Past Perfect

A/N #1: The inspiration for this two-part story came from a conversation with some of my Timeless friends on Twitter not long ago and is listed at the end of this chapter...

Chapter One

September 4, 1955 - Darlington, South Carolina

Breathing heavily, Wyatt crouched over Lucy's prone body, praying fervently Rufus had gotten to the lifeboat and escaped before Emma and her hired goon caught up to him. Not long after bidding Wendell farewell at the track, it was nearing dusk when the team was walking along a dusty gravel road about a half mile from where they'd hidden the time machine. Without warning, an old Ford pickup came careening around the bend and catching sight of the stony-faced redhead in the passenger seat, Wyatt instinctively grabbed Lucy's arm and shouting at Rufus to remember the protocol, the trio rapidly split into two directions.

Torn between relief when Emma apparently decided to ignore Rufus, who was taking a roundabout path to the lifeboat and-since she'd come back to him just days ago-his ever-present fear something would happen to Lucy, Wyatt ruthlessly dragged her along as he immediately headed for a thickly-wooded area about a hundred yards from the road. Running headlong into the stand of trees with Lucy in tow, he noticed absently that in spite of the still warm late summer temperature, how chilly and eerily quiet the woods were, save for the roar of the pickup behind them as the idiot driving floored the gas in hot pursuit. They tore through the dense foliage, too intent on escape to worry about the low branches and brambles that mercilessly tore at their clothes and exposed skin, until unfortunately, Lucy tripped over a fallen tree limb at the edge of a shallow embankment.

Eluding Wyatt's desperate lunge in her direction, to his horror, she tumbled down the gently sloping hill with a muffled shriek, rolling in a blur of bare legs, saddle shoes, and white petticoats, the red jacket he'd gallantly offered earlier falling off her shoulders about halfway down the hill, before Lucy's momentum was stopped by an old oak tree, ending up face down in a sprawled heap against the gnarled trunk.

Heart in his throat, Wyatt frantically skidded down the embankment after her, falling to his knees beside her limp body. Modestly tugging down the full blue skirt she was wearing over pale, slender thighs, he cautiously turned Lucy over, frowning at the ugly laceration above her left eye that was starting to ooze blood. Putting two fingers against her delicate throat, Wyatt closed his eyes in sheer gratitude at finding a pulse. Thank you, God.

Racing back up the embankment, he snatched his jacket before returning to her side. "Lucy? Can you hear me? I need you to wake up now," he urged hoarsely, crouching down and carefully tucked the garment around her torso. Watching her wan face anxiously, Wyatt unconsciously held his breath until several tense seconds later, Lucy's feathery dark lashes eventually fluttered open, and she gazed up at him in stunned bewilderment.

"What...What happened?" she asked dazedly, struggling to sit up. Bringing a shaky hand up to touch her forehead, Lucy's eyes widened in shock when her fingers came back covered in bright red stickiness. "Wyatt? I'm bleeding," she whimpered in disbelief.

Digging a clean handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbing at Lucy's forehead, Wyatt murmured softly, "Shh, Lucy, we have to be very quiet–I don't know where Emma or her partner are right now, alright? Let's get you up on your feet, sweetheart," the endearment falling involuntarily from his lips. When she blinked in surprise before nodding wordlessly, he stood, offering her a reassuring smile. Leaning down and taking her small hands securely in his, Wyatt started to pull Lucy to her feet when she pitched forward against him with a muted groan. "What is it?" he frowned, catching her around the waist.

"Ow, ow...my ankle...something's wrong," Lucy panted, pulling away from Wyatt and awkwardly dropping back down to the ground at his feet, the ruined skirt puddling around her. Wincing, she gingerly straightened muddy, scraped bare legs for Wyatt to examine, grimacing and biting her lower lip in pain but bravely making no sound as his fingertips danced feather light around her rapidly-swelling right ankle. "Is it broken?" Lucy whispered anxiously, slim shoulders relaxing slightly when Wyatt shook his head.

