A/N: We're really getting spoiled by all these lovely deleted scenes we're getting from the Timeless writers on Twitter. And I'm loving every minute of it. Again, there's nothing really new here, just a bunch of introspection.
Spoilers: For everything up to and including 2x01 The War to End All Wars, also the 2nd and the 3rd deleted scenes.
Disclaimer: A lot of sleepless nights for me, but not over the fact that I don't own the rights to Timeless.
She didn't know how many sleepless nights she'd endured lately, but it had been a lot. Ever since she had been kidnapped by her mother and Rittenhouse she hadn't had a good night's sleep. So, understandably she was exhausted. And so far this too had been an emotionally taxing day. First of all killing an innocent man, followed by practically deciding to commit suicide for the greater good, then discovering that the people you'd mourned for 6 weeks were still alive, going from trying to protect historical figures, and being held at gun point, to be saved from the organization that's supposed to be your birthright and heritage, then travelling through time only to arrive in an unfamiliar bunker from the last century, that seemed to have seen better days. It was no wonder she felt so weary, as if all the marrow had been sucked right out of her bones.
After she'd crawled out of the Lifeboat and said her hellos to the rest of the bunker crew, then being shown around the facility and assigned a cot in Jiya's room, she'd taken a shower. Washing away the dirt of the mission along with the memories of the last few weeks. The cascading water from the rusted showerhead soothing her body, but not entirely her mind. Though more relaxed thoughts of Rittenhouse and what ifs kept playing tag in her brain. As she stepped out of the shower and onto the cold tile floor her eyes fell upon the pile of discarded clothes, its beige color scheme covering up the fact that it was coated with a layer of 1918 dirt. Being in the middle of a World War was a dirty business, in more ways than one. All she really wanted to do with that clothes was burn it, but if she thought about it she knew she probably shouldn't do that though; with the building being underground and closed off, and most likely running its own re-filtered air supply, it wouldn't be the best of ideas. She would get agent Christopher to remove it from the premises... tomorrow, for today she didn't have the strength to do anything further about it, so she pushed it to one side of the bathroom, hoping none of the others would mind.
She had borrowed a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweater, that might not be very flattering, but at this point that wasn't really something she cared about, she was just grateful for the warmth that enveloped her, against the coolness of the reused bunker air.
The narrow corridors on the other side of the bathroom doors didn't bother her as much as it should have, seeing as she was coming from one confined space to another. But being locked up here was different than being locked up at Rittenhouse, this was more or less voluntary, and at least it was with people she knew and wanted to be with. There was a freedom in this confinement that hadn't been there in her previous one. Still as she walked towards her room she couldn't help but constantly look over her shoulder, assessing each new sound she encountered and unconsciously deciding if it was one she should be afraid of. But when she reached her destination and no Rittenhouse agents had jumped her or come running to snatch her up she felt a little bit more at ease.
Behind the heavy, metal door, the cramped elongated room lay bathed in shadows. A very little light escaped in through the dirt stained windows, reminding her that somewhere outside there was still a little of the day left. She didn't really know what to do with herself, so she kind of just stood there, in the middle of the room, taking in her new accommodations as her mind wandered. Her room at Rittenhouse HQ had been big and light, with soft colors on the walls, there had been enough space for a little desk and the bed had been large and comfy. It was like a hotel room, even the food – that she had hardly eaten most days – had come on trays. Under any other circumstances it could have felt like being on vacation, giving her the illusion of being carefree and indeed free, but however nice the room had been it had acted like her prison. She'd been locked away from the world like Rapunzel in her ivory tower. Now this tiny space in the bunker was the exact opposite; there was barely any light, the walls were rust shelled, and there was hardly any room for the few belongings Jiya already had in there, also the beds, like the rest of the bunker, had probably seen better days, and the food didn't look appetizing at all. But none of that mattered. She was willing to do almost anything, sleep on a dirt floor, eat crappy canned food, wear the same set of clothes forever, and forsake all that was left of her old life, if it meant being out of the claws of Rittenhouse and having her friends be safe and alive.
Standing in the middle of the small room contemplating her life, and her life choices, that's where Wyatt found her. She hadn't meant to snap at him, but it had been a really long day and she wasn't quite out of the habit of having to defend herself yet, of constantly being on the lookout for the hidden agenda, and not getting sucked in by kind words. It was a defense mechanism really. He took a different approach, quickly realizing the attempt at lighthearted conversation wasn't what she was in the mood for. They couldn't just pick up where they had left off; they weren't the same two people that had parted ways 6 weeks ago. A big and black gap had formed between them, Rittenhouse had changed the game completely.
