The bright and sunny morning had indeed, turned out to be a beautiful, sunshine-filled day.
For the beginning of November, it was unseasonably warm, and if Wyatt's emotions weren't so damn raw, he might have even taken the time to go out and actually enjoy the weather. Instead, however, he remained seated at the roughly hewn table he had built with Rufus, not so many weeks ago, and thought over every last detail of his conversation with John Fraser.
The guilt he felt at so wrongly accusing Lucy weighed heavily on him, more so now that he knew the lengths in which she had gone to nurse him back to health. He knew, of course, that Lucy had sat by his bedside…he had seen her do as much, even after his fever broke. He knew that she and Rufus had taken it upon themselves to "invent" penicillin in a desperate attempt to undo whatever Mrs. Poe had done. And he knew that every damn day, like clockwork, Lucy cleansed and soothed his burns, changed his bandages…and made sure he took his medicine…but he had no idea that in those early days of his recovery, she had repeatedly gone back and forth to the farm in search of herbs to make him more comfortable.
He thought of how, when his fever finally broke, she made him a meal…from scratch. Lucy Preston, who couldn't even operate the damn microwave in the breakroom at Mason, had learned how to make him a meal - an honest to goodness home-cooked meal that was actually edible. Hell, it wasn't just edible, it was good. His thumb grazed over the dog-earred pages of the book she had flung on the table the night before, the one that had him rolling his eyes in resentment and disdain as he snapped at her coldly that she "wasn't really his wife."
When the hell had Jessica ever done half so much for him in the whole time they were married?
There was one time…once, not long after they first got married, when they took that trip to the shore and he had wound up in the hospital after stupidly trying to catch a 15-foot wave. Like Lucy, Jessica had never left his bedside, but once they got back home….did she fawn over him, remind him to take his medicine, cook for him?
Hell, if Jessica ever did cook it was warming up the leftovers of something he made.
He groaned as he buried his head in his hands, thinking of what a complete ass he had been. Lucy had done absolutely nothing wrong…all she did was give a damn…and he turned around and threw it all back in her face. Why? Because he was trying to convince himself that she didn't mean anything to him…that she was just Lucy.
Just Lucy who had pulled him back from the brink at the Alamo.
Just Lucy who defied the United States government and demanded he be kept on the team, refusing to do these missions without him.
Just Lucy who had rescued him from Flynn, even as he told her he couldn't trust her.
Just Lucy who had saved his life…in more than one way…only to be repeatedly pushed away and treated like garbage...by him.
How the hell was he ever going to make it up to her?
Slowly, he pushed himself away from the table, grimacing at the stiffness in his legs as he made his way towards the door. He was going to have to apologize, that was for damn sure and though he didn't have a clue as to how he could ever put into words how truly sorry he was for months, hell at this rate…centuries worth of his own selfishness, he needed to make her understand that, despite all of his gruffness and coldness towards her, she meant…well, she meant more to him than he ever wanted to admit.
And that was the real issue, wasn't it? He was just too damn proud to admit that in all of his loyalty to Jessica's memory, he had shut himself off from the world, not allowing himself to even consider the idea of "moving on"…because he didn't deserve it. He thought of all the times his buddies had tried, but failed to set him up for random dates, going so far as to trick him into a night out, only to find himself paired off with some poor, clueless friend of a friend who didn't understand why her attempts at small talk went, for the most part, completely ignored.
He was prepared for those battles…and he fought them with sullen silence and a cold disposition.
Lucy, however, was different.
As they sat together in that waiting room at Mason Industries, her repeated questions and obvious anxiety already convinced him that she was going to irritate the hell out of him. Still, he tried to be polite, even as he wished she would just leave him the hell alone and let him get in a quick nap. When she snapped at him for calling her "ma'am", however, he was bound and determined to return that irritation tenfold …going so far as to remind her, later, that she was in fact, older, than he was.
He wasn't sure when his irritation with Lucy gave way to a sort of reluctant form of respect…but it did. She was smart, there was no doubt about that. Hell, she had gotten Admiral Rosenthal to muster his men in search of Flynn when he, as the actual soldier, could not. She was capable, especially for being "just a teacher," and for someone who had, as she put it, always put herself into positions that she could control, she took a fair amount of risks…for the good of the mission…not because she didn't have anything to lose.
Like him.
