Disclaimer: I don't own Timeless or its characters.

Not sure how many parts this story is going to have. We will see where this goes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It had been one hell of a day. From confronting her father and his unsettling ideas about her legacy, to saving Charles Lindbergh from Flynn's merciless rampage. It was all just a bit much, not to mention the fact that the after effects of time travel were about ten times as exhausting as your average jet lag. Lucy had nearly collapsed the moment she'd walked through her front door, and would have gladly done so, if it hadn't been for a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The moment she had been released from the interminable mission debrief with the extremely ominous agent Neville she had gone straight for the computers, desperate to know if her words had really managed to set Lindbergh on a different path in life. If she had been able to change his future for the better

Only to find out that absolutely nothing had changed.

Lucy was horrified as she read that he had only re-emerged from hiding, or rather 'been rescued' two weeks after he went missing in Paris, and still went on to take credit for the first trans-Atlantic flight. Still went on to become an anti-semitic asshole and Adolf Hitler's golden boy. Still did every terrible thing she knew Rittenhouse had forced upon him.

And suddenly she felt so helpless and afraid, because if he couldn't escape Rittenhouse, then how would she be able to?

"Rittenhouse isn't a choice, it's blood." Her father's words echoed in her mind.

It terrified her to know that she was wrong about Lindbergh, because it was as if her history books were mocking her. Like her own fate was being spelled out for her as she listlessly poured over page after page, looking for evidence that she had made some scrap of a difference in his choices.

As soon as she got home she'd unshelved almost every book about Lindbergh that she could find in her little home library, sprawling them across her disorganized coffee table while the hours passed her by, only to be met with the same information she'd already known.

More unsettling was the idea that Flynn had been right about him. Not everyone was willing to give up their legacy.

After reading tirelessly and grappling with her own inner thoughts for the better part of three hours she'd passed out on the couch, utterly exhausted by the events of the day.

Little did she know that it wasn't over just yet.

The sound of someone knocking incessantly on her front door roused her from her restless dreams. She suppressed a small moan as she righted herself, her sore back muscles protesting at the effort as she swung her legs to the side and pressed her bare feet to the cold wood floor.

She briefly glanced at the clock hanging above the mantle before gathering her bearings and heading for the door, swiping her signature floral robe off the couch and throwing it over her shoulders hastily.

Who needs to see me at 11:46 pm? She wondered groggily, not quite registering the possible dangers of the situation as she was still not entirely awake. She almost wondered if it was Wyatt, unpleasantly reminded of the last time he had stopped by for a midnight chat.

"I'm stealing the lifeboat to get Jessica back, tonight." He had said, his face contorting in both pain and anticipation as he effectively put an end to whatever romantic tension had been unconsciously brewing between them. But she had supported him without hesitation. What else was she supposed to have done? Although Jessica's tragic fate had remained the same, Lucy couldn't shake the feeling that she would always come second to her ghost, a lingering memory whose grip held Wyatt more like the strangling circle of a noose than the gentle reassurance of a wedding band.

Tearing her thoughts away from that night as she wrapped her fingers around the handle, she braced herself for the cold night air.

"Can I help you?" She began as she swung the door open, only to feel all of the air drain from her lungs as she looked up into the familiar green eyes of a one Garcia Flynn.

"Don't you look cozy?" He observed, taking in her tousled dark brown waves and the soft texture of her pale blue sweater, her trusted golden locket hanging low against her chest. It was almost jarring for him to see her this way, knowing that even without all of the historical pomp and finery, she still managed to look just as stunning.

He, on the other hand, looked more or less the same. With a tight beige turtle neck and a black leather jacket hugging his frame as he stared at her with that same self-satisfied grin spread across his face, relishing in her loss for words.

It took her all of ten seconds to come to her senses as she moved to slam the door shut in his face, but he was too quick for her, jamming his foot in the door frame before she could close it properly.

"There's no need to be rude." He drawled in his deep, accented English. "I just want to talk."

Yeah right, she thought disbelievingly. Lucy was struggling to control her breathing and it took all of her resolve to control the tremor in her voice as she spoke. "My mother will be home any moment you know. She's on her way back from a meeting at the university as we speak."

