I want to preface this chapter with an apology on how long it's taken me to update. You would think that staying home these last few months would give me nothing but time to write, but I found it wasn't the case with me. The one year anniversary of my grandma passing away occurred during the lockdown and it deeply affected me. We were extremely close and I'd spent the last year of her life as her caregiver so she could be at home during her time in hospice. It was extremely emotionally draining to watch her decline and lose her to cancer and that despair was triggered by the isolation and the year mark. It's been rough, but I'm managing a bit better now and hope to write more often. Please don't give up on my story, I promise not to leave it unfinished! :)

Lost and Found

Wyatt-

It was due to his extensive training and subsequent years of being a cynical shell-of-a-man that Wyatt was able to efficiently compartmentalize his mind. He was so adept at it that it was almost second nature and required barely any effort to employ it. And it had kicked into high gear the moment he'd been drug away from Mason, Industries. One part of his mind was occupied with his 'removal.' He'd been handcuffed, a black bag pulled roughly over his head, and then rudely shoved into the back of a van where he'd been shackled so tightly he could barely twitch a muscle. It was almost if I were Osama Bin-Laden himself, if the man wasn't dead, of course, Wyatt had thought sardonically about the terrorist-in-custody treatment. Another part was keeping track of and timing the vehicle's motions, giving him a basic estimate of where he was going. It wasn't like it really mattered, though. It was practically a guarantee, considering how top secret the project was, that he would never see the light of day again.

The final part of his mind was keeping up an internal litany of fuck fuck fuck—I'm fucked—I'm so fucked—fuck fuck FUCK!

It wasn't lost on Wyatt that he was in a situation of his own making. It was what made his heart ache the most. He could've avoided this! But he was an impatient bastard and had utterly ruined the only good thing that he'd had going for him in the last five years. There was no one to blame but himself and he knew that, he wasn't going to try to blame someone else for his mistakes. The disappointment and anger on Christopher's face when he and Rufus had exited the Lifeboat had hit him like an upper-cut to the ribs, but it was the look on Lucy's face as she'd told him that he'd failed that had cut down to his very soul. He would never forget the look in her eyes; the agonized expression that would forever be the last one he would ever see on her beautiful face. It was enough to completely shatter his already damaged-beyond-repair heart.

Wyatt had failed not only Jessica, but he'd failed all of the others as well. Rufus for pulling him into this mess; Agent Christopher for allowing him to stay on the team after Rufus and Lucy had gone to bat for him; Rufus and Lucy for putting their trust in him and giving him their friendship; but most of all he'd failed Lucy. Other than Jessica, Wyatt had never met a purer soul, someone as inherently good as Lucy Preston, and now he would never see her again because of his own reckless selfishness. He wanted to rage at the world, beat his fists into anything within his reach, scream until he no longer had a voice or breath left within him; he did none of those things, however. He sat, calmly, as if he had not a care in the world, while his world crumbled around him.

Flynn-

Flynn was leaning against a wall in the catacombs beneath the streets of Paris. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was wearing his "broody" expression, the look Karl was so fond of teasing him about. He was thinking about how much he actually hated changing important historical events. He tried not to dwell on it too much, but he really didn't have much else to concentrate on as he waited for Karl to bring Lucy to him. He was glad Emma wasn't around at the moment, he really didn't think he could stomach her 'chattiness,' her constant voice on the edge of gloating always threatening to make him nauseous. He pushed the redhead from his mind and his thoughts circled back around to how he didn't truly enjoy the things he'd done; would still do. He knew he had to be the villain, but it wasn't something he liked. He just tried to treat it like any other job; doing his best to dissociate himself from his reprehensible acts.

