Only a Shadow
A/N #1 - Dear Timeless friends, it has been a rough few days for the fandom. Although my head knew that NBC could easily cancel our beloved series, my heart hoped desperately for a second miracle. Like most of you, I'm struggling to stay positive and pray this is not the end of the time team. Fingers crossed for more Lucy, Wyatt, Rufus, and the rest of the gang in our futures...
A/N #2 - This is in response to the following TFP prompt: "Every time I think I've found something that makes me happy, it gets taken away from me."
"You will never know true happiness until you have truly loved, and you will never understand what pain really is until you have lost it..." - Anonymous
The haunting apparitions that torment us when we are ill, while the body fights valiantly to rid itself of infections that threaten our health and well-being, those are the dreams that have the power to crush our spirits, to devastate the soul...
Lucy fought desperately to free herself from the nightmare's punishing grip, twisting back and forth on her cot, clawing restlessly at the thin sheet that Jiya had modestly tucked around her after the doctor had finished stitching her knife wound and ordered her to bed. Within hours, her slight body ravaged by a fierce infection stubbornly resistant to modern antibiotics, Lucy's fever spiked dangerously as she relived the attack in 1692 Salem on a never-ending loop, except instead of a vengeful Pilgrim, it was Wyatt who came at her with a hunting knife, his face set in unforgiving lines, eyes frigid blue in their anger and hatred. "Wyatt, please?" she whimpered over and over, until finally, unable to soothe Lucy in her escalating distress, and in spite of her reluctance to do so, Jiya went searching for him.
To say it had been an awkward evening in the bunker, he thought, was an epic understatement. Thankfully, Jess appeared oblivious to the tension that threatened to practically choke Wyatt, who was already dealing with his own feelings at this shocking turn of events. Not to mention he was still licking his wounds after an infuriated Denise Christopher had wasted no time in handing the Delta Force soldier his ass on a platter. (Yeah, on further reflection, he probably deserved that.)
He had seen the varying degrees of curiosity on the faces of his bunker mates; after all, out of the seven people currently cooped up in this hell hole, only four of them actually knew the truth about Jessica Logan-that in their original time line, she'd been brutally murdered over six years ago. Jiya and Connor, on the other hand, were vaguely surprised at her presence only because in the present reality, Wyatt and Jessica had been separated for months, presumably unlikely to reconcile.
None of that mattered to his superior in the slightest, however. Her icy anger at Wyatt was a direct result of him recklessly, selfishly endangering the team by bringing his clearly not dead wife to the bunker without running it past her first. And of course, she was right, but to his chagrin, every shred of Wyatt's years of training and experience had instantly evaporated when his phone chimed and he'd seen the text from Jess. Wyatt wondered bleakly if at that very moment, he had possibly lost his mind.
Later, when everyone had gone to bed, he was lying on his cot staring up at the decaying, water-marked ceiling, the silence broken only by the long-forgotten sound of his wife sleeping peacefully only a couple feet away (Rufus had graciously offered to sleep on the sofa, at least for tonight). Every time Wyatt closed his eyes, though, in spite of the miracle of Jessica being alive, all he could see was Lucy, and the image his mind clamored for was the way she had looked lying beneath him in the luxurious bed in Hedy Lamarr's guest house. Radiant, joyful, beaming up at him with a soft, luminous smile, and so damn beautiful he could barely breathe. Those short-lived, precious moments spent with her in 1941 were the happiest he'd experienced in years (maybe ever, his heart whispered helpfully).
How the hell did he and Lucy get from there to whatever this mess was now in just a matter of hours? Their difficult, heartbreaking conversation not long after the team returned from 1941 and he abandoned her (the call where he had basically dumped Lucy for his now-alive wife) had unfortunately been only the beginning. The overwhelming news that Jessica was alive and well was tempered by the unbearable knowledge that the new phase in Wyatt's relationship with his best friend was over, destroyed by forces out of their control. Upon his eventual return to the bunker earlier today with Jess in tow, he had been horrified to learn that not only had Lucy and Rufus jumped to 1692 without him, but had taken Flynn with them. Flynn? Jesus, what had Agent Christopher been thinking?
Nearly consumed with worry and guilt by the time the lifeboat slammed to a stop in the launch bay, Wyatt had hurriedly grabbed the metal staircase and shoved it into place just as the hatch opened. He was almost halfway up the steps when Lucy awkwardly climbed out first, dressed like a Pilgrim or something, and the sheer intensity of his relief that she was back safely literally stole his breath. It took him a second to realize she was holding her left arm closely to her side, and then Wyatt spotted the blood staining her sleeve–oh, God, without him there to protect her, Lucy had been hurt.