Hell yes, he respected her. She had proven herself time and time again on every mission…and he, the man who had a reputation for results…had failed to get those results each and every time. It wasn't like he didn't have an opportunity to take out Flynn…but there was always some thing, some reason that required him to show restraint and trust in his team…until it got him fired.
He had just started feeling…like he was part of something…when Homeland Security dropped that bombshell on him. Faced with the prospect of packing it in, returning to Pendleton in shame…and alone…he had decided that he would just lay it all on the line on that last mission. If he couldn't get Flynn at the Alamo, he would die trying…and no one would blame him or consider him a failure. His last breath on Earth would be spent trying to make up for so many past mistakes, sacrificing himself so that Lucy and Rufus could get to safety and try again with someone else…someone who didn't have five years' worth of emotional baggage weighing him down.
But Lucy wouldn't let him.
At what had to have been the darkest moment of his life since the night he lost Jessica, Lucy had reached across, what seemed to him, an endless abyss of torment and utter despair and tossed him a lifeline. He didn't want to take it…he didn't care…
Except that he did.
When Lucy held his face in her hands, pleading with him…he knew he couldn't stay…because it would hurt her. His life may have not meant much to him, but Lucy sure as hell seemed to care. He could hardly believe it, given how often they butted heads, that she wouldn't prefer someone else, some other grunt on these missions to boss around and cling to when things got tense.
He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. She was supposed to hate him. She was supposed to be relieved that the hot-headed jackass who took up the Lifeboat seat across from her would be out of her proverbial hair…but instead, she refused to even consider the possibility.
And he…he had to admit now, after thinking about it, that when he looked back into her pleading, tear filled eyes…something happened. For the first time since Jessica died, he had found something…someone to fight for. He may have been at the end of his rope, but just knowing that Lucy was counting on him, knowing that she needed him gave him all the motivation he needed to grasp her hand for dear life and trust, like he had never trusted before, that for whatever reason…he was meant to live…if only to get them back to 2016 safe and sound.
He should have been overwhelmingly grateful to her for his second chance…but the more time he spent with her, the more guilty he felt. She wasn't supposed to matter to him, he wasn't supposed to feel this overwhelming need to protect her…and yet, he couldn't help himself. She mattered, despite swearing up and down for five damn years that Jessica was the only one that ever could. He was angry at himself for being so damn weak, for forgetting his wife and the loyalty she was owed, especially after dying the way she did. Pushing Lucy away was a necessity…the essential duty of a man still mourning the loss of his wife.
But had it made him feel better?
No.
It only made him feel that much worse…because whether he liked it or not, he needed her too. She was his anchor, his lifeline…the whole reason he wasn't buried six feet under in some dusty old graveyard in 1836 alongside Davy Crocket and William B. Travis. He had to do better…and while it could never excuse his latest behavior towards her, he felt that a cloud had suddenly been lifted and he was beginning to see things clearly for the first time in his life. Though he had no reason to expect he would receive a warm welcome, his determination to make up for what he had done coupled with his latest realizations were enough to keep him pressing forward, away from the safety and seclusion of his cabin, and onward to John Fraser's farm in search of Lucy.
In all the weeks that they had spent in the 18th century, Wyatt had walked the path to John Fraser's farm so often, he knew it like the back of his hand. Every bush, every tree, every twist and turn in the road he anticipated and could have pointed out, even with his eyes closed. All in all, it was a pleasant walk, through beautiful fields, with stretches of forest on the right and a sloping path to the winding creek and river on his left. With the warm sunshine beaming down from an impossibly blue sky, the trek should have been even more pleasant…but it wasn't.
If it had been any other day, Wyatt would have thoroughly enjoyed the sabbatical from the icy winds that were so typical for the mountainous region of Western Pennsylvania this time of year. Being fond of the outdoors, he would have relished in the chance to explore some of the nearby fields or woods in search of game, scouting out a few hunting spots, maybe even taking some time to build a few traps of his own…but today, however, every thought, every facet of his energy was focused on one thing and one thing only…how he was going to apologize to Lucy.
As each step brought him closer and closer to the farm, he felt small and inadequate…like nothing he could say or do would make up for the fact that he had been the biggest ass in the history of all mankind. Maybe that was an exaggeration…but when he remembered that even Rufus didn't want to be in the same room with him last night, he decided that maybe he wasn't too far from off the mark, after all.
