New Author's Note, February, 2019
Hello all! I had always planned to write a Wyatt POV epilogue to this Jessica POV fic, so here it is.
But, it's interesting how things go. Although I posted this fic the day S2E7 aired, I had started writing it right after Hollywoodland. At the time I wrote this, I didn't know what the writers had planned, but I was quite certain it wasn't that this Jessica had been Rittenhouse from the start with Wyatt as her 'mark'. So I slapped an 'AU' on this thing, and left it at that.
Obviously, I was wrong.
So now, adding the epilogue all these months later, I realize this little story is actually canon-compliant right up to the last minute of S2E8 -i.e., Jessica doesn't claim to be pregnant. Which...is kind of cool!
So if you read before, feel free to jump to the new epilogue, but if you missed it back when I first posted I hope you enjoy the whole now-canon-compliant story! Let me know what you think by leaving a review!
Author's Note from original posting:
So I started this as a spec fic, right after S2E3, but quickly abandoned it. For whatever reason, the story grabbed my imagination again after S2E6, so I went back to writing this. However, I no longer believe that the show writers are taking us in this direction-even though S2E7 gave me some...questions-so I am labeling this as 'AU'. No particular spoilers beyond S2E5.
Jessica POV one-shot with epilogue - but the one-shot got a little long, so I've divided it into 3 pages, just to help with the reading experience. I should be posting the 3 sections fairly quickly.
A HUGE thank-you to Once Upon a Whim for all her help in beta'ing this for me-managing different timelines without losing track of characters and personalities is complicated!
Page 1
That last talk we had….that didn't go to plan. Not the way I expected it to. And I know that with things that have happened since….you probably have a lot of questions. We both said a lot of things that night, in that disgusting bathroom. You told me you now understood your destiny. And who would ever have thought those words would come out of your mouth? But you know what? I understand my destiny too.
You asked me that night to decide what life it was that I wanted. You asked me who I am.
I'm just Jessica.
And I used to wonder about that question-who am I? I know I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, and, eventually….a wife. But somehow….even from a young age, I always knew that this was not everything….that I was destined for more. I am also a bartender, though not currently….not while I'm living in an underground bunker. And I hate that I am here….because none of this was under my control. And I know you will feel guilty—thinking it was because of you. But, my life hasn't been my own since I was sixteen years old—before I ever met you. Maybe not that long before I met you….but still before. So, it's not your fault….not that part. How this all ends though? That is your fault. That-whatever it looks like-will all be on you.
You already know how this story started. I was born Jessica Renee Backman, summer of 1984, a bouncing blond baby girl-adored by parents Teddy and Jeanne Backman, and a little sister to Suzette. My childhood was….normal….in all the regular senses. I went to school, I had friends. I joined clubs and played sports….played the piano really, really badly. When I wasn't at school, I was with my family. We had a good life. Trips to the beach, sailing lessons with my Dad….a Labrador Retriever named Gertie….there was nothing specific to point to that made me different….nothing that made us different. And there was my cousin Claire too—who was as much a fixture in my life as my sister….who I can't recall ever not being there. But of course, she was older than me….so why would I? I've lost track, of whether or not you know my cousin Claire….there are so many things that defy logic in this experience that I now call my life….and keeping track of the changes….that is beyond my energies….especially now. But I adored my cousin Claire—still do. Even though she's close to seventeen years my senior….she was my everything, as a child. The best-friend I could confide my deep, dark secrets to….the mother-figure I needed when my own became distant, distracted by her work….and my touchstone for what I felt about the world….what I felt about people….I trusted her opinion in all things, as she never lead me astray.
We lived in a pretty little bungalow, only four blocks from the ocean for most of my childhood. And I was a good daughter, as a child. I was polite, and calm….quiet….and obedient. I wasn't as impressive with book-learning as my sister, but I had my own type of smarts. Somehow, even as a child, I understood that perspective of different gifts….and I preferred my talents to my sister's. Claire always helped me with that too-pointing out why I was special, why I was truly the smart one in the room. Of course one of the reasons I loved her so-because what child doesn't want to be told that? Yes, I understood where my talents were….and I understood how to use my intelligence. And I was rewarded for it. Repeatedly. School teachers who believed every word I said in playground disagreements, other children at school who would do anything I asked….you could say I was a pint-sized operator….but I was also a good person, and kind enough that I never used my powers to hurt anyone….just to twist things to my advantage. Even with my family. My parents doted on both of their children, when they weren't busy with work, but I also had a knack for wrapping them around my finger. And if anything went wrong in the Backman residence….it was always my older sister's fault.
