A/N: Okay….so given what this chapter is….I probably got a little carried away with the length of it all…. Enjoy!
7. Lucy
So that was how he had found himself there—showing up at her door, unannounced, with a bottle in one hand. He rapped on the door with the other. There was a short pause, during which he contemplated just how monumentally stupid this decision had been—but given the fact that he'd been doing, not thinking when he made the decision, he guessed he really shouldn't be surprised.
Eventually, there was a clatter on the other side of the door, and the knob turned. He registered the look of surprise on her face—surprise to see him standing there. But then, coming to visit unannounced—that wasn't something they did, was it? Crap. What if she wasn't a fan of his latest impulse move? They stared at each other for a moment, until he found his voice.
"Shit, sorry. I mean, you probably have plans, right? I should have called, before coming over.
"Yeah, I'm having the queen of England for dinner. Of course I don't have any plans," she smiled, and stepped to the side, "But now I do!"
She ushered him in, and he looked around the sparse apartment. It was the first time he'd seen the place in this timeline—although he had helped her move in, shortly before his birthday, in their previous timeline.
"So, how's the government sponsored digs treating you?"
"Well, better than being homeless, I guess. But it's a little….cold, in an institutionalized kind of way." She took the bottle from him, and carried it across the living room. "This isn't one of those soap-flavoured ones, is it?"
He grinned. "Nope. Your objections to the Islay malts have bene duly noted. It's West Highland. You'll like it, promise."
She turned back toward him, matching his grin.
Thank God—she seemed to be okay with this….okay that he just showed up and barged in….even though the last time he had seen her he had yelled something awful—"
She tilted her head to the side, "And what would my sister say, if she knew I was now a scotch drinker?"
"She'd say you had good taste?" he smiled. He realized he was beginning to relax more—now that he could tell Lucy really was happy to see him….now that they were able to fall back so easily into their typical conversation patterns.
Lucy was shaking her head at him, as she moved into the kitchen. She threw her next statement back over her shoulder toward him. "Nope, she'd say you are a bad influence on me, Wyatt Logan. Oh, crap."
"What?" he started following her into the kitchen.
"Oh—I don't have any proper glasses….the place only came with some water tumblers….I bought wine glasses about a week ago….so that's our choices, I guess."
She turned toward him then, and he flashed his smuggest grin, holding out two whisky glasses, from behind his back. "Not my first rodeo with government sponsored housing set-ups. You can keep these, you know, just in case you ….?" He shrugged, "Well, you can keep them."
She gave him another soft smile….that seemed just a little too serious….and seemed just a little too dangerous right now.
"I mean," he held up a glass, trying to lighten things again, "You would think proper bar ware should be near the top of the list when stocking military black ops safe houses…"
She giggled. Mission accomplished.
So…., he took the glasses into the living room, motioning Lucy to follow. "So….Amy would say I was a bad influence on you? But before you told me that she'd like me."
"Oh, but she would. She was always saying how much I was in need of a bad influence in my life."
He barked a short laugh, at her unexpected response, and he poured them both healthy glasses. "Well then, as your self-appointed and proclaimed bad influence….cheers."
"Cheers," she responded, and they settled onto her couch, with the bottle between them on the coffee table.
They sat in easy silence for a moment, and then she turned slightly to face him. He responded, turning his own body to face hers.
She took a sip of her drink, "So….how are you doing?
He took a sip of his drink, and sighed. Might as well get right to it. "I'm really sorry—for being such an ass, back at Mason."
She waved him off. "Don't—it's not necessary."
"But…."
"Stop. I told you—not necessary."
He looked at her cautiously. She was smiling at him, and the hard tone to her previous statement had left no trace on her face.
"Besides, you told me on the phone that if we talked about this again….you wouldn't just apologise….you'd tell me what was bothering you.
"I know….and I will. But Luce," He reached across the couch, rubbing his hand on her shoulder, "I really do want to apologise to you….properly….not by text."
"Wyatt…"
"Please let me? And I'll try to explain, too."
He took her silence as agreement. "When I said….what I said, at Mason….in the conference room. That was really horrible of me—I was confused, hurting…..I don't know. But I do know I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I….I didn't mean what I said as being about you….I mean, I think I was feeling guilty….because, with this whole Jessica thing? There are things about this situation….her being alive, us being divorced….well there are things about this situation that work out pretty well for me….and that's what's been bothering me….because it feels….wrong….to think that."
She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't seem inclined to press him further.
But he knew he owed her more than that. "The good things about being divorced from Jess? Well—one big one is being able to work….with you. Being Time Team….it's really important to me. You….and Rufus….really important to me.
She nodded. "Thank you for telling me that. Working with you….with Rufus….that's really important to me too."
He gave her a small smile.
"I know it's maybe hard for you to be objective about things right now….but from where I sit….being glad that you can still be a part of a mission that's important to you….that's nothing you should feel guilty about."
He nodded, slowly. "Yeah….I mean, I can understand that in my head….it's just when my emotions get involved that my thinking goes a little….haywire. So yeah….that morning….I think the idea that there were things about the divorce that worked out for me….it was bouncing around in my head. But, I never meant to say it about...you."
