Let me first apologize for the long delay in updating this...and on a cliffhanger too. It has been insanely busy at our house and I have only been able to eke out a few moments here and there to type...but I have been working on this NEARLY every day. I feel REALLY awful about leaving you all hanging for so long. It's not something I meant to do, everything just sort of happened all at once.
Now for the fic itself - there's a lot of French in this chapter - so be warned. (that's another reason it took so long to write this...I was out of town in the BOONDOCKS of CT and had very little internet capability) so for you non-French speakers, be prepared to google translate some of this.
I can't give much else away, but there are some sensitive topics that are brought up...and will be brought up in future chapters but that is why I changed the rating to an M.
I hope you enjoy this installment. I was going to end it at a certain spot (you'll probably recognize it in the chapter...it's fairly obvious) and start the following chapter after that, but since I left you for so long with that big cliffhanger, I didn't want to do that to you twice, so I included it here to leave you on a more optimistic and hopeful note.
Happy Reading!
Silent tears streamed down Lucy's face as she limped next to Rufus, both of them bound and being led by musket point through the darkened and eerily silent forest. She had no idea where they were going or what would happen to them when they got there…but she really didn't care…because, really - what difference did it make?
Wyatt was dead .
It wasn't enough that they were stranded here with little to no hope of ever getting back to the present again, but she had taken solace in the fact that no matter what this century threw at them, she, Wyatt and Rufus would face it together. Yes, she knew that certain death – given the century and the political climate of the time - was always possible, even expected…but she had never once believed that out of the three of them, Wyatt who be the one to fall victim to the inevitable first.
"What are we going to do, Rufus?" Lucy's small, quavering voice whispered beside him. "Without Wyatt…"
"Hey," he tried to console her, "we've still got each other, right?" But even as he spoke those words, he felt the emptiness behind them. Without Wyatt, they weren't complete. Without Wyatt, they had no protection. He may have had some delusions of grandeur in regards to his own abilities after his successful raid of the fort earlier that night, but Rufus was all too aware that he was not even half the soldier Wyatt was…hell, he wasn't even a soldier. He was just an engineer; a techno nerd who had spent years hiding behind his computer because he was too damn scared to talk to his own desk mate…and now what he wouldn't give for a chance to tell her how he felt about her.
Who was he kidding? She was right…without Wyatt, they were screwed.
He glanced over at Lucy, her tear-stained face wrenched in absolute agony. "Are you okay? I mean," he amended as he lifted his bound hands and pointed to her face, "you aren't…ya know…in a lot of pain or anything, are you?"
Lucy shook her head despondently as she quickly wiped away a few stray tears. A large bruise was forming just under her left cheekbone compliments of the French soldier who had ruthlessly killed Wyatt.
She had never considered herself a violent person. Until recently she had fainted at the sight of blood. But when that soldier fired that pistol and Wyatt hit the ground, a rage like she had never known exploded within her. She wanted to inflict as much damage on the shooter as she possibly could, to make him feel a fraction of the pain she was feeling, and so, when it was clear Wyatt wasn't getting back up, Lucy wrenched herself out of the arms of her captor and flung herself at the soldier, screaming and clawing at him in anger until he landed a vicious blow to her face. That action, however, earned him a stiff reprimand from his commanding officer who not only helped Lucy to her feet, but also took off his own military coat and offered it to her as a means to cover herself.
Lucy had begrudgingly taken it from him, feeling that to take a kindness from any of these men would be an insult to Wyatt and his memory. Still, she knew that she was even more vulnerable now without Wyatt…and without proper clothes…and as this particular French soldier seemed to sympathize with her plight, she felt that it would only hurt her more to refuse his assistance.
As she slipped the jacket on, she felt empty. There was no warmth, no comfort that she took from it. With Wyatt lying several yards away, dead, it was all she could do to stay where she was, next to Rufus, as their wrists were bound with coarse rope. There was no use to resist. They were surrounded, had nowhere to go, and the one person they depended on the most for the survival had been killed. To fight back would only mean more pain…for both of them…and while Lucy didn't give a damn about herself, she cared too much about Rufus to push her luck any further. Therefore, she obediently complied to every request and didn't even flinch when the shooter made sure to yank the cords extra tight for good measure…which, she felt was probably in retaliation for large scratch she had given him all the way down the side of his face.
"You sure you're okay?" Rufus whispered to Lucy again as they slowly trudged through the forest.
"No." she answered, her lip trembling with emotion. "I'm not okay. How can I be? Wyatt is dead, Rufus. He's dead."
Rufus swallowed hard, "Maybe…maybe he's just…"
"Don't…don't do that." Lucy breathed out through her tears. "Please."
Rufus couldn't help it. He wanted to believe that Wyatt was alright…that he was just faking, laying low until he could sneak up on the French and take them by surprise…but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that there was no way in hell he would have stood by and let Lucy get a blow to her face like that. No. Wyatt would have beaten the shit out of the guy no matter how badly he was hurting. There was no doubt in Rufus' mind about that. Hell, this was the guy who, in 1865, got shot, had the crappiest surgery (and surgeon) known to man, and still went out and saved the day. If there was one thing they could count on Wyatt for, it was his almost super human resilience. Nothing seemed to be able to stop him.
