So I'm back with another chapter! I needed to take a much needed breather after the shower was over. Now I'll be able to concentrate more on my writing and post more frequently. :)

By the Firelight

Flynn-

Flynn was lying on his side on the ground and facing the campfire to keep warm. James was fast asleep on the other side, apparently not having any trouble sleeping after killing, no, murdering, Flynn corrected in his mind, so many people today. A week ago Flynn wouldn't be feeling as much remorse as he did while staring into the flames flickering in front of his face. There was always a certain amount of guilt he felt. He wasn't a cold-blooded killer as much as Homeland Security had made him out to be. Yes, he killed people, but there was a reason. Not a single death had been for the sole purpose of just killing them like sport; not the way James seemed to relish the kill and showing off his skills.

It had all seemed so simple in the beginning; follow the journal, take down Rittenhouse. And get my girls back, Flynn added to himself. The Lucy who had given him the journal had said that he wouldn't get his family back, but he was determined after reading about so many failures that he would somehow defy what she'd said. But, as time went on, it was looking like she was right. And it broke his heart all over again. While Flynn was a deadly man, he was not heartless.

His guys only looked at him as a payday. Karl seemed to believe in his cause to take out Rittenhouse, but he wasn't like Flynn. There was no personal stake in it for him. The only person who looked past all of that and looked at him was Lucy Preston. Being with her in Chicago had changed almost everything for Flynn. It was a sobering and heartbreaking realization when he knew he should start preparing himself to never see Lorena and Iris ever again. He felt like he was betraying them by giving up, by having his mind filled with Lucy.

Flynn's mind returned to some of the pages of Lucy's journal that he hadn't ever really paid much attention to until they'd come to mind a few days ago. They all had to do with 'fate' and things that were 'meant to be'. Some of it had concerned Logan and his wife, but some of it had been just questions in a general aspect, like she was trying to make sense of something she couldn't quite understand and the answer was just out of reach. It hadn't seemed relevant so he'd mostly ignored it after reading it the first time. It wasn't a section that he'd dog-eared for importance.

Two nights ago Flynn had picked the journal up and began reading that section in particular. He wondered if she'd dedicated so many pages to the subject because she'd needed to write her thoughts about it so much or if it was really more for him. Maybe that the pages had been there for his benefit, like she knew he would be having these thoughts himself, as if he'd told her of his struggles in the future. This wasn't the first time Flynn wondered how many things might've been added to the journal just for him. Sometimes there were passages that didn't seem to have much significance to the entry, but he'd found to be words he needed to read after jumping back to the present. The journal had come to feel like more than just a tool to take down Rittenhouse, like it partly had been written for him.

Flynn rolled onto his back thinking about how many people had died today. People who hadn't been 'fated' to die yet. He couldn't help thinking about how many things had changed in the future, what those people would've done with their lives if given the chance to live them out. He wasn't all that concerned about the Ford brothers. They were despicable to kill their leader for money, so he didn't feel too bad about killing them. They both had miserable lives after today so he figured he just ended their misery sooner rather than later. That was a bit harsh, but he mused that while he wasn't completely a monster, he was still a killer, after all.

Thoughts then rolled around to how Lucy would feel when they came upon the bodies of the Native Americans they'd killed. There was no doubt it was known that the two Marshalls had been killed by James, and therefore his fault, as well. She would no doubt be horrified and saddened by both. He didn't blame her, he felt the same way. Maybe on a smaller scale, but he still felt it all the same. There was a metaphorical tug on his heartstrings, now happening more often, as he thought of Lucy. He thought of the gentle and genuine smiles she'd given him in Chicago. He thought of how good it'd felt to have a normal and real conversation with her. He didn't allow himself to think of more than that, however. Now was definitely not the time. Thinking of Lucy in that way while sleeping only a few feet from a killer with no conscience felt like sacrilege.

Flynn's thoughts turned next to his conversation with James before they'd entered 'Indian Territory'. How James had said he used his cause just to be a killer. He'd dismissed the words at first, but now they came back to him. And he really thought on them. Am I truly just a killer? Flynn asked himself for the first time that all this had started. Sure, he'd killed before stealing the Mothership, but that had been different. He was in the military then part of the government. It was part of his job. Did that make it completely okay? No, never. But it wasn't like he was doing now. He didn't have the authority from the government to kill. If there was any permission, some people would argue that it would be Lucy, the future Lucy, of course, who gave it.