She watched him for a moment, then put her hand on his, clasping it with hers, and moving their hands to rest on the couch cushion between them, entwined.
"I admit….pretty good apology there. But….that's the thing, Wyatt. I think maybe you really did mean it….about me.
He drew back as though stung.
She released his hand, giving a slight shrug. "And that's okay. And, in some ways….maybe it was a little bit true. Or….maybe even more than a little bit. So….that's why I don't think you need to apologise."
He worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment, not sure what to do with that admission. "Well….I sure as hell shouldn't have shouted it across the room….especially not with Jiya, Rufus, and Agent Christopher there."
"Yeah…that wasn't fun."
"Then, do you accept my apology for that?"
She smiled, faintly. "Yeah, I can do that," and she clasped his hand again, bringing it to her mouth, and kissing it lightly.
They sat in silence for a moment. He knew she had been very kind to him—not pushing him for details when he stated there were aspects—plural—of this whole screwed up situation that worked out well for him….and then only told her one. It was kind….or maybe just cautious. But he knew at some level….she was still hurting, because of him. And he also knew that cautious wasn't going to be what would move them forward from this strange place they found themselves in. And he was reckless….and he needed to know. "Luce?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you mean by 'maybe it was a little bit true'?"
"You know what? I asked you how you were doing….and you gave me an apology. An apology is not the correct response to that question."
"And that comment so did not answer my question."
She shrugged at him, and downed her drink in one gulp.
He stared at her.
"Oh, I am aware," she said, "In fact, that was pretty much the point. So….pour me another drink soldier….and tell me about how you're doing."
He shook his head at her in amazement. Then downed his own drink. "Can't let you get ahead of me, can I?" he said, as he reached for the bottle and poured two more glasses.
She took a slow sip this time, and stared at him, unflinching.
He glanced at his feet, then taking a breath, returned her gaze. "How am I doing? It seems….like dream, like it's not really my life….this reality. You know how I had a box of research materials on Jessica's case?"
She nodded slightly.
"Well….I still go looking for that box some nights, when I can't sleep….only to then remember that there is no box….because there no longer is a mystery."
"It's a lot to get used to," she offered.
He nodded. "Jessica isn't dead….she's alive. And I am so happy about that."
"But?" she asked, softly.
He took a small drink. "I know that means I shouldn't feel guilty anymore….but I still do. She's not dead….she didn't have to experience any of that….but I still did. Does that make any sense? It's as if….it's like there's two Jessicas….my Jessica, the one I fought with that night, the one who was…." he trailed off. "And then there's this other Jessica….the one who is alive. But her being alive doesn't make the first Jessica disappear….you know?"
"So, you're saying you still feel responsibility for it all?" She looked at him with—was that concern?
"Yeah—I mean….nothing's changed, not about that night….not for me. And now—I can't even find her justice now….because there's nothing to find justice for….except for what's still in my head."
She shook her head. "Wyatt, you can't do this….you can't keep torturing yourself like this."
He chuckled darkly. "Why not?"
"Because no matter how much you want to fight me on this….I know that you're not responsible for what happened that night. Did you make some mistakes in the way you handled things? Yes. But you didn't kill her—that was some psychopath on the road." She spoke so softly, it was almost a whisper. "And what about when you tried to save her—when you stole the time machine, and went back to 1983?"
"What about it?"
"If it had worked….if you had come back, and Jess was alive….would you still have felt responsible for that night?"
He blew out a breath, sinking back against the couch cushions. "In all honesty….probably. I mean….it wouldn't have changed the fact that I had gone through all that, back in 2012. But it would have been easier….because I would have made up for it….somehow….and Jessica would have been able to live her life."
"But this Jessica is doing just that—living her life," she took another sip.
He sighed, "I know….you're right."
"I am," she said. "So is it just because you don't know what changed? That you didn't purposefully change the timeline to bring her back?"
He scoffed at that. "No….I'm not that big of an ego maniac. I think it's just…." He trailed off, rubbing his hand across his neck. "It's just that….it's like she's a different Jess altogether….and that my Jess is still gone."
Lucy pursed her lips. But if your '83 jump had worked….I don't think you'd feel any differently. I mean, this Jessica….or that Jessica…." She sighed. "Wyatt, you went through this massive life-changing experience in 2012….an experience that an alive Jessica doesn't know anything about….and couldn't possibly understand. Not to mention whatever's gone on between Jessica and Wyatt in this timeline that you have no memory of…."
She was looking at him….and she was right. She always seemed to be right. He sighed, and nodded at her, slowly.
"And," she continued, "I know you say you're not that big of an ego-maniac to care about such things….but maybe this change is some kind of delayed reaction thing—maybe some tiny piece in 1814 changed that resulted in Jess being alive only because you had previously ensured Gilliam didn't exist."
He took another drink, reaching for her hand without looking, and grasping it tightly in his when he found it.
"Thanks," he smiled at her. "Talking it out, it helps….it really does. And sooner or later….I will be better at accepting this whole thing….and I'll be able to sleep again."
"Good," she nodded, squeezing his hand back. "I actually think you're already starting to accept it….you know. And sleep is good—then you won't be such a grumpy bear."
He laughed a little, at that. "You know, it's not like there aren't plenty of other reasons for us to lie awake at night."
