A/N: Just some introspection, I guess.
Spoilers: For everything up to and including 2x04 The Salem Witch Hunt.
Disclaimer: I don't know how much the rights to Timeless weigh and I definitely don't own them.
Well, this was a first. She'd never felt the weight of words before. Though her history books were full of just those; words. Big, fluffy, all-embracing words, with tiny shark teeth edges; those you didn't notice until you were in too deep, until the words had devoured you whole, and was in the process of spitting out something unrecognizable again.
This was how she felt right now. Chewed up and thorn to pieces. Never had she been more of a cliché in her life. Heartbroken. Alone. She was 'the other woman'. Not by design or intent, but by fate's cruel hands.
She had allowed love to enter, and this was how she was repaid. Cast aside. Why was she surprised? She should have seen it coming. She had permitted herself to hope against all odds. To see possibilities in the impossible. Just like a damn fool.
She couldn't stay standing anymore; her legs gave way under her. Sitting didn't cut it either, only for a short while anyhow. Her whole body felt like lead, pulled downwards by the gravity of the situation until she was lying down on the uncomfortable cot.
Even the phone seemed to have gotten heavier, its modern form somehow hiding an old brick seized model, at least that was what it felt like to her. Her whole arm was sore resting the thing awkwardly against her ear, in her current horizontal position.
His voice was soft and caring, but oh so sad. She didn't think it possible, but her heart broke all over again; for him. He was in shock, which was understandable; talking about the last time he'd seen her and how her eyes had been dead then. The image hunted her; she couldn't imagine that kind of pain, that kind of loss.
Wyatt should be happy Jessica was alive; it was what he had wanted from the moment she met him, from the moment they learned that time travel was possible, and nothing, not even history, was set in stone. But this was a new reality; 6 years of memories that Jessica had that he didn't. Lucy knew what that was like, to have her whole life uprooted and turned on its head like that. She didn't envy that. She had no doubt he would figure it out, once he got over the surprise of the situation. He kept apologizing to her; he shouldn't have to do that, so she tried her best to encourage him instead.
She was conflicted about the whole thing though, of course she was, it was a natural reaction, she told herself; if you could call the situation, they were in natural to begin with. She had to be strong for him, so she tried to smile through her tears, conveying her happiness for him through the phone. Tried to convince herself, more than him really, that everything was as it should be, everything was fine, and he shouldn't be sorry on her account. If it was time, he needed to figure things out, she would gladly make sure he got it. The mission would have to take a backseat to Wyatt's happiness, and so would she, and her feelings.
She hung up the phone, but couldn't make herself get up from the cot straight away, the conversation still burdening her very soul. It was as if all the words had combined into a monster that had currently taken seat on top of her, depressing her chest with its weight, while clawing its way through her skin and into her very heart, grapping it tight and squeezing while simultaneously filling her lungs whispered words of broken promises, making it hard to breathe.
Words; be they spoken or written, had an immense power in them. She should know. Throughout history words had inspired revolts and revolutions, started wars and ended them too, they were used as propaganda, and fake news, also to spread joy and deliver the truth. Fairy tales and make belief, documentation of events, all of them consisted of words. Hell, she had seen it firsthand, with the letter from the Alamo that inspired people into taking action. Also, all the charismatic speeches by charismatic speakers, many of which she herself had memorized, like the crazy history buff that she was. Even in everyday life words played a big part; just little words of encouragement or disapproval went a long way to push people in a certain direction. The whole world was categorized by these little things, labeled and neatly, or not so neatly, put away in the archive of life.
Eventually she got up. Now wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity. She couldn't let his words drag her down. Her own words hadn't helped her in that department either, it had been words meant to lift him up. And though they might have served that purpose, they had just added to the load she now had to carry. Burdened her soul even more. Was this how it was going to be now? Friendly words between them would become daggers cutting into her flesh. Or would she build up a tolerance? Being able to carry more than she had originally thought possible. Would the load lessen over time? She didn't know..., didn't know what to expect exactly, having never been in a situation quite like this before... In love.
A feeling she had not experienced previously, not like this anyway. A word she didn't dare utter, not even now, especially not now. It was such a little word, four small letters, but it carried so much weight. Poets and writers and spend decades trying to decipher it, explain it in a way that made some kind of sense. Composers used lifetimes to capture its essence. But it was elusive and unexplainable. And now she knew that it also left behind a considerable impression on your very soul. Soul; yet another word that would take lifetimes to describe and define. She wasn't a lit. or a religion major, but even with her history and anthropology background she could appreciate the different fields and the connections they had with hers. Now more than ever, it seemed. There was something to be said about serenading love and/or heartbreak. It was brave, putting yourself and your emotions out there, into the world; letting other people adopt your words and feelings to make them feel less alone themselves.
The people that say words can't hurt you have never really experienced the true emotions tied to those words. The raw power, the sound, the executions and intonations of a chosen word; the thing that lies in the white between the letters. It's indescribable, and immeasurable, but still it carries this unseen weight; as light as the winds and as mighty as storms. A mass that varies depending on so many unpredictable variables.
Lucy understood this now. The weight of words was the weight of the whole world. Everything that had come before and everything that would remain after. The alfa and the omega. The good and the bad. The love and the heartbreak. It was all connected. There was no gain without giving. It was inconceivable to have one of any one of these without the other. But in the impossible also rested the possibilities. The chance to lift you up, instead of weighing you down. The choice of how many weights you put on the different scales in life was entirely up to you.
Lucy had weighed her possibilities and made her choice.
A/N: Was it too much with the metaphors, I can never tell?
I feel like we forget sometimes that Lucy also has a degree in anthropology, or that's what she says in the beginning at least.