Not until tonight anyway.
"I'm sorry, Lucy." Rufus muttered, his own voice cracking with emotion, "I just…I don't want to believe he's gone…you know?"
"I know." Lucy gasped out, clenching her eyes closed as more tears spilled onto her cheeks.
She was completely devastated. Her fall had obviously drawn the French soldiers' attention to their camp…why else would they have come back? In the middle of the night, no less? They must have beenwaiting to catch them off guard. Wyatt had told her not to get off that machine without his help…why didn't she listen? Why did she stupidly believe that he would have asked her to clamber down that thing on her own after he had spent the entire day hovering over her, worried that she would fall and hurt herself? Why hadn't she just changed earlier that day? Why didn't she just tell Wyatt what was bothering her?
Maybe if she had, this wouldn't have happened.
Hadn't Wyatt asked her to be honest with him? Hadn't he practically demanded they stop keeping secrets from him? And what had she done? Kept her discomfort to herself…and it had probably cost him his life.
More tears spilled onto her cheeks as she began thinking over everything she could have done differently. If she had been open with him about her corset, maybe she would have been able to change earlier, instead of sneaking off in the middle of the night. Maybe if she had been wearing pants, she wouldn't have fallen off the Lifeboat like she had. If she hadn't fallen, maybe the French would never have heard them and suspected they were in that part of the forest. If she had just let Wyatt or Rufus in on her problem, they could have helped her change without causing so much of a fuss. No doubt all that arguing gave them away too…with as much noise as they were making was it any wonder the French came looking for them?
Then there was what had happened after all of that.
Wyatt had just asked her to let him take care of her and as much as she had warned herself against getting too carried away by his attention and concern, she couldn't refuse. He had been so kind and understanding about the corset and she had felt so unbelievably stupid and ridiculous about the whole thing…what was the point of fighting it anymore? He knew she had been lying about how much pain she was in, he knew her ankle was sore…refusing to allow him to help her just because of her own school-girl feelings seemed pointless and downright silly. Despite her admonitions, she was almost giddy at the thought of Wyatt wanting to take care of her…so much so that she was completely oblivious to anything and everything going on around her as she stepped behind the tree to change.
How long had the French been standing there? How long had they been closing in on them, watching them? She had just picked up the shirt and turned when a movement caught her eye…but did she raise the alarm? No. She foolishly went to investigate…on her own. Before she knew it, a hand was clapped over her mouth and she was being half dragged, half carried towards the sound of Rufus and Wyatt's voices. Upon seeing Lucy, Rufus' eyes widened in fear and he did what Lucy had failed to do…he called out to Wyatt; but it was too late. Wyatt, his attention focused on the medicine kit, was caught completely by surprise…and it cost him his life.
She had cost him his life.
Maybe if he hadn't been so focused and concerned about her, he would have been more aware of the fact that they were being surrounded. Wyatt normally had a sense about those things, after all…he had never ceased to amaze her with his uncanny ability to detect danger on their missions. But tonight…tonight he was unprepared, blindsided…all because he was looking for a stupid bandage to wrap her ankle.
The guilt she was feeling weighed down on her like a millstone.
"Where do you think they're going to take us?" Rufus asked Lucy quietly. "I'm no expert at navigation, but this doesn't look like the way to the fort."
"No." Lucy said despondently, "It's not." She sighed shakily, "Maybe they're taking us to their camp for the night."
"Or they're taking us somewhere to kill us." Rufus breathed out anxiously.
As much as those words should have sent an arrow of icy dread into her heart, Lucy found that she could hardly bring herself to care. With Wyatt gone, what were their chances of surviving without him? Their survival was already a long shot as it was, but without him? Nearly impossible. Even if they did manage to somehow escape and make their way back to the present, how could she continue on with these missions without Wyatt? How could she sit across from anyone else in the Lifeboat without thinking of him?
She had cared about him…more than she ever wanted to admit. He was the reckless hot head who broke the rules, took risks and had the uncanny knack to make her so angry she could scream at times…but he was also the man who had trusted her, who respected her judgement, who was the sure and solid presence she had come to rely on and trust above anyone else.
How could she go on without him?
"Yup…they're going to kill us." Rufus repeated as a French soldier poked him in the back with a bayonet point, "We're marching to our death right now, aren't we?"
Lucy turned to face Rufus, his face lined with worry and she offered him what she hoped would be a small smile of encouragement, though she felt nothing but emptiness inside. "I doubt it." she answered flatly. "Why bother taking us prisoner? Why waste their time tying us up when they could have just shot us all back there?"
"Plus besoin de parler" barked the French soldier as he roughly shoved them forward. Lucy offered Rufus an apologetic shrug and quickly turned her head away, not wanting to give the French soldiers any excuse to hurt him – especially not now -when they only had one another.
