Violet: Upper East Side, New York City. 1975.
The sky was fretful above the fringe of high-rise buildings, vibrating with a charge of electricity and rapidly turning violet like a bruise. Lucy glared up at it accusingly as if it were responsible for the maddening dilemma she was currently facing.
After one not-so-successful attempt at drawing a cleansing breath, she settled on taking one more lap around the block. She needed to look casual and unassuming, but she'd never been good at forcing the look of casual and unassuming. The more effort she put into a performance, the more it came across as just that - a poorly acted performance.
Maybe she'd run into one of her teammates this time. She'd take any form of help. Seriously, any one of them would do. Rufus, Flynn, Wyatt...it didn't matter.
Well, it did kind of matter. Rufus couldn't go in with her. Despite what they'd learned about the Doc in their jump to '72, it was fair to assume that Rittenhouse still had its fair share of racist pricks in this era. She probably couldn't talk her way into that meeting with him in tow. And it was very likely that Flynn would just choose to massacre everyone in the room at his first opportunity to do so, hoping for some stray bullet to randomly catch the right person and cause an unprecedented death that would somehow alter the outcome of what had happened to his family. She couldn't blame him for that, but she also couldn't condone it.
And Wyatt...? He was her best bet, but even he tended to be a little unpredictable when push came to shove. He'd grudgingly gone along with her unconventional methods before, but look where that had landed them. They were still stuck in this awful game of running through time to stop a dangerous fanatic and preserve the world as they knew it. He'd probably side with Flynn this time and choose the quicker and easier solution - go in all guns blazing, uprooting as much of the organization as possible in one savage sweep.
Lucy rounded the last corner of her pointedly nonchalant stroll. She'd accomplished nothing. She was still afraid, still alone, still clueless as to how she should proceed. But there was no time for indecision. There was a guard at the door and he was surely no fool. She couldn't keep circling the place, not when she was as conspicuous as a pyramid in the desert. Or as conspicuous as a woman at a Rittenhouse gathering.
Her decision was made in a flash. She was doing it, she was going in, carpe freakin' diem. Because this was on her, wasn't it? She needed to step up to the plate and solve this on her own, dammit.
"Hi," she squeaked as she strutted up to the nondescript entrance of the small dinner club with as much gusto as she could muster. "I'm here for the meeting."
The brawny doorman didn't spare her a glance. "Sorry, miss, but I don't think you're on the guest list."
"No, no...I'd imagine I'm not," she said with blustery detachment.
"Well if you aren't on the list, this is as far as you go. Have a nice day."
She nodded amiably as if she could commiserate with the difficulties of his job. "Look, it's a long story, but I come from a prominent family...my - my uncle would be rather disappointed to hear that I wasn't welcomed here."
He lifted a surly brow. "Your uncle?"
"Yes sir, Ethan Cahill. Is he on your list?"
She had to resist the urge to punch the air triumphantly as the man's entire countenance shifted. "One moment, please."
He disappeared into the black interior of the club for mere seconds, returning briskly with a second formidable-looking man. "Hello. Miss Cahill, is it? I'm sorry, but we had no notice of a Cahill representative attending today, so you'll understand if we weren't quite as hospitable as we should have been."
Lucy ignored the tremor of nervousness stabbing through her veins. "Just a slight misunderstanding, I'm sure."
Neither of the men moved to allow her through the door. With a chilling leer, the second man stepped forward, crowding Lucy until she felt pressed to scuttle backward over the sidewalk. "Interesting how I've never heard anything about Mr. Cahill having a niece before today..."
She jutted her chin upward, all too prepared for an answer to that particular question. "I stumbled upon our family secret quite unexpectedly. Sent me running for a considerable number of years until I could truly understand the advantages of falling in line. I made myself scarce in the meantime. A common reaction, I'm told."
Just as she'd hoped, that seemed to appease their doubts. She smiled up at them with unspoken familiarity, as if she were just the type of chummy entitled snob they'd known their whole lives, and those slick bastards bought it instantly. They parted at once, swept her through the door, and all was going just right until her name rang out frantically from behind her.
"Lucy?!"
