"The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children." - William Shakespeare

The space was closed and cramped. He felt like he was stuck inside a tin can of all things, and he didn't like it. The lighting inside the tight quarters was appropriately dim except for the glaring incandescent lights on the computer terminal in front of him. He didn't like them either. No, William wasn't happy with any of this-didn't like sitting on the grimy floor of the van, didn't like the electronics that currently surrounded him. He wasn't used to it, and desperately wanted what he was used to. But, unfortunately, this was their test, the chosen means of determining if he was worthy, a way to prove to them without a shadow of a doubt. And he had waited such a long time to be accepted by them (practically his whole life, it seemed), and now he was this close. Just one mission away from taking his place in their ranks. There was nothing William wanted more-not since he'd first heard the whispered name of 'Rittenhouse.'

But first, there was one last test. And like all tests, it wasn't supposed to be easy, not even this first small step of it. So he would bear the tight metallic interior of this van, and try not to think about how it felt like the walls of the van were closing in on him. He would bear the harsh lights of the personal computer monitor. He would bear the personal computer itself, for though he didn't like it, he certainly understood its usefulness. In short, William would do his job. Because it was what Rittenhouse asked of him (what she asked of him). They had asked him to do a job. And he wouldn't disappoint them. He wouldn't disappoint her. After all, as he'd heard since he was a small child, this was his birthright, wasn't it?

So here William sat, in the unusual van, on a quiet street, little more than a block away from the room he had been asked to surveil...in the year 2020. He shook his head absently, willing away the queasy surrealness that overcame him whenever he thought about time travel. Instead, he flipped the switches-the way they'd shown him-and the computer whirred to life. The screen slowly revealed a picture. It was focused on a white wall, and the corner of a ceiling of an interior room.

William moved the remote sideways, causing the tiny camera to also swing sideways from its hiding place in the ceiling tiles, so that he could view the foyer of the room.

There.

The door to the room swung open, admitting two people, a man and a woman. He recognized them immediately from their pictures. The woman (her name was Lucy, Dr. Lucy Preston, he reminded himself) began speaking, and he tapped upward on the volume meter of the listening device. William didn't catch what she said, but it must have been funny, because the man beside her-the one called Rufus-barked out a loud peal of joyful laughter that nearly blew the ear piece out of his ear.

William still had no idea how the Rittenhouse 'inside man' had managed it-a man he'd been told to contact just the day before. How had he ever managed to get a camera and a listening device into an office on an Army base that was supposed to be top secret? But he supposed it was of little consequence, and carefully turned the camera again to center the two figures on his computer screen. All that really mattered was that it had worked, and he could both see and hear them-so he could take the information he gathered back to the people who controlled his destiny. Back to Rittenhouse.

The door from the corridor opened again, admitting another man. William hissed wordlessly in surprise and bit his lip. To see him in person, to really see him-and not just in pictures-was a greater shock than he'd anticipated.

Another peal of laughter from Rufus inside his ear interrupted his train of thought.

"Look at you," Rufus' voice came in gasps amidst the laughter.

"Be cool," the other man nearly growled in a deep voice, even as he smiled at the others.

So that was what his voice sounded like. Without even realizing that he had done so, he turned the volume up higher.

Dr. Preston didn't seem to find the man's appearance as humorous as Rufus. William's breath caught involuntarily at the soft smile she bestowed on him before brushing her hand across the man's shoulder, trailing her fingers down his lapel in an intimate gesture.

"You look amazing," she assured the man, gazing up at him.

"Yeah, sure," Rufus snickered. "Amazing. That's one word for the Army-issue monkey suit. Seriously, did someone forget to mention it was Halloween?"

The other man shook his head in resignation. "Look, do you think I'd have put the dress uniform on if they hadn't insisted on it?"

Even on the small laptop screen, the familiarity of those blue eyes wasn't lost on him.

"Well, I like the look," the woman insisted.