They marched silently onward, therefore, casting resentful glares towards the soldiers as they urged them forth. The combination of darkness, a sore ankle, and thick underbrush, however, had Lucy stumbling along the path more frequently than usual until finally she stepped wrong and tumbled hard to the ground. Wyatt's killer sneered at her and attempted to roughly drag her to her feet, but once again, he was rebuked by the French soldier who had offered Lucy his jacket. Offering her a hand up, he asked, "Tu vas bien, mademoiselle?"
Lucy huffed out an indignant breath as she got to her feet, nodding curtly to the kind soldier before wrenching her arm out of the grasp of the callous man who still had a hard grip on her elbow. "Do you mind?" she gritted out angrily.
''Vous devriez apprendre un peu de respect'' he growled out roughly as he lifted his hand to her again.
Lucy, however, far from flinching away in fear, stared back at him defiantly; practically daring him to strike her again, but once more, the kind officer intervened. "Vous devriez apprendre la façon de traiter une dame" he barked, staring the man down until he loosened his grip on Lucy's arm and stepped away with a sneer. "Mes excuses, mademoiselle.'' the officer, said with a slight bow, ''Mes hommes agissent comme des animaux ce soir.''
One part of her wanted to thank him for his comparable benevolence, but the other part of her wanted each and every single one of them to pay for what they had done. It didn't matter that he wasn't the one who had killed Wyatt, it didn't matter that he was at least treating both herself and Rufus with some semblance of respect…he was still one of them and that was enough.
Lucy nodded her head in acknowledgement again, waiting until he stepped away before moving closer to Rufus who whispered, "At least one of them is nice, right?"
She cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder to find that several of the soldiers were staring daggers at her, clearly resenting the rebuke of their commanding officer. "I'm not sure if that is such a very good thing." she murmured back quietly.
They hadn't walked much further, when they came upon the French camp, the one Lucy remembered with a pang, that Wyatt had staked out earlier that evening. The sentries called out to them as they approached, clearly on edge…which, Lucy imagined, spoke to the fact that these men were not comfortable being away from the fort and the protection it offered, overnight.
Not that she could blame them.
While most tribes were supportive of the French and their efforts to oust the British, there were many who were not. The earlier bloodshed near what would soon become Fort Machault was more than enough of evidence of that fact. Given that there were tribes loyal to the British and Indian agents for the British crown regularly passing through this area in an attempt at diplomatic solutions to the mounting crisis, there was already cause enough to be concerned about enemy forces ambushing them in the middle of the forest…and well, Jumonville Glen was still a very recent memory for them. It didn't help matters that Louis Coulon's own brother had been the doomed leader of that French force and therefore, only added to the paranoia and resentment.
The grisly scene they had inadvertently witnessed at Fort Machault had probably worked against them as well, now that Lucy thought about it. Those Native Americans were obviously not allied with the French and she, Rufus and Wyatt had been seen fleeing the scene only to be found later, with stolen items from the French encampment. Of course Louis Coulon would suspect them as being spies…why wouldn't he? As far as he knew, they had worked in concert with the Indians to create a distraction that allowed Wyatt to sneak into their makeshift fortress. As witnesses to the French barbarism in that particular skirmish, Louis Coulon was most likely fearful that the three of them would report back to the British Governor Dinwiddie in Williamsburg, prompting a full-scale attack on the French position at Fort Duquesne.
Of course, little did Louis Coulon know that plans were already being made in Williamsburg for such an invasion. It would end in disaster, Lucy knew, with the death of British Commanding General Edward Braddock, but Lucy couldn't help but hope that when the British Army did come, she and Rufus would still be alive to see some of these men pay…one man in particular, she thought with a huff as he roughly yanked her down to the ground as Louis Coulon, himself, emerged from his tent.
Peering through the darkness at the seated figures of Lucy and Rufus, he narrowed his eyes, ''Et le troisième?'' he asked.
"Il est mort." the shooter proudly proclaimed, "Je l'ai tué moi-même.''
Lucy flinched at the cold manner in which Wyatt's death was announced; the soldier practically boasting of his "triumph" …when really, he was nothing more than a murderer. If Wyatt had been ready…if he had been prepared…he would have never allowed that man to lay so much as a finger on her.
No. He would have been the one laying dead in the middle of the forest. Not Wyatt.
Lucy's eyes welled up with tears once more and Louis Coulon, seeing this, took that as all the verification he needed. Nodding to his men, he announced, "Très bien. Dormez un peu. Demain, nous retournerons à Fort Duquesne." He was about to retreat into his tent when he turned once more with a nod towards Lucy and Rufus and ordered, "Attachez-les. Gardes... voir qu'ils ne s'échappent pas."
Sneering at them, the shooter returned, bearing a length of rope which he used to roughly bind Lucy and Rufus's feet. Once satisfied with his handiwork, he stood up and growled, "Rêves agréables" before stalking away to a tent of his own.
"Pleasant dreams" Lucy scoffed, "like we can even sleep after everything that has happened tonight."
Rufus inched his way backwards to the large tree situated behind them and motioned for Lucy to join him. He couldn't do much to comfort her, given that they were both bound, but he nudged her and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder, "I'm sorry, Lucy." he whispered quietly "I shouldn't have froze like I did…when I saw that they had you…I should have yelled out something sooner. Maybe then…"
"It's not your fault." Lucy muttered despondently, "It's mine." Using her bound hands, she wiped the tears away from her face as she sobbed, "I just hate the idea of him laying out there…all alone. It's not right."