He was patient and didn't push. There was a strength in his quiet understanding that made her want to tell him everything, all the thoughts that kept swirling around in her mind. And so, all the most recent events came tumbling out of her mouth; what she'd chosen to do to show her loyalty, to stay alive long enough to take them out, her shame in not having done so, in not having ended this whole mess once and for all, when she had the chance. Because she knew they would keep on coming, wouldn't relent, wouldn't stop, and wouldn't give up until they reached their crazy world domination goals. If their little time team resistance group here thought their efforts had crippled an organization that had been around for centuries, they were sadly mistaken. Her time in Rittenhouse had shown her just how far and wide their influence went, though their numbers had been reduced some, they were quick to scheme anew and rebuild.
She talked, he listened. His comments furthering her monologue and poking holes at some unpleasant truths, she intentionally had been hiding from herself, tucked away in a corner because it had been too painful to acknowledge and explore the implications. She kept going until she couldn't keep her emotions in check anymore. She broke down, and he was right there for her, beside her in a heartbeat. Letting her lean on him, allowing her to let go of everything she had been holding in. His grip on her tightened with each new sob, assuring her, without words that he was there for her. The feeling of loneliness, being left behind all alone, the last man standing, that feeling persisted however; its grip on her had festered very deep during her time away from the team.
She wasn't really a crier, or one that wore her emotions on her sleeve, but once she'd started to let go she couldn't seem to stop again, couldn't rile her emotions back in where she could protect and control them. She really had lost everything; the man she thought were her father, the memory of who her mother was, her sister, her own identity, and even the core feeling of being her, the person she used to be.
Hearing Wyatt say she hadn't lost him helped calm her considerably and make her realize she was actually in his arms, pressed close enough to his chest that she could hear his heartbeat. The steady rhythm of his very much alive heart. She suddenly had a very urgent need to reach up and touch his face. To feel that he was real and alive. His stubbles felt rough against her palm, yet she repeated the motion several times, the continuous almost hypnotic movement stirred up a different feeling in her, one she wasn't quite ready to admit just yet. Still her body seemed to move of its own accord bringing them closer than they already were.
She was both relieved and frustrated by Jiya's abrupt interruption. Her emotions really were all over the place right now and going forward might not have been the best of ideas at this point anyway. At least he didn't brake contact immediately, wasn't embarrassed or apologetic about being seen this intimate with her. In fact, his arms never left their hold on her, hands running soothingly up and down her back, until she decided to stand up so they could both walk into the common area to the others. Something she couldn't quite pinpoint had definitely changed about him too during their separation. It became increasingly clearer that they would have to play catchup for a long while.
Wyatt led the way but kept looking over his shoulder to check if she was there, and make sure that she was okay. He was trying to be discrete, but she noticed. It was very sweet, and she thought unnecessary, but that was until she reached the kitchen where they were all gathered already discussing something and Mason turned around to face her so quickly, that she almost jumped three feet. No one seemed to notice though, and if they did they didn't comment on it, which she was very grateful for. Okay so she might still be a bit jumpy, and maybe she wasn't coping as well as she thought, and it might take her a while, but she was sure she'd get there eventually. She was merely overwhelmed. It hadn't even been a day yet, she just needed time. One of the most ironic of sentences for a time traveler, but there really wasn't enough of it in any time; past or present or in any alternate timeline too for that matter. And after the whole sleeper agent theory and the Nicholas Keynes reveal which felt like another blow at her – if only she had killed him when she had the chance they could have thwarted another one of Rittenhouse's crazy ploys – she felt the guilt sneak itself remorselessly into her anew. Would she ever be able to move on from this whole debacle?
xXx
Not long after that the others had urged her to go and rest. She had begun to feel the weight of recent events start to pull at her eyelids, and trying to remain upright had been a challenge, being dead on her feet was not an understatement. And she wanted nothing more than to be dragged off to dreamland. The last remainder of the day's adrenaline had left her body and she was practically running on fumes. She turned on the little desk lamp and fell like a big lump onto the bed in the clothes she was wearing. It wasn't like she had anything else to change into anyways. Agent Christopher had promised to figure something out regarding that, maybe even retrieve a couple of personal belongings if she needed it. Pulling her knees to her chest she curled up end closed her eyes letting the fatigue swallow her. But sleep didn't come.
Through her closed eyelids she could sense how the room grew gradually darker. Jiya hadn't come in yet, they were probably just trying to give her some space, but the silence stretched on and drilled holes in the dark which were quickly filled up by her brooding thoughts. All the nights she'd spend lying awake in her Rittenhouse bed, listening to the same kind of deafening silence, only disrupted by the occasional tiptoeing around the doors, and the whispers that echoed down the corridors, even the foul air, heavy with bleak and gloomy secrets couldn't fill out the entire emptiness of the quiet.
