Decisions and Distractions
Wyatt-
Wyatt had a huge decision to make. After Christopher had left, leaving that paper clip for him, he'd picked it up and just stared at it. Sure, he hadn't signed the confession, but he still could and do what she's said: disappear for a few years, or he could take the Hail Mary she'd given him and try to escape. It was a big decision. He couldn't lie, a part of him wanted to be taken back to his cell and bury himself so deep into self-denial (he doubted they'd let him have whiskey regularly to accomplish it) that it would be like none of this ever happened. Or at the very least, he would tell himself that he belonged there for his crimes against his wife and his friends.
Stay or go-stay or go, Wyatt mused to himself, continually running his thumb over the metal object in his hand. Stay or go...Lucy's desperate expression from the Alamo suddenly surfaced in his mind and he couldn't pretend to be as unattached as he'd been trying for so long now. Wyatt knew what he had to do.
Lucy-
Lucy flipped through book after book looking into the life of Charles Lindbergh. It was her way of trying to deal-not really-with the last couple of days. Denial was really becoming her best friend. Distraction seemed to be the best way to forget that Wyatt was under arrest, Agent Christopher was no longer in charge of their missions (her and Rufus had really not liked Agent Neville), her biological father was Rittenhouse (that still really bothered her), and how disappointed she'd been not to see Flynn again before Rufus and Hemingway had rescued her. She knew, she knew, she shouldn't feel that way, but she couldn't help it. Besides, there wouldn't have been a way for her to be rescued if Flynn had been there. She wondered where he went and why.
It felt like things were coming to a head and soon. Lucy was worried what was going to happen then. With her, Wyatt and the others, Mason Industries, Rittenhouse. She was also worried about Flynn. What was going to happen to him? Wyatt and then Bam Bam had been under orders to shoot to kill if they had the chance, and she was sure whoever would be with her and Rufus next would have the same order. It was so conflicting. Lucy knew how she should feel, that she should want Flynn to be stopped. And she did, but she didn't want him to die. She didn't think the new boss would be very receptive to that idea, though. Agent Neville was downright uninviting. Agent Christopher may not have been the most fuzzy person, but she did care about her team. The mission debriefing had been brutally uncomfortable. It didn't seem like Neville had cared all that much that Bam Bam had died and would remain a nameless body in an alley in 1927 Paris. That had been disheartening to both her and Rufus.
Wanting to get out of Mason as fast as possible, Lucy had only changed her clothes before she left, hadn't even bothered to take her hair down fully. It must look a mess now, but she didn't care. Her mind felt like a vise was squishing it and she could barely concentrate. Why had Lindbergh gone back, did the same things, became the exact same man? Why had nothing, absolutely nothing, changed?!? Lucy couldn't understand it. She thought she'd gotten through to him. Was fame really that important to him? Or was it Rittenhouse, was their pull really that strong? If it was, then Lucy felt that they didn't have a chance, even if Wyatt were still part of the team, to take them down, to destroy their influence. She felt her heart sink at the dismal prospect.
Carol joining Lucy in her disbelief and disappointment had only made things worse. Later she would realize that she'd made a slip of the tongue when she'd said she'd thought Lindbergh would make a different choice, like she'd personally had a hand in it-which she had-but she couldn't exactly tell her mother that. She'd also missed the inquisitive look of inquiry when she'd checked her phone. The look that Carol knew exactly what her daughter had meant and was curious to hear, like any historian, of course, would be...
However, Lucy's demeanor had changed entirely when Carol had kept her from leaving right away. When she'd opened the slim box that contained the very familiar-looking journal, it was like her heart had stopped. Despite the fact that she had mostly accepted Flynn's claim that the journal was hers, especially with the handwriting, she'd almost believed that maybe it really was a forgery. But she couldn't deny it any longer. The soon-to-be filled blank pages she'd held in her hands was undeniable proof. She'd barely choked out a thank you to her mother before she practically fled the house, wanting to put as much distance between herself and that empty book as she could, having left it behind in her quick exit.
