Wyatt's POV:

This was never supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a simple mission, in and out. Head to 1888, hope to survive Jack the Ripper, and stop Emma from destroying London. But of course, there's always a hitch. That hitch is what landed me in Rittenhouse captivity.

They came for Lucy. Emma, Carol, and Nicholas. But there was no way that was happening. I would die before I let that happen. So I did what I did best. I made it up as I went, buying Lucy and Rufus the time to get to the Lifeboat, holding off the Rittenhouse agents as they fired bullet after bullet at us.

When I knew they were safe at the Lifeboat, I laid down my weapon. I surrendered. By the time I heard Lucy yelling my name we had already reached the Mothership.

They had handcuffed my hands tightly behind my back and led me there. It was maybe half a mile away from the Lifeboat, hidden in the trees.

Then we were gone, and I hoped they had gotten away. They had. My first interrogator was not too happy about that. That was what seemed like forever ago.

About a week ago, someone told me it had been 6 months. I didn't know if that was true, because, of course, the second we got here, they had stripped me to my boxers, chained my feet and my hands behind my back with literal shackles, which connected to a chain around my neck, preventing too much movement, blindfolded me, and wrapped duct tape all around my head as a gag. It wasn't exactly ideal. But hey, I'll gladly spend some time here if it saves my team.

I've been tortured almost nonstop. They give me small breaks. Sometimes a couple hours, sometimes a couple days. It feels like a cycle. Stale bread and water once a week, the freezing atmosphere constantly chilling me to the bone, leaving me shivering 24/7. And of course, you know, the torture. They've done everything.

Electrocution, waterboarding, suffocation, drowning. They've stabbed me, twisting and turning the knife, and, only receiving small grunts in return, thanks to my army training, left them frustrated. Which led them to shoot me. Several times. Not at once, obviously, but they would patch me up, sort of. No stitches, just whiskey and gauze. So I wouldn't die of sepsis. I think. Makes the most sense.

They're running out of skin space, though. They've gotten me in the left shoulder, just above the heart, my right thigh, probably narrowly missing my femoral artery. My left abdomen, my left ankle. That one hurt like a bitch. Went right through the bone. But I still didn't say anything. So they brought out the long guns, so to say.

First was the blowtorch. They burned part of my lower back, wrapping around to my torso, leaving behind a nasty burn scar that still hadn't healed properly.

Then, they brought out the wooden stick. Yep, a wooden stick. Bastinado was one of the worst forms of torture in the Middle Ages. They'd whip the bottom of a person's feet hundreds of times, leaving them in immense pain, and of course, unable to walk. Which is why I'm stuck laying on the cold ground. Like hell if I'm crawling anywhere.

Next was a metal pipe. They hung me from hooks on the ceiling and swung at me, my chest, abdomen, legs, arms, even the face a couple times. That left me with a black eye, broken jaw, broken nose, and a broken left eye socket.

I guess they got bored. Cause the metal pipe was the last time they came in here. Which felt like forever ago, but considering I was passed out for who knows how long, it could have been much longer.

Then they walked back in. I let out a defeated sigh. I could barely move. And the damn blindfold was still on me. Had been since the beginning. I was starting to think that if I ever got out of here, I might not be able to see.

They grabbed my arms and hooked them onto some sort of machine. It held me up, and slowly hung my arms above my head, backwards. Shit. Reverse hanging. I started to panic, jerking in my chains.

Some psycho in Syria had tortured an old friend this way in front of me. His screams still haunt me. Jessica got me through it that time. Now I had no one.

I felt the muscles begin to tear. I held back a groan, just barely. Tears were already leaking from my eyes. Then it was too much. I couldn't hear anything else as my screams filled the room. All the muscles in my shoulders tore and then they dislocated as my arms finally were above my head.

They slowly lowered me to the ground, and as I tried to move my arms, I let out a small scream as the bone in my shoulder grinded against my collarbone. And along with that, I was disappointed to find they were still chained behind my back. I heard a small laugh from one of the Rittenhouse agents.

They laid me down on my filthy cot and left me. My hot tears stained the blindfold and stained my cheeks for hours afterwards as the burn in my shoulders continued to leave me writhing and whimpering on my cot. The sound of my sobs echoing in my prison.

Lucy's POV:

It's been 10 months. 10 months since we went on that fateful trip back to 1888. It was all a trap. They came for me. They took Wyatt instead. No, he sacrificed himself to save us. To save me.

I've gone over that day a million times in my head. Trying to figure out the exact moment it all went wrong. Then it just leads me to think about Wyatt. If he's okay, or even alive. What they're doing to him.

We stayed in London for about a week trying to see if they'd come back. Bring him back. But we found nothing. So we came back to the present. I don't talk much anymore. I stay in my room all day. I gave up on the whole traveling through time thing about 6 months ago. Flynn took lead, filling in for Wyatt and Jiya filled in for me.

Flynn has tried talking to me. Getting me to open up. But the only thing I can think about is getting Wyatt back. He's all I think about anymore.

Rufus told me to move on. He finally snapped and yelled at me that Wyatt was dead and I was just throwing my life away. Jiya pulled me away and held me as I finally let my emotions get the better of me, let me sob onto her shoulder for hours. Then I pulled away and offered her a small smile before retreating into bed and laying there, reliving me and Wyatt's best moments.

His smile, his laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed. His eyes. How blue and deep they were. How I always got lost in them, from the first time I met him.

I never realized how much I really cared about him until I lost him. Until he was ripped out of my life. And the realization hit me. I fell in love with Wyatt Logan. Maybe it was slow, and unplanned. Maybe it snuck up on me. But I loved him. And now I felt more alone than I ever had. I'm in love with Wyatt Logan and the person holding him captive was the woman who raised me. I thought I knew her. But now I was going to go to the ends of the Earth to make sure that she paid. Her and all of Rittenhouse.

Until Wyatt is back, and safe, in my arms, I will not stop until I've burned their entire organization to the ground./span/p