"I know." Rufus acknowledged with a solemn nod of his head, "But there's no way in hell these guys are gonna let us…I mean, we didn't exactly give those French soldiers a proper burial, did we?"
"I guess it won't matter much anyway," Lucy said with a sigh, "without Wyatt…" she trailed off, her voice lost somewhere within the confines of her throat, but Rufus understood. Without Wyatt they were toast. Even if the French didn't execute them for being British spies the moment they made it back to the fort, they were still trapped in the 18th century…and as prisoners, Rufus was pretty damn sure the French wouldn't care one way or the other about their hygiene, diet, or exercise. If they, by some miracle, managed to escape, they would be forced to eke out a life in a hostile wilderness, with no shelter, little to no survival skills between them…and winter on the horizon.
No matter what happened next…this was the beginning of the end for them.
What that end would be, Rufus had no idea, but he was pretty damn sure it wasn't going to be pleasant…no matter what that French asshole had to say.
They spent the rest of what was left of the night in relative silence…neither one feeling like much conversation considering…everything; both of them feeling far too heavy hearted to even make an effort. As the night sky faded into a pink dawn, Lucy and Rufus steeled themselves for a new day…a new reality…without Wyatt.
The kind French officer emerged from his tent, stretched and offered them a sympathetic smile before rummaging within his rucksack. Lucy noted that in the light of the morning, he didn't look as hardened as his compatriots, his demeanor and attitude more gentlemanly than the soldiers they had encountered previously and therefore, she imagined, he must have only recently commissioned. Looking down at the jacket he had offered her, she confirmed her suspicions; he was a lieutenant...and obviously newly arrived. Unaware that Lucy was scrutinizing him, the officer stole a glance at the other soldiers, now slowly making their way out of their respective tents, and slinked over to the two prisoners offering them a small amount of provisions, "Tu devrais manger. Nous avons un long voyage devant nous."
Though she had no appetite, Lucy took the proffered jerky, nodding to Rufus to do the same. "Je vous remercie" she muttered, lifting her bound hands to her lips and taking a bite. It had a very gamey and salty taste…she had no idea what kind of animal it came from, but she found she just didn't care.
Rufus, however, looked a little less sure, "What kind of meat is this?" he asked, sniffing it before he took a bite. "It doesn't taste like anything I've ever had before."
"It's food, Rufus." Lucy said with a sigh. "Just be glad they're feeding us and not letting us slowly starve to death."
"They could be poisoning us." Rufus suggested, but that theory was quickly disproven as one by one, French soldiers began partaking of the very same bits of meat. "Well, what's the point of feeding us? They're probably just gonna kill us when we get to that fort anyway." Rufus moaned. "Ugh…" he grimaced as he took another bite, "I need something to wash this down with…" motioning to one of the soldiers he called out, "Could I have some water? You know? Something to drink?" At their blank expressions he turned to Lucy, "Help me out here will ya?"
Clearing her throat, Lucy rolled her eyes at Rufus and requested, "Pourrions-nous avoir quelque chose à boire?
Nodding at her in understanding, the lieutenant brought over a tin mug filled with something that smelled very much like alcohol. Taking a sip, Lucy muttered her thanks again, clenching her eyes shut as a strong burning sensation made its way down her throat. Rufus, however, choked and nearly spit his right back in the cup. "What the hell…don't these people drink anything other than liquor?"
"It's bitters" Lucy explained.
"Bitter is right." Rufus complained, "That stuff is nasty."
"No," Lucy clarified, "It's bitters. It's herbs and things added to alcohol…think of it as the 18th century version of a vitamin supplement."
Rufus grimaced as he took another drink, "To think I gave my mom crap about those chalky Flinstone things." He chuckled mirthlessly as he passed the cup back to Lucy who took another sip, inwardly hoping the alcohol would numb the pain of Wyatt's death...at least for a little while. "Uh-oh" Rufus said suddenly with a nod towards the largest tent where Louis Coulon was now standing, staring at the two of them with a sneer, "someone does not look happy."
Lucy lowered the mug quickly, darting her eyes to the kind officer who had given it to them, realizing at once, that she had inadvertently revealed to Coulon who had probably disobeyed orders. "Nicolas!" Louis Coulon bellowed, motioning for the lieutenant to stand before him, "Pourquoi les prisonniers ont-ils de la nourriture et des boissons?''
Shame-faced, but looking absolutely undeterred, Nicolas made his way to his commander, saluting bravely as he answered, "On a un long chemin à parcourir, père. Je ne pensais pas qu'il était sage de les avoir faibles pour le voyage.''
Smiling affectionatedly, Louis Coulon patted Nicolas on the face and murmured, ''Ta mère t'a élevé trop doucement, mon fils. C'est la guerre. Tu ne dorlotes pas tes ennemis.''
"Well…that explains a few things." Lucy muttered to Rufus who looked at her in confusion, "Father and son." she explained with a nod to the two officers.
"It explains, what?" Rufus asked, still confused.