Rufus turned toward the camera again just in time for William to see his dramatic eye roll. "Of course you would." Rufus turned back toward the other two, away from the camera. "But then, you agreed to marry this guy, you know, tie yourself to him forever, just last week, so I think your judgement is suspect."

William winced at the unexpected revelation. "Was that something Rittenhouse should be informed of?" he wondered, and watched as Lucy turned to Rufus with a challenge in her eye. Before she could say anything though, Rufus continued.

"And what is it with women anyway. Jiya's the same-nearly lost her mind today at the notion of me in a suit."

"Hey, it wouldn't hurt you to throw her a bone now and then, buddy. You know, wear something fancier than your 'dress' hoodie." The other man gave his friend a lopsided grin.

"What do you think this is?" asked Rufus, tugging at his lapels of his very new-looking suit. "And I'll have you know, when I do choose to wear a suit, I rock it." He leaned in closer to the woman, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that the audio device still registered. "Admit it-I look way better than GI Ken doll here."

She smiled, tilting her head toward the Ken doll in question, who rolled his eyes again.

"Come on."

There was a slight edge to the man's voice now that hadn't been there before. Was that what he sounded like when he was angry? Or was he merely slightly annoyed? William shook his head. "Don't start caring about that," he chided himself.

Rufus shrugged unrepentantly. "You know I joke when I get nervous, it's my defense mechanism."

"You're nervous?" Lucy asked, one elegant dark brow raised inquisitively.

"Sure," he answered. "Not every day regular people like us get awarded a medal. A secret medal that we're not ever allowed to talk about or keep with us, or even look at after today….but a medal nonetheless."

The other man nodded, his face softening. "I know it's kind of weird, the secrecy of it all, but you guys deserve this. I mean, what you've been through-"

"What we've all been through," the woman cut him off.

"Yep," nodded Rufus, "The time team—me an' Lucy, and the penguin man here."

"Penguin man?" Lucy asked, her nose crinkling skeptically.

"Not your best line there," agreed the other man.

Rufus grinned sheepishly, "Not gonna lie, the breadth of tuxedo-related humor is far wider than U.S. Army dress uniform humor."

"Seriously, Rufus. One more crack about the uniform, and your Go-Bots are gonna be orphans!" he promised.

William inhaled sharply-and pushed himself back from the computer screen.

He had been five years old the first time he heard the word "orphan." It was the second day of kindergarten, and the line for the water fountain was taking forever. Normally a quiet child, he could sometimes be impatient, which never failed to make his aunt frown. Sighing gustily, William decided that recess was his favorite part of the school day, although snack time and story time were very nice, too. His dark brows drew together in displeasure at the thought of nap time (naps were for babies, and he was a big boy now, Aunt Emma said so), but really, it was only for an hour in the afternoon. A small price to pay for everything else he liked about kindergarten.

Looking around the hallway, William noticed his teacher, Mrs. Harper, waiting by the classroom door, talking to a lady with brown hair and glasses he didn't know. Over the noisy chatter of his classmates, William overheard the other woman ask Mrs. Harper, "Who's the dark-haired little boy with the big blue eyes?"

Surprised when both women turned to look at him, he hastily ducked his head when his teacher responded, "That's William Logan, his family just moved to town over the summer," and then leaning closer to her companion, lowered her voice slightly and said, "He's an orphan, being raised by his aunt."

What did she mean by that? What was an orphan? Did Mrs. Harper say that because William didn't have a mommy or daddy? Even at the tender age of five, he knew his life was different from the other boys and girls, because his aunt told him so. When Aunt Emma visited him the week before kindergarten started, she lifted him onto her lap, and said in a serious, grownup voice, "William, we need to have a talk before you go to school, alright?"

He nodded solemnly, watching her face carefully. William loved his aunt, despite seeing her only a couple times a month when she visited him and the Smiths, the man and woman he lived with.

