Disclaimer: I don't own Timeless or any characters, ideas, places, or things therein. I am writing this fic for entertainment purposes only, not for monetary gain of any kind. The aforementioned belong to NBC, Sony, Universal, Eric Kripke, Shawn Ryan, etc.

Summary: Episode insert for "The Murder of Jesse James." They were both chasing phantoms, it was just that neither of them wanted to admit it. :hints of Wyatt x Lucy:

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of blood and murder.

Pairing(s): Wyatt/Lucy, mentions Wyatt/Jessica

Spoilers: Pilot, Party at Castle Varlar, The Murder of Jesse James, Karma Chameleon

Special Thanks: To every single one of you who were so kind with your reviews, messages, and favorites for my first Timeless fic. Thank you so very much for your warm welcome into the fandom, and I hope I continue to entertain you!

Author's Note: My second Timeless fic! I actually started this piece a while back, didn't really like where it was going, and abandoned it. But then I got an idea of how to refurbish it, so I pulled it out, polished it up, and finished it. This is a bit of an episode insert for The Murder of Jesse James, a couple of "deleted scenes" as it were. And because I'm a sucker for their adorableness, it does have serious hints of Lyatt. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this fic, and I hope you enjoy it!

*~Phantoms~*

~fyd818~

Lucy Preston didn't think there could possibly be anything worse than dreaming of blood.

Dreaming of her lost sister was a thousand times worse.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she splashed cold water on her face again, trying to wash away her tears and the memory of Amy's betrayed look at the same time.

Water trickled into her open mouth as she gasped in another unsteady breath. I'm fighting for my sister! How could I forget something as important as her birthday?

Looking up at the mirror again, Lucy flinched at the accusing look in her own eyes, right next to those of the phantom reflection of her sister. She was the only one who knew of Amy's existence. Wyatt, Rufus, and the others didn't count because they had never known her. They had only seen a picture; they hadn't heard her laugh, seen her smile, heard her podcasts or listened to her dreams.

How could Lucy let herself forget?

Next to her, on the bathroom counter, her phone buzzed. The now-familiar number seemed to laugh at her, taunting her that what Amy said was true.

Her travels through history were getting more important than Amy.

Lucy thought about ignoring the call, but she knew Flynn would wreak unimaginable havoc if she weren't there to keep the team on the correct historical track.

Where now? The thought was more out of habit than any real curiosity on Lucy's part. Rubbing her damp hands over her face again, she stared at her haggard reflection and shook her head slowly. Water drip-drip-dripped off her chin to land back in the basin, looking almost like tears.

Maybe they were tears. Lucy decided she'd better not think about or examine those droplets too closely, lest she find out the truth.

Closing her eyes, Lucy let out a long, shaky breath. After so long of dreaming about Abraham Lincoln's blood all over her hands, now she was dreaming about her lost sister. Not dead. Lost.

Somehow that was worse.

Still in a daze, Lucy dried her face and hands and stumbled to her bedroom to change her clothes. She shuddered and dropped the first piece of clothing her hands landed on: a bright red blouse which, at one time, had been one of her favorites. Exchanging it for another one in a less condemning color, Lucy couldn't help but think she had more than just her hero's blood on her hands.

She might as well have Amy's blood on her hands, too. And that, Lucy knew, wouldn't wash off nearly so easily.

Nor would the guilt.

Wyatt was just getting ready to leave the dressing room when he heard a thud and a muttered curse from the general area of where he'd last seen Lucy.

For a few seconds he hesitated, debating on whether or not to walk away. After all, Lucy was a big girl. She could take care of herself; and if her problem happened to be a wardrobe malfunction of some sort, he was pretty sure she'd much rather take care of it on her own rather than him bumble into the middle of it and embarrass them both.

Unhelpfully, Wyatt's mind flashed back to a different time, literally - Germany, 1944, and the time he'd found her trembling so hard he wondered why the whole house wasn't shaking. She'd needed his help then, and he hadn't walked away then. There was absolutely no way he could do so now, either.

"Lucy?" Just to be safe, he called her name as he approached her location. If she were indecent or didn't want to talk, she could let him know ahead of time and solve any potential problems before it turned into one.

Another thud, rattle, and what sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, then, "Wyatt? Come on back."

Blowing out his breath, Wyatt rounded the last rack of clothes and came face-to-face with Lucy, dressed in what he assumed was the height of 1882 fashion. Which, as seemed to be usual for the poor woman, included miles and miles of fabric.

"You okay?"

Lucy offered him a tremulous smile and pushed her hands down against her skirt, flattening it a bit. "Just a little clusmy, that's all. I somehow managed to drop my comb, then knocked over the dressing stool when I leaned over to get it." She briefly motioned to her getup, shrugging her shoulders and then tossing up her hands. "What can I say? I feel like a hippo in this thing!"

Despite the smile still firmly affixed on her face, Wyatt saw the look lurking in her eyes. It was haunted, almost fearful. He recognized it as one he saw far too often in the mirror. "Lucy? Something going on you want to talk about?"

Her smile faltered, and she looked away from his probing gaze. Her hands twisted in front of her, worrying at the fabric of her skirt. "What makes you say that?" she asked, but he could tell it was more obligation than anything. She knew he'd read her as easily as a neon sign.