"Well, he's young, inexperienced, but he's commanding these troops who…don't seem to like him very much." Lucy muttered out of the side of her mouth.
"I see." Rufus mused, "So…he got this job because of his dad and nobody takes him seriously…is that it?"
"Seems to be." Lucy sighed, "I know a little of what that's like." she stated with a quirked lip, "working with your more respected parent, constantly being compared…having to prove you're worthy of the position that other people would…well, let's just say there's a downside to it."
"Don't you go feeling sorry for him now." Rufus warned her as he took another sip of bitters. "He may be nicer than any of the other guys out here, but as far as I'm concerned, they've made our lives a living hell almost as soon as we landed in this damn century."
Lucy shushed him as the French soldiers approached, slicing through the ropes at their feet and pulling them up to stand.
"Where are we going?" Lucy began, rolling her eyes immediately at her mistake before asking more roughly, "Où nous emmènes-tu?"
Wyatt's murderer sneered at her, pushing her roughly to the center of the camp as she spat out, "À la justice, mademoiselle." A raucous cry erupted throughout the camp, mocking Lucy as she stood amidst a group of soldiers, leering at her like she was a piece of meat. "Ce serait dommage, cependant, de laisser toute cette beauté se perdre.'' he added with a lick of his lips as he toyed with the buttons on her borrowed coat.
"Ça suffit." Nicolas' voice sounded over the din. The soldiers parted as he made his way towards Lucy, staring daggers at the soldiers who were harassing her, "Vous êtes des soldats de la couronne Français. Vous êtes un gentleman... Oui?'' he asked roughly as he looked around the camp as if daring anyone to contradict him, "Alors tu ferais mieux de commencer à agir comme ça." He turned to Lucy, with a gentle smile, ''Je suis désolé, mademoiselle. J'espère que vous pardonnerez les manières grossières.''
Louis Coulon smirked and made his way towards the now dispersing crowd of soldiers, eyeing Lucy with scrutiny, "Tu es sûr e que c'est une dame, mon fils?" Lucy ruffled and huffed out a breath as he continued, "Quelle dame apparaît dans ses sous-vêtements, après tout?" He cast his eyes towards Rufus, ''Et voyager avec deux hommes sans chaperon?''
Lucy stared back at him indignantly, hating the fact that she was half-naked among these men - even if, by her standards, she was practically full clothed. Her character was already being called into question for her attire, but that, coupled with the fact that she was unmarried and had been traveling with two male companions without a chaperone gave Louis Coulon the distinct impression that she was not worth the deference his son was showing her.
She hated this century.
It didn't matter what the French thought of her…she knew that, but given that she was "half-naked"(by their standards, at least) and apparently about to be taken to the proverbial lion's den, she felt the overwhelming need to defend her ever slipping reputation. With tears of fury in her eyes she gritted out, "Je te l'ai dit. C'était mon frère..." she let out a sob as she nodded towards' Wyatt's shooter, "et il l'a tué."
Louis Coulon frowned at her, looking highly amused, clearly doubting her remarks. His son, Nicolas, however, offered her a handkerchief which Lucy took, gratefully. Shaking his head, with a sigh, Louis Coulon leaned forward and muttered, ''Vous l'aurez peut-être dupé, mademoiselle, mais je ne croirai jamais que cet homme était ton frère.'' Lucy stared back at him defiantly as he added, ''Un homme ne défend pas l'honneur d'une sœur avec une telle passion.''
Unable to keep a brave face at the suggestion of how deeply Wyatt had cared for her, Lucy burst into tears; whether intentional or not, Louis Coulon had hit her where she was most vulnerable in regards to the fallen Delta Force soldier. Though she had tried to deny her own growing feelings towards him, she knew, deep down, that she cared about him…probably even loved him; but Wyatt…Wyatt was in love with Jessica. Yes, he had defended her the night they were captured, yes, he had stayed up all night…watching over her…but that was his job. But that job had made herfeel safe, protected…cared for…and now that he was gone, she felt doubly all that she had lost when she lost him.
At Lucy's outburst, Rufus fought his way over to her side, doing his best to comfort her as he glared at the French officer. "I know you don't understand me." Rufus stated solemnly, his voice quivering with emotion, "but you killed a good man…and I don't know how…I don't know when…but someday…you're gonna pay for that. In the meantime, leave her the hell alone….or deal with me."
Unfazed by Rufus' not so-veiled threat, Louis Coulon merely chuckled and ordered his soldiers to fall out. As they had the night before, Lucy and Rufus were corralled in the center of troops, some on horseback, others on foot, holding them at musket point as they made their way to the fort. Limping along, Lucy sniffed out her thanks to Rufus, "You didn't have to do that…but I appreciate it." she muttered quietly.
"I meant it." Rufus said seriously, "I may not be half the man Wyatt was, but…I won't stand by and let them hurt you."
"Don't sell yourself short." Lucy said with a watery smile, "you're every bit the man that Wyatt was…and I'm glad you're still here."
"Well, for the record…I'm glad you're still here too." Rufus admitted with a sheepish smile, "But if I'm being totally honest…I wish Wyatt was with us."