"No, she's not." Flynn replied simply. "I know your mother's away at a conference in Maine this weekend. You're a lot of things Lucy, but a good liar isn't one of them."

She gritted her teeth at how easily he could see through her. Before she could stop him Flynn pressed his palm flat against the door, pushing it open again with minimal effort despite her attempt to push back. He was stronger than her, and there was no denying that he could overpower her at any moment. A cold, uncontrollable sense of fear began to overwhelm her as she shivered, squeezing her locket for a shred of comfort.

"Fear isn't real." Harry Houdini had told her, but in this moment she couldn't seem to remember his advice.

Giving up her struggle with the door she defensively crossed her arms as his eyes continued to drill holes through her own, whether with anger for letting Lindbergh go or some other emotion, she couldn't tell. But eventually his gaze softened, if only a fraction.

"Like I said, I just want to talk." He repeated. It seemed he was in earnest, but she eyed him skeptically.

"Yeah, well a phone call works just as well." She huffed.

He casually leaned his shoulder against the door frame. "I prefer to have my conversations face to face".

"Yes, always cornering me in front of flaming shipwrecks and in the middle of 19th century train stations. How could I forget?" She said dryly. She hoped her sarcasm was an adequate mask for her anxiety, but she couldn't seem to stop her hands from shaking.

He chuckled softly. "No Kate Drummond or Robert Lincoln around now. Just you and me." She couldn't decide whether that sounded like a reassurance or a threat.

"Well we aren't exactly on the friendliest of terms. I don't recall inviting a wanted terrorist over for dinner." She remarked, frowning.

He nearly flinched at the term terrorist, knowing that's how she thought of him.

"There's a first time for everything." He offered a wry smile. It was odd to her how they had almost slipped into a sort of banter, and it struck her how she now felt a simultaneous sense of calm and apprehension in his presence. She already knew that there were parts of him she had seen that no one else was privy to. The broken, even compassionate parts that were for her eyes alone. What she couldn't understand was why. Why he was able to drop his mask, why he exercised any shred of restraint only when it came to her. He had made it clear that he would never hurt her, or at least, not severely. She shuddered at the memory of his hands wrapping around her throat as the sound of a fateful gunshot rang harshly in her ears. The night of Lincoln's assassination was still very much fresh in her memory, along with the look of murderous determination that had clouded Flynn's eyes as he pulled the trigger. And yet, his eyes now looked decidedly calmer. They were still mysterious and fierce as ever, but possessed a more casual lingering expression that Lucy couldn't quite decipher.

However, the dangerous glint that constantly punctuated his piercing green gaze never faltered as he stared at her. Stared through her. As if he knew every thought that crossed her mind before it even sparked in her brain. Every feeling betrayed by the emotions that unconsciously colored her face. He could read her effortlessly, as if he knew things about her that even she didn't know. And that filled her with a terror she couldn't even begin to describe.

The silence hung between them and Flynn watched her with an air of amusement. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she weighed her options and desperately tried to pull herself together. There was definitely a line being crossed here. It was one thing to confront each other under the cloak of the past, racing through every century and decade as they chased each other in circles. But coming to her house? It was such an overwhelming violation that made Lucy think she might never feel safe again. Before, she could at least pretend that once she climbed out of the lifeboat and left Mason Industries, she was returning to a 'normal' life. Albeit, a life that didn't include Amy and had her engaged to some surgeon she didn't know, but it was still fairly ordinary compared to her time travelling day job. And yet even her own home no longer seemed like a safe space, upon being invaded by Garcia Flynn and that knowing grin that twitched at his lips. It only made her want to smack that smug expression off his face even more.

Her eyes slid from his face to the hand gun conspicuously holstered at his hip. She knew it was there for dramatics more than anything else, but the implication was clear. The power dynamics had been established, and while he may not kill her, there was no telling how far he would go to get whatever it was he wanted.

Lucy sighed, exasperated. "I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

"No." Flynn smirked as he slid past her into the foyer like he owned the place. She tensed as he sauntered toward the kitchen, her hand still gripping the door handle as she peered out into the night. She could make a run for it, she thought, maybe get as far as a neighbor's house and call for help, or sprint for the main road and hail down a car. But as always, Flynn was one step ahead of her.

"I wouldn't if I were you." He called out from behind her. "I've got Karl parked out front keeping watch. You won't make it very far."