He could hear Lucy and Karl coming before he saw them and Flynn mentally stomped down the urge to laugh. As typical when it came to Lucy, she was struggling in Karl's hold and trying to pull herself from his grasp as she griped at him to let her go when they finally came into view. It seemed that Karl was holding a bit of a grudge from the headache he'd had after Houdini had knocked him out in Chicago and was a bit rougher than strictly necessary while handling Lucy. Oh, she's a feisty one, he thought, fighting hard not to let his nonchalant facade break. Lucy looked like she wanted to slap Karl and he wouldn't put it past her to try if he hadn't abruptly stalked off after Flynn told him to release her.

Their ensuing conversation about Lindbergh was brief. He felt bad that he'd struck a nerve about the new soldier Karl had killed, Wyatt, and her ties to Rittenhouse, but he was glad it only took a well-placed comment or two to get Lucy to agree to what he was aiming for. Flynn had known, thanks to her journal, exactly how to get Lucy to talk him out of his 'plan' to torture the injured man and then kill him. He felt a bit of guilt at the deception, but it was a significantly better and a much easier method than to actually torture him to get the information he needed. It was also good to know that Lucy wasn't completely drowned in her heartache of the past few days to have lost her sense of humanity and the desire was still there to protect a misunderstood man. Flynn was infinitely proud of her.

Flynn knew he should take Lucy to Lindbergh straight away, but he wavered, feeling a desperate need to hear from her lips that she was okay, if only in the smallest sense of the word. Thankful that the Bluetooth speaker that was connected to the bug in the holding room was out of sight, he took her to the little off-set in the tunnel and faced her, about two feet separating them. She was obviously confused why he'd taken her there instead of to Lindbergh, her forehead furrowing further as they came to a halt.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, looking around the small space, laying her ostentatious fur coat a table.

"I wanted to talk to you where no one else could hear us," Flynn replied truthfully and simply.

"Why?"

"Lucy," Flynn began. He hesitated, not really sure what he should say. Taking a deep breath, he said the first words that came to mind, "Lucy, I wanted to ask if you were...coping?" He kept his voice even and sure. It was apparent that she knew immediately what he meant because her face went stony and her body visibly stiffened. His heart ached, he knew what that was like; knew how it felt to be reminded that you'd done something horrifically unforgivable.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice like ice.

"Lu—"

Lucy raised her hand to stop him and her name died on his lips, this was not the time to push her. She took two steps forward so that there was only a little less than half a foot separating them. "I'm not talking about anything that happened in or since Missouri," she said in a hardened tone.

"But—" He was cut off again.

"No, Flynn," she said sharply. "You have two, and only two, options in this moment." Her voice lowered dangerously and her eyes narrowed at him. "You can either take me to Lindbergh or...you can kiss me. It's up to you." She shrugged, then became still and silent to await his decision.

It took Flynn only three seconds to react to her words. The first was to repeat in his head what Lucy had said. The second was for full comprehension to sink in. The third was to give Lucy the chance to change her mind. She only cocked an eyebrow at his hesitation. The challenging posture and glint in her eyes was all he needed to spur him into action. Flynn closed the little distance between them, kissing her like his life depended on it. She moaned into his mouth at the contact and he felt it resonate within his soul. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer until their bodies were flush against each other.

Lucy's outfit holding true to the time period meant that her undergarments were fairly flimsy and the dress she was wearing was also very thin, which afforded Flynn the ability to feel when her nipples hardened into stiff peaks against his chest. His own arousal was just as expeditiously roused. To be honest he'd already been primed from when he'd first seen her undeniably and incredibly sexy visage, so it didn't take much for his shaft to being swelling. Their thinly-veiled insulting banter earlier had been a type of strange foreplay in his mind. To say that he was shocked Lucy had invited him to kiss her was an understatement, but he sure as hell wasn't going to reject the invitation. He knew they shouldn't be doing this, the information he needed from the pilot should be the only thing that mattered, but Flynn was physically unable to bring himself to stop kissing her. He doubted it was even possible at this point.

