a/n: Hey! Welcome to chapter 4! I feel like now would be a good time to confess that this story was borne of my selfish need to see these characters angst it out in a version of events that had them emotionally estranged from each other, which means plot was my secondary priority. I started this off with a bunch of random out-of-order scenes (most of which we still haven't gotten to) that were focused on the push and pull of Wyatt and Lucy being at odds with each other while still harboring a crapload of feelings... So this will not be a wild mind eff of a storyline, ok? Thought it might be worth a disclaimer in case you were hoping for a huge plot twist somewhere down the line. ENJOY ;)

The skirt was impossibly narrow, her shoes were all wrong for 1917, and rearranging her hair had been a hellish disaster, but somehow no wardrobe-related protest could overcome the incessant beat of his voice drumming over her again and again - "It's now or never, ma'am."

Now or never.

Never. She really, really should have gone with never.

But it was Wyatt who had offered those two options to her, and somehow her hand had floated up to his, because options never really felt much like options at all where he was concerned. That was the mystery of how Lucy had found herself here - whisked away from Normandy in mere seconds to breathe in the sights and sounds of Providence, Rhode Island instead.

Just as predicted, all willpower had vacated in a hurry once his expectant eyes had locked on hers.

Somehow her hand still hadn't quit tingling from where it had been wrapped up so soundly in his, and now she had the added sensation of his hands on her waist as she hopped down to the ground after changing, another sensory tornado to further wreck her already fragile equilibrium. He'd done it like it was a damn prerequisite, like she'd never come skidding down the front of a time machine without his assistance, as if his head hadn't been shoved so far up his own ass in the beginning of it all to notice that she was one slip away from knocking herself unconscious on a bad dismount. Or that his head and his ass had both been missing altogether for more than a jump or two, leaving her with Flynn as her only crash mat while Wyatt had been too busy chasing his reprogrammed phantom of a wife to do the job.

Nope, shouldn't go there. Not helping. Not now.

Lucy was so busy clearing her head - as well as her expression and the stupid tremor occupying her hands - that she nearly missed the hushed conference happening just ahead of her. The exchange of a pistol passing from Wyatt to Jiya was enough to refocus her ambling attention, and before she could formulate a comment on that odd transfer, Jiya was striding away in the opposite direction, shoulders squared over a steel-straight spine.

"Uh, where are you going?"

When Jiya didn't stop to answer, Lucy pitched her head toward Wyatt instead, chest tightening at the sudden disruption in the norm. "Since when do we split up without even identifying what's going on? Where is she rushing off to? And why did she need a gun? She didn't even change clothes and we - "

"You do realize I can't answer any of these questions if you don't take a breath between them, right?"

"Wyatt," she bit out harshly, "this is not how we do things."

"I know," he said calmly, clearly hoping to pacify her with a tone that contrasted so softly against her shrill demands. "Jiya and I decided to...well, to make a few judgement calls of our own this time. You and I will run this jump like we usually do, but her priority is Rufus and the other time machine. We're not even sure he'll be here at all, but if he is, splitting up gives us double the chance at spotting him sooner. And gaining control of both time machines is what shut them down last time, so we both feel like that's the Hail Mary we might have to throw again if we can't figure out something else in the meantime."

"And if she takes their time machine without finding Rufus, who's getting us home?" she asked with a disbelieving arch of one eyebrow.

He shrugged loosely, undaunted. "She'll come back eventually. We have a few protocols in place if something like that happens."

"Well, sure sounds like the two of you have it all wrapped up on your own, don't you?"

"Hey now," he returned with a glint of a smirk. "Don't be like that. You weren't around for the strategy sessions, but that doesn't make you any less of a ball-busting brainiac, okay? We're officially on your turf now, so go ahead - call out the game plan."

She cut her eyes across the gently sloping terrain, mystified by the realization that Jiya was already completely out of sight. "She's really going to be fine on her own?"

His deep rumble of a laugh instantly brought Lucy's gaze back around to him. "With the mood she's in, I'd be scared shitless to cross hairs with her."

"But - "

"She's armed, she knows what she's doing, and she's taking no prisoners. She's - well, she's far more prepared for this than you realize."

Lucy stiffened, feeling more and more baffled - and excluded - by the second. "Meaning?"

Wyatt hesitated for only a moment, then blew through her question with a noncommittal shake of his head. "Nothing worth getting into right now. Later, okay?"

