AN: I happened to catch the sneak peek for the finale that Entertainment Tonight posted on their website and OMG, the feeeeeeeeeeeels. (And I'm pretty certain the Wyatt/Lucy is still ultimate endgame, but man, the Garcia/Lucy chemistry is so off the charts. I'm just not sure how they're going to play it.)

Just another reminder, if you're trying to remain unspoiled before Sunday, I suggest you not read. Especially since it'll probably all be rendered moot anyhow. I just had to get this out.

Flynn recalled how uncomplimentary Lucy had been toward Wyatt at times in her journal entries. Given his own antipathy toward the man, it wasn't as if it had surprised him much. No—much more surprising had been her admission of the growing feelings of attraction and yes, much as he hated to admit it, love. Feelings which she'd brought to life in ways both analytical, as befitting the academic she'd been once upon a time and almost painfully emotional, as befitting the deeply feeling woman he knew.

Even so, it mystified him. They had so very little in common and had it not been for Agent Christopher assembling the team, would never have given each other the time of day. Still, though, thumbing through the well-worn journal and reading the page after page filled with her neat script, he could see how they'd each changed and evolved into people each would at the very least be intrigued by. An evolution he'd had opportunity to observe for himself once he'd joined the team in the bunker. Logan was much more than just the all-military, all the time Delta Force soldier pining for his dead wife that Lucy had so accurately described in the early entries of her journal.

And Lucy…

Lucy was simply more.

After the discovery that Jessica had absconded with the Lifeboat and Jiya, Lucy had predictably come to Wyatt's defense. So typically Lucy—maintaining a steadfast belief and faith in him that he'd done little to deserve. At least of late. Which had made his subsequent explosive confession regarding what he knew about Jessica and her no-longer dead brother that much more painful to observe. Watching the light drain from her eyes along with all the color from her face. As the bunker had metaphorically exploded around them, with Rufus rushing Wyatt, Mason and Christopher hot on his heels, Lucy had simply…disappeared. Fading from the melee like an insubstantial plume of smoke.

He'd wanted to rush after her, but knew she needed a few moments to gather herself. Knowledge not gleaned from the journal, since at the moment, he was flying as blind as everyone else, but certain nevertheless.

Because he knew her.

Against his better instincts, he'd helped Denise and Connor restrain Rufus, though he left it to them to verbally calm the man down. He was of no help, since he could well understand exactly how he felt. Honestly, if it had been him, Wyatt would be dead already.

And while on an intellectual level he understood Logan's motivations for doing what he'd done—why he'd broken yet another promise to this ragtag family—he had little sympathy. The man was a soldier for God's sake. He had been trained to assess threats, which he had done and accurately by all accounts, which made what he'd done that much worse. He had knowingly betrayed them all.

Betrayed Lucy.

He sighed as he paused outside the door to his room. He knew she would be there. Because in this cramped environment, in this unthinkable situation, there was literally nowhere else she could go.

No one else she could turn to.

Because that was simply the nature of their relationship. Regardless of timeline, it would seem their relationship always progressed amidst turmoil. Perhaps another day—in another timeline—that might change, but today was obviously not that day.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the door, finding her, as expected, on the other side. She'd changed, exchanging the floral silk of her robe for jeans and a button-down worn open over a t-shirt. Awareness tingled along his spine as he recognized the soft, black button-down as one of his own. Long pale fingers of one hand toyed with the hem while the other gently stroked the worn leather spine of the journal where it rested on the shelf serving as his makeshift bookcase.

"I haven't read it." Her voice was barely above a whisper yet resonated with the power of a shout.

He carefully closed the door and leaned back against it. "Some things are no longer relevant."

She nodded in understanding. The changes they'd made. More importantly, the changes Rittenhouse had made. The mere fact that Nicholas Keynes had been saved and brought into 2018 had rendered many entries moot by now.

And of course…Jessica.