"No, but it looks like a pretty severe sprain," he responded grimly, looking up at her in time to see a single tear slipping down her smudged cheek. "Hey, c'mon, now, Ma'am, don't cry–you know I can't take it when you cry," Wyatt confessed ruefully, taking his thumb and delicately swiping the tear away.

Gazing up at him, her dark eyes full of unshed tears, Lucy blinked furiously and asked, "Really?" a tentative smile lurking on her trembling lips.

"Yes, really," he answered firmly, satisfied when her smile widened just a little, even as it left him fighting the sudden urge to kiss her. Without warning, the stillness of the woods around them was broken by the sound of voices from above. Shit. Emma and her accomplice were on foot now and dangerously close. Bending protectively over Lucy, Wyatt put his lips to her ear and breathed, "I'm gonna pick you up now–put your arms around my neck and don't make a sound," and without waiting for her response, easily lifted her slight weight in his arms.

Intent on putting as much distance between them and Emma as possible, Wyatt painstakingly picked his way deeper into the shadowy woods, Lucy cradled against his chest. Now that the sun had gone down, visibility was increasingly limited, making the terrain even more treacherous. Luckily, they'd only gone about twenty yards when he spied an overgrown tangle of bushes that might serve as a hiding place until hopefully Emma gave up. While he could certainly hold his own, Wyatt had no desire to risk Lucy's life by engaging in a gunfight in the dark with two trained killers. He just could not bear the thought of losing her again...

Carefully setting Lucy down a couple feet away, Wyatt crouched in front of the bushes and hastily shoved aside the sharp, wiry branches, heedless of the stinging little scratches being inflicted on his face and bare forearms. If he could reach a little farther back, there should be just enough room for the two of them to hide. Though she remained silent, Wyatt sensed Lucy's worried gaze on him, and belatedly remembering her claustrophobia, felt a twinge of regret at what he was about to do to her, but it couldn't be helped. A couple minutes later, he was somewhat satisfied and turning around, lifted one shoulder apologetically and pulled his jacket from her.

"Hang on to this a second," he instructed, "and when I pick you up, I want you to grab my shirt as tight as you can and tuck your face against my chest so you don't get scratched as much, alright?" Pressing her lips together, she nodded obediently. Bending low, Wyatt gathered Lucy up and once her slim fingers were clenched in his shirt, he tightened his arms around her and scooted backwards into the hiding place. He paid no mind to the whip-like branches clawing at him–flinching only at Lucy's pained gasp when her hair got caught on a branch.

After Wyatt had squeezed them in as far back as possible, with him facing front, he clumsily spread the jacket on the damp ground with one hand before lowering Lucy on top of it. Hastily patting his pocket, he made sure his gun was in reach, just in case. Finally, reaching overhead, he tugged as many leafy branches down over their little cocoon as he could manage. Pulling her shivering body snugly against his, Wyatt began to slowly rub his hands soothingly up and down her back and exposed arm. "Wyatt," she murmured tentatively, her soft breath warming his neck, "I'm scared."

His heart ached at the underlying shame in her voice. What had her mother and the rest of those Rittenhouse bastards done to his brave, determined friend? His Lucy was practically fearless when it came to fighting for what she believed in. Any doubts he might've had about whether Lucy was telling him the truth about being "fine" when she brushed off his concern earlier today before the jump were thoroughly validated.

Despite being well-trained to endure sustained torture and mind control, fortunately, Wyatt himself had never experienced it firsthand, although a couple of his Delta Force buddies had. He was well aware the process involved an ongoing, systematic dismantling of a person's will and moral compass. For someone like Lucy, who possessed a formidable intelligence and unwavering moral center, Wyatt was certain Rittenhouse had used–and knowing those zealous psychos, probably enjoyed-every available method they had to try and break her.

