It's been awhile since I've really tried to write fanfiction, but I have to say that I REALLY like Timeless. I'd love to hear whether or not I got their voices right.

The last episode freaked me out, haha. But here's a little tag of introspective-ness. Hope you enjoy~


The tastes of soot and ash lingered on her tongue. She could smell it, even after stripping off her dress and sliding back into her modern clothes.

Lucy's hands trembled as she opened a bottle of water. Gulping half of it, she closed her eyes.

A tiny grate and a dark furnace seemed to flash through her mind every time she did.

If Wyatt and Rufus hadn't come…

"Lucy?"

She spun around.

Rufus stood in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry."

With a strained smile, Lucy shook her head. "No, it's fine. You haven't gone home yet?"

He cleared his throat. "I was… talking with Connor." His gaze jumped to the side, his shoulders pulling in. Lucy stepped closer to him.

"Did you tell him you erased the recording?"

"Well… yeah."

"And?"

He didn't make eye contact with her until she was a foot away.

"I didn't just erase it. I recorded a message."

Lucy's eyebrows shot up. "To who? To Rittenhouse?"

Rufus smiled grimly. His eyes were half-hard and half-afraid. He nodded.

Below them, the lights surrounding the lifeboat flickered out. She'd never been in the facility when it was empty before. There'd always been Jiya, Mason, Wyatt, Agent Christopher…

Now, quiet settled into the air like a welcome guest.

The two of them stepped further into the wardrobe room. Lucy took his elbow. "What did you say?"

Rufus spoke almost as if it were news to him, too. "I told them to go to hell. More or less." His mouth twisted. "And not to take anyone I care about with them."

Lucy laughed once, out of sheer surprise, then exhaled. "Wow. I mean… Rufus, that's… How do you feel?"

"Like I just threw a rock at Darth Vader's head and asked him not to chop mine off." Rufus dragged one hand over his fade. "But, I mean, I do have some value to them, so. Who knows."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes." Rufus sank down into one of the plastic chairs and she sat next to him. "And no. I'm afraid they'll go after my family, but I feel like finally standing up to them… it changed something."

"We're all in this together," Lucy said, one hand clutching her water bottle, the other on his arm. "Me, you, Wyatt. We're not going down without a fight."

The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Yeah."

Then he turned to face her, looking her up and down. "What about you? Are you okay?"

Lucy nodded. "I'm fine."

He tilted his head to one side and she sighed.

"I'm alive, I guess. Which I didn't think I would be. I was so scared, Rufus…" She swallowed hard. "But I kept remembering what Houdini said. Fear isn't real."

Rufus scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I still not know. Not entirely. But it helped me keep a cool head long enough for you and Wyatt to find me." She nudged him. "Thank you, by the way."

"I'm just glad we all got out of it."

"Me too."

For a moment, Rufus was miles away. "When I think about it, I can almost understand Flynn. Almost."

Lucy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If Rittenhouse did kill my brother, my mom, I don't know what I'd do." He stared out at the Lifehouse through the spotless windows. "What I'd be capable of doing."

She followed his gaze. Her mouth wanted to start going before her head could catch up; to promise him that they'd keep his family safe, that they'd come out of all this on top.

"I don't think any of us know," she said instead, her heart thudding. "Not until we're in the middle of it."

All at once, she was trapped in a sinking car, stuck in the Alamo, helping Flynn at gunpoint, lying in a tiny stove.

And she was sitting next to Rufus in a silent room. She held his arm a little tighter.

"But," she said, quiet, "I think we can decide what we won't do."

Rufus let out a gust of a breath. He nodded. "I think you're right."

He rose and offered her his hand. "I'll walk you to your car?"

She squeezed his fingers as she stood. "Thank you."


Wyatt sat in his truck for forty-five minutes after he got home from the bar.

His head rested back into the seat. The keys were sat in the ignition, jingling whenever he brushed against them. Outside, night had dropped the city into sleep.

He couldn't have been more awake.

It felt like his brain was on a one-way train with its brakes cut. He was plunging down a path that he couldn't get off of, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

Wes Gilliam.

The guy had a Facebook page, still—inactive for two years, since he was in prison—but his face smiled out from the blue background like he was innocent as a little kitten.

He was handsome, he was young, he was serving two life sentences.

Wyatt had to shut the webpage off to blink back angry tears.

There was nothing about his parents, but he obviously had them. If he tried to, he could find more. If Jiya tried, she could find everything. Their names, their birthdays, probably even their favorite kinds of ice cream.

If Wyatt did what Flynn was suggesting… They'd be gone.

Suddenly the truck was suffocating. He kicked the door open and hopped out into the chilly night air. Reluctantly, he unlocked the house and stepped inside.

They'd bought it together, just before they got married. She'd picked out more than half the stuff in the place. Wyatt couldn't bring himself to throw any of it away. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she still lived here.

He needed one more drink. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Wyatt showered and got dressed zombie-style. He'd killed before—of course he had, he was a soldier.