She pursed her lips in frustration before reluctantly closing the door and turning to face Flynn. The finality of the door clicking shut settled over her as she once again realized that she was essentially trapped in her own home, alone with Flynn, and without any way to defend herself. Pulling her robe more tightly around her body, Lucy hesitantly made her way towards the kitchen. She turned the corner of the hall only to find him resting comfortably on one of the bar stools, his back against the counter of the island as he eyed her expectantly. He had just reached across the counter top and picked up her cell phone, swiftly tucking it into his coat pocket and patting it reassuringly.

"I'll just hold onto this while we talk." He winked at her. She gulped, well that did nothing to ease her nerves. She really was on her own now. And seeing Flynn waltz around her home so nonchalantly made her more than a little uncomfortable, the sense of invasion as present as ever. She straightened her back and tried to adopt a confident posture as she took a cautious step towards Flynn.

"Nice place." He said, glancing around the room. "Your mother has good taste."

"What do you want from me, Flynn?" She asked irritably, eager to skip any more attempts at small talk. She stood her ground as he rose from his stool and stalked toward the living room, inspecting the coffee table strewn with books.

"Bit of late night reading, professor?" He asked playfully, dodging her questioning glare as he flipped through the pages of one of the larger volumes and collapsed onto the couch. The spine of the book read, The Life and Legacy of Charles Lindbergh.

"Don't answer a question with a question." She retorted. "Why are you here?"

He gave her a long look. "Same reason you've been up reading the same books over and over for the past three hours."

"How did you-" She sputtered, not even wanting to know if he'd been watching her all night. He continued to look at her, arching one eyebrow as he waited for her to continue.

"I...I wanted to know what happened to Lindbergh." She admitted quietly, averting her eyes from Flynn's burning gaze.

"You mean you wanted to know if you were able to convince him to leave Rittenhouse." He corrected, never missing a beat.

"Yes." She whispered, almost too soft to hear.

"And were you surprised by what you found?"

"Did you just come here to rub it in my face? To hear me say that I misjudged him?" She snapped, turning away from him.

His lips quirked up at that. "Maybe." He replied. "It's not every day that you hear Lucy Preston admit she was wrong."

She did her best to ignore him. "I just thought he would make a different choice."

But Flynn knew Lucy was talking more about her own choices than anyone else's.

"Not everybody possesses your inherent goodness, Lucy. They won't make the same sacrifices that you will." He said carefully. She finally turned back toward him, her brown eyes widening in surprise.

"Was that...a compliment?" She gaped at him.

He shrugged. "Yes and no."

Lucy tilted her head, utterly confused. At first sight of him she had been sent into a panic, ready to make a run for it at the first opportunity. And while she was still deeply unsettled and aware of the danger he represented, she now found herself more curious than anything else.

"Lucy, I'm going to be blunt." He began.

"Oh, as if you're usually so delicate with words." She muttered, but he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"You are without a doubt the kindest, most compassionate person I've ever met. Your instinct to always see the best in others even in the face of so much corruption is...admirable to say the least. You aren't at all how I expected you to be." He said, unable to find the right words to convey just how much she conversely inspired and infuriated him. Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"However, your big heart has a tendency to get in my way. It makes you unwilling to see the truth about people, about Rittenhouse. And more importantly, the truth that not everyone is worthy of your kindness, your mercy."

She stared at him, speechless, taken aback by the total honesty characterizing his gentle tone. She was dimly aware of how close she was now standing to him, her fingers bracing the back of the sofa across from where he was sitting. Surprisingly, she didn't shy away from his gaze, but moved around the sofa to seat herself across from him.

"I suppose you prefer to handle things your way? Busting down doors with guns blazing, taking out Rittenhouse piece by piece. Person by person, without any care for who gets caught in the crossfire?" She asked quietly. With every word out of her mouth she could see the slow rage simmering beneath his skin as his fingers flexed at his sides.

"You don't think I care?" He said fiercely, the faces of every innocent person he'd ever killed flashing in his mind's eye.

Lucy was silent.

"You really do think I'm a monster, don't you?"

She eyed him warily. "I honestly don't know what to think of you."

