Putting the period at the end of the last sentence in her diary, Lucy looked over to a sleeping Flynn on her bed. He was older now. (They both were.) Handsomer. The grey hair at his temples shining and complimenting the twinkles in his eyes when he looked at her. She wanted to go to him and disturb his sleep, but those were sentimental thoughts. She could let him get his rest instead of giving in to flights of her fancy.

Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. She would go back in time with her completed diary and meet the younger Flynn who was deep in the agony of grief over what Rittenhouse had done to him. She wasn't sure what she would say, and as many times as she grilled him over what happened, he assured her that she would know. Because she was Lucy.

Ah, but she was Lucy, and she remembered who she was then. She remembered every hate-filled emotion she had for Garcia Flynn. In the Moebius strip that was her life, she wouldn't have predicted his current value to her. They had both been like grieving Job and had bonded over shared losses because misery does love company.

But not as much as Lucy Preston loves Garcia Flynn.

The Flynn she was running off to meet wouldn't know her, wouldn't love her. He'd still be in love with his wife, and if all truth be told, he still was. It was something they didn't lie about with each other. Loving Lucy didn't mean everything that had come before her was made null and void, and after becoming entangled with Wyatt and Jessica, Lucy could appreciate the honesty of that statement.

"Come to bed," Flynn softly called out, his eyes bright in the darkness.

"I was just finishing the diary. And thinking," Lucy said as she got up from her chair to slide in bed beside him. She snuggled against Flynn a while until he moved back from her.

"What is it?" she asked.

He used the soft smile he reserved only for her in their quiet moments. "Memorizing your face. I didn't properly notice you back then, and I've spent years mentally recreating what I saw. Here you are."

"And we don't know what the future holds after I give you the diary. There aren't any more breadcrumbs," Lucy said, biting her lower lip.

"Maybe we finally get what we want," he said softly as he nuzzled her neck to press a few kisses there.

"Maybe we do," Lucy said, still feeling the weight of worry. It was a futile emotion since it had clearly already happened, but things in the past had changed. And Rittenhouse had been too formidable a foe.

Flynn pressed his fingers lightly to her forehead, giving a soft facial massage to ease out the tension from too much of Lucy's thinking. She sighed into his hands and accepted his touch. The mission was tomorrow, but tonight she had this. At least for a little while, Garcia Flynn was hers.