"Hmmm?"
"It is so screwed up….being able to remember one life….while the people around you have memories of living a totally different one." He glanced meaningfully at her locket. "But it's easier….knowing that you understand."
She nodded. "I do….and Rufus too." She took a drink. "It is hard….but maybe it's worse for everyone else—everyone who can't rembmer….at least we can." She shifted on the couch, moving much closer to him, and drained the rest of her drink. She put it on the coffee table, and he refilled, without asking.
She smiled in acknowledgement.
He smiled back, but his heart sank as he saw her eyes grow dark, and she gave a long sigh. He hadn't come here tonight to make her feel badly. "Luce, it's okay—"
She cut him off, "So we keep changing things, flipping things around, totally screwing with everyone else's memories. They have no control of any of it. I mean….how scary is that? And we can remember, we can keep track of the changes…but we can't always control it….I don't know."
He sighed, shifting slightly until their knees were touching. "We just….we just do the best we can Luce….that's all we can do. And maybe someday…..someday we'll figure out a way to put it all to right again….or the universe will figure out a way to do that."
"Self-healing Universe Hypothesis."
He quirked an eyebrow at her, "Yeah….something like that."
She picked up the bottle, and started re-filling his glass. "You know, Rufus says that some theories postulate multiple universes, running in parallel, so when we jump back from a change in the past, we're actually just entering another timeline-universe, not irrevocably changing the first. And if that's the case, then I guess we're not really changing people's memories."
He nodded, "The Multiverse Hypothesis."
"Yeah—so, you know about that too?"
He smiled at her lightly, "I've probably googled time travel a couple hundred times since we started this thing."
She laughed. "Yeah, me too." She twisted in her seat, seeming to look out the window, then un-twisted, bring her gaze to his face again….an easy smile on her face, eyes brighter than they had been before. "So….what did you learn?"
"Mostly just that Rufus is some kind of genius."
She giggled then. "You're probably right….and Jiya, too."
He nodded, bumping her knee with his, "Rufus, and Jiya, and you…."
"But, you know," she reached for the bottle, pouring herself a little more, his eyebrows raised at the size of the shot, but he said nothing. "You're a genius too….in your own way."
He barked out a laugh—he hadn't been expecting that. "What, me? Sorry ma'am, think you must be confusing me with someone else. I'm just the grunt in our trio."
"Grunt?"
"Yeah." He threw a smirk in her direction. "Don't worry, there's one in every family."
She shook her head at him, and then ran her hand down his arm. "I don't like it, when you talk about yourself that way. You know you're way more than that."
"I am?" he asked, shifting again, increasing their contact at the knee, and staring at her eyes.
She shrugged, "You are to me."
He shook his head, scratching his cheek, suddenly needing to break eye contact with her. "So," he began, "Multiverse Hypothesis. If that's true….then the me that was here, that was divorced from Jess, that never had….that other experience," he started, unable to put words to it. "Where is he….where am I….now? I mean, now that this version me is here?"
She took another large sip from her drink. "Pretty sure I'm not drunk enough for this conversation."
"Luce," he chuckled, "But don't you ever think about it?"
"The better question is—do I ever stop thinking about it?"
He topped up both their drinks.
She nodded, and sighed, tucking her foot up under her leg. "So, what do you think, about the other….usses?"
He raised an eyebrow at her.
She tried again, "Usseses? Uh….Ussi?"
"The other versions of us?" he offered.
"Thank you," she chuckled, and raised her glass to him.
"Well," he began, "I guess they are in another universe too."
She scrunched her nose at him, "So, you're saying the other you, the other me….they got in their lifeboat and jumped….and then returned to yet another universe?"
Wyatt shrugged. "I guess that's how it works. But," he shifted again, so that their legs were now pressing against each other. "Well….so what about the first universe then?"
"Hm?"
"In the first timeline, our original timeline….Amy's timeline," he said, carefully watching her face. "We climbed in that machine, off to the Hindenburg….and then what? Did some form of us ever return? Or is everyone there still waiting for us to come back? No, I don't think I like the multiple universe theory any better, sorry."
"Yeah, maybe you're right. So, just one linear universe then….one that we keep," she looked down at the glass in her hand, rolling it between her palms, "Fucking with…."
Wyatt's head snapped back—pretty sure that was a new word in her outside-her-head vocabulary, since the time they'd met.
She took another drink, and continued. "People, like Amy, just disappear, are gone, and no one knows they were ever here."
He sighed, taking another drink himself, and pushing his head against the back of the couch cushions, closing his eyes. "But, if this jump has taught us anything, it's that….people can come back."
"But Jessica was never erased, she just…."
Lucy trailed off, but Wyatt had already filled in her statement. "Died. I know. But if something that we still haven't been able to pinpoint changed in 1814 that meant she didn't….then something could just as easily change that would get your mom and your Dad—Henry—back together again, right?" he opened his eyes, and turned himself toward her again.
Lucy played with her glass, seeming to stare at a point somewhere buried in the amber liquid.
"What?" he asked, softly.
"Uh, I don't know. Just thinking about my mother." She began to swirl her drink, still not meeting Wyatt's eye. "Do you think there's a timeline where she's not Rittenhouse?"