She wanted to hedge against that, to dig her heels in and insist for better, but he was already taking her arm and guiding her forward, his other hand plopping a fedora over his head as they trudged through the dewy grass of early evening.

"So what's the deal, Professor? Any big events shaking down Providence today?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, you always know," he prompted with a smug sideways smile.

Several past failures buzzed through the forefront of her brain. Moments she'd been way off-base in her assumptions, too slow to piece it all together, inadequate. Times her own knowledge had been bested by Flynn or Mason, or worse yet, her double-dealing mother. In a voice that was painfully anemic, she found herself shrinking away from Wyatt's absurd sense of confidence. "No, I don't. I really, really don't."

"You don't have a guess?" he pressed a little more insistently. "Not even a hunch or - "

"Nothing good, okay?" She saw him flinch just marginally from the corner of her eye, clearly not anticipating the snapping tension in her response. His hand fell away from her arm, allowing Lucy to force a purifying breath before she spoke again. "There's an influenza epidemic around here in another few months, but I don't think that's a concern for now. I'm guessing we're less than an hour from Newport, and there's always a revolving door of wealth and notoriety there, but no one specific comes to a mind as an definite mark. Same goes for Brown - obviously a notable school and it's right here in Providence, but nothing from this year stands out to me."

Wyatt was nodding along, eager for more...and then left waiting. "Okay, so we have the flu, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, and privileged Ivy League punks. Anything else?"

"I'm a little rusty, alright? And I didn't exactly have time to do a Google search before we left, now did I?"

He paused at the first crop of buildings they came to, his brow furrowed as he turned to face her head on. "Look, I know you're not my biggest fan right now. It's cool, you have your reasons."

Where she tried to interrupt - to say what, she had no earthly idea - he forged ahead without batting an eye.

"But don't twist that around into thinking I'm somehow the one who's being short with you. I'm not. I don't expect you to know everything, okay? Not every jump comes with a giant neon sign for what Rittenhouse intends to do, especially not since Emma took over. Cut yourself a break."

"I...I just…"

The apology he deserved died somewhere in her throat. Probably because he deserved a much, much bigger one for things they weren't even discussing at the moment.

"It's a lot to handle and I asked you to dive right in. I get it. Just don't..." he sighed, turning aside to scan the streets unfurling before them, "...don't go thinking you have something to prove here. I'm already convinced. You're the best there is, so if you're not sure why we're here, then we figure it out together."

The only thing he should have been convinced of was her ability to go tearing off to the four corners of the earth at a moment's notice, but if he was somehow able to compartmentalize that away for the time being, Lucy could make the slightest effort to pull herself together too.

She nodded a little spinelessly, trying to summon a forgotten version of herself who could tackle this tiny obstacle without breaking a sweat. "So I guess we just hit the streets and see if we can dig up leads on...on Emma? It is Emma, right?"

The smallest twitch of his mouth had her regretting that question in a heartbeat. Emma may have been at the helm last they saw her, but more often than not, it was Jessica who was only a step or two behind her. Jessica, who had remained as sturdy and athletic as she had ever been. Jessica, a woman who managed to never even looked bloated, let alone like a person who was supposedly carrying a whole other life inside of her. Jessica, an innocent who had been ruthlessly exploited; a golden-haired monster who had done plenty exploiting of her own.

"Yeah," Wyatt said with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, "probably Emma since...well, mostly since it's assumed that their time machine was recovered from the past. There's been no breach of security in our time and she was the only one who got stranded in Savannah. Can't imagine she'd find her way back just to let someone else call the shots now."

They eyed each other warily for just a second too long when Lucy felt the shift in his expression, sensing an incoming barrage of something she wasn't ready to hear. She nodded ahead at the first move of his jaw and left him to follow after her.

No confessions, no explanations, no Jess talk. They'd done all of that before, and it hadn't ever been enough to patch what was broken between them. She didn't see how it could end any differently now.

He fell in step next to her without another word. One bumpy walkway solidified into a coiling side street, and from there they were weaving their way into town.

"Not exactly the snot-faced accommodations I'd expect for an Ivy League town," Wyatt mumbled as they passed their third or fourth boarded-up window, broken glass crunching underfoot.

"I think Brown is actually on the other side of the river, and - " she worked to ignore his steering hand on her back as they sidestepped a huddle of dirt-smudged boys, but the break in her concentration had her stammering foolishly. "And, um…"

"...And what?"

