned back to the rest of the men. "You four, search the area," he ordered the group on his left. "Let's see if these two are telling the truth."
"Yes Hallett," one of the men said before he and three others nudged their horses and headed off in four opposite directions, rifles at the ready and lanterns dangling from their pummels.
"Jacobsen, Alcott, secure the prisoners. I think Bartholomew will want a word with them," Hallett continued.
Two men on the ground responded by walking back to their horses and pulling thick cords from their saddlebags.
Wyatt tensed but Rufus again kicked out, reminding the soldier to stand down.
The two time travellers were quickly bound and led at gunpoint back to the home where Rittenhouse had been killed. Jacobsen and the unnamed fourth man peeled off at the front gate while Hallett and Alcott escorted Rufus and Wyatt into a side room, pushed them into chairs, then secured them to the sturdy wood frames.
Hallett then stood at the doorway, the rifle trained on the two of them, while Alcott disappeared into the hallway. Moments later, a tall man of medium age wearing a period-appropriate white wig walked in. After quickly conversed with Hallett, who nodded then left the room, the middle-aged man turned back to Wyatt and Rufus, a sadistic grin on his face.
"I take it you're Bartholomew," Wyatt stated before the other man could speak.
Rufus couldn't help but cringe at Wyatt's accusatory tone, fearing it would do more harm than good, but the middle-aged man didn't seem to care. "Yes I am," he replied, almost casually. "And David Rittenhouse was a dear friend of mine. So you'll excuse me if I get right down the point." In a split second, Bartholomew had unholstered a pistol previously hidden from view and pointed it at both of them in turn. "Which one of you killed Rittenhouse?" he growled.
Rufus shot Wyatt a quick glance but the soldier didn't look over. His own expression blank, the soldier licked his lips before replying, "Our friend. The one you can't find. He did it."
"I don't believe you." Without warning, Bartholomew flipped his pistol around and belted Rufus across the cheek.
The pilot's vision exploded into bright fireworks as a copper tang invaded his mouth. When he came back to his senses sometime later, he saw Bartholomew staring at him curiously. Then he looked over at Wyatt, saw the new set to his friend's posture and knew what had happened.
"You didn't," he hissed around a mouthful of blood.
Wyatt didn't look away from the man standing in front of him. "He had nothing to do with it," the soldier said. "Let him go."
"He was there. He's as good as guilty."
"Too bad you don't know about the presumption of innocence."
Bartholomew stepped closer, his pistol raised again. "The what?"
Suddenly Wyatt was on his feet, doubled over because he was still attached to the chair. He swung around sharply, sending the heavy wooden chair crashing into Bartholomew and both of them tumbling to the ground.
There was shouting in the hallway and Rufus tugged again on his bonds, desperately trying to loosen them, but with the same result as earlier: the knots were too tight for him to free himself.
Across the room, Wyatt rolled to his knees, his one arm completely free of the chair, the other still attached to a wooden arm, reared back and punched Bartholomew in the jaw. As the man's eyes rolled back into his head, Wyatt sprang to his feet then pressed himself against the door next to its hinges, so he'd be hidden to anyone who entered. He shifted the block of wood dangling from his left wrist into his hand, then put a finger to his lips to signal for Rufus to be quiet.
Rufus nodded and sat back in his chair, trying to look relaxed despite his heart's attempt to beat itself out of his chest. He needed to be at ease though, to not set off the men before Wyatt could ambush them.
Just as he'd taken his first deep breath, the door flew open and Hallett and Alcott burst through, guns actively scanning the room.
Rufus saw Alcott's gaze land on Bartholomew's body and his mouth open to call for help but, before he could signal Wyatt, the soldier had already kicked at the door, sending it swinging around and crashing into Hallett, who had the misfortune of being closest. As he went down, Wyatt hurdled over him and tackled Alcott, bringing him to the ground in a move which wouldn't be invented for another hundred and fifty years. Alcott's head cracked against the ground so loudly Rufus grit his teeth but Wyatt was already moving again, grabbing one of the fallen rifles and driving the grip into the Hallett's cheek.
Then he hurried over to Rufus, produced a very modern pocketknife from his pocket and cut his friend free.
"You okay?" he asked, motioning to the seeping wound on his pilot's cheek.
"I'm going to have a helluva headache tomorrow but I think I'm alright," Rufus replied, gingerly touching the area around the laceration. He honestly thought that would be the end of the conversation and was therefore surprised by Wyatt's hand was on his cheek, his calloused fingers pulling the lids of the pilot's right eye apart so he could watch his pupil react to the light.
"I don't think you have a concussion," Wyatt concluded after a moment, "but the lighting in here's pretty bad."
"I'll live. Let's just get out of here."
Wyatt nodded approvingly then handed the pilot the second rifle before they pressed themselves against the wall by the door, silently waiting for more men to arrive. When they heard only silence, Wyatt shuffled left and cautiously poked his head into the hallway.
"Too exposed," he whispered, shaking his head then silently crossed the room and peering out of the window. He must have liked what he saw for he motioned for Rufus to follow. After cracking the window open, he covered Rufus while the pilot climbed through the window, barely managing to keep from knocking his head on the butt of the rifle as he dropped gracelessly to the ground.
Seconds later, Wyatt landed lithely beside him, on the balls of his feet, having barely made a sound.
"Seriously?" Rufus groaned. Wyatt actually grinned before raising his rifle and leading the way down the small side street.
When they got to the main road, Wyatt slipped the rifle's strap over his shoulder and slid the gun onto his back. "Look casual. Like you belong," he instructed as he tugged on his shirt, straightening it out slightly.