With the washroom still out of commission, Wyatt hadn't the faintest clue as to where Lucy might have gone to do the washing and while he knew the river was effectively off-limits for safety reasons, he almost hoped that she would be situated somewhere, away from prying eyes, so that he could fully express his feelings without having to worry that their whole (hopeful) reconciliation would be the latest source of gossip for the wandering eyes of one Mrs. Poe.
As Wyatt made his way down the ridge towards the farm, he saw, both to his relief and frustration, two large wooden wash tubs sitting just outside John Fraser's back porch, Lucy, however, was not perched behind either one; instead, those spots were occupied by Mrs. Poe and Margaret respectively. Doing his best to act aloof, Wyatt slowly wandered towards them, his eyes scanning the property for Lucy when Mrs. Poe, without even looking up from her wash bin, barked at him, "She's just there." Pointing towards the wash lines that had been strewn across from where the washroom had been, Mrs. Poe directed Wyatt's attention to the nearly hidden figure of Lucy, the hem of her dress and her shoes the only parts of her visible as she worked a large sheet over a line.
Nodding his thanks, Wyatt made his way towards her, still at a loss of what to say and not at all sure how he could ever apologize enough for what he had said and done when the sound of Lucy's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
At least…he thought it was Lucy. He couldn't be sure, because he had never…
He swallowed hard as he slowly made his way around the multiple lines of drying linens, cursing every damn piece of fabric that blocked her from his view, until finally…there she was, her back turned to him as he stood far apart from her, watching her as she secured another bedsheet to the line…softly singing to her hearts content.
He stood there too stunned to even move as she sang out some song he kind of recognized but couldn't name even if he tried. He had no idea Lucy could sing…but even as he gaped at her in amazement, he remembered that she had told him not so very long ago that she had almost quit school to join a band. At the time, he had very nearly laughed at her, not able to imagine the uptight, anxiety-ridden professor in any type of band, except maybe, a marching one. But now? Now he just felt all the more guilty for doubting and dismissing her in yet another area of her life.
He had no clue how long he had been standing there, staring at her, completely mesmerized by the tune she was singing, when she suddenly turned and stopped short, nearly dropping the sheet she had in her arms at the sight of him. "Oh…I didn't…I didn't see you." she muttered as a mixture of mortification and anger spread across her face.
Clearing his throat, Wyatt awkwardly stepped towards her and offered up with a nervous chuckle, "I…um…I didn't know you could sing."
Throwing the sheet over the line with a huff, Lucy clenched her jaw while she jabbed the clothespins into place. Without even offering him a sideways glance, she replied tersely, "Well there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Wyatt."
"You're right." he admitted ruefully, hardly surprised by her less than warm welcome, "I…I don't."
Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or maybe Lucy was just surprised that he didn't argue with her…but whatever the reason, it was enough to turn her attention, if only momentarily, away from the clothesline and over to an oh so humbled looking Wyatt.
Taking that brief look as encouragement, he continued anxiously, getting right to the point, "I…um…I'm sorry about...um…how I acted last night. I didn't realize you were helping out with…"
"No?" Lucy interrupted a scoff, as she stooped down to gather more laundry to hang, "Maybe if you would have asked me instead of…"
"You're right." Wyatt agreed, following Lucy as she moved to the next clothesline, "I should have asked you…I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that. I was just…I thought that you were…"
'Spying on you?" Lucy finished for him with a huff, "I know, you told me."
"Look, I'm sorry about that, okay?" Wyatt breathed out in exasperation as he rubbed a hand over his face, "I…just…I had been in that bed for so damn long and…I just needed to get out of there, you know?" He offered her a hopeful look, anxious to see whether any of this was making any difference in her demeanor.
Lucy, however, merely continued to forcefully jam clothespins onto the petticoats, looking every bit as angry as she had the night before.
Wyatt wanted to tell her how grateful he truly was for her - how he had never had someone care for him the way that she had, how he would have given up everything in 1836 if it hadn't been for her, how he was damn lucky to be married to her, how he didn't deserve any of it…but he was never good at giving speeches. His mind was a jumbled mess, partly out of nerves, partly out of sheer desperation, but still, he knew he had to try.
"Lucy," he began nervously, "when…when I said that last night, about you not really being my wife…I…"
"Wyatt…" Lucy began with an impatient sigh.