Until that day it wasn't. That day when I was thirteen, when, inexplicably, something started to change. Somehow, I was losing my control on my parents. At first it was disagreements….that would send me storming to my room in a huff. And then my carefully crafted machinations...the same ones that I had been crafting since I started school….stopped working. Things were no longer my sister's fault….or the dog's fault. They were mine. Sometimes, even when they weren't. And the harder I tried to regain my control….to talk my way back into my parents' best graces….the worse it seemed to get.
Over the next couple of years, the disagreements became more frequent….and louder. I wasn't the polite, calm, and obedient daughter that I had been. My parents thought I was making poor choices, they would whisper about me, when they thought I was asleep. I remember even my sister tried to talk to me one afternoon, during my freshman year of high school. But I didn't want to hear her….she was the good daughter, the practical daughter now. But during that time—when my familiar interactions seemed to only be fights….my cousin Claire was always there for me. I had friends at school as well of course—but even they weren't like Claire. It was Claire who I told my secrets to, Claire who understood me.
Eventually, when I wasn't out with friends, I started spending my time in that bungalow in the basement….away from my family….away from the conflict. One day in late spring of my junior year of high school, my parents called me up from the basement….to change my life forever. They called me up to the living room on the main floor. The room with the stuffy furniture that we all knew was not for sitting on, the area carpets over the wall-to-wall, and the china knick-knacks on the end-tables. The called me up to that room, and had me sit on the ridiculous couch.
And they told me. Told me that we were moving….to Texas of all places….in late August. As in right before the start of my senior year. They told me like it was no big deal, like they were telling me about weekend dinner plans….but I was devastated. My world was in San Diego, my friends were in San Diego, Claire was in San Diego-and what did I know of Texas? I told them, as calmly as I could, that I wouldn't be joining them-that I would be finishing school here. They laughed at me. Laughed at me, and said I would be coming to Texas, and that there would be no further discussion about it. I shocked them then. I stood up, right in the living room, and let them know what I thought of that plan—yelling and cursing, hands balled in fists. It was the first time I had ever seen that expression—shock, surprise, possibly even dismay in my parents eyes-and it made me feel powerful.
I still remember when there was no more shouting left in me for that evening, and I stood, staring between my parents….waiting for them to say something….anything….but they didn't. So I left. Walked out the door and down the street. I sat at a park for a while, just thinking. I remember finding it somehow beneath me that I had now apparently become a teenaged run-away cliché. So I knew I would go back to my parents….but I didn't want it to be that night. So—with nowhere else to go, I went to Claire's.
I knocked on the door of her townhouse, and she smiled and ushered me in as though she was expecting me. Though for some reason, at the time, I didn't really register that there was anything unusual about that. I told her about the move, about my feelings….about how it felt to know I'd be leaving my community, my school, my friends….her….everything I'd ever known. She went into her kitchen and grabbed us drinks from her fridge.
"Here," she said, handing me the bottle.
"Hard cider?" I had asked.
My parents would not have approved of her letting me drink alcohol.
"Why not," she shrugged. "I always drink this stuff," she continued, "Especially when I'm thinking about family."
I had no idea what she meant by that….but I was sixteen, and not about to look a gift alcoholic beverage in the mouth….so I took a sip.
Claire took a long drink from her bottle, then looked at me, an inscrutable look on her face.
"Moving is tough," she began, "But you still have your family."
I snorted. She knew how well I was getting on with my family right then.
"No," she said, "I'm not just talking about your parents and your sister. There's a bigger picture here."
That got my attention. And somehow, I knew. I knew that what she said next was going to be significant in my life-that it could change the course of my life, shape my reality for the future.
"Jessica," she said, her voice dropping slightly, "You're old enough now that you should know."
"Know what?"
"Know about Rittenhouse."
So that was it—how simple it all was. For the next hour she told me all about Rittenhouse, and how our family was important in Rittenhouse….how I was important to Rittenhouse...and everything that meant. To be honest, I thought she was crazy—going on about a secret organization that allowed only the most special of members….and organization that could make things happen for me….just because of whom I was. It was enthralling—like I was being told I was the Princess Anastasia. I wasn't sure what to do with the new information….but this was Claire—and she never lied to me. And I'd had enough shit in my life the last few months I just decided that I was owed this….so of course it was true.