He remained silent for a moment, then said, "I guess it's possible, but it's not a timeline I'd want to visit."
"What!?"
He smiled gently, raising his glass in her direction. "'Cause if she wasn't Rittenhouse, she probably wouldn't have got together with Ben Cahill, and then you wouldn't be sitting here right now."
"Oh."
He could tell by the expression on her face that she hadn't considered that possibility.
She was quiet for a moment, taking another sip of her drink, then suddenly peered back at him, quizzically. "So, how do you think that would work? I mean, what if we went back, and somehow changed history so that my mother wasn't….and that she and Ben didn't…. Then what?"
"Seriously, this is what you want to think about?"
"Humour me."
He sighed dramatically, shaking his head at her. "Okay, well, if we were back in time and changed something so that your Mom wasn't Rittenhouse, your parents didn't meet….but you were already there….because you were with Rufus an' me, changing history…."
She looked at him, eyes wide as though hanging on his next word.
"I don't know!"
She laughed lightly. "Well, I guess Marty McFly tells us I would somehow disappear as I stood there, apparently starting with my hands….and I guess you could track it, with a photograph?
He chuckled. "Well….you know I love my Marty McFly….but isn't it more likely that you would not disappear, but come back to 2018 in the Lifeboat—and it would just be that no one would have any idea who you were….except Rufus an' me? He pressed his lips together, thinking more about that. "I guess it's not the worst thing ever…."
"Wait," she asked suddenly, her hand coming down with light force and landing—and staying—on his knee. "Are we talking about multiple universes again, or one linear timeline? Because if we're talking about…."
Wyatt was very aware of the fact that he wasn't listening anymore….he was just staring….staring at the way her eyes widened with an idea, the way her lips moved when forming words…. Crap, she was beautiful, and crap, she was spinning again, caught in a loop in her head….the way she did when she got anxious. And causing that kind of reaction in her really hadn't been his plan in coming over here….not that he even had a plan when he came over….but this definitely wasn't it. She was likely aware by now that he was staring….and he didn't even care. He supposed he could kiss her, to stop her thoughts from spinning. Seriously Logan? He needed to break his own thought spin right now—because none of these thoughts were going to help him in getting his head on straight….and they might make something else straight….and he needed to break out of that specific thought spin right. now!
"Do you want some water, Luce?"
She looked at him in mild surprise….he suspected she had still been talking, and he had just interrupted her….mid-lecture, as it were.
"Um, sure."
"Okay." He got up off the couch, immediately missing the contact of her body against his, and went to the kitchen to get two glasses of water.
"Your whisky glass is empty," he heard her almost sing-song voice float toward him from the living room.
"Better fill it for me, then," he replied, shaking his head with a smile as he brought the two glasses back into the living room and put them on the coffee table. "That's quite the healthy pour," he laughed, noting the generous amount of whisky now in his glass.
She shrugged, "I don't hear you actually complaining about it."
"No."
She patted the cushion beside her. "Come sit with me again."
"Yes, bossy ma'am," he said, plunking himself down beside her, close enough so that they were pressed together. He leaned forward to grab his glass, took a sip, and then leaned back again, wrapping his free arm around her waist. She leaned in closer, her head nearly resting on his shoulder. This was nice….and was that a problem? He shoved that thought aside, having no interest in examining anything like that thought, tonight.
He felt her soft sigh against his neck.
"With all these timelines…."
"Um-hm."
"Well….is there a true timeline….like, the real one, that the universe is supposed to follow?"
He snorted. "I have no idea. But….I guess maybe….maybe our timeline….our first one."
"Why?" she had lifted her head from his shoulder, and was staring at him, intently.
"Why what?" he asked.
"I mean….I agree….but why do we presume that our original timeline is the true one. How do we know that others from the future hadn't already messed with the past? So that maybe our timeline wasn't the true one anymore….even before we'd ever heard of the Lifeboat." She took another small drink, then leaned back against him, without breaking eye contact. How are we supposed to judge what is real….or true? How can we make decisions like that when we're surrounded by chaos?"
"I dunno, Luce," he pulled her tighter against him. "I still say we have to make it up as we go—rely on our instinct….if your inner voice says it is right, it is."
She sniffed, "And you call me the spiritual one."
"Actually, I'm pretty sure you called you the spiritual one."
"So….chaos is everywhere—strive on with diligence?"
"Uh….sure?"
She smiled again, "It's a quote….Buddha."
He smirked. "Like I said….sure."
"I know that Amy is in the true timeline….she has to be. Anyone that once existed has to exist in the true timeline."
He saw some possible flaws in logic in her theory, but chose not to go there, instead saying, "What about Jessica?"
He was surprised when she answered without hesitation. "In the true timeline, she's alive."
Why the hell did he even ask that? "You said that so confidently…."
"Yeah….that's what my gut says."
He nodded, then asked, "Is she married to me?"
She looked at him for a moment, over the rim of her glass, then took a large sip. "I just realized….when we travel in time and change something….we're kind of blowing a couple of the basic assumptions of science out of the water….which would mean that science itself is unreliable….but then how could they have used science to successfully create the time machine in the first place?"