"No, Lucy…please, let me…I didn't mean…I just want to say that…I um…I think you're doing a great job." he stammered, inwardly groaning at his own choice of words.
Lucy faltered somewhat, looking affronted, before jamming down another set of clothespins of the line, "That's great. I'm glad I have that approval, at least." she replied curtly before scooping up the laundry basket with another huff and quickly moving to the next line.
"That's…that's not what I…I mean, you obviously have learned a lot since you've been here," Wyatt tried again, desperately attempting to put into words how impressed he was with how much she had grown since they landed in this damn century, but once again, it came out as a muddled mess, "it probably wasn't easy, I mean…" at her glare, he quickly amended, "I mean, I get that it's…it's just laundry and cooking…"
"Just laundry and cooking?" she hissed.
Shit.
"No…that's…that's…"
"Do you have any idea what it takes to just do one load of laundry in this day and age?" she snapped, rounding on him. "Look at my hands, Wyatt…look at them." she demanded. Raw and red, she waved them in front of his face, "It takes days, Wyatt. Days. First you have to boil the clothes, then you need to soak the clothes, then you need to scrub them until your knuckles bleed in toxic lye soap," Wyatt tried to interrupt her but she continued on even as she threw more linens over the line, "and then…then comes the really fun part. You have to beat the wash, soak it in water again and then wring it out until there's not one more drop of water left to wring out…"
"Lucy," Wyatt attempted again, "I know, you've been doing a lot…and I really appreciate everything you've done...you know…for me…and…"
"I didn't do all of this for you." she spat out defensively, "I did all of this because this is what is expected of me in this century. Rufus has his blacksmithing, you have farming and hunting…and whatever else it is you do…I? I have backbreaking housework and cooking over a hot fireplace…and sewing" she gritted out resentfully, "I have to do all of this to…to fit in here, "she colored slightly as she added with a murmur, "not because I'm trying to replace Jessica."
Wyatt swallowed hard, feeling the full force of her rebuke, knowing that it was well-deserved after everything he had said and done over the past few days. "Lucy," he stammered again, "I…when I said…I didn't mean, I mean…I just wanted to say that I think…" he fumbled over his words, feeling all the more guilty now, knowing just how hard she had been working on top of taking care of him, "look, Lucy…what I said about you not being my wife…I didn't…I mean, I was just….
"Wyatt," she sighed again, stuffing her hands in her apron pocket, "you don't have to…"
"No, Lucy. I have to expl…" he began, but stopped as she held out a folded piece of parchment towards him. "What…what's this?" he asked warily, thinking for one horrifying moment that it might be divorce papers.
"Just read it, Wyatt." she requested with a half-annoyed breath.
Eyeing her warily, Wyatt unfolded the parchment to find, much to his relief, that it was not divorce papers at all…but their marriage certificate. Thinking that she was presenting this to him as both a reminder and proof that, according to what passed as the law here, they were indeed, married, Wyatt shook his head, "No, Lucy…I know…but, what I'm trying to say is…."
"Just…read the paper, Wyatt." Lucy all but demanded as she stood there staring at him with mounting frustration.
Bewildered and frustrated by her request, Wyatt turned his eyes to the parchment and read mechanically, "On the 16th day of October in the year of our Lord, 1754, Mr. Wyatt Logan and Ms. Lucy Pres…cott."
The last syllable left his lips in a whisper, understanding now what it was she was trying to show him. "You didn't use your real name." he muttered as an inexplicable pang of disappointment began welling in his chest.
"No." Lucy said quietly as she quickly turned back towards her laundry.
"So…wait a minute," Wyatt started, stepping in front of her, "does this…does this mean…are you saying that we're…we're.."
"We're not really married, Wyatt." Lucy finished for him, an unmistakable flush rising on her cheek. "I just...after the wedding?" she explained, "When we were signing the certificate? I just thought this might be easier, if we ever do get back home…you don't have to worry about…you know - any obligations or anything," she expounded, before adding with a derisive laugh, "although I don't know how legally binding an 18th century marriage certificate would be in 2016."