For the next ten minutes or so, Aunt Emma talked about the extra special place she worked, how important her job was, and surprisingly, how important he would be some day to her job. William was different from other little boys and girls, she said, and he must always remember that. He needed to be a very good boy at school and learn all he could so that some day when he was a grown up like his aunt, there would be a place for him.

It was all very confusing. He was only five years old and just learned his ABC's and how to write his full name last year and could still only count to 100. How could a little boy be as important as his smart, pretty aunt? Then she told him the name of the people she worked for was Rittenhouse, but he could never say the name out loud or tell anyone where his Aunt Emma worked.

"Do you understand, William? I know this is a lot of responsibility, but you are a very smart little boy, and I want you to do your best. Can you do that for me?" Naturally, William nodded his head obediently-he would do anything to please Aunt Emma. And so, from the age of five on, William Logan was always aware he wasn't like any of his little classmates, and never would be because of the vague promise of some day.

William shook his head, and leaned back toward the monitor. Now it appeared that some day was finally here. He turned the camera again as a few more people entered the room-military brass from the look of their uniforms, not important to his mission. He tried to re-focus on the room's original three occupants, but it became difficult as more people entered, and the trio grew quiet.

William drummed his fingers on the counter with frustration. What good was it to listen in on their conversation if they weren't going to actually say anything? He didn't yet understand how any of this was of value to the Rittenhouse plan….but it was what his aunt had asked him to do. His aunt, who had said she would be here with him tonight. He glanced toward the van doors. It was early-she still might come. And then he could ask her more about the reason for this part of the assignment. William glanced at the screen, the movements of Rufus and the other man catching his attention again. He shook his head, silently admonishing himself, "Don't think about that now-don't think about him!" He could wait….wait for Emma to arrive, and to answer his questions. After all, he had done just that so many times before...

Flashback

Once the first weak glimmers of daylight had begun to filter through the heavy curtains of his bedroom windows, William had sighed in relief. Finally, it was Christmas Day, and Aunt Emma would be here soon, and because it was Christmas, she would stay with him the whole afternoon, not just for an hour or so like her usual visits. Secretly, that was the reason today was his favorite day of the year.

Of course, presents were nice, too, and this year William's list had only one thing on it-a new bike. He had never wanted anything so badly, ever. But not just any old bicycle. No, ma'am, this was a very special two-wheeler that he had first seen at McCoy's Hardware around Thanksgiving when the store decorated its front window for the holidays. The bike in question was a Schwinn Deluxe Tornado, and the most beautiful thing William Logan had ever seen. Given a place of honor in the Christmas display, he and his friends stopped every day after school to admire the sleek lines of the red and white Tornado.

Just imagining himself riding such a wonderful bicycle all around town made William shiver in delight. A neatly-printed card propped against the back wheel listed all the features, and he'd read them so often, he could practically recite the list in his sleep-a rear carrier, detachable kickstand, enameled rims, a horn, even a headlight. If William had a bike like that, maybe he could get a paper route like his friend, Tim, and start earning extra money so Aunt Emma wouldn't have to work so hard (and maybe have more time to spend with him.)

William loved his aunt very much, and he knew the reason she worked all the time was so that he could live in a nice house and have plenty to eat. (William knew this because she told him quite often, ever since he was a small boy.) He had been aware from a young age that his life was nothing like any of his small group of friends, because all the boys in his fourth grade class had mothers and fathers-well, except for Joe Williams, whose dad got killed in the war when Joe was a little baby, in a place far away called Korea.

He tried not to think about it, but it did bother William sometimes to not have parents. It made him different from his classmates, and he hated feeling that way. (He wanted badly to fit in, be just like everyone else.) The one and only time William screwed up the courage to ask his aunt about them was on his ninth birthday, and he almost immediately regretted asking when he saw the faintly annoyed expression on her face. His stomach started to feel sick and he began to stammer an apology, but then, something happened that shocked William: instead of frowning and scolding him, Aunt Emma had only sighed and patted a spot on the sofa beside her. He sat gingerly, completely mystified by her unexpected response.