The chuckle started so deep inside him it was almost a rumble, until it was rolling out of him in waves. Aware that she was gaping at him, he forced himself to gain control, and turned his head to meet her eyes again. "I thought you were the historian in our merry band—not the scientist!"
"I once taught a class on the history of science."
He smiled at her fondly, reaching out to smooth one of her unruly curls near her ear, "Of course you did."
She straightened then, breaking contact from his side, but simultaneously running her hand down his arm. "So you were right….this whisky is pretty good. I wouldn't normally have this much….but I like it."
He nodded at her, "Go ahead and have more, if you want….you're not driving anywhere."
She peered at him, "But what about you?"
"Me? I'll call a cab."
"Don't be silly…..then your truck would still be here…. Stay here tonight."
He waggled a finger at her, "Bossy, bossy, bossy…." But smiled then, and moved to pour her another drink. "Drink your water too."
"Okay, now who's being bossy?" but he grinned as she reached to grab the tumbler and took a large drink. He watched as her face changed then, becoming quizzical again.
He raised his eyebrows in question.
"So….here's another one for you. What would happen if, on a time jump, the three of us changed the timeline in such a way that, in the new timeline, one of us couldn't get into that lifeboat?"
"Hmmm?"
"I don't know….let's say….let's say Rufus' timeline changed, and he ended up in prison or something, on the date the three of us first went to the Hindenburg…..then what would happen?"
Wyatt tilted his head at her and threw her a fresh smirk. He adored the way she leaned in, as though in anticipation of what he was about to say. "You know, he actually did end up in prison, the day we went to the Hindenburg, if you'll remember."
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Ohhhh….that tiny glimpse of her pink tongue wasn't helping him focus on this conversation. But he shoved that to the side, and allowed his smirk to slide into a more relaxed smile. "Rufus and I actually talked about something like that, once."
"About him being in prison?"
"No….about changing the timeline so significantly that the three of us couldn't originally go back in time."
"So, you guys talk like this," she motioned between the two of them, "Too?"
He shrugged, "Not often, really….sometimes. But I guess it was similar, if you count this," he raised his whisky to salute her, and gave her a wink. "We were out at this bar, and just got to drinking, and talking…." He shrugged again. "We normally talk about sports….or food….or movies…. And we spend a rather shocking amount of time talking about the women in our lives, the voice in his head said. "But that night….that's what we talked about."
"And?"
"What?"
"And what did you and Rufus come up with?"
"Well, it was Rufus mostly….but it makes some sense to me. He thinks that, no matter what happens to the timeline, the three of us have to get into that machine to chase Flynn to the Hindenburg. So, because of that, he thinks there must be some features of our own personal histories that are….fixed….unchangeable."
"That's interesting. So—like I would have to always be a historian?"
"Probably….although I suppose there could be an alternate timeline where you're the Master Sargent and I'm the historian."
She giggled at that.
"Now, not to argue with Master Genius Rufus….but I'm not one hundred percent sure it actually needs to be the three of us that get in that Lifeboat….I mean, they could have given you and Rufus another soldier, and it still could have gone the same way….right? But still, given it was the three of us that first trip….I kind of see his point."
"I'm getting a headache….and no, it's nothing to do with the whisky."
He chuckled again. "Maybe not yet." He shifted again, looping his arm back around her waist. "But, it seems to me, that, no matter what, this 'necessary constants' theory would be about more than just the three of us. Like, Connor Mason—he would still have to build the time machine, right? And Rufus too. Which, maybe is why his timeline hasn't changed that drastically as ours since this whole thing started….it can't, because, no matter what, he needs to help invent a time machine….and then he needs to pilot it."
She stared into her glass for a moment, seemingly contemplating this new possibility. Then she took a long drink, nearly draining her glass. Wyatt wordlessly poured for her, again, and she nodded her thanks.
"So….if it's essential that the three of us get in that giant ball bearing—" she looked confused, searching for a word, "—Ball... What do you think would be the constants, in your life?" She once again watched her glass, as she swirled the whisky around.
He contemplated for a moment, as he'd done for hours, the night he and Rufus had first had the conversation. "I don't know….I guess going into the military, of course….you know, barring you being a star at West Point."
She smiled; her eyes encouraged him to continue.
"For me to go into the military….I think that would mean that I would always need Grandpa Sherwin to be a major influence in my life. For me to be on the West Coast, at the right time to be assigned this gig? Well….that one's tougher for me. The Syria mission was what caused me to be assigned on the West Coast….I like to think there could be other ways to get me here though…." he trailed off. And then there was that other thing.
Lucy was looking at him, with something between anticipation and trepidation in her eyes.
He took a breath, taking another long drink from his glass. "After 1983 and my time in that black site prison—and until….very recently—I would have said that Jess' death was a constant, too."
Lucy nodded, and quietly said, "I can understand why you might have thought that."
He shrugged, slowly, but obviously….I was wrong about that."
"But you still aren't married….maybe that's the constant?"
"Could be, I guess." he returned his attention to his beverage, suddenly unable to meet Lucy's eyes.
The discomfort grew. He wasn't used to that, between them, and he didn't like it. After a moment, he decided to direct the conversation elsewhere.
"What do you think your constants are, Luce?"