"Yeah." Lucy breathed out, her voice choked with emotion, "Me too."
All too soon, the walls of Fort Duquesne loomed ominously before them. A chill ran down Lucy's spine as with eerie silence, they made their way through the large wooden gates amid the gaping stares of soldiers and slaves. Rufus moved closer to Lucy, his attempt to shield her from scrutiny, but she knew it was no use. Though she appreciated his efforts, she knew that his protection wouldn't amount to much. He was a second-class citizen…as was she…and therefore, she knew that no matter what either of them did, they were both at the mercy of whatever Louis Coulon had in store for them. Since he had already suggested that Lucy was not and should not be treated as a lady, she imagined he would do very little to stop any harassment or assault that was bound to come her way.
The fort was large, but still under construction. The outer walls were built, but they were nothing truly formidable. Wooden posts were all that served as protection from outside forces. There were no earthen works, no brick foundations, as would be the case with Fort Pitt, only the tall wooden posts, stretching out like a large pentagon towards the Ohio and Monangahela Rivers. There were a few buildings, dotted here and there within, but mostly tents. Lucy imagined this was because they hadn't had time to complete the barracks yet, but still, she was impressed with how much they had gotten completed in the short few months since the fort was established.
They made their way into the inner fortress that made up the military headquarters of for the fort where they were led to a small guardhouse, just to the right of the inner gate. As the guard unlocked the heavy door and swung it open, a foul stench immediately assaulted their senses, burning their eyes with its intensity. Inside was nothing remarkable. The room was narrow and dim, as the only light issuing forth was from two tiny barred windows at either end of the building. Along the back wall was a large cell, filled with straw that from the looks and smell of it, was to serve as a bed and as a means to absorb…bodily fluids.
Coughing and grimacing, Rufus and Lucy hovered near the doorway as Louis Coulon spoke in hushed tones to the guard; his son, Nicolas chiming in from time to time with a few comments of his own as they considered what was best to do for the prisoners. "Are they going to kill us?" Rufus whispered to Lucy.
"I'm not sure." she answered as she leaned her head forward, attempting to catch snippets of the conversation, "they keep saying "en bonne santé"" Lucy said in confusion, but I'm not getting much else.
"Well…what does that mean?" Rufus asked, his anxiety rising.
"Healthy." Lucy muttered flatly. "Maybe they aren't going to kill us." she said almost hopefully, "maybe they're just going to put us to work."
"Well…I don't mean to be that guy, but if we've got to live in there…" he grimaced, "I've seen public restrooms that were cleaner than this."
"I don't think we're going to have any say so in our accommodations, Rufus." Lucy sighed, "We're just going to try and make the best of it."
"Until when?" he asked, "we die of typhoid or the bubonic plague?"
"Or until the French surrender the fort to the British." Lucy answered with a shrug.
"And when does that happen?"
"1758" she answered meekly. As Rufus let out a desperate moan, she amended, "And actually, the French burn the fort before the British arrive so depending on…"
"So basically, what you're telling me is this is hopeless?" Rufus interrupted roughly.
"No." Lucy said with a determined shake of her head. "No…we...we'll find a way, Rufus. We can't give up now. Wyatt wouldn't want us to…we have to do this, we have to try to get back home. For him."
Whether or not Rufus shared Lucy's determination or not, was anyone's guess. No sooner had she stated that they would work together to find a way out of their predicament, then two soldiers stepped forward and pulled Lucy away from Rufus while another man, a doctor, by the looks of it, began examining him. Wrenching her arms away and fighting to make her way back to him, Lucy gritted out, "No…what are you doing to him?" Huffing out an indignant breath, she corrected, "Qu'est-ce que tu fais?"
Ignoring her, the doctor continued his examination checking Rufus' teeth, the looks of his eyes, the mass of his body, announcing finally, "Perfectionner. Un excellent spécimen."
"An excellent specimen for what, exactly?" Rufus asked, understanding that particular French phrase perfectly.
A sudden fear gripped at Lucy's heart, but she refused to even entertain the notion that was beginning to form in her head. Her eyes darted in panic towards Louis Coulon and his son and back to Rufus who, from the look on Lucy's face, seemed to understand that she was concerned. He was just forming another question when, Louis Coulon responded with a phrase that drove into Lucy's heart like an icy dagger, "Très bien. Il nous apportera un bon prix."
"No!" Lucy cried out in horror, "You can't….he's a free man!" she shook her head in agitation, trying to remember her French as Rufus, now realizing what was happening, began frantically resisting the guards. "No… non. Vous ne pouvez pas faire ça. C'est un homme libre!'' she cried out but they were already dragging a desperately fighting Rufus into the guardhouse.
"No!" Rufus gritted out as he attempted to wriggle himself out of their hold, "No…Lucy! Lucy! Don't let them sell me!"
"C'est un homme libre" she was still pleading, but Louis Coulon dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he made his way to his quarters.
"Et la femme?'' Nicolas called out to his father, ''Qu'est-ce qu'on va faire d'elle?''
