Lucy's head hit the ground with a thud of finality. Her spirit had given up. Her body would soon follow, beaten and choked and dying, everything crying out in pain. Her head screamed at every place a fist had met it, skin burned with the vanished fingers of her attacker. All to do now was lie in defeat, staring emptily into the void, Emma's footsteps trailing in the distant.

She lost.

She pulled the trigger and she still lost.

She lost her sister, her mother, Rufus, even Wyatt in a way. Everyone was gone and there was nothing left for her to do. She kept trying to save the world's history and lost her own in it. So, she lay there, waiting submissively for whatever her world could possibly hail at her next, for her fighting spirit was gone.

Silence.

Emptiness.

Surrender.

Then, warmth.

A large hand laced behind her neck and pulled her closer to himself.

She recognized him. Her enemy, her team member, her confidant, the one she trusted most now.

Flynn.

He groaned at the pain searing through his wound when he took on Lucy's weight. He picked her up the best he could, moving a body that did not want to be moved, for she didn't. She didn't want anything but to be still in the agony of giving up.

Flynn refused. He would not let this be the end of this journey for her. She could not give up on herself. So, he wrapped an arm around her torso and pulled her toward himself once more. With his other hand, he gently cupped her face and with the sternness she needed at the moment, he whispered, "She's gone. She's gone."

Lucy's head had dropped away from him, eyes clenched in the reality that washed over her in his statement. He stared down at her, willing her to just look back at him, look to him for reassurance, for hope, for anything he could desperately do. An instinct fresh and renewed in him in recent weeks because of Lucy washed over him: comfort. He wished to do anything to provide that to her right now. Slowly and only for a moment, Flynn let himself bend toward her face.

But at the same instance, a desperate sob was released from Lucy as she turned to him. In the cracked and gut wrenching sound, Flynn's name was uttered, and then he recognized it in the unique way she said it.

He looked down upon her. Tears streamed down her dirty face as it crinked up in a new wave of pain, blood dripping from brow.

Damn he loved her.

And he wished anything to be able to help her.

Lucy dropped her head back to the side in his hands, hopelessly muttering between cries, "I can't. I can't"

He felt her give up.

Flynn looked up. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help her. All he could do was offer comfort.

So, he bowed his head toward her cradled one and pressed their foreheads together, rocking back and forth. He could feel her breath against his cheek and hot tears spilling onto his hands, holding her, praying the pain would be over.

He was the first to break their embrace. As much as he never wanted Lucy to leave his arms, reality's pull was too strong on them. They had to get out of this time.

Flynn helped Lucy to her feet, brushing his thumb close to her temple where the dried blood of her injury had settled. Lucy winced but didn't shy away from his touch. She looked up into his concerned eyes, but her attention shifted when she saw the blood stained jacket sticking to his shoulder. He followed the eyes of her knitted brow to his injured arm.

"I'm okay," he whispered over her head as he shrugged the jacket off, loosened his tie, and rolled up the sleeves on his dingy shirt. But Lucy was already at work tearing the hem of one of her skirts and wrapping it over his shoulder to form a sling.

She was still working on the knot when her nimble fingers suddenly stopped. Lucy stared straight ahead as her eyes focused in and out and the room began to spin, blood sinking from her head. Flynn noticed her pause, but she was already back to tying and straightening. A thin lipped smile was the only reassurance she offered.

Their haggard and grief torn team trekked through the dry, windy fields on the outskirts of San Francisco toward the lifeboat. No one spoke, for no one knew what to say. Now was a matter of going through the motions: get themselves back to the lifeboat, to the present, debrief, wait for the next jump.

But how were they even supposed to debrief what just happened.

How were they supposed to keep doing this?

No one knew.

No one even came close.

So they marched on, heads low, mouths closed, thoughts swimming.

Jiya sniffled every few steps as Wyatt stumbled behind. All of them wanted to leave this terrible place, but also stay, knowing this may be the last possible place they will have Rufus with them.