She was now waiting with Rufus and Agent Christopher in a warehouse in Oakland for Wyatt to join them. Lucy had been astonished when Christopher had told her that Wyatt was expected soon, after Christopher had been 'informed' that he'd escaped custody. They had fallen silent after talking about what had happened in Paris. Lucy and Rufus had thought about asking if they could've gone back to retrieve Bam Bam so he could be properly buried, but the new regime (eye roll) did not consider it a priority because it would 'waste time in the need for the Lifeboat needing to recharge and was an unacceptable risk if Flynn took the Mothership out while it was,' in the words of Agent Neville, who had been clear about the 'unacceptable risk' part. Rufus had admitted to Lucy to wanting to punch the unfeeling bastard in the face. She couldn't blame him at all.
There was the noise of a metal door opening and closing and the three of them turned at once to see a dejected Wyatt walk toward them, looking like the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. Lucy couldn't help it, she'd basically thrown herself at him, needing to feel that he was actually there. Everything might be a royal mess, but there was a relief that they were all together again, that maybe, somehow, they could win.
Flynn-
Flynn was again brooding. The exception this time was that there was no Karl to come tease him out of his mood. Paris had been the proverbial 'straw that broke the camel's back,' so to speak. He was tired of so many close calls. If the situation had been reversed or the 'good' guys weren't so good, Karl knew he would be dead, several times over now. Flynn couldn't blame him, not at all, for leaving their 'team,' but, damn, he would miss the guy. Now it was just him and Emma (eye roll), as if Emma was actually on his side. It wouldn't be long now, Flynn knew. He only hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would succeed this time. Maybe he could find a way to save his wife and daughter.
He almost had what he needed. The last piece of the puzzle was held by William Hale Thompson, mayor of Chicago and high member of Rittenhouse. Julian Charvet had given him the name in 1927 before Flynn had killed him and now it was time. He could finally end this, he just needed a head start without worrying about Lucy and the other two nipping at his heels. He knew how it was mostly supposed to go by the journal entry, but he seriously wondered if he should deviate completely from those events. Perhaps if he said 'to hell with it' and went ahead with his plan, maybe he would soon come back and Lorena and Iris would be here. But the snag was that it might erase Lucy from the timeline altogether. And if that happened, what would it mean for the future/present, depending on the perspective you looked at it from. There was no way to even begin to predict what changes that could make. Was it a gamble he was willing to make? Flynn didn't know, he honestly didn't and that scared him.
A voice broke him from his reverie. "And then there were two," Emma said, tilting her bottle of beer at him in mock comradeship. She was wearing that smirk that irritated Flynn to no end. He idly toyed with the idea of getting her to show him how to pilot the Mothership as a 'just in case' precaution, just so he could strangle her afterwards. A bullet would be too good for her, unless she was shot in the gut, which was a slow and painful way to die. Which, incidentally, would be fitting for the sadistic bitch, Flynn thought darkly. Would the ramifications be too catastrophic if he did? Again, he wasn't sure if it was a risk he wouldn't be willing to take or not.
Flynn knew he was a cynical bastard, but he'd never been unfeeling. He wasn't the warmest or most welcoming of men, but his years of fighting for justice and freedom in his home country had understandably hardened him. You had to be to get through war. And then with his job at the NSA, he saw some of the worst of humanity. It wasn't until he'd met Lorena that she'd brought out a different man, a softer and loving husband. And when Iris was born, he was practically born anew in his home life as a devoted and doting father. That man had died the night they did. But, then a beautiful woman had walked into his life and given him hope. And now, now, she was was bringing that man who still believed there was good in the world back to life. He'd fought it, but he was so, so tired.
Thankfully his lack of a reply other than a shrug of acknowledgment had let Emma know he wasn't in a 'chatty' mood, and while she usually didn't care, she actually left him alone this time. He was sure that he might have gone ahead and strangled her if she hadn't, so it'd been a wise move on her part-for once. Flynn sighed. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for days, just to escape this perpetual hell he was in. But he couldn't. So, he got up and changed his clothes to go to Chicago-again. He tried not to think how he'd had a few hours of peaceful bliss the last time he was there, but, as usual, he couldn't keep his mind away from Lucy for too long.
To distract himself, he began mentally reviewing everything Charvet had told him and what he would say to Al Capone to keep him from shooting him on the spot. Maybe I can finally rest if Capone just takes me out, Flynn mused to himself with wry humor. He snorted at the cynical thought and continued to dress. He'd thought that maybe the trip to the church earlier would help him feel better, but, as usual, he'd been wrong. Talking with that priest had only made him feel worse. Yes, he'd asked for absolution, but from whom? God? His wife's memory? Lucy? The universe? He didn't know. He would probably never know.