Dammit. Oh, for God's sake, Wyatt... Couldn't he tone it down just this once?
She turned just in time to see him skidding to a halt at the front awning of the club.
"Wyatt, hello, just in time," she crooned smoothly, although she knew her widened eyes were blatantly giving her away if anyone looked too closely. "Gentlemen, this is my guest, Wyatt - Wyatt DiCaprio."
Oh seriously, she had to go with DiCaprio...? What the hell was wrong with her?
His gaze never strayed from hers as he reshaped his expression into one of cool carelessness. He breezed through the doorway and placed a tense hand on the small of Lucy's back. "Pleased to make the acquaintance."
The first of the Rittenhouse bouncers crossed his arms. "I don't know what your uncle has told you, Miss Cahill, but we don't welcome uninvited guests here."
At the words Miss Cahill, the strain in Wyatt's hand went from somewhat stiff to distressingly brittle.
Her brain lurched into its highest gear, filtering through all of her late nights of research and theorizing with hasty abandon. She had to come at this from the right angle or else they were both doomed. Several painful seconds passed without a word and she was outside of herself like a specator watching a train go off the tracks or a car skidding out of control -
And just like that, she had her answer.
"His story is similar to mine," she said with a sidelong glance at Wyatt's clenched jaw. "Does the name Viola Liuzzo mean anything to either of you?"
The latter man nodded warily. "Go on."
"Well, Viola was a relative of Wyatt's, a cousin in fact. When he got the news of what happened back in '65, he didn't want anything to do with the family legacy. The... the whole family - "
"They blamed us for what the Klan did and deserted," the guard said grimly. "I remember. They were a pillar family, much like yours. It was quite a loss."
Once again, Lucy felt like throwing her hands into the air with the thrill of another triumph. They'd only been guessing when they'd hypothesized why Emma had been trying to reverse that car wreck on the road to Selma, and they'd been right - she was trying to regain an essential Rittenhouse family, and thanks to their interference, she'd failed.
Lucy trampled ahead, heart slamming against her chest far too fast as she spun the lie further. "When I told Wyatt that I was making peace with my future here, he wanted to come along...see it for himself, you know, and give it an honest chance for the first time since Viola's passing."
Wyatt's fingertips were pressing into her back so severely that he was probably going to leave marks, five miniature purple indents to remind her just how much he despised this plan of hers.
The two men conferred with each other silently, and Lucy had to press her knees together to keep them from noticeably wobbling as she waited.
"Fine," the second one said with a nod, "but you'll sit in the back, you won't talk to anyone, and we'll be watching the two of you, so if this is some kind of joke - "
"It's not," Lucy announced with another intimate smile. "And we totally understand. Seat us wherever you'd like."
Wyatt followed along mutely like a voiceless puppet on strings, granting the occasional solemn smile to their escorts as they entered into the belly of the beast and were delivered to a corner table at the back of the smoky banquet room. Lucy studiously avoided his probing gaze once they were left to their own devices, eyes darting back and forth around the narrow hall as she wrung her hands together in her lap beneath the safety of the crisp tablecloth.
He bent his head close to hers, a good-natured smirk present on his mouth but sheer fury painted in his eyes. "...the hell have you gotten us into here, Lucy Cahill?"
"I spotted Emma an hour ago," she answered in dull murmur, "she was at a bank on Lexington near the Chrysler Building, arranging to meet someone here. I - I heard enough to know that it was going to be a Rittenhouse thing...members only."
"And you were planning to do this alone?" His voice pitched upwards, gaining precarious momentum. "Are you insane?"
"No, I'm desperate," she answered with a calm she did not feel. "You might recall that we all decided to split up to cover more ground since this is New York City and there are only four of us. You might also recall that we weren't supposed to reconvene for another hour and a half. It would have been too late then. It couldn't wait."
"So you were going to do what, exactly? Have a nice meal here while playing double agent without any backup? Just waltz right in after having a nice chat with the boys outside and hope that Emma didn't notice you when she arrived?"
"I could have handled it myself, you know. And lower your voice," she hissed between gritted teeth.