He perked up at that, spurred on by the fact that she didn't immediately brand him like the beast he had become, a shadow of his former self. Her unwavering sense of honesty never failed to impress him.

Her eyes never left his as she cautiously reached forward and brought her tea mug to her lips, needing the warmth of the liquid to diffuse the cold sense of dread spreading through her chest.

"You do know." He said suddenly.

"What?" She frowned.

"You do know what you think of me." He repeated softly, folding his hands and leaning back as he braced himself for her judgement. But somehow, she always managed to surprise him.

"I think you're a broken person." She began, careful to watch his reaction, but he had dawned his unreadable mask. "I think losing your family has pushed you to do things, unspeakable things, that despite your best efforts have changed you in ways you can't explain, can't undo."

When he offered no reply, she pressed on.

"I think you're a warrior with the weight of the world on your shoulders, trying to wipe out Rittenhouse all by yourself so nobody gets hurt like you did, gets destroyed likeyou did. And that as the battle drags on you've become numb to the death that you bring with you, the causalities that become collateral damage. Unable to decipher between guilty and innocent, or unable to care anymore as you decide who lives and who dies. Unable to care about anything except the thought of seeing them again."

Lorena and Iris' beautiful, innocent faces flashed before his eyes. It had been so long since he had seen their radiant smiles, heard their voices. Did he even deserve to anymore?

"But at the end of everything, I think you're someone who has hope, and I can't fault you for that."

His eyes flicked up to hers in momentary shock, lips slightly parting as he inhaled deeply, suddenly able to breathe easier knowing what Lucy Preston thought of him. That after all he had one, the best word she could use to describe him was hopeful.

She was too good for any of them. And he hated himself for what he was about to do.

"Maybe that's why I need you." He said.

Lucy's fingers tightened around her cup, suddenly all too aware that she was having a tender heart to heart with the same man who had tried to kill her team on multiple occasions. Had, no matter how remorseful, killed so many innocent people. And, not to mention, had kidnapped her not two months earlier.

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked tightly. She stood and slowly made her way toward the dining table, wanting to put some distance between them.

"Maybe I'm in need of my own historian." He answered, coming out more like a question than a statement. Was he...was he asking for her help? She wondered.

"You seem to get by just fine on your own." She said nervously. "Besides, I'm not the only historian in the Bay Area, Flynn."

A frown tugged at his lips as he noticed how unsettled she was by his words. She knew why he was here. She was smart. Hell, she was brilliant. He should have known it wouldn't have taken too long for her to put two and two together.

"You're not just a historian anymore, Lucy." He said, his voice vibrating with conviction. "You're a time-traveller. Some crotchety, 65-year-old grandpa of a history professor doesn't know how to react in the heat of the moment, who to look for, where to go. They don't know every era like the back of their hand, like their life or the fate of the world depends on it. Not like you do."

He stood, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't want to frighten her into running away from him. She needed to hear this.

"I can't deny that you always seem to have an ace up your sleeve, even with the journal working as my guide. There's always someone I hadn't thought of, a shortcut I hadn't anticipated. Always something that pops into that head of yours, and before I know it you're scurrying off to the lifeboat having outsmarted me again. You're just too good at what you do Lucy. I can't have you working for the other side anymore. I need you."

There, he'd said it. All out in the open now. She looked just as horrified as he'd expected, a part of her relieved that he wasn't going to kill her and another part overcome with fear at what working for his side would entail. And more importantly, why he was here, telling her this now.

She shook her head, panicked, backing away even further. Her feet shuffled unsteadily beneath her as she accidentally bumped into the edge of the dining room table, plates and silverware clattering like the violent pounding of her heart. She could almost feel the phantom press of Flynn's fingers tightening around her wrist from their mission to 1780 that had gone so terribly wrong, only to end with Flynn dragging her off to the mothership and abducting her from the team.

And all she could think in this moment was, No, not again.

"Flynn, please, I-" She trembled, unsure of how to convince him not to force this upon her. "I want to help you, I do. I want to take down Rittenhouse just as much as you but there has to be another way. I can't do what you do. I can't just sit by and watch people die at your hands. That's not who I am."

"I know." He sighed sadly, taking another step toward her. Before all this he wouldn't of thought this was who he was either. "But that's just it. There is no other way."