"William, you are nine years old today, and old enough, I think, to start learning about your history. Would you like that?" and William nodded so enthusiastically, he almost fell off the sofa, making his aunt chuckle. He loved the sound of Aunt Emma's seldom-heard laughter because it made him happy. That feeling soon faded, however, crushed under the weight of the sad story she shared with him. Reaching into her pocketbook, Aunt Emma pulled out a small picture of a pretty young woman with blonde hair and kind brown eyes.

His mother's name was Jessica, and she had died only hours after his birth. She was the one who named him William, his aunt related, and he was fiercely glad she pretended not to notice the single tear that escaped down his cheek. Jessica. That was a nice name. He blinked furiously and swallowed hard at the strange, heavy feeling in his chest, embarrassed at looking like a crybaby in front of his aunt. And then Aunt Emma did something even more unusual-she put her arm around William and hugged him.

She almost never touched William, and his senses reeled at the warmth of her arm and the smell of her perfume. But then he ruined the wonderful moment by asking about his father. Aunt Emma stiffened up and pulled away, and William was mad at himself for asking such a dumb question. "I'm sorry, Aunt Emma," he gulped, trying to appease her, when she surprised him once again.

Giving him a pained smile, she said, "It's alright, William, I suppose it's only natural that you should wonder about your father. It's time you learned who he is," and he was amazed when she retrieved another small picture and handed it to William. He took the picture frame eagerly, and at his first glimpse of the man who fathered him, William nearly dropped the picture.

Sucking in a shocked breath, he looked up at his aunt and blurted out, "He looks just like me!" Now William understood where his dark hair and blue eyes came from-his father-a man he had never met.

He raised inquisitive eyes to Aunt Emma, and before he could form the words, she volunteered, "His name is Wyatt Logan, and he's a soldier," and William's heart sank. Soldiers were in the Army and fought in wars, and died, like Joe's dad.

"Is he dead, too, like my mother?" William asked hesitantly, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. After all, if his father was still alive, why would William live with the Smiths? Why wouldn't he live with his dad?

"William, this is hard to say, and I need you to be brave, but your father is not dead," and his young heart soared at this confusing, but exciting piece of information. He had a father who was a soldier (which meant he was brave) and looked just like him. William's euphoria was short-lived, however, and died entirely at Aunt Emma's next words.

With an odd gleam in her pale green eyes, his aunt quickly set him straight and shattered his youthful illusions forever. Yes, his father was alive, but unfortunately, not only did he live some place far, far away, Wyatt Logan didn't want a child. He was too busy with the woman he was going to marry, a teacher named Lucy Preston. That was why Aunt Emma was raising him. His immature heart and mind tried to make sense of this devastating revelation. Years later, William would come across the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for," and smile bitterly.

It was awful enough to learn his mother was dead, but even worse, his father was alive, but didn't want his son because of some woman named Lucy. All his childish hopes and dreams died that day, and William never again asked his aunt about Wyatt Logan. Strangely enough, though, after her visit was over, William found the two small pictures of his parents on his dresser, and unable to help himself, looked at the picture of his mother every day. The picture of Wyatt Logan (he would never call him "dad"), on the other hand, was turned faced down except on the rare occasion when William's longing for a father overwhelmed him and he'd snatch up the picture and gaze at it hungrily, all the while hating his weakness.

But now, after almost a whole year had gone by since then, it was Christmas Day, and Aunt Emma would be here soon. Jumping out of bed, William raced through his shower, brushed his teeth and combed his hair (stoically ignoring the little voice in his head that reminded him how much he looked like his father as he grew older). By the time the taxi dropped Aunt Emma off out front, William had finished breakfast and was waiting patiently for her in the front room.