For a fleeting moment, the expression of shy happiness on her face was mirrored by his as they gazed at one another, until Lucy's dark eyes darted past him, and her strained, pale face suddenly went completely blank. What the? Just then, the tall, lean form of Garcia Flynn emerged from the lifeboat and putting a protective arm around Lucy, he ignored everyone watching and carefully escorted her down the steps and past the kitchen area to the bunker's makeshift infirmary while an evidently unneeded Wyatt just stood there like an asshole and watched helplessly.
The bastard had no right to put his hands on Lucy–that was just not acceptable. A wave of possessive anger swept over him, and he unconsciously flexed his fists until a voice behind him asked hesitantly, "Wyatt?" Jessica. Shit. In his haste to get to Lucy and his amped up fear for her safety, Wyatt had completely forgotten about his wife (which meant she had a front-row seat to his less-than-subtle behavior just now, dammit). Not wanting to examine too closely what that could possibly mean, he grimaced and hastily pasted what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face before turning around.
"Hey, Jess, will you be alright for a couple of minutes while I check in with the team?" Wyatt asked as casually as possible. After giving him a rather searching glance, his wife offered a faint smile, and gesturing towards the kitchen area, said she'd just find herself something to drink. Inordinately relieved, Wyatt nodded briskly and took off down the corridor, intent on getting to the infirmary (and Lucy) as quickly as possible, only to be intercepted by a disheveled, clearly pissed-off Rufus.
"Wyatt! What the hell is going on with you, man? Where were you? Do you have any idea what we just went through? We had to jump with Flynn, for God's sake, and Lucy and I were thrown in jail and she was nearly hanged as a witch...hey, is that really your wife?" Not wanting Jess to overhear their conversation, Wyatt pulled his exasperated teammate further away from the kitchen before responding.
"Rufus, I'm so sorry, look, I had no idea you guys were about to jump-when I talked to her, Lucy said everything was okay..." Wyatt apologized, trying to calm him down, when his teammate frowned, more upset by the minute, and interrupted him.
"The hell? Are you telling me that Lucy knew where you were and what was going on? Are you kidding me? Why didn't I know? And just like that, you let her talk you into not coming back, especially when it meant that we had to take Flynn, who I trust about as far as I can throw him? Again, what the hell? Didn't you swear to protect the two of us not too long ago? What happened to that guy?"
Shame and guilt rose in Wyatt's chest in the face of his friend's wholly justified anger, and he tried to explain, but to no avail. Rufus merely shook his head, and sighing tiredly, replied, "Just save it, Wyatt. I need to go check on Lucy," and stomped off, leaving Wyatt staring after him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. Rufus was right–his actions had been dangerously irresponsible, and as a result, Lucy had been injured.
Still emotionally torn up from the news about Jessica and his growing anxiety over Lucy, Wyatt was definitely in no mood to encounter Garcia Flynn leaning against the wall outside the infirmary wearing a particularly smug expression. And naturally, as soon as Wyatt was in earshot, the bastard took full advantage of his close proximity, barely hesitating a second before he started lazily jabbing at him.
"I hear you had quite the eventful afternoon, Logan," he sneered. "You know, personally, I don't get it. I suppose some women might find blue eyes and dimples attractive, but really? Now you have a wife and a lover?" Inhaling deeply for dramatic effect, Flynn exhaled and mused out loud, "As if this stinking substitute prison wasn't crowded enough, you just had to bring in another woman, only for yourself, though. Hey, I guess the wife showing up makes Lucy your mistress now? How awkward for you. I suppose you'll just divide your time between them, Logan, hmm? Unless after the shortest relationship on record, you were callow enough to dump your little historian?"
At the older man's caustic, devastatingly accurate words, a cold, black rage filled Wyatt, and he snapped, lunging at Flynn, pleased when he managed to land a couple decent punches before being unceremoniously jerked back by Rufus and Connor. Struggling to free himself, a fuming Wyatt came face to face with Agent Christopher who only gazed at him with a disappointed expression on her face. Soberly instructing the others to let him go, she watched in silence as Wyatt shook them off and attempted to calm down.