Louis Coulon turned slightly, an indifferent smirk on his face as he stated coldly, ''Je suis sûr qu'elle trouvera un moyen de se rendre utile.'' Lucy fought once more against the soldiers holding her, screaming after the commander as he marched away, but it was no use. Rufus' angry & panicked protests became muffled shouts as the door to the guardhouse snapped mercilessly closed leaving Lucy alone…to fend for herself.
I don't want anybody else. I trust you.
You are the one that I trust. Rufus needs you. I need you. Okay?
Wyatt blinked hard against the early morning rays of the rising sun, the remnants of a dream dissolving in the rising mist as an agonizing pain pounded in his skull like an insistent drum. Everything hurt…his head, his back, his arms…but oh God, mostly his head. Groaning, he reached up with a shaking hand to blindly examine the side of his face which felt oddly sticky and cold and almost immediately he could feel the gummy evidence of clotting blood along his temple. Easing himself up to sit, he pressed his hand over his eyes as the world began to spin, his head feeling like it was going to split open any minute.
What the hell had happened?
His mind was a confused and muddled mess and judging from the sudden wave of nausea that prevented him from attempting to move any further, he could only imagine he had somehow wound up with a concussion…though he hadn't the first clue as to how. Something had obviously knocked him for a damn loop…and while a thousand possibilities as to what that something was entered his scrambled brain, not one of those possibilities could explain the acrid stench of burnt hair that was currently assaulting his nostrils.
He focused on the ground before him in a desperate attempt to get his bearings, noting with confusion, the open medical kit lying by his side. Gingerly, he reached over and pulled out the iodine, remembering vaguely that Lucy had said it was the best anti-septic in the 18th century. With that in mind, he dabbed a bit on piece of cloth bandage and pressed it to his head, hissing in pain as the solution made contact with his open wound. How deep it was, he had no idea, but as it seemed to have stopped bleeding freely, he imagined it couldn't have been very bad.
So why the hell did he feel like he had just been hit by a bus?
And where the hell were Lucy and Rufus?
Very carefully, Wyatt got to his feet, wobbling unsteadily as he did so, scanning the campsite for any sign of his team mates. "Lucy?" "Rufus?" he called out tentatively, but only the chattering of birds and the sound of the wind in the trees broke the eerie stillness. Their blankets lay on the ground, cozy and inviting, as if they would return at any moment…but yet, Wyatt somehow knew they wouldn't. He had no idea why. There was no sign of any struggle, no sign that they had even been attacked…Wyatt clenched his eyes shut willing himself to recall what had happened, where they had gone…but he could only remember…
Lucy.
His eyes fell on her ruined corset…the one he had helped remove. He stumbled towards it, tripping over some more of her undergarments…the pillows Wyatt thought to himself. Snippets of conversation came flashing back to him as he made his way around the camp. She had been in pain…hurting…that's why he had the medicine chest out…he was going to help her. Help her with what?
Damn his brain…why couldn't he think?
He snatched up her corset and held it in his hands, desperate to remember. She had taken it off because it had been hurting her. He remembered feeling the welts on her side…but there was something else…her foot? No…her ankle. She had hurt it because she fell…Wyatt's eyes scanned forest until he was arrested by the sight of the Lifeboat, covered in ivy…camouflaged to keep it safe, to keep them safe…but Lucy…Lucy had fallen.
Why?
He told her to get down…but she wasn't supposed to…not without his help…but then the French….
The French.
Holy shit.
The events of the preceding night came hurtling back to him in rapid fire succession leaving him with the horrifying and final memory of Lucy and Rufus struggling against their French captors, both of them shouting, screaming at him. No…not at him…for him. They needed his help…and he couldn't get to them. He couldn't protect them. His head…something…something had hit his head. It was coming back in flashes, the crack of the pistol, the smoke, the pain…he had been shot. Raising his hand to his wound once more, he could feel the groove that had been made along the side of his head…a graze…which now explained the stench of burnt hair.
He had almost been killed…hell, the French probably thought they had killed him…which is why they left him…alone. Obviously, the impact from the bullet or the fall had knocked him out…but for how long?
And more importantly, what the hell had happened to Lucy and Rufus?
Panic…sheer panic stole through him as he raced out of the clearing, his mind filled with every possible worst-case scenario as the horrible truth of his situation hit him like a bolt of lightning.
They were prisoners…had been for hours and while he would like to have believed that they were holed up together in a cell somewhere in that damn French fort, Wyatt couldn't help but remember that the French believed them to be thieves and spies….and he was pretty damn sure the spies thing wouldn't be readily forgiven…not given the current political climate. Lucy could possibly argue their case, being able to communicate with them, but even then, the odds were not in their favor. Rufus had been in that damn fort, had most likely been recognized, and that, if true, would only serve to strengthen the allegations of subterfuge and give the French every reason in the world to kill them both.
But would the French really execute them?
Wyatt didn't want to think about it…because to think about that meant that he would have to somehow come to grips with the possibility that Lucy and Rufus were already dead…and he just could not.
It would mean that he had failed…in the worst possible way.
Again.