Their tongues tangled and Flynn felt the tension leaching from his body. The feel of Lucy's body pressed into his and her scent enveloping him quickly became the only things his brain continued to process, everything else pushed out as if swatted away by a flyswatter. She pressed her body into his and threw her arms around his neck, her fingers plunging into the hair at the nape of his neck. He felt goosebumps raise all over his body at her touch. Groaning quietly, still cognizant that they weren't entirely alone, Flynn gently guided Lucy backward until she was in front of the table. Without prompting, Lucy pulled herself up to sit on the flat surface. She automatically widened her legs and Flynn stepped between them and looked into her eyes, giving her one more chance to change her mind. Flynn had his answer when she leaned forward and pushed his jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the ground with a soft thump. Well, I'm not going to deny the beautiful lady what she wants, he thought, especially since her wants so clearly aligned with his.

Flynn leaned down until his palms were flat against the tabletop, and with their substantial height difference, he was eye level with Lucy. For a few moments they just stared at each other, searching each other's eyes for God only knew what. He was aware of what his body wanted, but he pushed it aside, lost in the depth of Lucy's chocolate-tinted orbs. The intensity of the look she bestowed upon rooted him to the ground. Neither an earthquake nor stampeding bulls would be able to dislodge him from where he stood. He leaned forward so he could nuzzle her jawbone, inhaling her light, sweet scent.

"Lucy—" he whispered against her skin. Flynn had been planning to offer Lucy another chance to stop this, but the words never left his mouth.

"Yes," she softly said. Flynn didn't try to suppress the shudder that rippled through his body as her warm breath caressed his ear.

His hands were just inching their way up her silk-clad legs and under the skirt of her dress when there was a loud thud followed by a groan of pain. "Sranje," Flynn cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten all about Lindbergh. He repeated the curse in his mind again. Stepping away from Lucy, he ran a hand over his face, trying to give himself more time to clear his mind and calm his body. So stupid, he thought. Lucy deserved better than a quick romp on a table in the Parisian catacombs like some common prostitute. He respected her more than that. He'd lost his head, is all. It was Lucy and it was too easy to do.

Not sure what to say, Flynn picked his jacket up, slid his arms back into it, then gestured for her to follow him. Lucy hopped down a bit clumsily from the table, straightened her dress, picked her coat up, stiffened her spine with determination and gave him a look that said lead on. Without a word they walked in silence to the hostage.

Lucy-

Lucy clenched her hands together so tightly that her knuckles were white as she followed Flynn to the room where Lindbergh was held captive. It was like an anchor for her mind to keep from spinning out of control, breathing deeply and praying for her body to calm. She was surprised at her boldness. It had definitely not been her plan to be captured, again, this evening, but luck was hardly ever on her side anymore. It was increasingly annoying. She wanted to kick herself for allowing the separation between her, Rufus, and Hemingway. A rookie mistake, she'd grumbled to herself as that brutish Karl had manhandled her, again. She was highly sick of his boorish behavior and vowed her would never get the drop on her again.

She wasn't sure what had made her give Flynn an ultimatum like she had, either. Lucy knew she should've made him take her directly to Lindbergh, to make the 'mission' a priority, but it was like the rational part of her brain had taken an ill-timed vacation. It seemed to be an irritatingly increasing occurrence. I probably need to work on that, she thought sardonically. Although it was undoubtedly a bad decision to have almost lost control with Flynn, it was undeniable that it had begun to work wonders on the tension she'd been feeling for days. Sex was always a good way to relax, but sex with Flynn—something could admit to herself that she desperately wanted again—had been like nothing Lucy had ever experienced before; like it was transcendent or something. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. 'Transcending' sex was the stuff of romance and sci-fi novels, movies, and TV shows, not real life. She figured it was a thought to ponder later. Now, with her head much clearer, she needed to get her head back in the game, back to Charles Lindbergh, back to figuring out what on earth she could say to persuade the man to leave Rittenhouse behind him. It was a daunting task.

...

Sranje means shit in Croation.