Alternate Lives
Summary: Whether by choice or by fate, Lucy and Wyatt always find each other, no matter the timeline.
Disclaimer: I don't own Timeless or any other original work (TV, film, book or other) referenced or quoted in these one shots.
Pairing: Wyatt/Lucy, some Jiya/Rufus
Rated: T
Warnings: A series of one shots about our favorite time traveling couple. Some will be only slightly AU, some set in a completely different universe to the series. Some may be teeth rottingly fluffy, some will be racy. Also, I sometimes write long, like, really long, oneshots. I apologize in have been warned. ;)
A/N: Inspired by Carnival Row. Scenes also inspired by Fantastic Beasts and Outlander. I actually wrote Fairytail initially, a glaringly obvious mistake I didn't notice until after I'd actually first posted the chapter. How embarrassingly blind is that?!
Chapter 9: A Modern Fairytale
Rufus had left almost three months ago now to live with his new wife Jiya and Wyatt was desperate. Finding a roommate was essential if he didn't want to lose the small house. Living space was becoming impossible to afford with all the refugees flooding into the city, even with the Fae being restricted to the Tenderloin and South of Market districts, which had been cleared for that purpose (almost causing a riot), or the servant's quarters of some rich pomp,. On his army salary…
Wyatt shook his head lightly. It wasn't fair to blame the refugees. The world had brought its wars to Tír na nÓg, had used it as its battleground, and then abandoned them all leaving only devastation. Years passed, then decades, and nothing changed for the better. The Fae had no choice but to flee. The least his country could do was take them in, and it certainly didn't do any more.
He was busily fumbling with the last preparations, some coffee and half-burnt cookies because he'd had the grand idea to make them himself. He may be a decent cook, but a baker he was not. Wyatt turned on his heels in this direction and that as he mentally ticked off boxes on his to-do-list for the interview. He'd situate himself, Jiya and Rufus on the couch, so his potential new roommate could use the armchair and they could put up a united front. Check. Armchair pillow fluffed up. Check. Coffee and cookies. Check. Casual, but not lounging wear. Check. Wyatt breathed a sigh. He was grateful his buddy had come to offer moral support and check out who would replace him. They would become a fixture in Wyatt's life, so they had to fit. That had also cost him time, because a lot of the people who'd been interested had not fit with his lifestyle or his friends. So today was important. These few months were pushing it, and the text he'd received hat been signed Professor L. Preston. Those few words promised steady rent payments, so Rufus, Jiya and Wyatt had to make a good impression.
"You sure you got everything?" Rufus asked with a snicker. "Honestly, chill out. It's fine, and if the prof is a stuffy old shirt who doesn't like us after we put out coffee for him, I don't want him here anyway. "
Wyatt sent him a small smile.
"I dunno, guys, I might need that stuffy old shirt to pay the rent."
Jiya opened her mouth to answer, but they all froze when the doorbell rang. Wyatt did one last quick environment check and headed for the front door. When he opened it, he found a lithe young woman outside, studying the neighborhood. He could not see her face, only the dark curls of her hair. She was dressed in a cream-colored blouse and a light pink skirt. The difference in shade to her skin was so slight he barely noticed, at first, that her blouse was short-sleeved. The creamy, unmarred skin of her arm exposed to sight.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. How can I help you? Are you lost?" He asked, his voice a little urgent. He was expecting someone and he didn't want the professor to think he had invited several people at once.
When she turned around, Wyatt was taken aback by the shy but glowing expression on her face. She smiled at him, but more with her eyes than her mouth. Her eyes were darker than any he had seen. A rich deep brown, warm and comforting. She looked at him for only a moment, before she fixated her gaze on the ground.
"Good afternoon, Mr Logan. I believe we have an appointment," the woman announced, her hand already extended in greeting. "Lucy Preston, nice to meet you."
Wyatt's jaw may have hit the ground as he slowly shook her hand. As if in a trance, he stood aside to let her in, then moved to take the sand-colored jacket from her that he only now noticed hanging over her arm. She smiled at him gratefully, and Wyatt finally got over the shock when he heard the patter of feet headed for them.
"Wyatt, what's taking you so long. Let the profes-oh!" Jiya stopped mid-sentence halfway around the corner when she noticed their guest. Her quick mind clearly put two and two together much faster than soldier boy, because she continued only a split-second later. "Not a stuffy old shirt at all," she exclaimed, delighted.
"Huh?"
"Uh, sorry about that. My friend was worried that Professor Pres-, well, that you would be… uhh…" Wyatt wasn't sure how to put it nicely.
"Supercentenarian?" Professor Preston asked.
Wyatt blinked, but nodded. What an odd way to say ancient and stiff. He snorted at himself. He might have expected as much from an academic. What was he getting himself into? Meanwhile, Jiya had taken over the get-together, taking the pretty professor by hand, leading her into the living room and offering her a seat. On the couch, between her and Rufus. Damn it, Wyatt cursed inwardly, they'd discussed this. There was nothing for it now, though, so he sat down in the armchair and offered her coffee with a silent gesture as Jiya carried the conversation. Professor Preston seemed charmed if a little uncertain under the attention of so many people. Which seemed odd, for a lecturer.
"I'm sorry," Professor Preston spoke up suddenly. "…I'm just a little surprised… uh…"
"Oh don't worry, we don't all live here," Rufus caught her meaning and waved away her concern. "I mean, I used to live here, but now Jiya and I have moved in with one another, so you'd just be sharing with our boy Wyatt here."