Lucy walked alongside Flynn as they topped the grassy hill the lifeboat was hidden behind. As they began to walk down, the breeze swept her gunfight blown hair across her face and she realized how clammy she was, bringing a hand to her forehead to wipe the beads of sweat. Suddenly, the dizzy feeling was back and blurred vision made her stop in her tracks, grabbing Flynn's good arm to steady herself. Her vision swam and she got lost in it, not even realizing she was crumpling to the ground. Somewhere far away, she heard Flynn's voice cry out to her, shaking her up and out of a reverie her body wanted to fall into.

"Lucy," his concerned call came more clearly this time. She found herself in a heap on the grass, his hand cradling her head. He leaned over and cut the sling with his teeth to hold her closer.

"Flynn," she mumbled, "I'm not feeling…" was all she could get out before a wave of dizziness hit her again. He hoisted her to his chest as he stood up, being careful in cradling her body.

"Lucy's in trouble. We have to go," he almost barked to Jiya and Wyatt.

They all ran to the lifeboat, Wyatt asking a million questions that Flynn did not have time for. He pushed past him to board the lifeboat and gently placed Lucy in her seat, being careful to buckle her in.

It was only then that he noticed the blood.

A small amount had trickled out and stained the side of her dress right below her ribs. Flynn pulled away slightly to see some dripping down his hand.

"She's bleeding, Jiya, can you please hurry," he said trying not to clench his teeth in anger. He leaned back over to Lucy as Jiya started up the machine, squeezing her hand to make sure she was still conscious. Lucy groaned in reply but did not open her eyes.

A flash, a bang, a nauseating feeling, and they were back.

The lifeboat's lock rolled open to an expectant Denise and Connor, happily exclaiming welcomes to Jiya who was the first to emerge. When they were met with silence as Wyatt climbed down, Connor joked, "Well you guys look like hell."

"Rufus is dead," Jiya said loudly, lifelessly, eyes emptily staring into a void.

"And Lucy is dying," Flynn said emerging from the lifeboat carrying Lucy.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Denise cried out to both of their statements. Jiya remained quiet, not feeling like rehashing the ordeal. She would be angry at them later.

"Not sure, but she is bleeding and slipping in and out of consciousness. She needs a hospital," Flynn replied as he made his way down the stairs. He placed her on the nearest cot and gently pleaded her name to coax her back awake.

"Woah, woah I don't think we can take her to a hospital." Flynn tensed up at her refusal. "Your identity could be compromised out there. Emma could easily come after you. And you have no plausible story to explain her injury," Agent Christopher cautioned.

"Denise, she's hurt," Flynn pleaded.

"Let's assess her injury and see what we can do here first before we go escaping into a dangerous situation."

"Fine… but I need your help."

By now everyone had gone off to their separate corners to weep or grieve or fume in anger. Denise fetched the first aid kit and scissors to cut open Lucy's dress. Flynn touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

"She's burning up," he sighed as Denise sat down behind Lucy.

"Maybe you should step out for a minute," she said in an effort to conserve Lucy's modesty.

"I will, once you are through most of it. But for now, you need my help holding her up and bandaging," he replied firmly. "Now Lucy," he whispered to her unmoving, lucid form, "I need you to lean your head on my shoulder so we can cut your dress." She moaned in reply and slowly let her head drop to lean on him. Flynn nodded an affirmative go ahead to Denise and she began unlacing and cutting away at the material, stiff from sweat and blood. He cupped his free hand around her neck and ran soothing circles over her pale skin, whispering encouragements in her ear.

Once the necessary fabric was removed down to the skin of the injury, Denise leaned forward to examine.

"It's a stab wound," she confirmed. "The dress must have bound her together so tight that she didn't notice it."

"We should take her to help then," he said as he made a motion to move.

"Hold on. I want to help her as much as you, but there are still risks. Let's give it a little time.I'll call to get a doctor down here."

"Look we don't have time. We have no idea how bad it is. This…," he was broken off by Lucy's moan.

"Flynn," she raised her head up slightly, still in a haze of pain. "It hurts," she whimpered quietly.

"That's it," Flynn explained as he got up. "I'm taking her to the hospital. Can you get her dressed?" He left with a huff to rid himself of his nineteenth century stale clothing.

Lucy was his only priority in life right now and he meant he was going to take care of her no matter the risk.