Wyatt twisted away from her, staring out over the assembling crowd for a long moment, the veins in his neck poking out in rigid agitation. When he spoke again, he'd tamed his words just fractionally. "Do you know what it would do to me if you didn't come home from this jump, Lucy? Don't you realize - "
"Of course I do," she cut in restlessly. "But you can't always be everywhere, Wyatt. Some things are beyond even your control."
He looked right through her as if she hadn't said a word. "We shouldn't have split up. We're not doing that anymore. This isn't a frickin' episode of Scooby-Doo."
She clamped a firm hand around his forearm, forcing him to acknowledge her as she loosened the clasp of her handbag and tilted it toward him. "For your information, I was taking this very seriously. I brought my own backup."
"Shit, Lucy," he breathed out, his face paling at the sight of her newly acquired handgun. "Shit."
"I looked for you, I really did, but I was running out of time. I had to do something, had to - "
The color quickly came back into his cheeks, a reddening mask of outrage spreading over his skin. "I - I don't...how could you do this? You think I'm reckless!? This - " he jabbed an indignant finger toward the purse in her lap, " - this is what reckless looks like."
She shook her head, her voice just barely scraping out of her. "I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice." A series of deep frown lines crinkled over his face like he was aging before her eyes. "And the worst part is that some stupid part of me would have still blamed myself for whatever happened to you. You get that, right? There's no turning back for me now, I am always going to feel responsible for keeping you safe."
"And I am always going to feel responsible for the atrocities of Rittenhouse," she flung back automatically, fizzing with an anger that had nothing to do with Wyatt. "You get that, right?"
He stared back at her, his mouth parted and eyes bewildered. His head pivoted quickly, scanning for an audience on either side of their table with a practiced efficiency that reflected his decorated military background. When it was clear that their argument hadn't turned heads or sounded any type of alarm, he centered his gaze on her once more. His remorse was blatant. Those lucid blue eyes of his were saturated with self-reproach.
"You...I'm sorry, Luce, but you cannot do that to yourself...you are not responsible for any of this."
She closed her eyes and inhaled evenly. Her gaze returned to his with a shaky exhale. "It's my family. My goddamn legacy."
His thumb outlined her jaw with the utmost tenderness. "No, sweetheart. Your legacy is so much more than that. Yours is about rising above, doing the impossible...fighting back against all the worst odds."
Ragged emotion rose in her throat. "I - I'm the one who says sweetheart. You call me babydoll. Get it right."
"Sorry," he said with a smirk that drilled right into her heart. "Guess I let the moment get the best of me...forgot the bit, went for the real thing. My bad."
"I kind of liked it," she admitted with a weak shrug.
He laughed a soft, poignant laugh. "Good. It felt right."
The squeak of a microphone cut through the air, pulling their attention to a platform at the front of the room where a graying man in a horrid plaid blazer was calling the meeting to order. It wasn't long before he was hinting at the identity of a special unexpected guest speaker who would be joining them shortly, and Lucy sat up straighter, hand instinctively moving to her purse before she felt Wyatt's fingers dusting over hers.
She suspected he would deliver some type of reprimand or warning. What she got was much worse.
"Hold onto it," he whispered. "Use it to get yourself out of here. There's a clear exit at eleven o'clock. Should be your best bet."
Lucy's eyes darted sideways to his steadfast profile. "And what about you?"
"I'll meet you outside."
Her head was shaking from side to side before he'd even finished answering. "No, it's too dangerous, you'll never make it out on your own. I can - "
"You get out and I will be right behind you." His hand circled her wrist, two fingers poised over the erratic thump of her pulse point. "I promise."
"But Wyatt - "
He leaned in and kissed her quick and sure, as if that would be enough to immediately dismiss her fears. It wasn't.
With his lips on the shell of her ear, he issued one last reminder before he rose to his feet - "don't forget to take the safety off if you need to use it."
Lucy had heard about these moments before, hell, she'd even lived her fair share of them at this point, and the truth was that time did not seem to speed up or slow down. It just kept ticking away as usual while her mouth went dry and walloping terror built in her gut.
The guest speaker stepped out onto the stage, her red hair glinting in the spotlight from above. Wyatt furtively prowled up the side of the room, twisting around the obstacles of impeding chairs and potted plants, his focus never straying from his target.
