Rufus paced back and forth in the small, stark room, and tried his hardest not to panic. Boy, he could sure use one of Wyatt's no-nonsense pep talks right about now!
The thing was, he wasn't even supposed to be here. He should be out for a hard-earned evening of fun with his three favorite people, halfway through his third glass of rum (at least), and well on his way to winning that bet with Jiya. He should be relishing his beautiful girlfriend's half-drunken giggles as they cracked lame pirate jokes and watched Wyatt and Lucy make heart eyes at each other across the table every time they thought the other wasn't looking. He sure as hell shouldn't be locked in a godforsaken room at Rittenhouse headquarters — a prisoner to the very organization that they had all worked so hard to destroy.
How much longer would they keep him in this room? Surely they'd at least let him out to pee at some point, wouldn't they? Unless they planned to just leave him there to rot altogether. No, that couldn't possibly be the case. If Rittenhouse wanted him dead, they'd have killed him already, just as they had Jiya.
Jiya…. As much as he loved her (or, rather, because he did), Rufus couldn't afford to let himself think about what had happened to her yet. If he did, he knew that he'd fall apart completely, and what good would that do anyone? Right now he just needed to focus on finding a way out, and on getting back to the rest of his team. Assuming, of course, that there was anyone still alive for him to get back to.
His heart clenching agonizingly at that thought, Rufus wandered to the solitary window in the room. Resting his cheek against the cool metal bars, he closed his eyes, and gulped at the minuscule amount of fresh air that the small opening to the outside world provided.
"I will never thank you for this! With my dying breath, I'll be cursing your name!"
Rufus' weary eyes flew open at the sound of a voice nearly as familiar as his own. Was that…? No, it couldn't possibly be — not here. Could it?
Angling his head to try to get a better view, he searched for the source of the furious words that he could swear he'd just heard. "Lucy?" he shouted. "Lucy! Is that you?"
Though unable to see anyone (the window was impossibly small), the anguished screams that soon followed told Rufus everything that he needed to know. Lucy was indeed here and, much like him, apparently in serious trouble.
He continued to holler her name repeatedly through the narrow bars, on the off-chance that she'd hear him. Even if they couldn't reach each other at the moment, he hoped that she'd at least recognize his voice, and know that she wasn't alone. While he was deeply concerned for her, Rufus also found a small measure of comfort in knowing that his friend was nearby.
"Rufus? Rufus, help! Please, Rufus!" Lucy finally replied, her abject terror more than evident in the tone of her voice.
He hadn't thought that his heart could possibly break any further. However, hearing the woman who was the closest thing that he had to a sister scream his name in such desperation, and realizing that there was nothing that he could do to help her, proved Rufus wrong. Freaking Rittenhouse! Damn it, he had to get out of this place now. And somehow, he needed to get Lucy out, too.
Scanning the spartan room for the umpteenth time for some semblance of a tool — any tool — that would allow him to escape, Rufus' eyes finally settled thoughtfully on the cot that his captors had 'generously' provided for him to sleep on. Flipping the flimsy bed upside down, he was pleased to see that his suspicions were correct. The thin mattress was strapped to the metal framework with a series of wires and springs.
If he could just work one of those wires loose, perhaps he could use it to pick the lock on the door. And if he could pick the lock on the door, he could get out and try to find Lucy. And if by some miracle Rittenhouse didn't catch and kill them both, then they'd be home free, because for once in the last year he knew exactly where the Mothership was.
It wasn't much of a plan, especially since (unlike Wyatt) Rufus had absolutely no idea how to pick a lock. But it was all that he had at the moment, and it was certainly better than driving himself to a nervous breakdown while waiting around to see what Rittenhouse would do to him (or what they might already be doing to Lucy).
Not caring in the slightest about whatever damage it might do to his hands, Rufus quickly set to work freeing one of the tightly-wrapped wires from the framework of the cot. He'd just finally managed to loosen one end of it when the door to the room swung open, and the same two agents who'd forced him to steal the Mothership ('John' and 'Mel', they'd called each other earlier) stepped inside, their guns both pointed directly at him (again).
"Is the bed not to your liking, Mr. Carlin?" Mel arched an eyebrow at him as she leaned over to inspect his handiwork.
"What? Oh. I was, uh, just…uh…." Rufus tried but failed to come up with a reasonably innocent explanation for why he'd been trying to strip the wire from the overturned cot.
"Save it," Mel interrupted tersely. "Just an FYI, though, the locks on all the doors here are electronic, and electrified when activated. So unless you prefer death by electrocution to our fine hospitality, I suggest you relax and enjoy your stay."
Rufus grimaced. Great. There went that plan, however lame it might have been. He definitely had no desire to die today, by electrocution or any other method. So now what was he going to do?
"Well, come on then," Mel waved him towards the door. "Time for you to earn your keep."
Concerned that the woman might just shoot him if he refused to cooperate (she'd already proven how trigger-happy she was when she'd opened fire on Mason's staff earlier), Rufus followed her into the hallway, and back towards the Mothership.
Surreptitiously studying his two captors, he noticed that they had changed clothes since he'd last seen them. Whereas earlier they'd been wearing U.S. Army uniforms, they were now sporting San Diego Sheriff's Department uniforms. Apparently Rittenhouse was big on the whole 'playing dress-up through time' thing, too. Oh goody!