She exhaled a soft breath. "History….I guess. My family, well…."
He was immediately sorry for asking the question, as he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes.
"….Well, I guess we already know my sister and Dad aren't constant. But Carol and Benjamin Cahill are….." she sighed again, then fixed him with a suddenly steely gaze. "But that means Rittenhouse is a constant too, by your logic."
"Hey," he put up a hand, in mock defense, "It's Rufus' logic….not mine."
"No, but….I mean it. If there's no Rittenhouse….you already said there might not be a me."
"I know Luce, but I've babbled a lot of nonsense tonight."
"No, but….think. If there's no Rittenhouse, then Flynn never steals the mothership….and the three of us never chase him to the Hindenburg. Which, by your logic…."
He raised an eyebrow at her again—Rufus' logic—but she plowed through, not seeming to notice.
"….Is impossible. So Rittenhouse has to exist. And they have to kill Flynn's family"….she whispered then…. "He can't change that….maybe no matter what? But that would mean that we can't destroy Rittenhouse by going in the past."
"I think we kind of already figured that out, didn't we Luce? Back in '54?"
"You're probably right."
He smiled at her pulling her closer, softly stroking up and down her arm. "Just thought of another constant. No matter who it is that has to get into that Lifeboat….my constant is that I have to meet you."
"Why is that a constant?"
"Just 'cause I wanna," he smiled at her.
She ducked her head for a moment, then leaned into his side, "Me too."
His smile turned into a lazy smirk, "Have another drink, Luce."
She gazed at him for a beat, then returned a remarkably good impression of his own smirk. "I just think I might."
He laughed and leaned forward to grab the bottle, refilling both their glasses.
"Not a whole lot left in that bottle….is there."
He shook his head, "Nope. Probably just as well."
He leaned back into the couch cushions, pulling her gently backward to reposition them until they were once again fitted against each other. They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks.
Lucy sighed dramatically.
"What?"
She shrugged. "Just thinking."
"'Bout what?"
"Time travel."
"Hmmmm wondering why crossing that closed time-like curve thingy causes so much turbulence it makes you want to toss your cookies?"
"Uh….no."
He shrugged. "Okay, that must have just been me."
Although it barely seemed possible, she snuggled tighter against him. "If you must know—I was thinking about all those theories….multiple universes, single alterable timelines, universal constants, true universes….." she trailed off and went a quiet again—long enough that Wyatt almost wondered if she'd fallen asleep. He shifted slightly so he could see her face, and found her staring up at him.
"How can they not know for sure what happens….how it works? I mean, we can do it now—time travel—so somebody must understand how it works."
He moved his hand to her shoulder, sliding his fingers to absently trace circles on the back of her neck. "I don't know, Luce….just 'cause we can do it….I don't think that means we have to understand it. I mean….I think humanity was tripping and falling on their asses thousands of years before anyone understood how gravity works."
She grinned at him "Who knew you were such a philosopher?" "And, Mr. Philosopher, exactly how does gravity work?"
He grinned, and took another sip of his drink. "Think you may have just proved my point, ma'am."
"Hmmmm." She pulled back from his shoulder, looking at him carefully. Then she took a large sip from her glass, and turned back to him, crinkling her nose.
"No….I don't buy that. I mean….we're smart—we can figure this out."
"Time travel?"
"Yeah! We'll figure it out, then we can tell Rufus and Jiya…."
He barked a short laugh. "No….I really don't think we can." He took another sip of his drink. "Ah, baby-doll…." he trailed off.
"What?"
He smiled. "That's why I love you, Luce, you're eternally optimistic." What did he just say? Crap! Maybe he was more intoxicated than he thought—she didn't catch that, right? Crapity-crap! New plan—play innocent, Logan.
"What?" she asked.
And he didn't like the look of surprise in her eye—apparently she was inebriated enough to think they could solve the mysteries of time travel, but not so inebriated that she had missed what he had said….the word that he had said. "I….I don't know—what did I say?"
She was silent for a moment, and he thought he'd escaped. But then she pulled her head back, looked him right in the eye—and said, "I thought you said 'I love—Lu'"
"I love Lucy?" he asked. "You mean that 50s TV show? Nah, I think I'd have remembered saying that…..I never really understood that show….never found it that funny."
"Gah—I used to hate that."
"Hate what?"
"I Love Lucy….not the show, I mean, I never really watched it….just the title. Amy would say it to me—like all the time when she was a kid, and then would race away laughing. And she'd do it in front of my friends….and other kids who weren't my friends. In fact, by the time I got to high school….pretty much everyone would say it to me. Gosh I hated it, didn't want anybody saying it to me.
"Hm," he said.
"Hm what?"
"Just….not that original, really."
She quirked another eyebrow at him….which somehow seemed more comical than inquisitive, now that she was obviously feeling the effects of the whisky….or was that just because he was feeling the effects of the whisky?
"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" he nodded confidently. "I would have gone with that."
"Huh?"
"If we knew each other in high school….I would have tormented you with that title. You know, 'hey Lucy—why you on the ground?'; 'hey Lucy—where's your diamonds?'….that sort of thing."
"You would have?" a broad smile spread across her face.