Wyatt stared back at her incredulously, hardly knowing whether to be hurt or grateful over what she had done. "I…I don't understand…" he began, "you…I mean, I thought we…I thought…"
"I know this hasn't been easy for you, Wyatt." Lucy sighed, "I know you only did this to protect me and to give us a place to live…and I meant what I said then…it's okay. That's why I did this," she explained with a nod towards the certificate, "I didn't want you to feel like…like you had betrayed Jessica when you were just trying to do your job.
Overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness, Wyatt's eyes drifted back down to the paper in his hand, settling on the alias she had so carefully written out next to his own. She had done that…this…for him. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. Lucy was always the one coming up with pseudonyms for their different missions, so why wouldn't she use one for their wedding? Especially when he had made no secret of how this arrangement was just "part of the job."
"Thanks." Wyatt murmured quietly, feeling an array of conflicting and confusing emotions stirring within him. He was in awe of how sympathetic she had been to his situation…to purposefully forge an alias on their marriage certificate in order to give him a little peace of mind? A peace of mind, he remembered with a new pang of guilt, he sure as hell didn't deserve. He had made it pretty damn clear the night before their wedding that he was not happy about the whole arrangement…even though he was the one who had asked her to marry him. Hell, hadn't he walked in on her naked because he wanted to apologize for the way he acted that night? And yet, even after all of that…she somehow had the compassion to write down a fake name on their wedding certificate so that he would have a clear conscience.
Except he didn't have a clear conscience.
He should have been tremendously grateful for this small act of kindness…but instead, he felt…empty…like this was just one other example of how much he didn't deserve someone like Lucy…as a friend, as a team-mate…and definitely not as a wife. He should have been enormously relieved that Lucy had taken it upon herself to let him off the proverbial hook, but instead, he was hurt…and filled with regret that in all of his insistence that this marriage was just "part of the job" – something he had done for her benefit – he had somehow made Lucy feel that in marrying her, he was dooming himself to a potential lifetime of regret and misery.
When nothing could be further from the truth.
Anybody would be damn lucky to have Lucy as a wife…and well, until she had handed him this paper, he thought he was that damn lucky. But no…it was just a role.
Just like he had all but demanded it had to be and would ever be.
So why the hell was he feeling so disappointed?
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Wyatt folded the certificate, and held it out to Lucy. "No, you keep it." she pressed, hardly offering him another glance a she continued pointedly, "I think you need the reminder more than I do."
"Lucy…"
"I'm a little busy right now, Wyatt." she huffed back impatiently, clearly not wanting to have anything more to do with him right now…and hell, he couldn't blame her. He had been a complete and total ass. He could hardly expect her to easily forgive him after everything he had said and done…especially when she had done so much to make this whole damn marriage as painless for him as possible.
Taking the hint, Wyatt stuffed the parchment into his coat pocket and began to stalk away, feeling that he had better just leave her alone than make her angrier still by not respecting her own need for space, when an idea suddenly came to him. Turning, Wyatt made his back towards Lucy tentatively, who looked visibly annoyed and uncomfortable at his approach. Huffing out an impatient breath, she flung the petticoat she had been hanging over her arm and rounded on him, "What?"
"I was just wondering if you needed any help." he offered flatly, not at all deterred by her abrasiveness.
Lucy stared back at him, open mouthed, looking like she was not at all convinced he was serious. "What…you mean…with…with the laundry?"
"Sure." Wyatt shrugged, "Or, you know…anything else you might need a hand with." He smirked, "Since John Fraser won't let me work on his farm anymore because I'm supposed to be taking care of you," he said meaningfully, "I figured…I better start…you know…" he swallowed hard as he shifted his feet awkwardly, "actually taking care of you…like I'm supposed to."
Still gaping at him, Lucy stammered, "I…I …are you serious?"
Rolling his eyes, Wyatt breathed out a curse, annoyed more at himself for being such an ass that she wouldn't even trust his sincere offer of help. "Yes, Lucy…I'm being serious. Do you need help with anything?" he asked, but Lucy merely stared back at him blankly. "Let me put it this way," Wyatt reiterated, "what can I do to make things easier for you? I want to help you out…"
"Wyatt…you don't have to…"
"Dammit, Lucy…yes I do." Wyatt insisted, "I was an ass, okay? I know it. But John Fraser is right, whether we're really married or not…it doesn't matter. You should be my priority out here" he spat out before quickly adding, "I mean, you and Rufus."