"I start writing it after this, don't I?" Her expression was ineffably sad, but her gaze, when it met his, was direct and determined.

"Not after this, per se—since this event never happened in our original time line." Taking a deep breath he confirmed what she already knew. "But yes—you start writing midway through 2018."

She curled her fingers around the spine, as if tempted to yank it off the shelf before dropping her hand away completely. Staring down as if uncertain what to do with it, she finally dropped it to the join the other at the hem of his shirt.

"What did he do?" Fixated on the contrast of pale skin against faded black cotton, it took a few extra seconds for the words and meaning to coalesce in his mind.

"I don't know," he finally said, pushing away from the door to take a seat on the edge of the cot. In response to his silent invitation, she joined him, sitting close enough he could feel the warmth of her from thigh to shoulder. Rather than comforting, however, it had the feel of a restless, feverish heat. She was agitated—on edge. This, then, would be the basis for one of those periods within the journal where her writing had a sense of madness—the craziness he'd told Wyatt about so long ago now.

It would be up to him to rein her in, then. Now would be the point where his role as stabilizing influence would begin.

"You weren't always clear with the specifics, Lucy." Taking a chance, he rested his hand on her knee, hoping to still at least a fraction of her agitation. "Several entries were more general impressions or your own emotional reactions. I think," he added slowly, "that even the first time around with the journal, you knew enough by the time you started writing in it to understand how things might change. It would explain how sometimes your entries read more like a road map than a true journal."

Her body's tremors gradually stilled beneath his hand, replaced by a different sort of vibration. That of her deep in thought. It should have come as a shock to realize how readily he recognized the sensation. It didn't.

"I gave you keys, didn't I?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

She turned to face him, her eyes dark with obvious turmoil. "Dear God, Garcia, this is where it all begins, doesn't it?"

Unconsciously, he tightened his hand on her leg, part shock at her easy use of his given name, part attempt to draw strength from her. But he wouldn't hedge or pretend he didn't understand exactly what she meant. The one thing that couldn't change in her journal, no matter what else changed, was the honesty he had promised her. Especially now.

"It would appear so, yes."

"You swore we worked together. That we were a team."

He swallowed hard and looked away. "Yes."

At the feel of her hand over his, he turned back to meet her gaze, bright now with emotion. As he studied the lovely, familiar planes of her face, he was surprised to see a single tear escape, leaving a damp trail down her cheek.

"I owe you so much."

He shook his head. "Don't make me out to be a hero. Not after all I've done."

"I don't think you're a hero." Her other hand rose to his cheek, holding his gaze when he would have looked away. "I am, however, beginning to think you may be my rock through all this. And after the way I treated you for so long—" Another tear escaped, following the path of the first.

"I'm so sorry, Garcia. I'm so, so sorry."

"Lucy—" His free hand rose, thumb swiping the dampness from her skin. Absorbing it into his own. Tucking another piece of her away to remain with him always. Reverently, he moved his hand to her hair, gently pushing it from her face—

"Flynn! Lucy! Are you in there? We found them!" Rufus' excited shout was followed by a frantic pounding at the door. "Did you hear me? We found them!"

Even the shock of the interruption wasn't enough to prompt Flynn to move. He had something he needed to say—something that even superseded retrieving the Lifeboat and Jiya.

Moving his other hand to cup her face he said, "You never have to apologize to me, Lucy. Ever."

Wide-eyed, her hands rose to cover his. "But—"

"No." He shook his head to underscore the importance of his words. "Never. Our journey may change, bit by bit, but it is uniquely ours. We may not always do right by each other, but one thing I am entirely certain of is that we will always find our way back and we will always work together as a team. That's the key."

The light in her eyes brightened with a renewed ferocity. "You promise?"

"Yes."

A blessedly familiar grin crept across her face, recalling the luminous beauty who'd approached him in that Sao Paolo dive.

"Well then, let's get some clothes and steal a Mothership."