"You say that like it's a good thing—I think you might have missed the whole torment part of that."
She shrugged, "Well, it's just nice to think you would have noticed me."
"Luce—how could I ever not notice you?"
Her broad smile turned adorably shy."
"I mean—with you barking orders all over the place constantly."
She rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. And that bony joint to the intercostals made him ridiculously happy. But of course he couldn't let on about that. "Hey! Actually, now that I think about it, you really do have a lot in common with my old drill sergeant from Basic….surprised I never noticed that before."
"Wyatt!"
She moved as though to playfully smack his arm—but he was faster than her. He grabbed her wrist, and moved it back toward the cushion, lightly pinning her hand in place with his. She looked at him—eyes wide and feigning being scandalized—no doubt trying to guess his next move. But she must have failed, because when he suddenly released her hand she wasn't at all prepared to block his plan—as he dove at her with both hands, grabbing at the sides of her torso….and tickled.
She shrieked in surprise, and then laughed uncontrollably, as his fingers raced along her sides and across her stomach, even hitting the tiniest bit of warm, bare skin as her sweater rose up slightly. She twisted and turned, laughing and gasping. "Wy—att!" she whined, somehow still laughing.
He stopped suddenly, moving his hands to his knees, now laughing himself. She was leaned back on the couch cushions now, balancing on her elbows. Her face was flushed, eyes bright, and she was gasping for breaths between fits of laughter. And she was beautiful.
"You are definitely ticklish," he said, leaning forward to grasp her around the shoulders, pulling her upright and bringing her against him again.
"No shit."
He laughed. "Well—these are important things to know, you know." And he wanted to learn everything about her.
"You could have just asked."
"Could have….but this was more fun."
He watched her hands as she slid them over her head, smoothing out her errant curls.
He grinned at her. "So, LSD—"
"What?"
"You know—Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."
"Right."
"So—if you didn't want anyone saying 'I Love Lucy' back in the day…."
She was staring at him now with a curious expression….and he was no longer sure it was wise to finish his question. After all, it was a little bit….reckless. So he hesitated….but she was still staring at him. And when would he ever have the nerve to ask this when he was sober? In the service of learning everything about her….and when she already thought him reckless….why not?
"So….if you didn't want anyone saying 'I Love Lucy' in high school….what did people say instead?
"What did who say instead?"
He chuckled, running his hand across his neck. "I don't know….but you know what I mean."
She shook her head, "I do not."
He tilted his head to the side. "Come on…."
But she just looked at him.
"I mean….boyfriends, I guess."
She worried her lower lip between her teeth, seeming to consider his question. Then she shrugged. "I don't know—in high school none of them ever said that."
He shrugged, "And later?"
She narrowed her eyes at him slightly….still seeming to consider….then said, "It must be hard for Rufus and Jiya—with him always time travelling without her. That must be weird."
He contemplated telling her that what was weird was the whiplash he'd received from that topic shift...but then she threw him a soft smile and pressed closer against his side….and he found himself suddenly willing to talk about anything she wanted to talk about.
"Jiya told me once that we're all a little bit different, each time we return from a jump….to her, we're like different….versions."
She scrunched her nose. "So is Rufus the 'other man' then? Like….all the time….when he's with Jiya?"
"The 'other man' to himself? I guess so."
"That's….disturbing."
The smile slid from his face then, as he became more serious. "You know, I was so scared….when we went back without you….and then they hauled me off to that….place, before we could really talk. I was scared if you would remember all the things about….us….that I remembered. I guess I was probably most scared of what you wouldn't remember."
She looked at him, serious now too, and placed her hand on his knee. "Was there anything….anything that I seemed to remember differently?"
He shook his head, "Not that I've ever noticed."
She nodded. "Well," she smirked, "Guess we dodged that one!"
"Yeah."
"But let's not make a habit of that….of travelling without each other….okay?"
"Deal."
"But seriously….how do Jiya and Rufus deal with that?" she leaned back again, her hand moving from his knee to tuck against him at his elbow.
He smiled. "Guess you'll have to ask Jiya 2.8….or….is that Jiya 2.9 to you? I guess if you count that Texas bounce…."
"What?"
He laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulder. "Never mind."
She patted his arm and leaned forward then, grabbing at the nearly-empty glass on the coffee table….taking three attempts before she actually caught it up in her hand. He laughed….he couldn't help it….it was just so...her.
"Wyatt?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I might be….tipsy."
"You just think you might be?"
She stuck her tongue out at him again. And there was that tongue again….along with all the resulting thoughts that then rushed his brain.
"Actually," he said, grabbing his own glass and taking a gulp. "I'd say you're a little more than tipsy, there.
"Slightly inebriated?" she asked.
He pursed his lips, pretending to consider that, "Nah….more like….sloshed….hammered maybe."
"Really."
He nodded.
"What about you—I suppose you think you're stone sober?"
He chuckled. "No. I'm….agreeably buzzed."
She laughed at him then, a lilting peal of laughter. She pulled away from his side, but then the momentum from the laughter continued to carry her, as she listed sideways, nearly capsizing against the opposite couch cushion—before he caught her.
"I think that's the first time I've ever seen someone fall on to a couch."
His comment caused another rush of giggles before she regained control. He tucked her back against his side.