Eyeing him warily, Lucy shrugged, "Well," she said with a small chuckle as she moved to hang another sheet on the line, "there's nothing I can think of right now….I mean, unless you can invent electricity or indoor plumbing…but really, Wyatt," she dismissed, "it's not that big of a deal, okay? All of this work, learning these new things…it keeps my mind off the fact that we're stuck here…and that Flynn is probably out there somewhere right now…destroying history as we know it."
"Yeah, but…"
"I mean it, Wyatt…really. It's fine." She nodded sincerely, "I prefer this to washing anyway…don't worry about it."
But Wyatt was worried about it. After everything Lucy had done for him over the past few weeks, he figured it wasn't just about conforming to his role as (well, fake) husband…it was about being the kind of husband that he wished he could have been for Jess. No, Lucy wasn't Jess…she wasn't even really his wife…but he respected her, he cared about her…and dammit, she deserved better than how he had been treating her…not only as his kind of sort of wife, but also as his team mate, coworker and friend. If they were going to be stuck here indefinitely…if they were going to have to go on with this charade for the rest of their lives…wouldn't it be better for both of them to actually try to have…at least on the surface…a happy and supportive marriage?
But he had sort of screwed up that happy and supportive part already, hadn't he?
Reluctantly, Wyatt made his way back across the expansive lawn, his mind completely wrapped up in what he could possibly do to fix his relationship with Lucy, when a commotion in the newly built kitchen caught his attention.
"Ow…damnation!"
Warily making his way to the open door, the overwhelming smell of fresh paint immediately assaulted Wyatt's senses as he stepped inside. From that, he expected to find a mishap with a ladder or that someone had, at the very least, gotten a splinter – what he didn't expect was to see Tom…or at least just the bottom half of him, standing in the fireplace.
"Uh…what…what are you doing?"
Another curse followed as Tom, startled by Wyatt's voice, hit his head against the chimney flue in his attempt to scramble out from his hiding place and back into the kitchen. Rubbing his forehead, which was now bleeding, Tom winced as he noted with a nod to Wyatt, "Oh, it's just you."
"Yeah, it's just me." Wyatt replied with half a smirk, "Why the hell were you in the fireplace?"
Looking somewhat embarrassed and a little uncomfortable, Tom shrugged, "Well…Rufus came up with this idea…he found it in one of Master Fraser's old journals…I…I didn't mean no harm…"
"Look," Wyatt assured, "I'm not gonna tell on you, okay?" At Tom's look of relief, he pressed, "What, did he one-up Jethro Tull again?"
"Not Mr. Tull, no." Tom offered with a sheepish grin, "We both was just curious to see if we could build one ourselves and get it to working." Motioning for Wyatt to follow him, he crouched down before the fireplace, where Wyatt could see rods of metal attached to what appeared to be a small fan, "This here is what Rufus calls a Smoke Jack…some man named Da Vinci drew one out a long time ago and here tell in one of them journals there was some kind of argument as to whether or not something like this would actually work." Tom shrugged as he continued, "Rufus seems to think so…he says that Da Vinci fella was pretty smart."
"Yeah, he was." Wyatt said with a chuckle, before examining the odd contraption sticking up and out of the fireplace, "So what's this supposed to do? What's it for?"
"Well," Tom explained with a sigh, "You know how when you is roasting a chicken or a rabbit and you've got to always be turning the spit to make sure it doesn't get too scalded on the one side?" He waited for Wyatt's nod before continuing with an incredulous laugh, 'Well this here thing, is supposed to do it for you…using just the smoke to spin that fan there, which turns this gear here, which spins this rod here." he pointed out proudly. "Don't know if it will actually work, but what Rufus has been teaching me about what he calls mechanical physics…I think it might just."
"If Rufus had anything to do with it," Wyatt said with a smirk, "it will."
"He's got a knack for it, that's for sure." Tom agreed, "The way he just threw this thing together…I ain't never seen anything quite like that before."
And Wyatt had to admit, he hadn't really either.
He knew, of course, that Rufus was a certified genius…having been part of the team at Mason that built an actual time machine, but he had never really seen Rufus in action. Sure, he heard him talk about fixing the time machine out here in the middle of nowhere…but for him, that was something that was a bit beyond his comprehension…even with all of his experience working on his daddy's car. Getting that hunk of junk Lifeboat up and running again with just a couple of bottles and some tin foil? Wyatt couldn't quite wrap his mind around how Rufus could possibly make that work…but this? This made sense. This was gears, pulleys and exhaust…all working together to automate something that in this day and age, had to be done by hand.