His knees nearly gave out as he thought of that night in February 2012. How angry he had been, how stupidly he had acted, until Jessica had all but demanded to be let out of the car. He knew he shouldn't have left her…but he did…and for five damn years he had lived with the consequences of that night. He had stopped caring, stopped living…until that day at the Alamo.
Lucy had pleaded with him, begged him to see reason. He had been so ready to throw it all away, to leave her and Rufus behind, to die a hero's death, but now as he stood alone in the Pennsylvania wilderness, he realized what an ass he had been…they were his team, dammit. His family. Lucy had risked her own life to save his and how had he repaid her? By throwing it back in her face all because he was pissed about Garcia Flynn and that damn journal.
He should have apologized. He should have told her how grateful he was for her…for what she had done for him…for making him feel wanted, needed...but he never had….and now he was terrified that he would never get the chance.
No…he couldn't think like that. They were still alive…they had to be.
But even that thought didn't comfort him.
Rufus, having been in the fort and almost certainly recognized, could and would no doubt, face all sorts of punishments for his attempt at reconnaissance. Hell, death would almost be a blessing in comparison to the things they could do to him. Wyatt was no historian, but he knew the military…what's more, he knew military history…and branding, whipping, flogging, gagging and back-breaking labor were all par for the 18thcentury course when dealing with something like this. Add in the fact that Rufus, being a black man, was considered less than human in this day and age and well, his hope of finding Rufus alive and well seemed to diminish by the second.
Lucy, though she could speak and understand French, was a woman and while in some circumstances that might have allowed her to be treated with a bit more deference and regard, Wyatt highly doubted that this would qualify as one of those circumstances. While being able to communicate with her captors was certainly a bit of an advantage in that she could attempt to negotiate her position and possibly spare her life, what would it cost? She had been in her damn underwear when they grabbed her…and after seeing how she had been treated by some of those assholes when she was fully clothed, Wyatt didn't even want to begin to think of what they would do to her when she was, by their standards, half naked.
But he couldn't help it…it was all he could think about…and it made him sick.
No matter how he looked at it - he had failed.
Lucy and Rufus depended on him for protection, they relied on him and his judgement. Hell, Lucy had stood up in front of Homeland Security and declared that he, Wyatt, had made the "right decision every time."
Well, not this time.
This time he had made a devastating mistake, he had made that damn grab for his gun and it had probably cost them all their lives. Even if Lucy were still alive, there was a very good chance that Rufus wasn't…which meant he had just doomed them to a life sentence in 1754. If Rufus had, by some miracle, escaped execution there was no way in hell he was going to be able to sneak into that fort again to use that forge.
So even then…they were going to be stuck here.
They? He would consider himself lucky if there was still a they to survive in the 18th century with. It could very well just be him…left alone in 1754…forced to live with the fact that not only had he failed to stop Garcia Flynn, he had failed to protect his team, he had failed to bring them home safely…and that was something he wasn't sure he would be able to live with.
Hell, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with that.
As he looked around the empty forest, he realized that he wasn't sure where the hell he was going or what the hell he would even do when he got there. He had to focus. He had to figure out what he was going to do…but another wave of nausea sent him retching behind a tree.
What the hell was he going to do?
He felt completely helpless as he considered the options before him. First, he had to find out where the French had taken Lucy and Rufus. Back to their camp? Possibly…but after their unbelievable escape, the French would make damn sure that they didn't make the same mistake twice. So, he deduced, they had probably taken them directly to Fort Duquesne in order to keep them under lock and key.
Not that that made the situation any easier.
With unforgiving walls, guards, and a whole host of soldiers to contend with, Lucy and Rufus might as well have been on the other side of the damn planet. There was no way he was going to make it into that fort and even if he did, how the hell was he going to get them out?
He staggered over to the edge of the river, desperate to rinse the sharp taste of bile from his mouth and hoping that the icy water would help clear his head. He dipped a shaking hand into its current, the shock of the cold sending a chill down his spine as he scooped a handful of water into his mouth. He was tempted to drink, but knew he would most likely regret it later…and right now was not the time to take those kinds of risks. Not when Lucy and Rufus were depending on him.
Catching his reflection in the rippling current, Wyatt startled…he hardly recognized himself; the entire side of his face was covered in dried blood and dirt. Taking a handkerchief, he began scrubbing at his face, cursing the growth that was now occupying his jaw which only served to frustrate and hamper his efforts.
God, how he wished he could shave. If he let this go much longer, he was gonna look like he belonged to that family on Duck Dynasty. He had never been this unkempt…not even in Syria. If his old Delta Force buddies could see him now they would…
…never know it was him.
Holy shit.
If his best buddies in Delta wouldn't recognize him looking like a damn bushman, then maybe he could manage to get into the French fort after all. He hadn't been nearly this scruffy when they first ran into those assholes…and last night it had been dark…and things happened so fast…he doubted they even saw his face. He looked at his clothes, covered in blood and dirt…that would definitely draw some unwanted attention…but Rufus had managed to grab that extra set…he just needed to get it.
Stumbling back to the camp, Wyatt felt a hell of a lot better than he had earlier. With the beginnings of a plan taking shape, he felt more confident that he could do this…that he could find them.
He just hoped he'd find them alive.