"Yeah, but we're around frequently, so we wanted to get to know you, too," Jiya added.
"What she means is: they're nosy."
"Oh," the professor chuckled, a little more at ease with all the scrutiny.
"How come you're looking for a home, professor…"
"I've only arrived in Frisco recently. The university has offered me accommodation for the interim, but I need to find a place of my own." She spoke almost more swiftly than he could follow, clearly still nervous. "Add to that that I don't have tenure yet…"
She trailed off, biting her lip as if she'd said something wrong. Wyatt could understand. He'd never gone to university, but even he knew tenure was a big deal, and with the housing market being what it was. He could understand why she might have had some difficultly, and why she thought she might have misspoken. She needn't worry about it. If the university was interested enough to give her housing, then they intended for her to stay, and that was good enough for Wyatt.
"What do you teach?" Rufus asked eagerly.
"History and anthropology," she responded quickly. Her voice was suddenly a little louder, a little firmer. She looked more confident, though the expression changed again to uncertainty when she went on. "Currently, I study Fae history and culture. I hope that won't be a problem." It was a statement, not a question, but her voice rose half an octave at the end as she cast him an uncertain glance.
"Why would it be?" Wyatt asked, adding to the conversation for the first time.
"Because the anti-Fae climate is growing, and other landlords have made it clear to me they don't think the Túatha Dé Danann merit any academic attention," she replied, her voice growing firmer again, and unsympathetic. Her serene face scrunched up into a frown of anger at the thought of those ignorant fools.
"Well, I don't think we should necessarily tell the neighbors, but I- we-" Wyatt said with a meaningful glance at his friends, and paused until they had nodded. "We don't have a problem with that, on the contrary. I have to do with the Fae as part of my work and I think some insight into their culture and traditions could be helpful."
Professor Preston's frown lifted a little, but not completely. She regarded him with a guarded stare.
"What do you do?"
"I'm in the army. With the influx of refugees and the following rise of tensions, I've been assigned to Homeland Security. I'm essentially working in counter-terrorism, on both sides," Wyatt assured her when he saw her eyes narrow.
Professor Preston looked a little green. Her right hand came up to her chest, gripping her blouse just over her heart. Then Wyatt noticed that she fiddled with something there as she mused over his answer. He might have thought it was a button, but now that he looked more carefully, he did notice that she wore a delicate gold chain around her neck. Whatever it held was hidden by her blouse. He might not have noticed at all if not for her… nervous habit. She looked everywhere but at him, and Wyatt could feel this chance slipping away from him. He glanced at the other two, who also looked a little put out. They obviously noticed the professor's reluctance too. He needed someone to pay rent, though, so he couldn't just let that happen. He needed to say something. Something that would salvage this mess.
"I'm sure you must have better offers, then," the professor finally replied, her voice almost a whisper.
Wyatt decided to go for broke.
"You'd be surprised. Not really a lot of people want to live with a soldier, who comes and goes at all hours of the night and day, and whose job is as controversial as a doctor's at an execution. I either get the pro-Fae activists who can't live with me, or the Fae-haters whom I can't live with. Look, as part of my task, I have to patrol the Carnival District, but I try to be fair and keep an open mind and… I think you can help me with that if you'd be willing to give this a chance."
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Well, how could Lucy have said no to that? Right, she couldn't have, especially as her housing contract had been nearing its end and she had needed to find herself other accommodation. The rest of the conversation had gone more smoothly too, so they'd agreed to give it a try with a month-to-month lease, which had quickly turned into an indefinite one. She'd become a fixture in his house, and Wyatt and his friends had become a fixture in her life.
She rose early to have breakfast with Wyatt, so he wouldn't have to eat alone. Something for which Rufus would have been grateful if he had still lived there, because he didn't have to wake up a the butt crack of dawn. Lucy was just grateful she got two to three decent meals a day, because as Wyatt soon found out, she could burn soup. Coffee was, in fact, the only thing she could make - her one attempt at making sandwiches for poker night had ended in them taking a quick grocery tour to a deli - and so she was in charge of making their morning coffees.
Wyatt, for his part, was simply grateful to have another adult in the house, who also paid rent and offered him some grown-up conversation on a regular basis, since, as he kept teasing him about, that was impossible with Rufus. His friends came over as often as their work schedules would allow. Lucy, Jiya, and Rufus were ultimately equally charmed by one another. They decided to have regular game nights every other Friday. They sometimes spent the first hour playing Don't worry Tommy, Cluedo or Uno and other games they remembered from their childhoods for nostalgia's sake, then graduated to poker with pretzels for wagers once the hour was decently late for gambling exploits.
It was on one such night when maybe they'd all had a little bit too much to drink. Rufus complained that pretzels were boring, and they should play strip poker instead. Wyatt was about to protest, because he'd had trouble enough with his own imagination these last few months that he didn't need to actually see Lucy shirtless, when he suddenly noticed how stiff Lucy herself had gone. She sat ramrod-straight on her chair, the fingers of one hand balled into a fist on the wooden tabletop, while the others had risen to grasp tightly onto her mysterious pendant through her sweater, and she'd gone ghostly pale, more so that is.
"Luce, don't worry. It was a dumb joke," Wyatt tried to calm her down, noticing vaguely that he had sobered up considerably at seeing her like this. The other two now looked at her too, and realized how tightly wound she was. Rufus looked like someone had emptied an ALS ice-water bucket on his head.