Claire had called my mother that night—against my better judgement—but she convinced my mother to let me stay with her for a few days. The next day we'd gone shopping at the mall, out for lunch….and got manicures. Could there have been a more clichéd girls' day? But it was just what I wanted. And that night, sprawled out on the couches in front of some inane reality program on television, she got me another hard cider—for family, she had said, and just one, she made me promise—and I asked her to tell me more about Rittenhouse.
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"Come on—there's gotta be so many things you could tell me….I don't really understand, not yet."
She stared at me then, an inscrutable look I don't think I'd ever seen on her face before.
"Well," she started, sitting more upright on the couch. "There is something that you should….understand."
I raised an eyebrow at her, "Okay, tell me."
"Wait here." She got up and went into her bedroom, coming back a moment later with a small binder.
"What's in there?" I asked.
She sat beside me on the couch, not opening the binder. She looked at me for a moment longer, then began.
"As I said, there's something you need to understand.
And then things got….a little crazy.
"Rittenhouse is so important in your life….Rittenhouse has decided to give you another chance."
"What?"
She pursed her lips at me. "Jessica, you've lived another life, in another timeline. And I know all about that other life….because I'm from that other timeline….from the future in that other timeline."
I don't remember what I said next—if I even said anything.
"And I'm sure you're thinking that's impossible, but I assure you—it's not. I was living in another timeline….and I was thirteen years old….three years younger than you are now….but in 2018."
"You're high."
"No—I'm not. Hear me out. In 2018, Rittenhouse gave me an important job to do—a mission. I was sent back in time, to 1980….and I've been living in this timeline, for more than twenty years now….for Rittenhouse."
I think I drained the rest of my cider in one gulp.
"What is this, some kind of stupid prank?"
"No," she said. "I need you to try to understand….this is so important for you….so important for me."
"Even if I believe you….and you can understand why I don't….but even if I believe you….why? Why is this so important for me? And….what's in it for you?"
She chuckled then, her face brightening for a moment. "You, silly—you're what's in this for me. It's why I volunteered for this mission. You were so important to me—I looked up to you, cousin….I wanted to be just like you."
"Wait….in this story of yours, we were still cousins….but in the future?"
Claire nodded at me, and her smile turned sad. "I looked up to you so much, Jess. I was just seven years old in 2012….when you died."
"What?"
And even though you have probably already guessed where this story is going….for me, sitting in Claire's living room...things were just about to get even crazier.
"In the other timeline, in 2012, you died. You were murdered," she said.
"Murdered?"
She nodded, solemnly.
"Why?"
Claire got up and went back to the kitchen, returning with another hard cider.
"Figured one more won't hurt."
"Claire," I accepted the drink, but was in no mood to be distracted from my previous questions. "Why was...that timeline's Jessica murdered? I mean….who did it?"
"Rittenhouse, of course."
"Rittenhouse? What are you talking about? Rittenhouse….kills people? You just said that they were this important group that our family was a part of…."
"And we are, Jessica, a part of Rittenhouse. And Rittenhouse is an important group-belonging to Rittenhouse brings us all kinds of privileges that others may never have….but it also comes with significant responsibilities. But you have to understand, our privileges are only there because of the work we do, the work Rittenhouse does to make the world a better place. Rittenhouse never wants to kill people, especially not members….but when responsibilities aren't fulfilled….it becomes…..difficult, for everyone else."
"So….." I took another drink. "In the other timeline….I didn't fulfill my responsibilities? I didn't want the world to be a better place?"
She chuckled. "Well….I don't know if that's true….but you were headstrong, in the other timeline. It's not even that you didn't want to fulfill your responsibilities. But, apparently, you announced to your parents when you were eighteen that you didn't want to be a part of Rittenhouse….you didn't want to fall in line."
"So they killed me?"
Claire nodded. "Once they knew they wouldn't be able to get you to come back to them-they had to."
"You are most definitely on something."
"You can't imagine….how upset I was. I mean, everyone was, of course. But I didn't understand why or what had happened—not yet. When I was older and learned why….well, for the first time in my life I felt a little disappointed in you Jess. But, what was clear to me was that Rittenhouse….they didn't really want to do it….they didn't really want you dead. And even though I was Rittenhouse, I didn't want that either."
