In the dying amber of the fire, Lucy could make out the shape of Wyatt's body sitting in the corner next to her. Across the room, Bass and Rufus were asleep. They were taking it in turns to keep watch. Bass had gone first, and Lucy had pretended to be asleep to avoid his stare, forcing herself to keep her eyes closed against the images of dead bodies and blood tainted snow. Rufus had taken the next shift but other than a quick 'are you ok?' he hadn't tried to talk to her and she was grateful he wasn't pressing her to explain her actions or articulate her feelings. She had kept watch next, which didn't bother her because she had been awake anyway. She had sat with her knees drawn up, trying in vain to silence her thoughts. Her memories were as vivid as the moment itself. She could still feel the cold metal, hear the echoing gunshot, the force of the recoil. No amount of boiling or bleaching her brain would ever remove them. When her turn had ended, she had silently crossed to Wyatt and gently shook his shoulder. He had nodded to her and waited until she was back in her corner before picking up the revolver from where it had laid beside him and placed it in his lap.
Her eyes fell on it. Wyatt had picked it up when she had let it fall from her grasp, holding it in one hand while leading her inside with the other. He had sat her down and had started a fire despite Bass's protests about the smoking chimney attracting people. She had felt like a spectator in her own body, disconnected from her mind and her actions. She had killed someone and the thought repulsed every cell in her body. Once she had stopped shivering, Wyatt had taken her hand again and, with his other hand on her back, led her to the corner. He hadn't said anything throughout all of this but she had seen the concern on his face and something else she couldn't decipher, maybe regret? Regret that he hadn't been the one to pull the trigger? Regret that he had hesitated? Regret that he had failed on his personal mission to protect her?
"Lucy," he whispered. She raised her gaze roughly to where his eyes would be. He stood up, causing Bass to waken. Wyatt quickly assured him everything was fine and motioned for her to stand as well. Confused, she got to her feet and raised an eyebrow she wasn't sure he could see. He gestured for her to follow him and she did out into the cold. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around herself and started shivering. Wyatt better have had a good reason for this, she thought to herself. But he didn't say anything, he was just looking at her and it was starting to make her squirm. She felt like she was being evaluated, like an objective that Wyatt wasn't quite sure was worth trying to achieve. After another few seconds of staring, she sighed and turned to go back inside.
"The first time I killed someone, I was torn up," Wyatt spoke. Lucy froze, her back to him. "They train you for a lot in the military but they don't train you for the awful feeling killing someone creates. I spent days wondering what his name was, what his family was like, whether he had kids. It drove me insane."
"So, you're telling me I should just get over it?" She asked, turning to him.
"Of course, not, but, Lucy, he had to die. For us to protect history he had to die."
"You think I don't know that." She moved closer to him, stopping short of invading his personal space. "You think I don't know for history to be in any way like what it was when we left, Jesse James had to die. You think I don't know that? And don't tell me he was an awful person and deserved to die, either," she added as Wyatt opened his mouth to respond. She stepped away from him and forced herself to breathe. She could feel her chest starting to tighten, she could feel herself back in her car that was veering off the road. She could see the surface of the water coming closer and closer and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was powerless. She was at the mercy of Flynn, and Mason, and Agent Christopher and she hated it and them. She hated whoever decided she was the perfect person for this job and she hated herself for not telling Agent Christopher no. But how could she have said no? History was her life, quite literally from birth. How could she not want to save it? How could she not want to make sure the history she knew and loved remained the same? Of course, she didn't know, then, that she would lose her sister, and write a journal that apparently told Flynn everything he needed to know about changing history to destroy Rittenhouse.
She didn't know, standing in the car park of Mason Industries, that she would kill someone.
Lucy laughed, a twisted little sound that surprised herself and Wyatt. The whole thing was absurd. Every mission, every action, the disappearance of her sister, the appearance of a fiancé. The lifeboat was ridiculous, the mothership ridiculous. Everyone at Mason Industries and Homeland Security was ridiculous, Flynn was ridiculous. Even herself, Wyatt, and Rufus were ridiculous, running around history like avengers.
"Do you remember the Alamo?" Wyatt asked, coming to stand beside her.
"Which version?" She responded sarcastically.
"Our version. When you told me you trusted me, when you told me you needed me?" Lucy told him she did. "Well, I need you too, Lucy. There is no other historian I would want by my side. I wouldn't be able, Rufus wouldn't be able, to do this job if you weren't here."
Having spoken looking directly in front of him, he now angled his head to look at her. She looked up at him, and nodded, taking his hand. Lucy wasn't sure how long they had stood there, together, until she remembered how cold it was and how much she was shivering. She let go of his hand and paused to kiss his cheek before she went back inside.