"Yeah, Lucy, don't mind Rufus, he's just silly like that sometimes," Jiya added, reaching out to gently grab her hand, but Lucy scrambled to a stand and backed away, knocking her chair over loudly. She flinched at the sound and made to set the chair right, but when Wyatt rose to help her, she apparently thought better of it. She backed away further toward the door. Her eyes were wide and panicked. She would look everywhere but at them as she wrung her hands nervously and mumbled a quick apology.
"Please excuse me. I'm not feeling to well," she muttered. All the while, she backed out the door and bolted for the stairs. Her friends were left confused and too sober for a night like this. Normally, Rufus and Jiya would stay on the fold-out couch in the living room, but with a round of glances they tacitly agreed that was probably not a good idea that night. So Rufus and Jiya said their goodbyes.
"Hey, tell her I'm sorry, yeah?" Rufus asked his friend with a sad, uncertain grace toward the stairs. "I didn't mean to make her so upset."
"I know, Rufus. I'm sure she knows too. I don't know where all this came from," Wyatt replied, casting his own wondering glance upstairs.
"Maybe she had a bad experience in the past?" Jiya suggested. "She did mention an ex-boyfriend once. She didn't sound too fond of him."
"Maybe," Wyatt agreed, though doubtful. "I'll see if I can talk to her. Maybe distract her a little."
Rufus grinned.
"And squeeze in a date, too. Nice one, pal," the physicist teased him. Rather than dignifying that with an answer, Wyatt closed the door in his face. He heard Rufus' laughter all the way back to the kitchen while he cleaned up. He made quick and somewhat shoddy work of it, but he was in a bit of a hurry to get upstairs. When he was done, he took the steps two at a time. The light was still on in her room, so he knocked. When he didn't get a response, Wyatt briefly thought of entering anyway. His hand was already on the handle, when he realized what he was about to do. That was her room, and if she didn't want him there, didn't invite him in, he had no business going in. She had a right to her privacy, and maybe it would be better to let her sleep on it anyway. With how tense she had been, he figured it was better to speak to her in the morning.
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Morning came, and for a moment Wyatt wondered if she would even come down for breakfast. Then he smelt the divine scent of coffee and his question was answered. He got dressed and headed downstairs. Lucy had already poured two cups and sat down at the table with a cereal box and a carton of milk. So it was a sugar day, Wyatt figured. Lucy may have lived off of restaurant take out before she moved in with him, but she'd always chosen good quality establishments and healthy food options. If she resorted to stealing Rufus emergency breakfast candy, her distress had to be serious, making Wyatt frown.
"I'm sorry about last night. We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he offered.
"No, I'm the one who should apologize, and I am really, really sorry for yesterday," she mumbled. "For how I freaked out on you all."
He noticed that she was fiddling with whatever trinket hung from her neck again, and realized that he'd never found out what it was, what it meant to her, or why she kept it hidden. His frown deepened momentarily, a little hurt that she didn't trust him with it. Then he smoothed his features over, reminding himself that they hadn't, in fact, known each other that long. Even if it felt like a lifetime sometimes. Lucy was allowed her secrets.
"Hey, it's okay. You're allowed to freak out when someone is asking you to strip naked. I was a little freaked myself." He gave her an encouraging smile, hoping to amuse her a little, but her face remained serious.
"My reaction was still exaggerated," she told him glumly. "I must have really scared you all, and Rufus… poor Rufus, I probably offended him terribly. I didn't mean to, Wyatt, I just… I can't…"
She was getting more agitated with every word. Her hand was now fisted around her pendant.
"Hey, it's okay, you didn't offend anyone. We were a bit worried for you, yes, but it's okay. It was a dumb idea, and I would have rejected it anyway. You don't have to do something you're not comfortable with. We're your friends. You can always trust that we'll understand."
She flinched a little at this, and Wyatt wasn't quite sure what he'd said wrong, but then she offered him a tentative smile, and slowly unclenched her hand. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The crisis seemed to have passed. He returned her smile with one of his own.
"Hey, how about I show you my Frisco?" Wyatt asked, ready to change the topic and the mood. "You've been here for for months and I haven't even given you a tour yet."
Since Lucy had already explored the city by herself a bit, and even gone with Jiya to her favorite food haunts, Wyatt started their tour at the Presidio. He figured Lucy was someone who appreciated a chance to get off the streets and into the greens within the confines of the city, and the vast park offered exactly that. He also guessed that as an anthropologist she'd be delighted to do some people watching. He wasn't wrong. They started at the entrance near Lake Street and slowly followed the trail parallel to the coast. The landscape changed slowly around them, and it didn't take long till it looked like they were miles from the nearest town. They stopped to watch families enjoying their picnics or kids playing with their dogs. Wyatt spotted a small group of joggers, and followed them with his gaze long enough for Lucy to tease him on whether he wanted to join them.
"I've gone on a run or two through the presidio before, but today I'm happy to take the snail trail with you," he teased right back with a grin, earning himself a huff from her and a small poke in the side of the ribs. When she taunted back that he'd be eating her dust on a run, he laughed good-naturedly, until he saw the challenging gleam in her eyes. She was dead serious. When they stopped at the immigrant point overlook, he guessed he had also earned the small lecture on the history of immigration into America and the westward movement she gave him, but it still made him roll his eyes a little, though he did enjoy how enthusiastic she was about history.
They came by the WWII memorial a little while later, and reading the explanation Lucy grew very quiet. She kept looking at the construction, a frown on her face, and Wyatt wondered if she thought something was missing from it. When he asked her about it, she didn't answer immediately. She continued to scrutinize the memorial, closing in and running her fingers over the bright surface. When she reached the statue, she peered up to study its face more closely. Finally, she shook her head and turned back to him.