I remember seeing tears in her eyes at that point.
"But you are so lucky, don't you see? Because they're giving you another chance….do you have any idea how rare that is?"
"Stop it."
I was no longer intrigued—I was angry. How dare she tease me like this, when I was already upset with my parents? What was she playing at?
"There aren't different timelines….you can't travel back in time….none of this is real."
She sighed then, and opened the binder. I remember I couldn't quite see—what was in the plastic pages….but she started pulling out photographs from between the pages. Handing them to me. Pictures of….me. But different. It was me, but it wasn't me….I was….older? There were pictures of just me, and pictures of me and my family—and they were all older too.
For a moment, the pictures swam before my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the anxiety wash through me. Then I opened my eyes again, and took another look at the photographs. Some of the pictures had dates on them—2008, 2010…. I looked back at her, to meet her gaze-trying to see some hint of a joke, but finding none.
Then Claire turned her head back to the binder, and I followed her gaze to find her looking at one more photograph. She picked it up, and held it out to me, and I took it. It was this person….me, but not me….standing beside a young girl with curly blond hair. All I had to do was look at the little girl's eyes.
"Is that….?"
"Me," she smiled. "The two of us, together."
I turned the photo over in my hand. Scrawled across the back, in what appeared to be my mother's handwriting….it read 'Claire and Jess, 2012'.
"This isn't…." my voice was starting to quake, for the first time that evening. "How did you make these, I mean, you doctored them, right?" Even though I knew how unlikely that was.
"I told you Jessica—I brought them from 2018….back to 1980. And I've kept them safe….to show them to you now."
There were tears in her eyes again.
"I have something else to show you."
She pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping from the binder page protector. Even before she passed it to me, I could see the picture—the picture of the young woman who looked like me—and could read the headline: 'Soldier's Wife Found Dead'
Soldier's wife? I wondered. I was married?
And it was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that I got that feeling….that this was a significant moment in my life….a moment that would truly create my life….my reality. That anxiety returned again in a rush, and I didn't want to….but I slowly reached across to accept the newspaper clipping from her hand, and read it. I read the story of a horrible murder…..my murder.
"I'm telling the truth, Jess…."
"Just….just leave me alone, for a bit."
I remember letting the photographs fall to the ground but taking the newspaper clipping with me, as I escaped into the guest room….to think.
The next few days passed in a blur. I couldn't really tell you what I did to keep busy….but by the end of the week, my mother was calling, telling me it was time to come back. I agreed to come back the next morning….what else was I going to do, really?
That night, Claire and I found ourselves in the living room again….yet another inane program on the television, and I had another hard cider in my hand-because of family, Claire had told me-once again.
"So," Claire began, during a commercial break. "The things we talked about….they've had a few days to percolate in that brain of yours."
I looked at her sharply. "Claire, it's just….not possible. I mean—time machines don't exist."
"You're right, they don't...not yet...but they will. In my timeline….in my time….they do. I'm telling you the truth, Jessica. Look," she reached into the end table drawer, pulling out a thin rectangular object. "Look at this—this is my phone….from 2018. I couldn't fake this."
"That's not a phone Claire….I do know what a cell phone looks like." I watched then as she turned the device on, and the screen lit up.
"Like I said, this is a phone from 2018. I'm not making this up. I travelled back, in time, from 2018 to 1980. And I've been living in this timeline ever since."
"For Rittenhouse."
She nodded. "For Rittenhouse….and for you."
"Okay, I'm not saying I believe you….but if I were to believe that this really happened….why?"
"Why what?"
"Rittenhouse….this great organization that I'm supposed to be a part of….my birthright…. You said they murdered me, because I refused to belong. But….why would I refuse to belong to a group like that?"
She tilted her head to the side. "I told you that being a part of Rittenhouse isn't a free-for-all. And, you weren't being….cooperative. You shirked your responsibilities….you turned your back on them….on us. You turned your back on Rittenhouse."
"What? What do you mean?"
She grabbed the binder again, from its perch on the end table shelf. Holding the cover toward me, so I couldn't see, she pulled out one more photograph, upside-down. With a clearly disapproving shake of her head, she passed the photo to me.
Taking a breath, I turned it over-it was a wedding photograph. My wedding photograph. Me in a beautiful white dress, a giant smile on my face….standing beside you. Though, of course I didn't know who you were yet.