His heart sank when the NSA agent brusquely informed him that his wife was sitting by herself in the kitchen waiting for him, and even in his emotional turmoil, Wyatt could read between the lines. He had brought Jessica into their safe house, and as far as Christopher was concerned, the woman was now his responsibility. Still distressed about Lucy, Wyatt instinctively started to protest, but glancing over at the doorway, he saw Jiya with a supportive arm around a frighteningly pale Lucy. All the fight drained from Wyatt when a quick glimpse around revealed reactions that ran the gamut from mild pity (Jiya and Connor) to annoyance (Rufus) to malicious satisfaction (Flynn). Poor Lucy just looked dazed, fragile, like she was ready to drop. What was happening here? No one spoke until Lucy whispered, "Wyatt, please, not now." And as much as he hated to leave her, deep down, Wyatt knew she was right. Feeling very much like an outsider, after one last look of entreaty at Lucy, Wyatt spun on his heel and headed for the kitchen area and Jessica.
Sitting at one of the tables, Jess made casual conversation while a distracted Wyatt, trying desperately to make sense out of what was happening, could only answer in monosyllables. Too restless to sit still, he decided to put together a plate of sandwiches, enough for everyone. Eventually, the others trooped into the kitchen for a bite to eat, except for Jiya, who was keeping watch over Lucy in their room, Rufus quietly informed him when Jess excused herself to use the bathroom. Wyatt swallowed what little pride he had left and humbly asked about Lucy's condition. According to Rufus, it had taken a dozen stitches to close the gash in Lucy's arm from the knife wound, and worried about an unknown infection, the doctor had started her on an intensive course of antibiotics. Just the thought of her delicate skin being damaged like that made Wyatt's stomach roll, and he quickly lost what little appetite he had to begin with.
Ever the gentleman, Connor was the only one who even attempted to talk to the newcomer when she sat back down, and Wyatt was pathetically grateful. He momentarily tensed up when Flynn strolled into the kitchen, but the older man merely dug something out of the fridge before returning to his room. He was rather surprised when Rufus leaned in and murmured that before she left, Agent Christopher had torn Flynn a new one for making a bad situation even worse.
Well. How enlightening. So that was how the NSA agent viewed Jessica Logan? As a bad situation? That certainly stung, and did not bode well for the near future, but it was too late now. Wyatt's thoughtless impulse today had real consequences, and all of them would just have to make the best of it. Especially Lucy. God, what must she be thinking of his behavior, though, coming so soon after their amazing night together in 1941? He really needed to see her.
His mind firmly made up, Wyatt stood and put his plate in the sink before leaning down and whispering in his wife's ear he would be right back. To his relief, Jess smiled warmly and replied, "Sure, Wyatt, go check on your friend. I can tell you're worried about her." Nodding at Rufus and Connor, he quickly made his way along the long corridor toward the sleeping quarters. Not intentionally trying to eavesdrop, nonetheless, Wyatt stopped and stood just outside the half open door at the soft sound of voices coming from inside.
"The beauty of the world has two edges–one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder." - Virginia Woolf
After Jiya helped an increasingly miserable Lucy out of the torn, bloody Puritan dress, she lay limply on the cot, not sure which hurt more: her slashed arm or her heart. When Lucy stepped out of the lifeboat earlier, her happiness at seeing Wyatt dissolved rapidly when she glanced past him and noticed the blonde stranger staring up at her with undisguised interest. Jessica Logan. She was real. She was here. Wyatt had brought his wife to the bunker. Starting to feel a little light headed, in a desperate act of self preservation, a shaky Lucy had willed every bit of expression from her face. Luckily, Flynn appeared behind her just then to help her navigate the steps and escort her to the infirmary, leaving Wyatt behind (but not alone).
She smiled weakly at Jiya, who was being so kind and taking such good care of her. Although she truly appreciated her friend's concern, not surprisingly, the ugly physical wound Lucy received in 1692 wasn't nearly as painful as the ache in her chest. That would be where the heart she'd so imprudently given to Wyatt Logan an embarrassingly long time ago was located. In spite of her head reminding her on an almost daily basis that this was a bad idea, it had been ridiculously easy to fall in love with the handsome soldier. Torn from her safe, predictable, somewhat insulated life of academia and thrust into the unbelievable, infinitely dangerous world of time travel and nefarious secret organizations, Lucy Preston was powerless to keep from falling for a man like Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan.
Practically from the second he'd opened those startling blue eyes and smirked insolently at her when they first met that fateful evening in the lounge at Mason Industries, Lucy had been drawn to Wyatt, and every moment thereafter spent with him only served to strengthen those initial tentative feelings into something much stronger. But it wasn't just Wyatt's rugged good looks alone that interested her, because he was so much more than his appearance. Brave, smart, honorable, he was the last man Lucy expected to be attracted to, but as fate would have it, Wyatt was the first and only man she'd ever loved.