"It's too pristine," she muttered with a dark look back at the stone. "The United States accomplished much in WWII, but it's not just a hero's tale. It was dark, bloody, terrible. War isn't bright and pretty. This memorial is much too beautiful for one of the darkest chapters in human history."
"It's meant to be a reminder, so people don't forget. It's not meant to represent the war itself," Wyatt replied softly.
"I know, but still… War brings too much suffering to pay homage to it like this in my book. It destroyed towns and cities, countless lives ended and families torn apart. Countrysides and continents were laid to waste. It's… it's not right," Lucy insisted, her head turned away from both him and the memorial, hand over her heart. After a moment, she stiffly moved it back to her side. "I'm sorry. I'm talking nonsense. I just… don't like war."
"No one does." He offered her a hand, his back turned to the statue. When she took it, he led her away. With every step they took, she seemed to grow a little lighter, until he thought she might fly away at any moment. Her face smoothed and she smiled again, looking around with interest at what else the park had to offer, and Wyatt was just grateful that the mood hadn't been completely ruined. He was pensive, though. The way she reacted had seemed almost personal in its animosity, making him wonder if she'd lost someone recently to war. Which in turn made him wonder if she had truly been talking about WWII. After all, the most recent war had been…
Before he could finish his line of thought, they had reached the Golden Gate Overlook and the sight nearly took his breath away. He saw Lucy was transfixed as well, staring in awe at the bright red bridge as it crossed over to Battery Spencer. They enjoyed the rest of their walk around the Presidio, finishing at the Palace of the Fine Arts, which Lucy loved. The glow in her eyes and on her face was almost brighter than the sun when they stopped for a spot of lunch at the Exchange Club. Even though he kept chuckling and rolling his eyes at the right moment, he loved listening to her go on and on about how the rotunda nestled itself around the lagoon, and how it had been built to evoke the image of ancient Roman ruins, and how it had been erected for the Panama-Pacific Exhibition. The way she talked about it, made the whole thing come to life for him, almost as if she were recounting from her own memories, because she included small details of people's lives and customs back then. She was still busy fangirling when their food had arrived, and he had to remind her to breathe - and eat - once in a while.
After lunch they headed for Haight Street, because Wyatt figured she would enjoy the alternative flair of the place. Lots of vintage and second hand shops. In between, places sold vinyl records, incense sticks and equipment for successful meditation. He had thought Lucy might enjoy rummaging around, and he'd been right. Vinyl and vintage shops made the top of her list, where she found a couple of dresses and music from her favorite time period (the 1940s, surprisingly enough), but she unexpectedly also bought a couple of incense sticks with a deep spicy scent Wyatt couldn't place but didn't mind. The vibrant colors of the Victorian Era houses and imaginative decorations of Haight Ashbury captured both their attention as they strolled down the street, while midday turned into afternoon.
He had meant to end the tour with a trip to Fisherman's Wharf to watch the sea lions and enjoy some ice cream, but when they reached the end of Haight Street near South of Market, they were confronted with a bit of a commotion beyond the gates of the Fae district. Wyatt told himself he was off duty, but Lucy was apparently much more adventurous than he had expected from an academic. The gates were open until dark, and she'd crossed Market Street and turned onto Mission Street before he could react. He jogged to catch up with her. They made their way through a throng of Fae and humans lining the street waiting for something. The former were exchanging murmured whispers, worried about something, while the latter openly complained about the latest bit of crazy from the critch. When they finally made it to the front row of the spectators, he heard Lucy gasp beside him.
A group of maybe a dozen fauns passed them by, all undressed from the hips up, covered in more and more of their own blood as they flagellated themselves. They walked through the streets where the crowd had parted for them, chanting something in their ancient tongue. Wyatt spotted a few officers who watched the scene from the sidelines, ready to interfere. Though the city had technically banned the Fae language, its use was still generally tolerated within the confines of their district, so long as it wasn't too public. Which this was, and Wyatt thought it was only a matter of time before the situation escalated. His gaze flew back to the approaching group of fauns.
"What are they doing?" He wondered out loud.
"It's a ritual of strength," Lucy answered him automatically, fiddling nervously with the chain around her neck. "Fauns believe that if they can withstand the pain, they will be all the stronger for it, that they'll be able to withstand anything."
Her voice was quiet and her eyes held more than she was saying as she continued to watch them. Wyatt was about to ask what they wanted strength for when the situation escalated as he had expected. Suddenly, a man pushed out of the masses and rammed one of the smaller fauns at the back of the row. The faun was more a boy than a man. He stumbled and fell sideways into the faun next to him when he was shoved. They both went down, while the man approached.
"Wyatt, he has a knife," Lucy hissed in warning.
The motion had been to quick to see properly, but now that the man approached more slowly, Wyatt, too, noticed that he was wearing a butcher's blood-smeared apron and a large knife. Inwardly, the soldier cursed. He had moved to use the way the crowd had remained parted for the procession to reach the man fifteen feet further down the street when she called to him. Adjusting for the knife, he pulled the man to the ground, arm twisted until he let go of the knife, all the while cursing Wyatt this way to Sunday. The soldier merely grunted at the insults, but he noticed the officers' approach out of the corner of his eye, and quickly pulled out his badge from a pocket in his jacket. He'd retrieved it just as a click alerted him to the guns now pointed at him.
"Wyatt!"
He heard Lucy's panicked call, but concentrated on the officers ordering him to get of the butcher.