She kept her gaze straight ahead, flames of mortification surely licking right up her neck. "And there are pockets of hardship just about anywhere. Organized crime was taking off in New England right around this time. It was worse in the bigger cities of course, but there were early associations between the Providence crime family and the more notable activity taking place in Boston. The two families actually merged at some point down the line, although that union won't be in play anytime soon."

"All read up on your mafia lore, huh?" he asked with a tug of admiration in his voice.

One trivial slice of information and suddenly he was acting like she'd ended world hunger or discovered the cure for cancer, an unjustified echo of you're the best there is looping through her head again. God help him if he really believed that.

"Bits and pieces, that's all. And it won't be as dramatic as what you've seen in movies, not around here anyway. Mostly racketeering and gambling if I had to guess, and then obviously a whole lot of bootlegging in a few more years."

"Any chance Emma would be after something here, then?" He gestured at the intersection before them, several dubious storefronts all glaring each other down from opposing corners. "If these Godfather wannabes are in the early stages of getting their shit together, then there's still a chance to make an unexpected power grab or shake up some result that's a decade or two down the line, right?"

"Worth a shot," she admitted with a shrug. "If nothing else, I'd imagine they'd take notice of someone like Emma walking down the street. It would kind of be their business to know who's coming and going, and she's not exactly known for blending in."

His short sizzle of a laugh struck her without warning, reeling her in for quick whirlwind of uninvited warmth. "True. Not a subtle bone in her body, is there?"

There was a plodding beat between them, one where they tentatively shared matching grins that echoed of moments long lost...moments where the pop and crackle of easy banter came as naturally as breathing.

Wyatt took the lead from there, moving decisively from one shop to the next, most of which were closed for the day or boarded shut indefinitely. Their last stop was a neatly kept brick building that stood slightly apart from the rest, the word Restaurant stenciled above the door in simple block letters.

"Shall we?"

At her nod, Wyatt was drawing her inside with a hand threading awkwardly through her arm, his grip landing somewhere between holding her hand and just dragging her after him like a ball and chain. Lucy shot a cagey look sideways, curious - and truthfully, more than a little irritated - at the sudden imposition of being on a leash. "What are you - "

"I think this might be our place," he murmured with a pasted-on smile. "Don't look now, but we've got a few young Pacinos on our hands."

Her eyes were skidding to the back of the room in spite of his warning, which caused his fingers to clasp tighter around her.

"I said don't look."

"Everyone looks when they're told not to," she retorted under her breath. "That's just human nature."

He was pulling her past a few chattering tables, his expression remaining convincingly light even when his words spilled out of him in terse contradiction. "If these guys are for real, you've gotta be cool."

"Are you implying that I'm not usually cool?"

There was no reply aside from a soft chuckle, but his scrunched brow and slanted smirk spoke for him.

"Okay okay," she relented begrudgingly. "But I can be cool."

"Perfect. Now would be a good time to channel that, alright?"

There wasn't much of a chance to counter that request. They were weaving deliberately past the last row of tables, Wyatt's gaze casually flicking from up and down the room, and then they were abruptly thrust into the spotlight.

"Hey bimbo, where ya headed?"

Wyatt's eyes cut to hers, his feet freezing on the spot. "Did someone seriously just call you that?"

"No, you," she whispered hastily. "It doesn't mean the same thing here. It's more like..tough guy."

A grin climbed to the corners of his lips as he turned to face a booth full of menacing onlookers. "How's it - uh, how can I help you?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," the man on the end warbled in reply. "You look like you're making a run for our back room, and nothin's open for business back there. Care to explain, pal?"

"Thought I saw someone I knew coming through here, but maybe I was mistaken."

"Maybe you were," said one of the scrawnier guys in the middle. "Helluva boner if that's the case."

Lucy didn't need prompted that time. One glimpse at the rapid bobbing motion in Wyatt's throat and she was whispering in his ear again, this time with a dash of amusement. "Also not the same as...well, you know. He just means a mistake."

"You tell your lady she's allowed to speak up," said the same man again, two very dominant teeth protruding over his lip. "C'mon, the both of you, come have a seat."

She scanned the sliver of space that was left on the edge of the booth and tried to catch Wyatt's eye, but he'd perked up immediately at the offer, not a trace of hesitation in his expression. "Really? You don't mind?"

"Sure. Tell us about your friend, the one you thought you saw. Maybe we can lend some help."