"I don't get it." She said, sleepily.
"Get what?"
"I've been matching you….drink for drink. And I think I might be…." She looked at him mischievously ….drunk. But you say you're not drunk….and you're right….you don't seem like….super drunk….why aren't you?"
"Luce, darling," he drawled with a wink, "Pretty sure that, any day of the week, I can drink you under the table….around the table, beside the table, on top of the table…. And then thoughts of other things the two of them could do in those positions relative to said table began invading his mind. Crap, Logan—think about something else, right now!
"And two times on Sundays," she slurred.
He knew they were having two different conversations—or rather, that his traitorous mind had co-opted the original conversation—but damn if his body didn't feel her twice on Sundays comment, as it caused even more new and interesting pictures to cartwheel through his mind….and hell did he need to change the topic right now. And shift his lower body away from her—and hope that Lucy didn't notice his current state.
And out of nowhere, she asked: "Do you like the painting?" as she motioned to the one hanging over the couch, behind them.
He twisted to look at it. "Uh….sure? It's new, right? I mean, since the previous timeline?"
She sighed. "Yeah—couldn't stand the one the place came with. You should change the one over your couch to something you like too, you know. I mean, the one that's there….there's no way that's yours, right?"
He shook his head in wonder at her. "No—all Uncle Sam's….but what made you so sure that it couldn't be mine? It's just a stupid painting."
She shrugged. "I don't know, I guess it just doesn't say you, you know?"
"Nope," he laughed, "I really have no clue what you're talking about."
"Well, you would, if it were really your picture…."
"So you're saying that you know me well enough to identify my chosen art work by sight?"
"Of course."
"Don't tempt me Preston….or I'll create a new drinking game, next time we're at my place—'guess the art-owner'."
"Wouldn't be any fun at all….I wouldn't ever have to drink."
"You're right," he pushed another renegade curl off her cheek—reveling in the way her face shone, the way her walls had seemed to come down. "No fun in that at all."
"I was always really terrible in art at school, you know."
He shook his head, chuckles spilling out from somewhere deep inside. He was definitely enjoying the drunken Lucy 'stream of consciousness' vibe she had going—"
Then she turned suddenly to look at him—nose less than an inch from his chin….eyes seeking his. "Are you going to try and get back together with Jessica?"
—or maybe not. "Jeez Luce, non-sequitur much?"
Well, that had solved his below-the-equator dilemma in a hurry.
He waited for her response, or for her to press him with the question again….but there was nothing. He twisted sideways, looking for her face, which was now snuggled into his neck. He couldn't see her eyes….but then a soft snore drifted toward his ear. She was asleep.
She shifted then suddenly, slinging an arm across his chest, and sending a long leg swinging up and over his lap, so that she was half-straddling him.
Oh….this wasn't good.
He took her by the shoulders gently. "Lucy?"
Nothing.
"Luce?" he tried again.
"Hmmmm?" she replied….and then there were soft snores again.
He tipped her slowly to the side—trying to extricate himself from under her—guiding her backward and sideways until she was lying across the couch. But now he was parallel to her, practically on top of her….and this sure wasn't any better.
He pressed his hands down on the couch, sitting up. Time for a new plan. Leaning over her, he stroked his finger across her cheek. "Lucy? We should call it a night."
She stirred slightly. "Mmmmmm. Not tired."
He smiled. "Come on baby-doll, time for bed."
She surprised him when she responded softly, "I know I should hate that name….but I don't….when you say it."
He gave her a lop-sided grin, even though he knew she couldn't see it, since her eyes had closed again. "I know."
He stood. "Come on, all you're going to do here is throw your back out….it's a lumpy government couch." He leaned over her, scooting his arm under her knees, bringing his other arm around her shoulders, and hefting her up and against his chest. He gently held the back of her head in his hand, then walked toward the bedroom.
He carefully placed her on the bed. He surveyed her clothing—loose sweater and yoga pants—hopefully they were comfortable enough for sleeping. He doubted the bra was comfortable—but there was no way he was dealing with that tonight. He pulled the sheet up over her tiny form. Well, if he needed any more clarity on his own thoughts….tonight probably had done it. Though, in the light of day….when the alcohol effects had faded….a tiny voice in his brain still whispered that this visit had only made things worse.
He pulled his eyes—and his thoughts—back to her face, running his finger gently across her cheek. There'd no doubt be time for more thinking later….but he would sleep well tonight...even on that lumpy government couch. He straightened and turned, about to leave the room, when on impulse he turned back to her—taking another look at her peaceful, sleeping face. Without another thought he bent down and kissed the spot that his finger had just traced on her cheek. Straightening again, he moved back toward the door.
"'Night Luce," he whispered, stepping into the hallway, and closing the door behind him.
A/N: Okay, I feel like this chapter needs a public service announcement attached to it, or something. In RL I would not condone drinking to excess as a way of processing thoughts and feelings….but in fan fic, it can make for some really interesting conversations. As I wrote, the more they drank, the better the conversation got—and, before I knew it, I became an author-as-enabler, and began having them pour doubles when a single would have sufficed. *shrug* Oh well! Hope you enjoyed! *Please* use the box, and let me know what you thought!