"You don't know that." She argued. "Like you said, I know history like the back of my hand. If you just give me some time I could-could come up with something."

She was desperate at this point, grasping at straws. Anything to make him see reason.

"That's not even the real reason I need you." He murmured, more to himself than to Lucy. But she had heard him.

"What?" Lucy asked timidly. She was vaguely aware of the mug she still grasped in her shaking fingers. Her brain was screaming at her to run, but her mind was somewhat hazy. Her legs felt heavy, wobbling underneath her as she attempted to support her own weight. She chalked it up to her anxiety, seeing as the situation could become volatile at any moment. But on top of that, something in Flynn's unnervingly gentle voice held her rooted to the spot.

"I need you to keep me human, Lucy." He admitted heavily. "You're the best of us, and maybe if we work together I can show you the truth, and you can show me how to be myself again."

Her stomach churned at his desperate, almost pleading tone. She knew he wasn't lying, that Rittenhouse was most definitely not any 'paranoid delusion' as she had previously called it. But how could she possibly join forces with this man who was utterly out of control, without boundaries or restraint or consideration for the ramifications of all he had done. She wasn't sure she alone would be able to reign all of that in, or if he would even let her.

"But I don't trust you." She protested.

"Well, you must learn to eventually if you were willing to give me this." He said matter-of-factly, pulling out the infamous leather-bound journal with her stamped initials staring back at her.

"I still don't entirely believe that I wrote that." She grumbled, eyes darting left and right as she contemplated the fastest way to escape. She wasn't safe, she needed to get out of here. Maybe if she could just keep him talking, keep him distracted just a bit longer.

"Believe what you like, it doesn't change the truth. We're meant to be a team Lucy, it's the only way this will end." He said firmly.

"I can't just leave Wyatt and Rufus." She glared at him, hoping it would keep him from coming any closer.

"You can, and you will." He said, and with that he finally moved to close the distance between them.

On instinct Lucy prepared herself to run. She had decided the backdoor was her best bet, and moved to make her way towards it, but something wasn't right. Her body wasn't responding the way she needed it to. In her dizziness she reached a hand out to grip the back of one of the chairs, barely able to stand up straight as her vision blurred and the world around her spun violently. As her faculties continued to weaken she distantly felt her tea mug slip through her trembling fingers, falling to the floor with a crash that sounded dull to her ears, almost as if it were underwater. Realizing she wasn't going to get very far, she turned to look over her shoulder while struggling to keep her balance. She hadn't even made it half way to the back door, and Flynn was watching her with an almost pitiful expression on his face.

"What did you do to me?" She asked hoarsely, trying to shout but barely managing a strangled whisper.

"Your friend Mr. Houdini isn't the only one who's capable of sleight of hand." He replied, somehow managing to look both smug and slightly sympathetic at the same time as his eyes flicked to the broken ceramic mug and the liquid spilling across the floor.

He actually drugged me. She thought dimly. How could I have been so stupid. He was entirely too close. There was no way she was getting out of this.

"Please, please don't do this-" She cried weakly as her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed to the floor, landing on her side as darkness began to bleed in at the edges of her vision. She couldn't fight much longer as her eye lids began to flutter, her world quickly disappearing in a foggy haze.

Her words echoed strangely in his ears, casting him back to a night not much unlike this one, when she had thrown herself in front of the barrel of his gun to save John Rittenhouse, and unknowingly saved Flynn's own humanity.

"Shh, Lucy, it's all right I'm not going to hurt you." He said softly, slipping one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees as he swung her up into his arms. She was feather light, as if she almost weighed nothing at all. But even as she was slipping into unconsciousness her body still flinched away from his touch.

"Please, Flynn." Lucy murmured blearily as her head came to rest against his chest, her mumbled protests dissipating as she finally drifted into darkness, the sound of his name dying on her lips.

An empty silence hung in the air as Flynn gazed upon her unconscious form in his grasp, her breathing evening out into the deep breaths of a drugged sleep.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in her ear. "I didn't have a choice."

But even if she couldn't hear him or offer a coherent reply, her powerful voice still sounded in his mind.

We all have choices. We can decide to be something different.

He sighed, making his way towards the door, Lucy's head lolling against his shoulder.

She will help me end this, whether she wants to or not.