His arms tightened protectively around Lucy as he sought to tamp down his simmering rage at her mistreatment. Now was not the time. At the moment, they were in a tough-though not impossible-spot, and Wyatt needed to keep his wits about him if he and Lucy were to survive until Rufus returned to retrieve them. Thank God for the new protocols Agent Christopher put in place after they'd brought Lucy home from 1918 just weeks ago: Any member of the team stranded during a mission, no matter where or when in time they were, was to stay put, hopefully laying low and surviving until eventual rescue. Wyatt had faith in their friend that he'd return for them as soon as it was humanly possible.

Pressing a tender kiss to her soft hair, he promised in a low voice, "Shh, it's alright, don't be scared...I'm right here, and I'm not going to leave you, ever, Lucy, okay?" She sniffled against his neck in response and shuddering once, gradually relaxed in his arms, and for a time, the whole world narrowed to each other and their desperate attempt to stay hidden from Emma.

Even though Lucy was shivering and Wyatt's arms had started to cramp, they stayed hidden in the woods for at least an hour after the distant sound of voices and footsteps crunching over leaves and sticks eventually faded away, until it had gone full dark. At this point, Wyatt thought it was safe to say Rufus had successfully gotten away and returned to 2018 without them. Working on that assumption then, with no money or transportation and very few options, he decided their best bet was to return to the racetrack and seek out the only person they knew in this place and time.

It was excruciatingly slow going with Lucy's twisted ankle leaving her barely able to hobble, and Wyatt constantly scanning their surroundings for Emma. Fortunately, Wendell was still at the track, just finishing up for the night. Cold, tired, and worried about Lucy, he stumbled through a lame-ass cover story when naturally, the alarmed and faintly suspicious driver had questioned where Rufus was. Although they regretted the need to lie to the man about their friend's whereabouts, it couldn't be helped. Their very lives could depend on following the protocol to the letter.

Finally, an uncertain Wendell accepted the rather shaky explanation for their circumstances, and things moved pretty quickly after that. Once Wyatt and Lucy were settled in his jalopy, they stopped at a payphone outside of town just long enough so he could call his sister, Guelda, who worked as a housekeeper for a local minister and agreed to meet them at the church parsonage. After Wendell dropped them off in an alley behind the church, Wyatt knocked on the back door and when it opened, stepped inside the brightly-lit kitchen with his arm around Lucy, who he feared was going into shock, on top of being barely able to walk because of her badly-turned ankle.

Allowing a bit of his natural Texas twang to slip into his voice, Wyatt smiled politely at the tall, neatly-dressed woman and said, "Thank you, Ma'am, we hate to put you out, but sure do appreciate your kindness...I'm Wyatt Logan and this is my wife, Lucy. We're in town for the race, but sad to say, have run into a bit of trouble, and, well, we met your brother earlier today, and since he's the only person we know in Darlington..." Worried he'd said too much, his voice trailed off.

Smiling kindly in return, she answered, "That's quite alright, Mr. and Mrs. Logan, and don't you worry, it's no trouble at all. Wendell told me you were set upon by car thieves after the race and that you needed a little bit of help. Have to say, and it might not be a popular opinion around here because of all the money the race brings into town, but I don't think very highly of it because the race also brings in the riffraff like the men who robbed you and stole your car. And as a resident of Darlington, I'm sorry for it. But on the bright side, since my brother brought you here, you know two people in town now, and I promise you we're going to help you get back on your feet."

And without missing a beat (and having said her piece), the housekeeper directed them to a small office just off the kitchen with a shabby but clean sofa along one wall while she put a teakettle to heat on the stove for tea.

Nearly overcome with relief, Wyatt was grateful for the woman's calm acceptance of the two bedraggled strangers dropped off on her doorstep. He knew they looked pretty rough, both exhausted, hungry, and disheveled, faces and arms scratched pretty badly in spots, especially Lucy. Scooping his "wife" up and placing her on the sofa, he was grateful when the other woman thoughtfully covered Lucy's trembling shoulders with a crocheted blanket first before fetching a small basin of water and some bandages. She made no sound other than a faint gasp when he gently dabbed at the seeping cut over her eye.