Sitting on the side of the cot, Jiya put her hand on Lucy's forehead and observed, "You're really warm. I think you might be starting to run a temperature. How are you feeling?" Shaking her head when Lucy merely shrugged tiredly without answering, her friend frowned at the indifferent response. Looking up at the ceiling, Lucy was embarrassed when a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, followed by another and another.
Gazing down at Lucy worriedly, Jiya cleared her throat and confessed that Rufus had let slip what happened during the jump to 1941. Handing her a tissue, the younger woman started to speak when Lucy interrupted, "Jiya, please, it's alright. I take full responsibility for being foolish enough to get involved with Wyatt. I knew from the very beginning that he never really got over the loss of his wife. I mean, we all remember that not long ago, he stole the lifeboat to try and prevent her death," she said ruefully.
Unconvinced, Jiya shook her head stubbornly, arguing, "Lucy, don't say that–it's not your fault–the heart wants what the heart wants. Listen, we've known each other for going on two years now, and I've seen with my own eyes how happy you make each other..." her voice trailed off, dark eyes widening at the bitter little laugh Lucy couldn't contain.
"Yes, but Jiya, that's the biggest mistake of all, you see. I should have known better because ever since all of this time travel madness began, every time I've found something that makes me happy, it gets taken away from me. You'd think an educated, fairly intelligent person like me would know better or at the very least, learn from my mistakes," Lucy admitted despondently.
Sadly, her friend had no response for that, and standing, squeezed Lucy's hand and said she'd be right back with some water. Lucy closed her eyes wearily, abruptly aware of the fierce throbbing in her arm and that she was starting to feel uncomfortably warm, and oh, yeah, was probably suffering from a broken heart, too. It hurt terribly to realize that once Wyatt learned his wife was alive, he hadn't hesitated for even a second. No, he had obviously made his decision, and Lucy felt like she had no choice but to step aside so that Wyatt could be happy, no matter the unbearably high price her heart would be (and already was) paying.
"Some of us think holding on makes us strong–but sometimes it is letting go..." - Hermann Hesse
From where he stood, frozen in place outside the door, Wyatt's breath caught painfully at Lucy's forlorn, resigned confession, and the faint look of disappointment on Jiya's face when she stepped through the open door and saw him only added to the guilt that had begun eating away at Wyatt's soul. "Jiya, I...is she going to be okay? Please, in spite of what you must be thinking, I really am worried about Lucy," he implored, desperate for some kind of assurance that his friend, his teammate (his lover) was going to be alright.
Jiya relented at Wyatt's obvious distress, and drawing him away from the door, lifted one shoulder, and allowed that she'd seen Lucy in better shape. Terrified now, he begged, "Please, Jiya, can I see her, just for a minute?" and his heart sank when she shook her head regretfully.
"Wyatt, I don't think that would be a good idea right now, and we both know why. I promise, I will keep you informed about her condition, though, okay?" she responded sympathetically.
And there it was-the unvarnished truth, couched in the vaguest words possible from their friend. And the hits just kept on coming. Although Jiya didn't actually come right out and say it, the message was received, loud and clear. His actions today had changed everything, and he no longer had any rights as far as Lucy was concerned. While Wyatt struggled to keep his anguish at the bitter realization from showing, Jiya's gentle smile suggested he had failed. Swallowing hard, he managed a weak half smile at her before turning and walking away.
His racing thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock. Wyatt glanced over at a still sleeping Jess before going to the door and opening it, was alarmed to see Jiya, a troubled expression on her face. Stepping into the hallway, Wyatt carefully closed the door behind him and whispered, "Jiya? Is it Lucy? Is she alright?" and her response scared him.
Jiya pressed her lips together and shook her head, "Her temperature is up to 105 degrees, and the drugs don't seem to be working, and she just keeps calling your name. I think she needs you," and heart in his throat, Wyatt immediately turned without even bothering to put a shirt on and ran down the corridor to the girls' room.
Sinking to his knees beside the narrow cot where Lucy was moving restlessly, Wyatt instinctively reached out to smooth the damp hair from Lucy's forehead, flinching at the dry heat emanating from her. Jesus, she was burning up. Taking one of her small, limp hands in his, he leaned over and murmured urgently, "Lucy, it's me, I'm here, and you're gonna be okay, I promise. Can you wake up now?" he coaxed, almost holding his breath until her fever-glazed eyes lethargically blinked open. "There you are, sweetheart," Wyatt breathed, "I'm so sorry this happened to you, but I'm here now." All his attention focused on Lucy, he didn't even notice when Jiya left the room.