"Get your ass off that man, critch!" One of them screamed, shaking his gun practically in Wyatt's face as he reached them. The soldier fixated them with a dark stare, under which the officer shrunk away a little, but the gun remained pointed firmly in his face.
"I'm Master Sargent Wyatt Logan with Homeland Security," he informed them calmly, raising the badge for all to see. Eyes blinked at him, then at the badge and back at him, before weapons were lowered.
"I'm sorry… sir, we thought you were… uh…"
"I heard what you thought, officer, and we don't like that term in public service," Wyatt growled at him. "Now hand me your handcuffs."
"What for, sir? It's over." But he handed over the handcuffs, and let Wyatt proceed to cuff the man he'd put face-first in the dirt.
"It's not over until this man is booked for assault."
"Assault?! But, sir, all he did was stumble into some cr- I mean, some fae…"
Wyatt opened his mouth, but before he could say something, Lucy was there.
"And do you regularly stumble into innocent people with a knife in your hand, officer?" She asked scathingly. She was so angry, her usually pale face had darkened a few shades. She went on before the officer could reply. "And when you have, do you usually approach them with the knife still in hand to… what, to help them up, maybe?"
"Ma'am, I really don't see a reason a fine lady such as yourself should be so upset."
Lucy frowned, not getting the reference, but Wyatt did.
"Are you accusing my friend of something officer?" He asked darkly, and the man in question started.
"She's with you? Figures. No, sir, I was just pointing out that there's no need for the lady to concern herself. The faun has suffered no more harm from this… unfortunate accident than what he did to himself."
"That better have been it, officer."
"Let me take him off your hand, sir. I'll take his particulars and-"
"Thanks officer, but I think I'll take him to the station myself."
He looked between him and Lucy.
"Surely, you'd rather get out of this hellhole and go back to your date with the lady."
Lucy huffed at him.
"The lady insists," she hissed.
Wyatt grinned.
"You heard her. We'll take him. Back to work, officer."
Technically, Mission Police Station was on Valencia Street, but Wyatt preferred to take his arrest to the nearer Sheriff's Department on Van Ness Avenue. It was closer to where they were, and he did want to get back to his day with Lucy. He just hoped the deputies took their job policing the Fae District a little more seriously than the police officer he'd just encountered. When he approached the beautifully decorated arch above the entrance door, he chanced a glance back at Lucy. She was a bit calmer now as she followed him. It had been lucky she had spotted the knife. He had already been on the move when her shout alerted him, and things could have gone a lot worse if he hadn't realized in time.
"Didn't expect to see you here, Marshal," someone called him from inside the building as soon as they'd pushed through the door. He looked up at voice to see the familiar face that accompanied it. God, was he happy to see a friendly face today! He approached the desk with a grin on his face.
"Bam-Bam, I thought you were still overseas or at Pendleton. When did you get transferred into Frisco?"
"About a month ago. Apparently, the situation with the refugees is escalating, so more and more of us old dogs are poured into the city. I hear they're even calling back some reservists."
"A whole month, and you didn't even come by to say hi. I'm hurt."
"Sorry pal, Julie and I are still busy getting the house in order and the kids into school… Julie swears if I make her move again, she's going to leave me behind, and I think this time she's only half joking. You know how it is," Bam-Bam replied with an exaggerated sigh. "What about you? What brings you by the Sheriff's station."
Wyatt pulled the butcher to the front none too gently.
"He assaulted a faun on Mission Street, almost attacked him with a knife, too."
"Stupid critch had it coming, prancing around around the street like he owned the place. Worthless goat-fucker! The devils paraded their heathen rituals around the streets where good folk try to do business!"
"If you call your jacked-up prices driving the Fae to crime to pay for food good business," Bam-Bam muttered with another sigh.
"Stupid goat got blood all over my merch! Should've his ass roasted."
"With the crowd of people standing in front of your merch, I doubt it," Lucy piped up, after having followed the exchange for a bit. All three men turned to her, and Bam-Bam's face spread into a sly smile.
"And who's this bewitching creature you brought along, Marshal? You're holding out on me." He came around the desk to kiss her hand gently. "You shine like a fairy queen, milady. You sure this lump of wood deserves you?"
"Uh, I… uhm…" Lucy blinked rapidly, her face darkening again under his scrutiny.
"Don't mind Bam-Bam, Lucy," Wyatt told her. "He loves waxing poetry, the mushier the better, but he doesn't mean anything by it. Julie would kill him otherwise."
"The curse of married men," Bam-Bam agreed, but he said it so fondly there was no bite in his words. "Alright, back to business. What do you want me to do with him?"
"Book him."
Bam-Bam motioned for a deputy to take the butcher off his friend's hand and lead him to the back where the cells were. He had the deputy hand him the man's purse first, though, so he could take down his particulars and file the necessary paperwork.
"You know he'll be out of there soon enough, right?" He asked, looking up at Wyatt from his task. "No judge will keep him in a cell for attacking a Fae. We're far from equal rights, here."
"I know," Wyatt sighed. "He shouldn't just get away with it, though."
Bam-Bam looked back at where the butcher had been taken, still cursing.
"A knife, huh?"
"A really big one," Lucy pointed out, showing Bam-Bam its size. For emphasis, Wyatt laid the bagged evidence on the desk. Bam-Bam looked down at it and let out a light whistle.
"Well, I suppose I should alert the judge about his incarceration… tomorrow."
Lucy and Wyatt's faces brightened with identical smiles.
"Thanks, Bam," Wyatt said, and invited him and Julie to the next poker night.