It was the first guy who'd spoken again, the one who kept dipping his eyes a little lower each time he regarded Lucy, which was far more often than the situation warranted seeing as Wyatt was the one doing all the talking.

Lucy eyed the booth with the fakest smile she'd ever produced - a true accomplishment, all things considered - and shook her head stiffly. "I don't know...looks like they're just about maxed out here."

"We can squeeze in just fine," Wyatt announced loudly - obnoxiously, really - with his thumb pressing against the inside her of her wrist. "Right, babydoll?"

Babydoll. The minute they had Rufus back in the present where he belonged, Wyatt Logan was a frickin' dead man.

"Wyatt," she muttered uneasily, wriggling her arm in protest.

His thumb moved in another meaningful sweep over her skin. The message was clear - they needed this. She was the one who'd suggested as much, telling him that this crowd would be a good source for scoop on Emma if she'd passed through here. He wasn't letting her out of it, not even if she was going down kicking and screaming.

The burly man on the end looked her over again, more and more blatant in his interest with each passing sweep of his beady eyes. "Don't be shy. Who needs breathin' room, gorgeous?"

That comment brought an entirely different tension into Wyatt's hold, and while Lucy hardly needed him to go into guard dog mode over one gag-worthy line, that didn't keep her from relishing in his discomfort. Served him damn right for playing it this way.

No one else would have noticed the quick ruffle of his forehead as he worked out his game plan, but she'd had seen it too many times before to miss it now. Too bad the game plan itself wasn't nearly as clear to her watchful eye. He'd made up his mind in a flash and was tugging her along for the ride, sliding in next to that rat-faced perv without releasing Lucy's wrist. She practically fell across Wyatt's knee until he corrected her frantic momentum, his arm moving to cinch around her waist, a hand guiding both of her legs over one of his own. The other half of his body formed a barrier between her and the rest of their greasy tablemates, seemingly using himself as a means of protecting her in case anyone decided they couldn't resist the temptation to get a little handsy beneath the table.

There was a round of hearty laughter, the result of an entire table of womanizing bastards all losing their shit over Wyatt yanking her sideways into his lap like a ragdoll, but her anger just about died away when his gaze drifted to hers. An apology, intimate and private and as sincere as could be, lingered in his solemn blue eyes.

Then - goddamn him - he moved in closer, skimmed his nose across her cheek, and inhaled deeply. "Sorry. Feel free to yell at me later."

Lucy did her best to maintain a tone that was all business, but her whole body was buzzing at the sound of that gravelly whisper and she could barely remember to breathe. "As if I need your permission."

Wyatt chuckled close to her ear, bringing a provoking prickle of his beard along with him. "You never have, have you? I've always liked that about you."

She shivered. Hard. He had the nerve to rub a hand up and down her arm as if it was nothing but a chill in the air that had brought on the swarm of goosebumps.

Someone shoved an overflowing pint down the table and Wyatt caught it deftly, never once relaxing his grip in Lucy's waist. "Cheers, fellas."

Now she was the one willfully ducking her face close to him, if only to conceal the exasperated roll of her eyes from a booth full of misogynistic douchebags who were all eagerly crashing their glasses against his.

It didn't escaped her notice that no one had offered her a drink. Apparently it didn't escape Wyatt's either, not if the way he nudged his mug closer to her and squeezed a hand just beneath her ribs was any indication. The beer looked about as appetizing as rainwater in a ditch, but with her feet swept off the floor and her whole side lodged against the warmth of his body, alcohol seemed to be her only deliverance from the quick spread of insanity that flickered from one nerve ending to the next.

"My girl here is lookin' for her cousin," he relayed to their sordid audience. "A redhead, few years older, bit of the devil in her eyes. Might be traveling with an entourage. Seen anyone like that 'round here?"

She had to give him credit. Wyatt's ability to sound offhandedly convincing in an era that wasn't his own had definitely improved. Didn't change the fact that this act of his was driving her absolutely bonkers, and one experimental sip of that sudsy room-temperature pint failed to divert a speck of her discomfort. She hated this.

"A redhead, huh? Pretty as the brunette in your lap?"

Another voice chimed in, this one just as slimy as the last. "Tryin' to swap cousins on the sly, are ya?"

Her eyes were actually going to roll out of her head. It seemed like a physical impossibility, a reckless hyperbole if there ever was such a thing, and yet no amount of white-knuckled deep breathing could diffuse the violent exasperation twitching beneath her eyelids.