"That's your big plan?" Rufus gaped as he did the same.
"It precedes getting to the time machine, poof-ing back to the present and finding Lucy," Wyatt retorted. "But I thought we'd focus on one thing at a time."
Rufus tipped his head in concession. "Fair enough. The Lifeboat's back in New York so we—"
He was cut off by Wyatt grabbing the back of his jacket and shoving him to the ground. The soldier's weight was partially on him, pinning him to the ground somewhat but not suffocating him. He knew better than to draw attention to their position by vocalizing his discomfort and just focused on regulating his breathing as he heard a group of men on horseback ride by.
Finally, a few agonizing minutes later, Wyatt hissed, "we're clear," and pulled himself off of his teammate.
"Who was that?" Rufus gasped, bringing much missed air into his lungs.
"Jacobsen and the rest of the posse."
Wyatt pushed Rufus behind him then pressed himself against the wall and peered around the corner.
"You wait here," he said before sprinting out of sight. Caught by surprise, it took Rufus a moment to comprehend what had happened before he too stood flat against the wall and looked out onto the street.
The soldier was nowhere in sight.
Rufus was aware of every beat of his heart, every second that passed until he heard hoofs pounding and saw a horse-drawn wagon turn the corner, driven by Wyatt. The team slowed by the alleyway just long enough for Rufus to climb in beside the soldier.
"Where did you learn to drive?" he panted as Wyatt flicked the reins and the horses canted forward.
"Jessica loved horses," Wyatt said softly.
Rufus didn't press for details.
Fortunately there wasn't much to navigating their way back to Benedict Arnold's house as they had only taken one road from there to Rittenhousetown. Even with the breaks and waterings that were taken for the horses, Wyatt managed to get them back in under eleven hours. Unlike modern day travel, where Rufus would have fallen asleep during a trip of that length, he was forced to stay awake as the lookout, rifle straddled in his lap so easily he couldn't help feeling like a cowboy in one of those old films.
By the time they were skirting the Patriot settlement, both of them had been up for more than twenty four hours and, without a caffeine intake, Rufus was feeling every one of them, especially as his stomach rumbled for the third time that hour.
"The Lifeboat isn't far now," Wyatt responded to Rufus' unasked question, pointing off to his right. "Maybe a mile. Are you okay to walk that?"
He waited until Rufus nodded before continuing, "You stay here. I'll drop the horses off at the nearest house or stable then meet you back here. We'll go the last distance together."
Rufus shrugged off the sacks he and Wyatt had slung around themselves last night to keep warm and hopped off the wagon...or, more appropriately, he tried to. His legs, not used to being stuck at right angles for so long, were slow to react to his brain's orders. It took some maneuvering but he did manage to finally get down from the wagon and leaning against a tree as feeling began to flow back into his limbs.
"Here." Rufus glanced up to see Wyatt holding out the second rifle. He tucked it against his body, barrel pointed at the ground, then began raking his knuckles up and down his quads to accelerate the blood flow in his legs.
"Be back soon," Wyatt said before clicking the reins and driving off.
As much as Rufus hated just waiting, he knew it was the right call. Wyatt had familiarity with horses and could drop them off (however one did that) and get back here in a much faster time on his own. While Rufus waited, he tried to force some life back into his leaded legs by bending down and standing up quickly or stretching like he'd seen people do in sports movies his brother loved. Unfortunately, most of those only seemed to hurt his unresponsive muscles more.
Before he could do any serious damage, he heard someone approaching at a run and ducked behind the trees, rifle out and aimed in one fluid motion.
"Run, Rufus!" he heard Wyatt shout and, without a second thought, he took off in the direction Wyatt had indicated earlier.
As soon as he did, he heard the sound of many hooves and people shouting.
"What the hell is going on?" he shouted over his shoulder as he forced his aching legs into a higher gear.
"Let's just say the Patriots are well aware we defected," Wyatt shouted, coming up alongside Rufus. The pilot heard an excess jingle and spared a quick glance to see Wyatt had acquired an old-fashioned pistol, which was tucked in his belt next to his modern-era Glock. As the hooves came closer, Wyatt pulled out his Glock, twisted to the side and fired.
Someone cried out but the pounding hooves kept getting closer, unfazed.
"New plan," Wyatt panted, drawing the old-fashioned gun with his left hand. "You get to the Lifeboat. I'll cover you."
"I'm not leaving you!" Rufus gasped out as they wove off the path and into the treeline.
"You don't have a choice. You have to stop Flynn before he changes history irreparably. You need Lucy to do that."
"We need you too!"
"You'll come back for me, I know it." With a half-grin, Wyatt shoved Rufus to his left and then ducked down behind some bushes, using the barrels of the guns to clear port holes in the shrubbery.
"Lucy will kill me—"
Wyatt looked over, his expression deadly serious. "If you don't go right now, we both die and Flynn wins."
It physically hurt every fiber of Rufus's being to run away, to leave Wyatt. But he did.
He had just reached the edge of the clearing where the Lifeboat was parked when the gunfire began. Horrified, pained screams resonated through the empty woods, and Rufus begged, prayed to whoever was up there they weren't Wyatt's.
When he was finally sitting in the pilot's seat, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely power it up. But years of training and thousands of practice sessions got him through it and, as he flipped the last switch, his last thought was only that he hoped this was the right decision before he felt a familiar tug behind his navel and he was hurtling toward the future.
This fic should be 3 chapters in total, all of which are already outlined. Unfortunately, there is no way I'll be able to get this entire story completely finished before episode 11 airs on Monday but I needed to post at least the first chapter before it gets Kripke'd.
Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!