Flynn knew that was unfair, though, to put the blame at Lucy's feet. She didn't force him to follow the journal. He could've thrown the book away after she left and could still be drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. But here he was, in Missouri in 1882 with a murderer who should be dead and enabling him to kill more people. And not only that, but he'd been careless enough to let James get a glimpse of the modern rifle he'd brought with him. Understandably, James had been a little too excited at seeing a weapon like that. Lucy would be so disappointed in him for allowing that to happen.

And that was the crux of the issue Flynn realized, the reason he couldn't sleep. Before Chicago, he would not be doing this! He wouldn't be questioning his decisions, doubting almost everything he was doing. As infuriating as it was, Flynn knew it was a good thing that he did. It showed that his humanity was not completely gone. But it now made things so much more difficult. His night with Lucy made him simultaneously curse and thank every God that might be in existence. It was a night he needed and didn't need, so therefore, it was a conundrum.

Flynn shook his head to clear it. Looking up to the stars above him made him think of how small he was in the vast universe. He was so insignificant in that context. What he was trying to do was minuscule in comparison, but right now, what he was trying to do for the world, that was big. He really was trying to make a better world. No one could see that right and he would probably never receive any recognition or thanks for it, but it was the right thing to do. That knowledge was what kept him going on this path, kept him from giving up altogether.

Once again, it was very important that Flynn got some sleep. So he turned his back to the fire and forced his mind to go through the steps of cleaning his gun. It was a boring process, something he could practically do in his sleep, and it did the trick. He was soon asleep.

...

The crew was back at the abandoned church and winding down from their latest jump. Emma Whitmore, who he'd gone to bring back from 1882, was settling in. She'd eaten and showered, and was regaling his guys with stories of her time in the past. She apparently loved the sound of her own voice and Flynn had to get away from her. Knowing what he did made his skin crawl and he'd needed to be by himself. He supposed that for the sake of the future, whatever future that was, he needed to let things play out the way they did in the journal. It was the biggest leap of faith that he'd ever taken, but he had faith in Lucy, so he decided to trust her. He lay on his cot and began thinking over everything that had happened in 1882.

Flynn knew he was not a righteous man, far from it, but telling Jesse James that killing Bass Reeves would be good for his reputation was reprehensible, even by his standards. The man was the inspiration for the Lone Ranger series! One which Flynn loved. It was a shame that Grant Johnson, the inspiration for Tonto, had died, but it was what it was. And worse yet, he'd left the rifle with James. He was glad that he didn't have to worry at that, at least. Lucy and her team would never allow a modern weapon stay in the past so there was no chance it would be found by another.

Flynn also knew that by saving the life of James the day before had made Lucy a murderer today. He could hear her crying from the bugs he'd placed in her mother's house well over a year ago. It was on a constant feed and saved for him to listen to later. He'd donned the headphones when he'd come to his room and her sobs were muffled, he assumed by a pillow so she wouldn't wake her mother. These sobs weren't an archived file, though. They were live and Flynn's heart went out to her. He could remember the first time he'd killed someone. While they were under vastly different circumstances, mostly to the fact that he'd had 'permission', it still never left you. And this would never leave Lucy, and it was his fault.

Lucy had been the one to pull the trigger on an unarmed James, but if Flynn hadn't 'saved' him in the first place, Lucy never would've felt like she had to in order to put the timeline to rights. And Flynn knew he was never going to be able to justify making her into a murderer to her, to himself, or anyone. But he didn't think he should, so he punished himself by listening to her cry. It was in no way an apt punishment, it was far less than what he deserved, but it was all he could do in this moment. More fitting was the knowledge that this could never be undone now, that no matter what else, good or bad, Flynn did with his life, he would always know that he was the man who had orchestrated the circumstances for Lucy Preston to kill a man for the first time.

Flynn was still awake and staring at his ceiling hours after the quiet sobs on the other end of the feed faded into light breathing. Other than when his family had died, he'd never felt more wretched.

Just a heads up, it's probably going to be about two or three weeks in between updates from now on until I finish the story. Thanks so much for reading! :)