Although Wyatt was mildly disappointed when Lucy closed her eyes after only a moment without responding to him, she seemed calmer, and he fervently hoped that was due to his presence. Never once taking his eyes from her face, Wyatt murmured soothingly, "I'm here, sweetheart, and I'm not leaving you. Rest now, I promise you're gonna be okay." For once, time stood still for Wyatt Logan as everything in his world right now was reduced to Lucy and his overwhelming fear for her.
He started at a tap on his bare shoulder and looked up to see Jiya holding a pan of water and a clean cloth. Right behind her was Rufus with one of the kitchen chairs. "Hey, when Jiya told me you were gonna stay with Lucy for a while, thought you might need something to sit on," he offered, with a small smile. Getting to his feet stiffly without letting go of Lucy's hand, Wyatt was touched by his friend's thoughtful gesture, and could only nod his thanks as Rufus set the chair down beside the cot.
Jiya efficiently soaked and wrung out the cool cloth, and laying it on Lucy's forehead, told Wyatt if he didn't mind sitting with Lucy, she wanted to grab something to eat. Clearing his throat, Wyatt managed, "No, no, go ahead–I got this," and after Jiya patted his shoulder comfortingly, she and Rufus left.
The next few hours were a hazy blur. Despite strong antibiotics and the endless cool cloths Wyatt patiently bathed her with, Lucy's fever hung on tenaciously, never dropping below 102 degrees. It was agonizing to watch her fight the unknown infection, her limbs moving fretfully under the sheet, muttering unintelligibly except for saying his name occasionally. That he heard clearly, and secretly, it did his conflicted heart good to realize that when Lucy was at her weakest, her most vulnerable, he was the one she wanted and cried out for.
The time passed at an excruciatingly slow pace, and towards dawn, Wyatt woke to see Jiya smiling down at him, and he instantly knew the reason why. Sometime during the night, he had climbed into the cot and taken Lucy into his arms, hoping to comfort her (Who was he kidding? In spite of his wife sleeping just down the hall, he was the one who needed comforting.) Nestled against his bare chest, her head was tucked under his chin, and pressing his lips to her forehead, Wyatt nearly cried in relief that she seemed cooler to the touch. Thank God.
"Good morning," Jiya murmured cheerfully, "How's she doing? I checked on the two of you a couple of times, and it looked like you had everything under control."
Wyatt waited until he had carefully extricated himself from Lucy before answering in a hoarse whisper, "I think her fever is down. It really seemed like it was touch and go for a while." Plopping down in the chair, Wyatt scrubbed his hands over his face and confessed, "I was so scared, Jiya, when her fever just kept climbing, I was ready to beg, demand, threaten, whatever, that Agent Christopher take Lucy to the hospital." He yawned tiredly. Just then, the alarms started going off, and he and Jiya looked at each other in dismay. Great timing, Rittenhouse, thanks. The mother ship had jumped, and not only was their historian too ill to time travel, Wyatt had barely closed his eyes all night. Standing and gazing down at Lucy helplessly, Wyatt was torn between the mission and his reluctance to leave her.
Jiya made the decision for him. "Go, I promise to take care of Lucy while you're gone. Just be careful, though, 'cause I know you must be running on fumes by now. Hey, maybe you should knock back some coffee or possibly something stronger because you do realize that Agent Christopher will probably insist on Flynn going with you and Rufus?" and she grinned impishly at his growled response.
Unable to argue with her logic, Wyatt sighed deeply. Bending down, he tucked the sheet securely around Lucy before tenderly kissing her forehead. He paused at the doorway, and turning around and clearing his throat, Wyatt requested that Jiya not tell Lucy he'd been taking care of her. It might confuse things between them, and God knows the situation with Jessica was already complicated enough. Although it broke his heart to do this to Lucy, Wyatt was compelled to move forward with his wife, to try and save his marriage, and all he could do was hope that some day, his best friend would still care enough to forgive him.
"The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief–but the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love..." - Hilary Stanton Zunin
A/N #3 - This story ended up being about twice as long as I planned, mostly because I kept thinking of ways to fill in some of the blanks at the end of Episode Four. No matter what happens with Timeless, I want to assure everyone that as long as even one person cares to read what I write, I'm sticking around! In addition to collaborating on a fic with qwertygal, I plan on finishing First Steps, You Made Me Love You, and hope to write more chapters of Misconceptions also. I have loved writing for all of you over the past year, and I'm certainly not ready to give that up. Thanks so much for going on this journey with me, my Timeless friends :))