When the doorbell rang, he ran to let his aunt in. Arms full of brightly-wrapped packages, Aunt Emma smiled broadly and wished William "Merry Christmas" after he shyly kissed her cheek. They spent the next hour opening gifts while Christmas carols played softly in the background on William's transistor radio. He was pleased when his aunt exclaimed over the pretty scarf he had saved part of his small allowance to buy her because William thought it would look nice with her red hair.

After William unwrapped the last gift, he neatly stacked them under the Christmas tree, trying not to let his disappointment show. The books and games his aunt brought were nice, but oh, how he'd dreamed about the new bike. Not only had he worked industriously in school to earn straight "A's", William had obediently done his chores every day for months without being prompted. He concluded morosely that Aunt Emma must not have thought he deserved the Tornado. "William?" she asked, "Don't you like your presents?" and smiled knowingly when he nodded dutifully.

Standing, she took his hand and led William through the kitchen and out the door into the back yard. "Merry Christmas, William," Aunt Emma said with a pleased smile, and waved her hand. Following the motion, his eyes widened and he was overjoyed to see a bicycle with a big red bow-it was a Schwinn Tornado! Impulsively, William threw his arms around his aunt's waist and choked out, "I love you, Aunt Emma." Her hand smoothed back some dark hair that had fallen on his forehead, and William thought his heart would burst with love for her.

"Well, go take a look at your new bicycle," she urged, and William didn't need to be told twice. Falling on his knees beside the gleaming red and white two wheeler, he couldn't ever remember feeling so happy. At least until after a careful examination, William figured out this actually wasn't the same bike from McCoy's Hardware. Although he tried not to let on, his aunt must have been observing him more closely than he realized.

"William, is something wrong with the bike?" she asked.

And when he shook his head and mumbled, eyes downcast, "No, Ma'am," she sighed and pulled him to his feet.

"William, look at me," she requested in a stern, yet not unkind voice. "There are two things I want you to remember. The first is never lie to me, ever. Have I made myself clear?" When he instantly nodded respectfully, her face softened slightly. "The second is the reason this bike is not the fancy one from the hardware store is because you are not being raised to be better than anyone else. You are a good boy who works hard, but there are many boys and girls who work hard. And in this world, if you are just given extra nice things you haven't earned, you will never appreciate what you have. William, some day, you will be a leader of men and do great things, but not if you aren't willing to work for it. Do you understand? Now, let's put the new bike in the garage and have some of the nice Christmas lunch Mrs. Smith prepared, alright?"

William would always remember the two important lessons from that Christmas in 1958. He never again lied to Aunt Emma (ever), and he never forgot that he was just like everyone else-nothing special at all. William Logan was just a boy with a dead mother and a father who didn't want him.

End Flashback

End Chapter One.

A/N #1: The idea for this story came out of a conversation my friend Qwerty and I had after the season two finale (can't quite bring myself to even acknowledge yet it was the SERIES finale of our beloved Timeless). Although we agreed that there was NO WAY little miss sleeper agent was pregnant, she and I started tossing around the idea that IF Jessica had conceived a child with Wyatt, she'd probably go away and have the baby in secret and never let Wyatt know, cause that's how RH Jessica rolls. And I guess things just kind of got out of hand after that, lol :p Finally, I want to thank "Q" for being such a joy to collaborate with, and special thanks to all of you for going on this wild journey with us - Gracie.

A/N #2: First of all, like Gracie said, Jessica is NOT pregnant. Nope….no way. But as soon as she *said* she was, I started wondering what possible story purpose a pregnancy could serve. I was even a bit nervous that the season two finale might feature an adult child of Wyatt and Jessica appearing out of the Mothership from the future. Luckily, we got future Lyatt from the Lifeboat instead, a much better idea! But like Gracie said, the two of us started talking about it….and talking some more….and then this happened! Huge thank you to Gracie for this-it's so much fun to write together, and we hope you all enjoy-let us know what you think! - Qwertygal