But going back in time to kill someone whose only crime was giving birth to a killer?

That was Flynn's territory. Dangerous territory.

He sank into bed, his muscles aching from where he'd thrown himself at the basement door. If not for Lucy, they'd never have gotten out.

Wyatt pictured Lucy's face; her dark eyes, her smile. He imagined what she would look like if he did as Flynn said.

He pictured Jessica's face, too.

Neither of them looked very happy.

"Well what am I supposed to do?" He asked the empty air, swigging from the bottle. There were only two options, really. Do the unthinkable, or…

His gaze caught on the picture on his bedside table.

Jess's eyes were sparkling, caught halfway through a laugh. She had one arm around him, her smile dazzling. They'd just gotten engaged.

The next breath he took got stuck, and his throat burned with something besides alcohol. He threw his head back against the wall.

The only other option was to let her go.

He knew which one seemed easier. But it didn't seem right, either.

"I miss you," he said, half-choked. Until Rufus and Lucy, he'd built aloneness around himself like a shield. He'd let his fighting mates in far enough to work together, to be war buddies, but not enough to really see him.

Jessica had always seen right through him. She'd known how he was feeling, what he was thinking, what he wanted. Even when he didn't.

He needed that now.

Wyatt shut the lamp off and put the empty bottle beside her picture.

Just as he sank down under the covers, his phone buzzed.

A curse rose from his lips. If Flynn had taken out the Mothership again…

He snatched the phone.

It was Rufus.

Hey, could we all meet up for breakfast tomorrow?

A second went by.

Assuming that Flynn doesn't try to blow up the Titanic before then.

Wyatt found himself smiling faintly. He could hear Rufus, see his mouth twist with humor.

He typed a response. Why would he try to blow up the Titanic? Didn't it sink anyway?

Maybe he wants to kill Kate Winslet. Who knows what kind of damage that could do.

Wyatt chuckled. Before he could respond, another text came through.

Seriously though, I need to talk to you. I already talked to Lucy.

Curiosity pricked through the fog he was in. Half of him wanted to sleep through the next twenty-four hours and hope something looked better on the other side. But he wasn't the only one with a lot on his mind. If Rufus wanted to meet up, it must be important.

Sure.

The response was lightning-quick. Great. I took about seventeen of my Mom's sleeping pills so lets meet at eleven. how's ricky's Diner?

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. Rufus had better be exaggerating.That works.

Will you tell lucy, the medine is starting to kick in.

He sighed. I'll tell her.

The phone was cool and smooth under his fingertips. He rubbed his pointer finger against the screen, pulling up Lucy's contact info.

He should just text her. She was probably sleeping.

But the house was too quiet and the rest of the night gaped in front of him like a cave. Before he could think twice, he hit the call button.

She answered on the second ring.

"Wyatt?"

Her voice was hushed. He winced. "Did I wake you up?"

"No, I couldn't—I mean, I haven't gone to sleep yet."

"That's good." He winced again, hitting one fist against his forehead. "Not that you couldn't sleep, just that I didn't wake you."

He could hear a smile. "Wyatt, it's okay. What is it?"

At first he drew a blank. He'd drunk enough to make his brain go fuzzy around the edges. But it didn't help the fact that his thoughts were knife-sharp.

Why had he called her? To hear her voice, to remember that she was alive, that he was too (which at one time hadn't mattered to him at all, but now it seemed so important), to…

"Are you there?"

"Rufus," he said quickly, sitting up straighter. "He, uh, he texted me. He wants to have breakfast tomorrow. Well, brunch, I guess. Eleven o'clock, Ricky's Diner."

Lucy let out a breath. "That sounds really nice, actually."

"It does," he agreed, quiet.

"He said he had something to talk about." He tested the waters, but she drew back.

"We should really talk about it person," she said. "It's a long story." Her tone had Rittenhouse written all over it.

"I'll be there then."

For a moment, she was quiet, then she said, "Thank you."

He blinked. "For what?"

"Just… thank you. You're a good friend."

Wyatt dropped his hand from his forehead, swallowing. The words to an answer didn't quite form.

"Good night," she said after a second.

"I do too," he said quickly, before she could hang up. Before he could stop himself.

"You do too?" He pictured her brow furrowing in confusion.

He made himself follow through. "I have something to talk about. I…" It came out of him in one long stream. A sigh. (A plea?) "I need your advice."

"Oh. Of course, I'd be happy to help. Whatever you need. Are you alright?"

With the barest of smiles, he shook his head. "We should really talk about it in person."

She let out one breath of laughter. "Fair enough. Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

The night seemed bearable, quantifiable now. A dark tunnel with a glimmer of light at the end, at least. "Yeah."

"Good night, Wyatt."

He exhaled. "Sleep well, Lucy."

Silence fell over the house again. Wyatt drew the covers around himself like a fortress and closed his eyes. Him, Rufus, Lucy, they were three points on a triangle. So different.

But between them all, they were just about balanced out.

And if he trusted anyone to help him make sense of things, it was them.