Huh.
"Where is he?" Wyatt asked suddenly, an idea forming in his brain.
Tom looked up at him in surprise, pointing towards the door, "He…he went to find something that would work to counter-balance this…hey, where are you going?" he asked as Wyatt sprang to his feet and raced to the door.
Turning back to a very confused Tom, Wyatt shrugged as a wide smile spread across his face, "I'm gonna go ask Rufus for a favor."
"You want me to do what, now?"
Wyatt stood before a befuddled and exasperated looking Rufus, more than a little contrite as he practically begged his friend to lend him a hand, "Come on, man…please?"
"Were you or were you not just biting my head off the other day about a water pump…something, I might add is actually used in this century…and now you want me to…"
"Oh come on," Wyatt groaned in frustration, "that…that smoke thing you're building in the kitchen? What the hell is that?"
"That is a working model of a smoke jack designed by Leonardo Da Vinci, himself." Rufus replied with a meaningful glare. "Ever hear of the Renaissance?"
"Uh-huh," Wyatt replied sardonically, "but he didn't actually build one, did he?"
"Well…"
"And these smoke jacks…they're pretty common in 1754?" Wyatt continued, unfazed.
"How the hell should I know? Do I look like Lucy to you?" Rufus spat out impatiently, "Look, this may not be in every household yet…but they're talking about it. We're at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, Wyatt….don't look at me like that," he added as Wyatt gave him a wary look, "I may not be as good as Lucy when it comes to all this history stuff, but I know engineering…I know mechanics. And I know the Industrial Revolution….and I'm pretty damn sure that in 1754 there wasn't anything even close to..."
"I know, I know." Wyatt moaned, "But Rufus…it doesn't mean it can't be done, right? I mean…it's basically the same concept, you just need to…I don't know…put it in a bucket and…what?"
"Oh nothing." Rufus replied, as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I was just interested to hear you explain to me how I'm supposed to create something out of nothing but a couple of metal scraps and some wood."
"You built a time machine, Rufus."
"Yeah, in the 21st century," he responded with a derisive laugh, "where you can actually buy the parts you need at a little something called a hardware store."
Rolling his eyes, Wyatt let out a curse, "Dammit, Rufus…don't give me that. What about that seed drill you made, huh? And that smoke jack? You just saw the damn thing in a journal and…"
"Exactly, I had a model to go on…I knew how all the pieces were supposed to fit…"
"So…you know how this is supposed to work, right?" Wyatt sighed as he roughed a hand through his hair, "Look, I'm just…I'm just trying to make life a little easier for us here, okay? You're good at this stuff…I mean, you even invented penicillin." he added with a smirk. "All I'm saying is that if I can use what I learned in Delta Force to help us survive out here, you should be able to use what you learned at MIT to…make life a little easier for…"
"Lucy?" Rufus asked with raised eyebrows as Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. Nodding with a thoughtful frown, Rufus pressed, "So in other words, she's still pissed and you're just using me and my skills to get back on her good side, is that it?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Wyatt replied awkwardly.
"I knew it. Dammit, Wyatt." Rufus hissed, "Why can't you just say you're sorry and get her some flowers or make her some dinner or…"
"Because Rufus," Wyatt breathed out impatiently, "if you haven't noticed we're in the middle of the damn 18th century. What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? I already apologized…I tried to give her a hand…just…just please do this for me, okay?" he pleaded again, "I know I was an ass and I don't deserve a damn thing…but Lucy does. If you don't want to do it for me…at least, do it for her."
Rufus heaved a heavy sigh and glared at a hopeful Wyatt. He wanted nothing more than to tell him to go to hell and be done with it, because he was right…he had been an ass. But then he had to go on and pull out the Lucy card, and as much as Rufus knew that she would probably be pissed as hell at him for inventing something that probably wouldn't even be a thing for another 100 years at the very least, he also knew that she was struggling…like they all were. He, at least, was used to working with his hands and building things. Wyatt was Delta Force – he was trained to survive. Lucy…well, she was a teacher, who couldn't cook, couldn't sew and hated the outdoors as much as he did.