"So let me guess: you want me to help you steal some police cars now, too?" Rufus deadpanned as he climbed aboard the Mothership and buckled himself into the pilot's chair. Though he knew better than to expect any Rittenhouse mission to be so relatively benign, that didn't stop him from hoping that it would.
"Maybe next time," Mel replied sardonically. "This time you're taxiing us to 2012 and back."
"2012?" Alarmed, Rufus swiveled in his seat to face her. "You can't be serious! Sorry, but no can do," he argued, shaking his head vehemently. "We can NOT go back to any time where we've already been – it's way too dangerous!"
"Those are the orders. Or do the lives of your mother and brother mean nothing to you?" She smiled cruelly, waving her gun in Rufus' face so that the meaning of her threat was abundantly clear.
"You don't understand!" Rufus insisted frantically. "I'd do it if I could. But what you're asking — it's suicide. We're talking a 99.9999% chance that we won't make it back to the present at all, and even if we do, it'll be in a million pieces — each. They'll literally be scraping us out of our seats!"
Undeterred by what she felt certain were merely stall tactics on his part, Mel pressed the barrel of her gun to Rufus' temple, and repeated her earlier statement. "Those are the orders."
Geez, the woman was starting to sound like an automaton, Rufus thought. Then again, maybe she was — a Rittenhouse automaton, programmed to do the evil bidding of her masters, regardless of the consequences. "Whose orders?" he asked, growing bolder out of simple desperation. "Because clearly they don't understand how this time travel stuff works. If you'd just let me talk to them, I'd be more than happy to explain…."
"Carol freaking Preston's, of course — who else?" John interjected bitterly.
"John!" Mel snapped.
"What?" John rolled his eyes at her. "That bitch has no qualms about putting everybody else's lives in danger, as long as she gets what she wants, and you expect me to just go along quietly?"
"Those are the orders," Mel reiterated.
As irritated as he was with Mel's continued casual use of that phrase in relation to the likelihood of all of them dying horribly, Rufus was far more concerned with the huge revelatory bomb that John had just dropped. "Carol Preston? As in world-renowned historian and anthropologist slash Stanford University professor Carol Preston? You're saying she's Rittenhouse?"
John nodded as he fumbled with the buckles of his own safety harness. "Head honcho, no less. In other words, what she says goes, even if the orders don't make sense."
Well shit. Lucy's mom was Rittenhouse, too — not just her dad? That certainly cast things in an all-new light, didn't it? Who knew how much Lucy had unwittingly shared with her mother about Mason Industries, the 'time team', and their missions to preserve history over the course of the last year? Not that Rufus blamed Lucy in any way. Clearly she hadn't known any more about her mother's true loyalties than the rest of the team had. Still, it explained a few things, didn't it?
"That's enough, John," Mel warned through clenched teeth.
Despite her warning, John — clearly discontent with the status quo — continued to chatter as casually as if Rufus were his best friend, rather than the enemy POW that he actually was. "Take this mission, for instance. Going back in time to pick up a guest for her daughter's wedding — seriously? What's Carol got against hiring a limo, or calling an Uber like the rest of us? I swear, if it weren't for the fact that…."
A sinking feeling of dread settled in Rufus' stomach at the words 'her daughter's wedding'. "Wait. Who did you say is getting married?"
"Carol's daughter, Lucy — A.K.A. 'the Runaway Bride'. The freaking wedding's already been postponed twice because Lucy kept disappearing without telling her fiancé where she was going. But not this time. Carol's got a plan to make sure…."
Rufus felt the gun pull away from his head a scant half-second before the near-deafening sound of gunfire reverberated throughout the cockpit. He recoiled in horror as John slumped forward in his seat, blood oozing from a dime-sized hole in his head.
"I warned you, asshole." Mel unbuckled John from his seat, and rolled his body unceremoniously out through the hatch and onto the hangar floor. "Anymore questions?" She turned her gun back on Rufus, the look in her eyes clearly conveying that, as far as she was concerned, the Q&A session was over.
Rufus shook his head almost imperceptibly, barely able to move, let alone speak, for fear of being executed on the spot.
"Good. Then let's get going. Ms. Preston is really looking forward to having this particular guest at the wedding, and trust me, Mr. Carlin: you do not want to disappoint her."
Rufus' hands trembled as he entered the coordinates for the date and location that Mel had recited to him. Unlike the last time he'd faced near-certain death, he felt no desire whatsoever for 'one last Chocodile'. Rather, all that he could think about now were his family and friends. What he wouldn't give to be able to thank his mom one more time for the sacrifices that she'd made to raise him…to cheer for his brother again as he made the game-winning basket…to see the way Jiya's eyes lit up when he told her that he loved her, or how they smoldered with passion when he kissed her…to finally hear Wyatt openly admit his feelings for Lucy…to be wrapped up tightly in one of Lucy's overly enthusiastic hugs.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Mel demanded.
"Just giving you a minute to say your goodbyes and last prayers," Rufus muttered dejectedly underneath his breath as he pressed the button that would either make scientific history or make him history. On the bright side, at least if he died, Rittenhouse would no longer have a pilot, which meant they wouldn't be able to use time travel to further their psychotic world view. As far as legacies went, Rufus supposed that there were far worse ones that he could leave behind.