Thoughts of escape had haunted her the first couple of nights, until its futility became apparent. Then came the news of her friends' demise and her nights had been filled with silent, mournful tears. Until they eventually went dry and she had none left. After that she filled the holes in her heart with thoughts of revenge, and her nights went with plotting and playing out different scenarios on how to take them all down. Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford, and after some time didn't feel like she needed anymore. Insomnia had claimed her as its own. Occasionally her brain would give in though, insisting she need sleep to not go crazy, on those nights she would pass out completely, dreaming of nothing but blackness. But when she woke up she still wouldn't feel an ounce more refreshed than the night before. That had been her life for way longer than she cared to remember.
Now here she was, on the other side; safe yet still struggling. She could find plenty to brood over still, fill the encroaching silence with guilt and new worries. She should be grateful, and she was. It might have been the PTSD talking but somewhere all she really wanted to do was to go back to a simpler time or make everything just stop. She closed her eyes even harder against the darkness, squeezed the bedding even tighter in her already tense grip, willing the grim voice to go away and not come back. But she knew that it would continue to haunt her like an angry ghost, reappearing when she least expected it.
Being this much on edge, should have kicked her adrenaline level up a notch, instead it just drained her. Energy bleeding out of her like a depleted battery. And still rest escaped her. She was about to give up, open her eyes and stare up at her new ceiling until it was bathed in the early morning light. But right then, just before she made an effort to move she heard the door open and she froze. Pretending to be asleep had become an artform for her, making her breaths seem relaxed and even, so as to not give anything away. All the while she'd trained her other senses to be more alert, much like a person that loses his or her sight or hearing and sharpens their other senses. It was a survival instinct, and those very situations, when she was sleeping, being at her most vulnerable; those had sometimes felt like life or death to her.
Someone walked into the room after a few seconds and a moment of hesitation. She recognized the footfall, it was Wyatt. Oh, how she'd longed for that sound on all those cruel and lonely nights; how many times she'd wished that the intruders that came into her room at night and plucked her from her bed from time to time to indoctrinate her, when she was more susceptible to brainwash and propaganda, had instead been him coming to her aid. And each time her logical mind had condemned her for her silly desires, when she already knew it was impossible. Dead men didn't come knocking.
She felt him lift the blanket that was lying by her feet at the end of the bed and gently drape it over her body. Then his hands securely tucked in the edges around her like she was a small child, and the fleeting thought of how good a father he would make crossed her mind. He rested a hand on her shoulder as he knelt in front of her, studying her for a moment, before she sensed his hand on her cheek, carefully removing a strand of stray hair. The level of consideration he was displaying when he thought she wasn't aware, wasn't conscious enough to recognize just how soft the tough solder really was deep down, touched her profoundly.
But then something completely unexpected happened, and it took all she had in her not to react. His lips touched her cheek, and it wasn't just a quick and friendly peck either, he lingered. But then it was gone. He broke contact and too fast the heat left by the light pressure disappeared. He left the room, once again leaving Lucy alone with her thoughts. She opened her eyes, not quite believing what had just happened, and also to make sure that she really was in the Bunker, and this wasn't all some sort of delirious dream. Satisfied by the surroundings she found herself in she paused… this opened up a whole new set of possibilities. So much for being done with sleepless nights. But hopefully now the subject matter would take on a different and more hopeful nature. She had some new late night ponderings to do.
A/N: Now, below I'm just rambling, I know, hiatuses have that effect on me, so feel free to skip it.
Just to be clear Lucy makes everything look good, even when she's practically drowning in clothes. Now that's a talent not bestowed on everyone.
Seeing as we don't know whether the deleted tucking in scene was supposed to be before, after or instead of the almost kiss scene I choose to have them both, and set the deleted one after, as I think it fits there the best. Also the more Lyatt the better, right.
This fic went in a different direction than what I set out to do, a lot more descriptive than what I normally do, but hey it's all good. It must be that summer feeling of having all the time in the world (which I really don't) that is extending into my writing.
I still wanna know what happened to Lucy during her time in Rittenhouse, really hoping for a 3rd season, where they can explore stuff like this more. Apparently a lot can happen in 6 weeks. I'm all for more of dark Lucy too, even when dark she still manages to do the right thing, and that's a very appealing quality. Going through life being too nice gets you nowhere, and people will just walk all over you, so she definitely needs some more edges.
Sometimes I think we're forgetting how much of a control freak (not a nice word) Lucy is supposed to be. She said herself that after her car accident she likes to put herself in situations she can control. That's why moments like these where she just breaks down completely is even more heartbreaking.
If you still read this it probably made no sense, sorry, author's notes are just the place where I put my thoughts during writing, and then I like to include them sometimes, don't know why.
Thank you for reading!
#RenewTimeless