"Fine." he finally spat out with a huff. "But if Lucy gets mad about this, don't think I won't be throwing you under the bus."
The rest of the morning and most of the afternoon was spent foraging for materials to build, what Rufus had dubbed, "an ass-chewing just waiting to happen." Rufus pored over different journals, made different sketches – most of which he discarded, and tried different prototypes before Wyatt finally pushed a small pamphlet in front of him.
"What about something like this?" he asked.
"That's a butter churn, Wyatt." Rufus quipped sardonically, before pausing and reaching for it with renewed interest, "You know what? That might just work…if I can find or build a lid for this thing and create some kind of paddle mechanism…" Biting his lip in thought, he sketched out a few more drawings, until finally, he sat back with a triumphant smile. "Well what do you know? I think I figured it out."
"You mean, we figured it out." Wyatt replied with a smirk, before tossing the pamphlet back at Rufus, reminding him, "Thought it was just a butter churn?"
"By the time I'm finished with this, it won't look anything like a butter churn." Rufus quipped back as he began pulling some old farm tools off the wall, "And if it actually works? Well, then send me to the nearest patent office because I will have officially developed the world's first washing machine."
Notes:
Hello there! I apologize for the delay, but I've had a couple of real life things crop up that have taken precedence over my writing these past two weeks. We actually sold our house in Alabama in the midst of all this crazy and so there were lots of phone calls and paperwork that had to be dealt with...and as some of you know, my daughter has scoliosis and so we had an MRI with her which took up an entire day, and then we also had some birthdays and Easter..and even though we're locked down, we still tried to make those days as special as possible.
This chapter was originally planned to be longer...but it was getting WAY too long and so I chopped it in half. That means, of course, that the next update won't take much time at all. I was already nearing 10K words and wasn't close to being finished with this chapter, so I thought it best to just end it where I did and pick up again so that I wouldn't hit you with a monster chapter all at once...and also so I could get this updated sooner...because I've already been far too long in getting this chapter out to you.
As I said in the last chapter, Wyatt is doing a lot of self-reflecting...and he's going to be doing a lot to get back on Lucy's good side. The washing machine...Rufus wants credit for it...BUT as Lucy will tell him in the next chapter, he's hardly the first. There were commercial washing machines being used...and in England there was a little home machine known as the "Yorkshire Maiden" that this design is sort of based on...I've provided a link so you all can (if you so desire) read all about the wonderful and fascinating history of washing machines. .
I hope you enjoyed this update. I hope to have the next chapter (or what was supposed to be the last half of this one) finished up for you all soon. As always, i hope you all are enduring this lockdown well and that you are all healthy, safe, and have plentiful amounts of paper products. I don't mean to brag, but I did manage to score a two pack of paper towels on my last visit to Target...it was a small miracle.
Now for some fanfiction specific comments: If you are a guest commenting on this story or any other story, please note that I cannot respond to your comments directly, though I do read them and appreciate them. One person mentioned line breaks...and I definitely TRY to do them in here, but sometimes I forget. Fanfiction is a clunky site that I do not feel is user-friendly at all...the line breaks I create as well as italicized words and phrases in my original document, don't translate over here...I have to go through and edit them BACK in after submitting my document...and sometimes I forget. I do try to remember, but if I miss it, know that it wasn't intentional...if you read the same chapter over on Archive of Our Own, you'll see it the way I meant it to be read - line breaks and all.
Now typically, I don't respond to abusive and negative comments because...whatever...but I had one that actually came on my daughter's birthday from a guest...who - on Chapter 19 of this fic, declared my writing and characterization to be "annoying." - I felt that I should point out that if my writing annoys you so much, then you probably should have stopped reading well before Chapter 19. (Just saying). While I respect your right to your opinion, I would ask that you respect me enough to sign in as yourself so that I can respond to you directly. Insulting someone under a veil of anonymity is about the most cowardly thing you can do...especially if, as I suspect you are, just leaving negative comments in an attempt to bully...because really, why on Earth would you waste time reading 19 long chapters of "annoying and bad characterization" of fanfiction otherwise? Just know I'm not writing this story for YOU. I am writing it for a friend of mine who requested it a long time ago and you will not stop me from finishing it - I've invested far too much time and energy to be scared away by someone who can't even speak as themselves when tossing out insults. She enjoys this story...and frankly, that's all that matters to me.