Claire shook her head again. "You married beneath you….beneath Rittenhouse. Your parents warned you at the time….they told you how….dangerous that could be."
"My parents knew about it?"
She pursed her lips, didn't respond.
"I told you….for Rittenhouse….it's all about family….blood. You were already promised as a wife for another prestigious Rittenhouse family who had a son….you would have had this amazing life, your kids—they would have been practically royalty….but you threw it all away….for feelings you claimed to have for that juvenile delinquent."
I remember nearly laughing at her choice of words. No way would I go for someone like that. No way would I risk my future with Rittenhouse for someone like that. But for some reason, it wasn't what I said. Instead I said:
"Throw away a royal future for love? Sounds romantic."
"It was childish and selfish ….and you shouldn't forget that." She took back the wedding photograph and handed me the newspaper article about my murder again.
I spent a while then….just sitting on that couch, staring at the yellowed newspaper clipping. I heard Claire get up off the couch….but, I think I was a million miles away, or something. Next thing I knew she was standing beside me again, offering me another drink….something far stronger than the cider.
"Here—trade you. I need the clipping back, and I figured you could use something with more kick than the cider."
I held tight to the newspaper clipping for a moment, then reluctantly released it. I grasped the glass instead, taking a sip of the alcohol that burned its way down…..reminding me I was alive….which reminded me about what Claire said had been my fate.
As though reading my mind, she said, "But you have a choice….this….doesn't have to happen to you—not now."
I took another sip. It didn't burn as much, this time.
"So, with this second chance….I just have to make sure I'm a responsible Rittenhouse member….and don't marry the guy?"
She laughed lightly. "Well, you're half right; you have to be a responsible Rittenhouse member….and that means you do have to marry the guy."
"What? Why?"
"Because Rittenhouse wants it that way. Eventually, you'll understand."
I took a larger sip this time, and it didn't burn at all.
"So, if this is all so rare….if Rittenhouse doesn't change their minds very often, like you said….what makes me so lucky?"
"It's a long story, and hard to explain."
"What, and time travel is easy to explain?"
She rolled her own drink between her hands, obviously having decided to ignore my question.
"Four years after you were killed….Rittenhouse found themselves in need of some….specific skills. Specific skills that your husband possessed. So, they manipulated things so that he came to work for them….well, not for them….he didn't know what or who they were. But, he was put in a position to do a job that Rittenhouse needed done."
"They wanted my juvenile delinquent husband to do a job for them? The man that they felt was beneath them? Why would they do that?"
Claire smiled at me, thinly. "Control sweetie….control. They don't leave things to chance, Rittenhouse. This….job….this mission, was really important to them. And they knew that, if it went badly—if things started to turn against their interests—well, they knew that by using him….they always had a trump card to play in their back pocket. One he wouldn't even be aware of….until it was too late."
Now, I don't know if sixteen-year-old me was really all that quick….but even still, realization came fast to me about what she was talking about.
"Me?" But, if I was dead….I don't….get it."
Claire shook her head. "If Rittenhouse needed to retake control of things….if we needed to get control of him, then we'd use the time machine to bring you back….to make you not dead."
"So….obviously, in your timeline….something went wrong for Rittenhouse then?"
She sighed. "Yes….in 2018….your husband and his team are fighting directly against Rittenhouse's interests."
"And they figured this guy…."
"Wyatt Logan. His name is Wyatt Logan."
And that was the first time I ever heard your name spoken aloud.
"Uh, so they figure Wyatt Logan will, what? Just roll with it? Say 'Cool….my dead wife is alive again.'?"
"Well no….that's not really how they expect it will work."
"Why not?"
Claire was silent for a moment, seeming to appraise me. "It's just important for you to know that when the past changes because of time travel….everyone's memories in the future change with it.
She tucked the newspaper clipping back in her binder with the photos, and stood, walking toward her room.
"I'm going to bed—you should too."
Claire and I didn't talk about it again that summer…..and I never mentioned any of it to my parents. My parents and I got along about as well as we had before—mostly terribly—but I stayed in my family's house, and made the move to Texas. As the weeks passed, I even began to settle in to my new community. Truth is, I'd almost forgotten about all of it—after all, it was insane. Perhaps brought on by too much alcohol on my part, or too many years of weed on Claire's part….or something like that, right? So I'd almost forgotten all of it, until the first day of my senior year at my new Texan school….
When I met you.