"We'll be there. You kids have fun, now," he told them with a knowing wink.
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They didn't follow Wyatt's original plan to Fisherman's Wharf. Instead, once outside the Sheriff's Department, Lucy took his hand and led him back to the busy streets of the Fae District. Blinking in surprise that she'd want to return, he eyed his surroundings a little suspiciously. The crowd had dissolved, and the blood was being washed from the street. The tension had eased from being able to cut it with a butter knife to just thick in the air as it always was. At first, Wyatt figured she wanted to explore the Fae District to add to her studies, but soon he realized she must know her way around, because she was clearly leading him somewhere specific. There was a purpose in her steps and her demeanor, and her face was set as if she'd just come to a monumental decision. She didn't look back at him as she led him deeper into Fae territory. Maybe because she thought she might lose her nerve?
Further inward, she turned deliberately away from the main road and into an inconspicuous alley. There was a dead end ahead behind a dumpster, and Wyatt wasn't sure what she hoped to find here, but he followed her quietly. Turning around the dumpster they found a mural of a beautiful Fae woman on the wall, previously hidden from view. Wyatt cocked his head to the side. He wasn't an art connoisseur, but even he could tell it was a fine painting, almost life-like. He half-expected it to start moving, so when it did, at first, he thought it was his imagination. Then Lucy turned back to him with a mischievous smile and spoke.
"Let me show you my San Francisco."
She turned back to the mural, which looked at her expectantly. She knocked on the brick stone by the mural's eyes, and it was pulled away to reveal real eyes. Eyes with a slit for a pupil. A faun, Wyatt realized. The eyes looked both of them over, narrowing at Wyatt's appearance.
"He's with me," she added with a stern look at him. Wyatt's eyebrows rose to his hairline, but he nodded in compliance. After a moment of hesitation, the eyes from the wall rolled, followed by loud chuffing noise, and the mural closed again. Wyatt squeezed Lucy's hand, because it was no surprise that he wasn't welcome in… whatever this place was. He was about to turn back when the wall shifted, for lack of a better word. The singular bricks that made up the mural turned inward and made way for them. A faun did await them on the other side, sitting at a small table next to the unexpected entrance. Without hesitation, Lucy slid past him, pulling Wyatt into the den with her. He heard the faun mutter something probably unfriendly as he passed, but since it was in the Fae tongue, he couldn't tell. The furious glance Lucy shot the faun, coupled with the way he straightened a little and looked the other way, threw the soldier for a loop.
"Do you understand their language?" He asked quietly as she led him down barely lit corridors deeper into the heart of the earth. "I thought they didn't teach their language to outsiders."
"Times change and people have to change with them or go extinct," Lucy answered cryptically. Then she looked back at him as they reach the mouth of a great cave. "The Fae language is dying out. Too few Fae dare to speak it, even fewer teach it to their children. You'd be surprised what people are willing to share, or even to part with if only to preserve it."
Wyatt was only half-listening, because what he was seeing couldn't be true. He had to be in some kind of cellar, yet the place looked half-built and half-natural. Tables were arranged around a large stone circle. Shining crystals cast a faint glow that was reflected like a million glittering stars from the natural stone ceiling. In the middle of it all, around the stone circles, Fae danced in flowing robes, each carrying a small spark that seemed to have no other origin than the air in which it floated, and from the center of the circle the sad tunes of a large golden harp drifted through the air as it played itself. A woman was singing in their ancient tongue.
"The Fae still have some magic," Lucy explained as she led him to a table. "And secrecy is the only way they survive."
Wyatt just nodded. It wasn't like someone would have believed him if he told them, but he wouldn't have anyway. This place was too beautiful, too… magical to allow the police to destroy it.
"It's beautiful," he blurted. Some voices rose to hush him. When heads turned and they realized he was man-blood, curses rose in hushed whispers, for how dare he be here. "Uh, Lucy, I don't think we should have come."
Lucy ignored the whispered curses and the hateful looks as she clasped his hand demonstratively. Her whole attention was focused on the golden harp and woman who sang her song to its beautiful, but sad tune. Her voice was lovely beyond this world, and pregnant with power, and it went straight to Wyatt's head like heavy liquor.
"She's singing about the first human in Tír na nÓg. He came from Iceland and washed ashore after a storm. He was brought to Queen Aedis, who became utterly fascinated by him. He stayed as a guest at court for a while… They fell desperately in love with each other." Lucy's voice cleared his mind somewhat, as if it carried its own power. As if her soft, adoring tone lifted the veil of stupor the magic song had wrapped around him.
"That's a beautiful love story," Wyatt said, though he could only half appreciate it now that he was fully back to consciousness, what with the continued stares. He did notice, however, that the stares shifted from angry to suspicious to begrudgingly accepting the longer they sat there, and, actually, the more people noticed Lucy with him. He cast her a surprised glance. She really had managed to make a connection with these people, though he doubted her enthusiasm for their culture and her determination to keep and cherish it had been enough to do that as she had implied. Perhaps the Fae were desperate enough for a white knight, well, a white lady, but he was beginning to watch her with new eyes.
"Sadly, Ison yearned for home, so he built a ship and sailed away. No one knows if he managed to return, but he did leave something behind. He and Aedis had a child, a son."
Wyatt's head snapped around.
"He just left her?" He couldn't fathom it. How could a man leave the woman he loved? A woman he had apparently started a family with? How could he leave his child? Even if he didn't know, how could he just up and leave?
