A/N: A certain someone who knows exactly who they are is going to be very happy with me for finally writing this. (Looking at you, Marlab. Thanks for the nagging; my muse needed those kicks in the pants you so graciously provided. That'll teach it that it's not the boss of me! …Oh hang on; it's telling me I need to work on that other fic over there. brb)
Also, just a note, but if it reads awkwardly at all, I apologize. I had a little trouble with the whole first person present tense thing as I wrote it, but this one just didn't work right when I tried another narrative style. Here's hoping it worked out!
Standard disclaimers apply. Only beta was my spellchecker. Go easy on it; it has sensitive feelings.
Our team had been running ourselves ragged over the course of the past few days. Although the trips may only have taken a handful of minutes to those waiting in the present day, to those of us who were doing the traveling, each trip was days in length. So when we finally did seem to have a night off, Christopher and Mason had immediately sent everyone home to rest.
As we had wandered out of the Mason Industries building, Lucy had sighed. "I feel like I need a week of sleep." She had yawned and nodded to us both. "Good night."
We'd returned the farewell, then as she had unlocked her car, I'd turned to Wyatt. "I don't know about you, but I'm too wired to even think about sleeping right now."
The look on his face had said he agreed with me. "My sentiments exactly. Up for a drink?"
"I know a spot not too far from here," I had suggested. "You adverse to walking?" I'd asked, clapping my hands together. That had been that… or so I had thought.
We'd been walking down the street when it had happened. Thinking back, I can't remember noticing when the street grew silent and the other pedestrians took other turns to leave us by ourselves. Why would I? The thought of trouble was nowhere in my mind. It hadn't been until Wyatt had put up a hand and motioned for us to be quiet that I had realized that something was amiss.
I had nearly run into Wyatt's back at the sudden stop, my questions of what was going on having died on my lips as I took in the way he had stared intently at an alley that opened up to our right.
Then there had been a rustle of fabric and quick footsteps and two shadowy figures had jumped out of the darkened space between the two buildings. The streetlight had glinted off of metal in both of their hands, and I'd squinted to bring the objects into focus. Knives. Great. I'd survived countless historical tragedies only to get stabbed to death in an alley in my hometown.
Both figures were shorter than either of us, and when one had spoken up and demanded our valuables, it had been obvious that they were kids. Delinquent and misguided, sure, but kids all the same. And I had clearly seen the way Wyatt's stance had changed the minute he'd noticed.
"All right. Let's just take it easy now, okay?" Wyatt had adopted a soothing tone, even as he'd shot me a meaningful glance.
I had known what he'd meant, that I was supposed to get to safety and not worry about him. Wyatt had apparently planned to take care of the kids himself—probably in some way that would incapacitate but not kill them. I could tell by the way he spoke and moved.
If anyone could take care of the situation, there had been no doubt in my mind that Wyatt could do it. And he probably could have, if it hadn't been for the gun that none of us saw until it was too late…
…As the sound of the gunshot reverberates around us, in the moment of stunned silence that follows, the only thought in my mind is, 'If only I had a time machine.' The irony of that thought is that I actually do have a time machine, but there's no way I can use it to fix this. You can't go back to a time where you already exist, and two minutes ago certainly fits into that category.
And then the moment breaks as Wyatt lets out something of a pained gasp and slides down the wall to land in a heap on the ground.
Why did I have to suggest that one bar? It isn't the only one in town, not by a long shot. If we hadn't walked, none of this would be happening. We'd be safe in a booth somewhere, laughing and talking and not facing down a life-threatening situation.
It isn't too late in the evening, but it's late enough in the year that darkness has already completely fallen. The streetlight at the end of the alley doesn't do much to illuminate our surroundings, and I can only guess how bad things are—and based on all of the factors at play, I'm guessing it's pretty bad.
I can hear a wet, muffled sound that I immediately recognize as someone trying to breathe past an injury—a sound I would never have thought I'd hear, much less recognize, before I'd gotten roped into this insane time-traveling thing and had to pull a bullet out of my friend's gut in the 1860s.
Wyatt's making the same sounds now as he made then, except worse, and I momentarily freeze. My mind whirls as I try to decide on the best course of action. But what can I do? The muggers are armed while I'm unarmed… Wyatt is probably armed, but is the dash across the alleyway even possible without getting shot?
The gun swivels to point at me, but before I can decide what to do, there's movement from where Wyatt is struggling to stand from the pavement.
The shadowy figure with the gun growls. "Come on; nobody else needs to be a hero right now. Just hand over your phones and wallets before anyone else gets hurt."
Wyatt mumbles something, but I can't make out the words, just the pain behind the words, and my stomach sinks even further. This isn't good. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
But I'm at a loss for what to do. It's not that I don't want to react; I literally don't know how to react. Wyatt is the soldier, not me. I just code things and pilot time machines… Where am I going to start with defending not just myself but Wyatt too? Sure, Wyatt has been teaching us some moves—with varying degrees of success, but that's another story for another time—but the scenario in front of me has never been posed until now.
I blink and realize that all of these thoughts have only taken a mere moment to process. The kid is just starting to hold out his hand for the valuables he's demanded of us. There's time to do… something, but I don't know what. I desperately wrack my brain for an idea but come up empty. But then Wyatt makes another small sound and, as I realize my friend is trying to push himself up, all of my anger at the situation comes bubbling up.