Wyatt sighed. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, you know. I can just see there's something going on with you. You've been spaced out ever since you got here, and I know you were just barely paying attention to what Mason and the others were saying during our briefing." Reaching out, he took her anxious hands in his, squeezing gently to still them. When he had her attention, he said, "Again, you don't have to tell me. Just know I'm here if you want to."

Lucy's expression crumpled, and he saw her lips tremble briefly before she pressed them together firmly. She drew in a quick breath, then pressed her hand to her chest and shook her head. "Keep forgetting I can't breathe deeply in this stupid thing," she said with a weak laugh. "That's one thing I really hate about all this - corsets."

At first Wyatt thought she was trying to deflect his attention from the question. Before he could back away, however, she folded her hands primly in front of her and looked up at him again, trapping him with her steady gaze.

"I've been having some bad dreams ever since we started traveling," she told him. Glancing past him, she lowered her voice. "Usually it's about President Lincoln. But last night - or earlier, I guess I should say, it was- was-" She stopped, pressing her hands against her eyes, presumably to hold back her tears.

His mind ticked back through their most recent missions, trying to figure out who she was talking about. But then the obvious occurred to him, and he sighed with the realization. "Amy?"

Her head shot up, and she looked at him with her big eyes, glazed with tears. "Yes," she whispered. "How did you...?"

"Makes sense," he said. "You're working so hard to get her back, it's no big surprise you dream about her, too."

A slightly bitter smile turned up her lips. "Yes, well, that's just the thing, isn't it? If I'm fighting so hard to get her back, why is it that I forgot today's her birthday?"

Wyatt felt like she'd just punched him in the solar plexus. Rubbing his hand across his mouth, he shook his head. "Lucy, I'm sorry," he breathed from behind his fingers.

"I've been so caught up in trying to keep Flynn from changing history, I-I guess she just slipped my mind." Pressing her hands to her eyes again, she shook her head. "How could I forget about her, Wyatt? She's my baby sister." Her voice broke on the last word. "I'm the only one who remembers her, who knows she ever existed. If I forget her, even for a moment..." She shook her head, dropping her hands. "Well, if I forget her, then it's like she never existed at all, now isn't it?"

An uncomfortable zing went through his chest. That sentiment felt a little too familiar, hit a little too close to home. Wyatt hadn't even dared admit to anyone, let alone himself, that there had been times during their adventures, especially recently, where Jessica and his desire to catch her killer had faded into the back of his mind. He always pulled her straight back to the forefront as soon as they got back home, but the fact was, he had let her memory slip more than once.

Recently, far too frequently.

But now he had a name. It would surely help him keep Jessica as his foremost thought, or at least close to it, from here on out. Especially considering the plan which was just starting to develop, though he didn't dare hope it would work, not just yet.

"Sometimes," he began hesitantly, "it's important to allow other things to come to the forefront of our minds. We're risking our lives out there, and if we allow ourselves to concentrate on other things, it could cost any of us our lives." Even to him it sounded like a rationalization, and he knew he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to reassure Lucy.

How ridiculous, Wyatt thought bitterly. Here I am trying to reassure Lucy, when I'm guilty of almost the exact same thing. It was his biggest fear, forgetting Jessica. What she looked like, sounded like, what she liked, and the big dates like their anniversary and her birthday.

He couldn't let it happen.

Lucy looked at him in such a way he knew she heard what he hadn't wanted her to hear - what he hadn't even said aloud. Instead of calling him on it, as he'd halfway been afraid she'd do, she smiled thinly and nodded once. "Thanks, Wyatt. It doesn't help much, and it's no excuse for my not remembering her once we get back home, but - thank you."

Wyatt opened his mouth, but no words came out. Before he could scramble up a response that didn't make him sound like a hypocrite or a fraud, Rufus's voice carried to them from the doorway. "Hey, you guys, are coming with me on this mission, or do you just want to catch the next one?"

With their teammate's joke effectively breaking the ice, Lucy shot him a smile that looked a little more real, but the distraction was still apparent in her eyes as she moved past him toward the door. "We're coming, Rufus! Wyatt was just helping me clean up from where this ridiculous skirt helped me make a big mess."

Glancing down at Lucy's dressing table, where everything stood neatly in its place, Wyatt shook his head and turned to follow her. He hoped he'd helped Lucy, but if he hadn't done any better job convincing her than he had himself...

Well, no time to worry about that now. Another time travel mission awaited all of them, and he knew they'd have to wait to sort out the future once they had the past settled.

And after that? Wyatt didn't know, but it was certainly going to be interesting to find out.

*~The End~*

Author's Note: I started this fic a while back, didn't like it, scrapped it. Then I got an idea of how to improve it, so I pulled it out, refurbished it, and finished it. So technically this is my second posted Timeless fic, but it was the first I started. Right now I'm really enjoying writing these little moments, inserts for episodes to expand and get into the characters' heads. I have several more planned, and I'm really excited to put my fingers to the keyboard again and start typing them. Thank you all so much for your warm welcome into the Timeless fandom, thank you for taking the time to read this piece, and I hope you enjoy it!