They quickly discovered that Guelda Scott was a force of nature-compassionate, soft-spoken, and unfailingly cheerful. After the worst of their cuts and scrapes were cleaned, she led them down a narrow hallway to a tidy guest bedroom. Scrupulously clean, it was furnished with twin beds and a small dresser, and considering their circumstances, looked pretty damn good. Wyatt gently set Lucy down on one of the beds and glancing at the housekeeper, thanked her profusely. Waving away his gratitude, Guelda smiled and promised she'd return in a few minutes with ice for Lucy's ankle, along with some sandwiches and the hot tea.

He stared at the closed door a moment before turning back to Lucy, and carefully removing her saddle shoe and sock, frowned in dismay at the puffy ankle. "Here, let's get your back against the headboard and we can prop your ankle up on a pillow for a while, alright?" Face pale with fatigue, she didn't argue, merely nodded and trustingly wrapped her arms around Wyatt's neck when he lifted and resettled her.

Concentrating on getting her injured ankle elevated, he could feel the weight of Lucy's anxious stare. "Wyatt?" she began, "What are we going to do until Rufus comes back? Or what if something happened to him and he never comes back? We could be stranded in 1955 forever." The growing fear and uncertainty in her voice nearly undid him.

Jesus–was Lucy Preston ever going to get a break in this world? It had been less than two weeks since he and Rufus had brought Lucy home-and in his opinion, not yet truly recovered from her ordeal–and now it appeared they'd been left to fend for themselves more than sixty years in the past with almost no resources. It was a testament to her incredible strength that she wasn't completely freaking out.

Taking a seat on the bed, Wyatt took Lucy's hand in his and gazing into her eyes, did his best to reassure her. "Lucy, I know that things might look pretty grim, but we've been in worse jams before. Rufus knows the protocol as well as we do, and I have faith that as soon as he's able, he will find a way to come back for us. In the meantime, not only do we have each other, but Wendell and his sister have offered to help us. The way I see it, with your brains and my muscles, we will find a way to survive until it's time to go home to 2018. And if for some reason that never happens, well, I can't think of anybody else I'd rather be stranded in the past with than you, Ma'am."

Dark eyes filling with tears, without warning, Lucy pulled him to her and wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, kissed Wyatt fiercely. And for a few glorious seconds, he forgot all about their troubles. Her lips were warm and sweet and damn, kissing Lucy felt as natural to him as breathing and Wyatt didn't think he'd ever feel differently. All too soon, there was a polite knock at the door and they broke apart guiltily, panting lightly and staring at each in surprise, unconsciously mirroring their reactions to that first kiss in front of Bonnie and Clyde.

He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice, "Come in," while Lucy instantly dropped her gaze. Even as the door opened behind him to reveal Guelda carrying a full tray, Wyatt leaned in and murmured, "We'll discuss you taking advantage of me later, Lucy Preston," gratified (and amused) when her head popped up and she gazed at him wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked and so damn beautiful he could hardly breathe.

It hadn't taken long for Wyatt to acknowledge to himself after they'd rescued Lucy that in spite of his non-committal response at the time, Rufus hadn't been wrong in 1918 when he accused him of being in love with her. So faced with a difficult situation, Wyatt came to an easy decision, right then and there, and swore to himself that he'd take care of Lucy and keep her safe, no matter how long they were stranded in 1955, even if it was for the rest of their lives...

A/N #2: As promised, here's the idea that sent me down the rabbit hole this past week: What if Emma had come after the team in Darlington before they safely jumped back to 2018, and Wyatt and Lucy ended up being stranded in 1955? How long would they be there and what would their lives be like? Anyway, I thought it was an intriguing premise, and this is the result. I have already written a good part of the second half, and hope to post it in a couple days. Since this two-shot is strictly from Wyatt's POV, if there's enough of a positive response, I may write a sequel from Lucy's POV. Of course, that would be AFTER I finish the next chapter of Guarding My Heart-I promise! As always, my thanks to all of you who read and support my stories–I really appreciate it :))