Anger at myself for suggesting this in the first place… at these kids for thinking they could just take what isn't theirs… at the kid with the gun for thinking he could shoot Wyatt just like that… and for that matter, at Flynn for starting this whole mess in the first place because if we didn't have to chase him all over history, then we wouldn't even be here to begin with!
Something seems to snap inside me—although maybe 'click' is a better word because it feels more like everything inside is now right rather than the wrong that 'snap' seems to indicate—and I narrow my eyes. Wyatt tries to rise again and now the kid with the gun is completely focused on my teammate, not on me, which I use to my advantage.
Summoning all of the moves Wyatt has managed to teach me so far, I throw my weight forward and spring into action.
The next moments are a blur, and I know when I look back on it, I won't remember exactly what happened. I somehow manage to get to the kid before he can turn and point his gun at me, and I grab for it in the way that Wyatt had shown me, but my grip on it slips. Thankfully, I've already succeeded well enough that the gun is no longer in the mugger's hands either, and it clatters to the ground.
I kick at it, hearing a skittering sound as it disappears, and then it's all I can do to try to counter the knife that the kid thrusts in my direction.
Vaguely, I notice movement off to my left, and I know I need to give it some attention, but I'm a little busy. My stomach drops as I realize that the second mugger could be coming at me right then with his own knife but that there's no way I can do anything about it.
And then I hear a pained grunt and a yell from Wyatt, and although I still can't focus on what is happening, I glance that way to see him engaging the second mugger who I've had to ignore for obvious reasons.
It's over in the blink of an eye. The kid I'm wrestling with extricates himself from our fray and flees down the alleyway, his friend right behind him. I watch them go in something of a shocked silence as the reality of what just happened sinks in.
With a sharp intake of breath, I whirl in search of Wyatt, who I see immediately. He's swaying on his feet, a gun grasped in both hands as he aims at the retreating figures. A moment later, he lowers the weapon and blinks at me.
"Good… job… Rufus…" he says, then he crumples to the ground.
I yank my phone from my pocket even as I rush over to him. I almost start to dial emergency services, but then the thought occurs to me that Agent Christopher can probably get someone here faster, so I pull up her contact instead. As the phone rings, I scramble to strip off my flannel shirt, as something in my head tells me I need to try to stop the bleeding. The night breeze is cooler now that I only have a thin t-shirt between it and me, but I don't stop to worry about that right now. The thing that worries me more about the cooler air is the way Wyatt is now shivering at it.
He squints at me. "Ru…" he coughs.
"Shh," I scold him, then a voice comes through my phone speaker and my eyes widen slightly in relief. "Hurry! Wyatt's been shot! We got mugged… Where am I? Ummm…" I frantically look around for a street sign, relaxing only a little when I see one. I relay our location and then Christopher tells me to put pressure on the wound and keep him awake and she'll have help to us as soon as she can. Then she hangs up, presumably to get said help.
I turn my focus back to my teammate on the ground in front of me. There's so much blood… oh man, so much blood. "We gotta stop doing this, Wyatt," I tell him, trying to engage the conversation. Agent Christopher had said to keep him awake, so I say the first thing I can think of. "First Washington, now here. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to give me constant nightmares." Even as I speak, I ball up my shirt. It's my favorite, but I guess I'm going to have to find a new favorite now.
Wyatt smirks, the grin spreading slowly across his face. He chuckles, then coughs and winces at the pain of the movements. "Rufus… you know… you make a terrible doc." Then he groans and squeezes his eyes shut at the pressure as I put the shirt to his side and press hard.
"Hey now!" I protest, ignoring the pang that shoots through my chest as I see the pain I'm inflicting with my rudimentary first aid attempt. "I pulled that bullet out of you in that hotel, didn't I?"
"Well," he coughs, "for one thing… you have terrible… bedside ma…" His eyes flutter closed and he trails off mid-word, which twists my gut with worry.
"Uh-uh. Come on. Open your eyes." I pat his cheek.
No response.
"Come on, Wyatt!" I press on the shirt a little harder, trying to get through to him, and apparently it works because his eyes shoot back open.
He sucks in a sharp breath, which immediately spreads more pain across his face. "Geez, Rufus! Gentle, much?"
I shake my head, not even trying to mask my emotions. "You had me worried there, buddy," I say.
And then suddenly there are sirens and flashing lights, and I glance up to look for the emergency vehicles. When I glance back down, Wyatt's eyes are closed again, but before I can shake him awake again, EMTs are swooping in and nudging me out of the way.
I relinquish control and try to answer the barrage of questions, even as I attempt to keep Wyatt's face in view. It's drawn and pale, and his eyes remain shut even as he's loaded onto a stretcher and rushed into a waiting ambulance.
As I rush behind the medics so I can ride to the hospital, I reach for my phone. Lucy needs to know. I pause, noticing for the first time the blood coating my hands. I shake the thoughts from my mind and wipe my right hand up and down my pants leg, trying to scrub the sticky substance onto the denim as best as I can. There will be time enough to dwell on that later. Right now, Wyatt needs us, and I'm not going to let him down.
Fin.