Wyatt cleared his throat above the heckling, the side of his head inching nearer until it could graze against hers. "Not a chance. Only a goddamn fool would take his eyes off the one I've got."

The laughter died down gradually, a few more smartass remarks drifting past Lucy's ears before they were done having their fun, but it was hard to process anything over the quiet roar of what Wyatt had just said. The increased pressure of his solid arm surrounding her revved up the accelerated thump in her heart, a feeling that he - and no one else, not ever - had always been able to evoke inside of her chest. There had been a gruff note to what he'd said, a chastised recoil, a genuine apology that was squeezing every drop of emotion out of her.

He'd said it before. He had told her again and again that he'd made the worst mistake imaginable when he lost his head over Jessica. It had been a softly swirling refrain that floated over every jump they made after Jess had defected, a hollow-eyed plea laced into each gaze he sent Lucy's way. It was repeated on the night he'd invited her to stay in his apartment, the night she lost all sense and allowed a little bit of Scotch to turn into a monumental error in judgement.

Apparently he still wasn't done telling her. One nervous glance sideways and she had her answer. His contrite heart had leapt up into his eyes, shining too vividly. Too poignantly.

She couldn't stomach it. Not when she'd finally accepted that long-standing apology so many months ago, finally accepted him, only to toss it all away a handful of hours later. How the hell could he still think that he was the one who needed forgiveness?

"I need a minute."

It was out of her mouth before she could cushion it with something that sounded even remotely appropriate to her current situation. It wasn't a request fitting of the empty-headed pair of legs these assholes wanted her to be. It was Lucy Preston telling Wyatt Logan that she couldn't cope with him and his proximity and the unnerving perfection of how he smelled and felt and talked. It was an eject button on the unbalancing security that somehow still accompanied the feel of his arms around her, the stability of his body, the rupture of electricity that came with his touch.

She had to get away from him. Now.

He grappled to keep her steady as she scrambled off of him and out of the booth. Never one to hold her back, but always there to hold her up.

"Lucy?"

"I'll…" she blinked toward the set of doors just a few feet away, struggling to make her lips form such a simple excuse, "...umm, the restroom. Powder room. I'll only be a minute."

She was boiling over with embarrassment as she fled from his puzzled look of concern. She'd made a lot of stupid mistakes since their first trip to the Hindenburg, but a full-blown meltdown over nothing but Wyatt being nice, Wyatt complimenting her…? Absurd. Absolutely pathetic.

It wasn't the painstaking effort of someone who'd dolled herself up for an undercover cameo in 1917 that greeted her in the bathroom mirror. Instead she saw the same colorless reflection of Normandy, the woman who cowered at the idea of rejoining a noble fight, the one who was so terrified of her past that she'd almost ducked out again after giving her word that she'd stay. Her eyes were dull, forehead etched with fret, an empty vacuum where there was once life and conviction and tenacity.

Either she would find a way to make herself do this for Rufus or she was going to tank the whole thing. Her screw-ups posed a real danger to him, to Wyatt, to Jiya, to herself. She had to resurrect some mediocre imitation of the teammate she'd once been or they'd all find themselves in early graves.

She stared back at herself until her face was smooth, untroubled. Until she could take her spot next to Wyatt - or on top of Wyatt, dammit - without so much as an eyelash fluttering out of place. If she was so determined to keep her distance this time, she better start on the inside job of convincing herself that she was stronger than this.

And she was. Or she had been. There had been a day where she was known for pushing and debating and pushing some more until she got exactly what she wanted. She'd gone up against Wyatt hundreds of times before, called him on his shit, overruled his orders with a perspective he'd never consider on his own; most importantly, she was in the habit of winning when it came to him. If she was capable of outmaneuvering his bullheadedness in the midst of a battle, she could certainly outmaneuver him in whatever the hell was going on in her heart...right?

Sure. Maybe. She'd damn well give it her best effort. At least it was a starting point, a place to drop anchor in the mental-emotional storm that raged inside of her.

Her newfound sense of calm lasted as long as it took to inhale deeply and get a hand wrapped around the doorknob.

Gunshots, a whole orchestra of them, were suddenly playing their brutal symphony right outside the fortress of her escape. Some of them were coming through that fortress, sending her to her knees with her arms braced over her head.

And then there was a low grunt she'd recognize in any century. Wyatt.

Calm had officially gone out the window.

Another update will be coming soon! In the meantime, reviews are life.