"His son is a mysterious figure in Fae myth. It is said he spent his life searching for his father. He roamed the mortal world for years, some say centuries. The Fae never knew if he succeeded." Her hand was over her heart as she listened to the last notes of fading music, not fiddling or grasping, just pressing her pendant to her chest.
"Did he?" Wyatt asked, and he knew he wasn't asking the historian. She turned to look at him for the first time since they'd entered this Otherworld. Her eyes were brighter than he had ever seen, her face shone faintly. Wyatt slowly, daringly, reach out a hand to her cheek. It was warm and bright. The glow of her skin, subtle as it was, seemed to intensify and Wyatt didn't know if it was the place or his company that had this effect on her. Was he glowing too? His fingers slid gently along her cheek to her jaw, then down along the column of her throat. When he reached the delicate gold necklace she always wore, he hooked one finger underneath it. When she didn't stop him, he pulled the maddening trinket out from under her shirt and up into the light. A locket hung from the chain. He glanced at her eyes and saw her nod ever so slightly. As the locket clicked open, he realized they were both holding their breath.
Inside were two pictures of three women.
Three Fae women.
One was Lucy.
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When they got home that evening, there was a certain tension around them like a heavy mist. Neither of them spoke. Lucy didn't, because she dare not, worried that she might have revealed more than she should have. It had been an impulsive action, taking him to the Fae Underground. She'd grabbed his hand and made her way halfway there before she fully realized where she was taking him. For weeks, months, now she had been at war with herself over whether or not to reveal her secret to him. Wyatt was kind, loyal, and brave. More than anyone she'd ever met, and she trusted him, but did she trust him enough? Could she? She had wanted to tell him. Had wanted to break down this invisible barrier between them. Yet she could not say if she had done that to do right by him, or because he was her friend (or she hoped he was) and he deserved the truth if he was risking everything. If her secret were discovered by less well-minding people… A part of her was also selfish in revealing herself. She had wanted someone to share her burden for some time, and she wanted it to be him. Wanted him if she was completely honest, but what if she had miscalculated? What if he'd be furious with her - as he had a right to be - and handed her over to the authorities for impersonating a human? Or what if he tried to exploit her secret like… She shook her head, not wanting to think about that. His silence was creeping her out enough.
"Do you know what kind of position you've put me in?" He asked as he looked back at her for the first time.
She looked away.
"Oh, no, you're not hiding from this," Wyatt hissed. "Lucy, look at me!"
So she looked up.
"This could cost me everything." He was angry, and his anger made her angry.
"Cost you everything?! What do you think it would cost me if I were discovered?" She shot back at him quietly. "You might be the poor idiot who got fooled by a critch, but I'd go to jail. And even if not, I'd lose my job, my friends… My life's work would be discarded as trash!"
"Maybe you should have thought of that before starting a fraudulent career," Wyatt barked. He knew it was the wrong thing to say when he saw the storm forming in her eyes.
"Nothing about my work is fraudulent. It is the truest account of Fae culture humans have ever laid eyes on, because it's not fed by their racist prejudice," she hissed back. "I've spent years trying to gently educate my fellow people - human an Fae alike - about the value of diversity, intercultural exchange and respect, and in the last thirty years or so, I have finally seen some success. At least younger generations are starting to be curious about the world around them, starting to explore and to form connections. These relationships have given rise to the Fae Rights Movement that will eventually cause social and political change. It must," Lucy insisted, her rousing speech falling apart like a house of cards at her desperate tone. "It must if the lives of future generations are supposed to be better. If my people are to be free."
She was right. While the anti-Fae climate was powerful as ever, and growing worse, Homeland had noticed a growing minority taking to the streets for more Fae rights. So far they were petitioning for ending segregated schools and opening higher education and public service to the Fae, but Wyatt expected it was only a matter of time, before they'd also call for voting rights, equal opportunity and equal pay. As they had to if their cause was to be just.
"I don't disagree with any of that, and if I didn't work with Homeland I'd probably join the protestors myself, but… giving rise to it from my living room? That's in an entirely different ballpark."
Lucy swallowed, but nodded.
"I understand," she muttered. "I'll tell UCSF that it didn't work out. Maybe they can find me in housing until I can find something else, and if not, I'll find a hotel or something. I'll be out of your hair tomorrow. Just… please don't tell anyone."
Even though she pleaded with him, she couldn't look at him. She shrugged of his jacket, which he had given her without a word when they'd exited the Fae Underground to be met with chilly night air, and hung it over a nearby chair. Wyatt opened his mouth to say… something, but she was already heading upstairs. That was probably for the best. He wasn't sure what he had wanted to say anyway. Maybe that she didn't need to bolt, that she could look for new accommodation from here? Maybe that he hadn't meant that she should leave, only that she should stop… being herself? Wyatt pressed his eyes closed. He could suggest neither to her without making even more of a dick of himself. When he opened his eyes, the living room felt as cold and empty as it looked.
He let himself fall onto the couch and pondered the months in which he'd known her. She'd brought warmth and laughter to his home beyond her steady rent. She'd taken to his friends as they'd taken to her, and their disastrous strip poker suggestion aside, they'd made an awesome quartet. Two science nerds, a history buff and an adrenaline addict - they never had a dull day, though he refused to play Trivial Pursuit with any of them ever again!
Wyatt tried to imagine future game nights or pub crawls without Lucy, just Rufus, Jiya, and himself. Well, and Julie and Bam-Bam, of course. They'd soon join them. Surely they'd soon forget Lucy between the riotous evenings they'd have, without having to worry about protecting a potentially career- and life-endangering secret. Yet try as he might, whatever he envisioned doing in the next few months his mind supplied an image of Lucy, smiling in the midst of them. It seemed he was incapable of imagining his future without her. When he felt his heart clench at the thought of her leaving, Wyatt knew he didn't want to either. But did he want to keep her secret? Even from his friends?