Oh God, he'd never make it back to her. There was no way. There were easily a hundred people in the room, and every single one of them was against him. Except for her. She was it, his only ally. Her palm was slick with sweat as she reached for the .25 caliber handgun that she'd picked up in a tiny pawn shop just a few blocks away.
Carpe freakin' diem, right?
Lucy stood on reluctant legs, and just a second before the first exclamation of panic pierced the air, she remembered the warmth of his breath on her skin.
Don't forget to take the safety off if you need to use it.
From there, time definitely sped up. The room erupted, more than one gun was going off, and people were crying out in blurred pandemonium. A deafening human stampede rushed at her, threatening to carry her along with it, but she pushed against them. She would live up to exact words Wyatt had just spoken over her a few moments ago. She would rise above, do the impossible, and fight back against all the worst odds.
Lucy fired twice up at the ceiling, scattering the crowd around her until she could see him again. Then she fired a third bullet, this one slicing doggedly in a straight line for the brawny man she'd sweet-talked into letting her in at the front door. The same man who currently had his own gun trained on Wyatt's head.
From there it all went a little blank. Her ears buzzed too loudly and her vision was foggy, distorting the chaos around her until she couldn't focus on any of it.
Then Wyatt was yelling something, barreling toward her like a frenzied bull released in the streets of Pamplona. He had her by the arm in an instant, nearly tearing the appendage right out of its socket as he took her with him. He was dragging her, practically carrying her, and it was raining. Was that the sprinklers? Had they tripped a fire alarm?
No, they were outside. The heavens had unfolded, finally giving way to the violet friction of a summer storm.
Wyatt was definitely going to leave a mark this time. His grip on her arm was making her wince, but he was in a rapturous cloud of his own, eyes glowing with an otherworldly fervor when he came to a stop in some dank, tawdry alleyway. He pried the gun from her white-knuckled hand. She heard the distant click of the safety going back on, and then a jarring, jubilant laugh cut through the persistent ringing in her ears.
"I love you," he murmured as he flung both arms around her, "oh my God, Lucy, I love you."
"You - " she blinked into his shoulder. "What?"
He backed away gradually with his hands still fused to her, which was undoubtedly the only thing that was keeping her on her feet.
"I'm sorry, you're totally in shock, and that's normal," he assured her, his dimpled smile irrepressible. "I'll tell you again later, Luce, but to hell with it...I am so in love with you. I've been in love with you for God knows how long now. You were great in there, you totally saved my hide, and I should have told you before. It's all I could think about once I left the table - dammit, I should have told her. I love her."
She felt her own mouth beginning to rise slowly at the corners as if she was breaking away from a plaster mold. "I...I think you might be in shock too."
"There's a chance you're right about that," he conceded with another unbridled laugh, rain darkening his hair and flattening it against his forehead. "It's still true, though. I love you."
Now she was laughing with him, and there was no point in holding back now. She'd known it before he'd said it, known it long before this jump even. She'd definitely known it when she'd lost herself in him for the first time a few weeks ago on a warm summer night in Paris, had known it as she watched him while he was scowling down at a campfire in 1781, had been sure of it when she positioned herself between him and a steely knife during the slave rebellion of 1831. It was the only reason she'd done her best to let him off the hook in Alabama when he sat mournfully on that bent piece of guardrail and admitted that the scene of Viola's crash had been salt on the wound of his wife's murder; she'd backed away, offered him space when space was absolutely the most terrifying concept her heart could have conceived. But she'd done it for him.
She loved him.
"I love you too," she confessed with tears trickling down her face and a dizzy smile forming on her lips. "Seriously, Wyatt. I've loved you for a long time."
He returned that dizzy smile in a flash before wrapping her up in his arms again and twirling her around in a reeling circle.
Lucy honestly wasn't sure what exactly had happened back there in that club, wasn't sure who else had made it out alive or what any of it meant for them. What she did know was that she was incurably in love with Wyatt Logan and that he absolutely loved her back. The rain falling against her skin felt like redemption, and his wet, open kiss on her mouth tasted like a fresh start.