He slowly turned his eyes upward as if he could see through the ceiling and into her room. Slowly, as if on autopilot, Wyatt made his way upstairs. He could see the light filtering into the dark hallway from under her door, and he heard her move around the room busily. Just the thought of her packing made him feel queasy. He knocked. At first he received no answer, except for the sudden silence in the other room. The soldier bit his lip, and sent a quick prayer to whatever deity might be willing to listen. He knocked again, not knowing if he'd have the strength to give her space this time. A slow sigh drifted to his ears beyond the door before she answered.
"Come in," Lucy invited him quietly.
He opened the door to find her standing over her suitcase, neatly folding the 40s dresses they had bought together that day. His heart clenched at how the day had deteriorated from those light-hearted first few hours. She only half turned toward him, guarded in her stance as he moved to the middle of the room. Even now that he was here, Wyatt didn't know what to say. It was clear from her tension that she expected more harsh words, but he didn't want to fight. He wanted to make peace, he just didn't know how. Unnerved by his continued silence, maybe, Lucy straightened herself. A small clampering sound attracted both their attention, and their gazes turned to the locket. It was still open, as if to throw Wyatt a lifeline.
"Who are the other two?" He asked softly, unwilling to startle her.
Lucy reached for the locket, and brought it up to her eyes. A soft, sad smile played upon her lips as she looked at the picture of herself with mischievous-looking ginger. Both of them had dragonfly-like wings sprouting from their backs. He wondered where they had gone, if she had mutilated herself to live safely among humans, and his heart forgot to beat at the thought.
"My sister Amy," Lucy told him. "My little sister. She was a wild child. Always dashing off to cause trouble. She only calmed down a little as she grew older. She was an active voice in the first Fae protests. She always tried to get me to join them, but I shared my mother's views then."
She pointed at the other picture. An older blonde woman with aristocratic features and the stiff upper lip to go with it even in a family photo.
"My mother thought change had to come from within. That only if humans wanted to change themselves could true, lasting justice be achieved. She didn't know how right she was."
Wyatt swallowed. It didn't bode well that she talked about them in the past tense.
"What happened to them?"
"The police opened fire on the protesters. My sister was hit. Afterward, my mother was so angry, she joined Rittenhouse. I haven't spoken to her since."
"I'm sorry." Wyatt had heard of Rittenhouse, of course. It was a notorious Fae organization, less concerned with achieving equal rights and more interested in exerting vengeance on humans. He couldn't quite place the protest at which her sister had been killed - that, at least, hadn't happened in the US for years - but it might have been in a different country. Rittenhouse was certainly known to operate world wide, and it made sense since Lucy somehow managed to live as a human in the US.
"Me too," she whispered, her voice stricken. He noticed a small tear make its way down across her cheek. She opened her mouth to say something, quite possibly to ban him from her room, but Wyatt was faster. He had crossed the remaining distance between them and raised his hand to wipe away her tear. His hand didn't leave her cheek after he did, making Lucy look up to him once more. "Wyatt, I… I'm sorry for lying to you. For hurting you. I told myself I was protecting you, but I was only protecting myself. I wanted to be safe, and I hadn't felt as safe as I had with you in many years, so I… I exploited your kindness. I'm so sorry."
"You did what you had to do to survive," Wyatt acknowledged. "You were right to be careful. You couldn't have known you could trust me. Speaking of… what made you decide to trust me?"
He was curious. They'd lived together for some time now. She'd had plenty of opportunities. She had never taken a single one of them. Why now? What had changed? Wyatt's fluttering heart told him it hoped it had been their… well, their date, as Rufus had called it. Oh, how he wanted it to be that.
"You booked him," Lucy told him sheepishly.
The soldier blinked. It took him a moment to understand she meant the man he'd wrestled to the ground and arrested.
"That was it?"
"Wyatt, you saw violence and interfered. You stopped him and you held him accountable. You heard how that police officer tried to sweep the matter under the rug, but you… you did the right thing, and for a Fae. You gave us justice, even if it won't last long. I don't think you quite understand how monumental that is!"
No, he supposed he didn't. He had just been doing his job.
"I'm glad you trust me," Wyatt admitted. "I trust you too."
Lucy blinked at him, uncomprehending.
"The only way you could hurt me would be if you left," he told her, more sure of this now than he'd been of anything in his life. "Your secret is safe with me, and I want you to stay."
"Really?" Her eyes brightened by about a million watts.
"Really," he confirmed. "Though, we need to tell the others. Eventually. Rufus and Jiya, Bam-Bam, Juliet and their kids - they are good people, and I trust them."
Lucy pondered this for a moment, and he hoped to God that it didn't ruin everything, but he really didn't want to keep a secret this monumental from his closest friends for, well, forever. He set his forehead gently against hers, taking in her spicy sweet scent, and hoped.
"Please."
She pressed herself closer to him, the last of the tension leaving her.
"Yes."
The End
A/N: The more I read this to tweak things or check it... well, for a long time I didn't know if I liked it more or less each time, but overall I think it's growing on me. Initially, Wyatt was a widower and had a son in this stor, but it turned out I'm not so good at writing children. And also, in my experience, they are not always good at keeping secrets, so I wrote him out of the story. I hope you like it anyway.