Author's Notes: So in my research for this story I took a very good look at maps of France trying to find the town I remembered from my travels so long ago. I found Geneve... it's across the border in Switzerland. Yup. SO my memories of my travels 30 years ago are rather imperfect. Geneve in English is Geneva. Sigh. In my defense, I don't remember crossing the border nor showing my passport AND my French, even then, was poor. I thought my traveling companions told me I was still in France but now I am certain I misunderstood them due to my lack of proficiency in their language. All the French maps I looked at have the town I remember labeled as Geneve and the English maps all have it labeled as Geneva. Either way, I had a wonderful visit there and wish I had the time and resources to go back. My most humble apologies to those from the region, I meant no disrespect. However for the sake of story continuity we'll just continue to go along with the location of Geneve being in France.
As the made their way through the crowded cobblestone streets they saw a myriad of sights before them. Fishwives and bakers, candle makers and potters, little girls selling flowers and matchsticks. There were boys on street corners hawking newspapers and priests on corners hawking salvation. The scent of fresh fish, baked bread, and flowers filled the crisp late summer air mingling with the aroma of unwashed bodies and horses. Lucy could barely contain herself. She was 'in history'. Living it. Breathing it. And all she had to do was enjoy it. Today no one was trying to kill her and she wasn't trying to kill anyone in return. Today there was no mission. There was just history. It made for a nice change.
Flynn held onto her hand as they traveled from stall to stall. The crowds here for market day were dense and he didn't want to risk being separated from Lucy. Geneve was familiar to him, even in this time, but he knew that for this Lucy, this was her first visit here and they hadn't spoken about a place to meet. He didn't want them to inadvertently get separated. So he held onto her hand and tried not to enjoy the sensation of being close to her. However it was a losing battle and he knew it. Each and every time he had been close to this Lucy, even though those times had been tense and full of strife, his body nd mind had betrayed him. It made him angry then and still did now. This wasn't that Lucy and never would be. He could never have that time back, no matter what he said for the benefit of the Rittenhouse spies surrounding him.
They wandered and spent a good portion of the afternoon going from looking at the various wares for sale. Occasionally they purchased needed items. Needle and thread for the hole in his jacket, a comb, and hairpins for Lucy all made their way into a cheap basket they purchased. Stopping at a food vendor they purchased cheap meat pies and ale to eat while they watched street performers juggle balls and leap about. Occasionally they conversed with each other about the sights around them but more often than not they walked in silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Flynn's thoughts invariably turned dark as they often did although he worked to cover his melancholy if for no other reason than not scaring Lucy and there-by having her reject all that he needed to tell her about Rittenhouse. He plastered a smile on his face, his facial muscles protesting from disuse. His side needed her. He needed her.
Occasionally Lucy would steal a look at Flynn while he was diverted and she was repeatedly surprised at how much he was relaxing. His face wasn't wearing what she privately dubbed the "neutral killer mask" although the darkness she associated with him was still in his eyes. Over the course of the afternoon he had gone from being "the madman/killer we need to stop" to just a man. She studied him as he haggled with an old man selling used clothing. His hair hung down over his forehead as he leaned in to point out some flaw in the garment that was on top of the pile of clothing they had chosen. Flynn's face was tired and thin. Even his distinct 5 o'clock shadow couldn't cover up how weary he seemed. However as he stood there and haggled in rapid French she couldn't help but note that he seemed almost happy, like he was enjoying the exchange. She wondered what, if anything, Flynn had to smile about in his life. She looked down at the ring on her finger and wondered about the woman who had worn it. Lucy was struck anew over how Garcia Flynn was just a man, not the 'evil genius mastermind' that the government, and Rittenhouse, had made him out to be. A very weary man carrying a heavy burden.
A handshake and money traded hands. Flynn turned to Lucy once he was done and she helped him fold the garments and put them into her cloak turned bag.
"So, French, German, and Spanish… How many languages do you speak?" she asked as she placed the last item in the makeshift bag and picked it and their basket up.
Flynn smiled as he took the bundle from her and carried it himself. He took her hand, drawing her close as they made their way back into the crowd. "Hmmm… fluent in? Four. English, French, Spanish, and Croatian. Languages I can get by in, including the German… hmmm… maybe another three." Flynn glanced at Lucy who looked amazed yet skeptical. "I was a NSA asset in Eastern Europe for a reason. I was born in Croatia and we traveled throughout Europe for my parents' work. Learning languages… It wasn't hard. It filled the time." He looked down at her, "What about you?"
Lucy smiled briefly at the fact Flynn was trying to be nice, then turned serious, "Oh, I'm not much of a linguist. I know French and Latin only because of my History studies."
"Don't sell yourself short. You speak Latin. It's a dead language. No one willingly speaks it!" he joked. She looked up at him and joined him in the jest. Holding his gaze, she saw some undefined emotion cloud his face, and she looked away, unsure.
Flynn sighed and gazed off into the crowd, plotting their course through it and wondering how he was going to get through the next 48 hours.
As afternoon started to think about evening Flynn led them out of the market and towards the quieter parts of town. He was hoping to avoid crowds and find them some lodging that still had room. Approaching a likely prospect he opened the door to a small inn tucked away on a side street. Bright red geraniums in clay pots adorned the front stoop and delicious smells of dinner wafted out the open door. Ushering Lucy inside they found themselves in a small foyer with a man sitting at a desk by the door reading the local paper.
"Bonjour monsieur," said Lucy, bobbing a small curtsey to the man. Flynn came up behind her and offered a shallow bow; courtesy to the proprietor of a shop or inn was an integral part of French culture.
The man folded his paper and stood up. "How can I help you?" he asked, looking them over noting their travel worn appearance, the hole in Flynn's coat shoulder, and Lucy's disheveled hair.
"We are visiting your fine town and need lodging for two evenings." Flynn, catching that look, jingled the coins in his coat pocket.
The man's face cleared. "Ah, bien sur. I have a room for you. It is small, but I think you will not mind. It is clean and has it's own fireplace." He sat down and opened a drawer full of keys.
Flynn smiled, "We are grateful. Is there someplace that we can bathe? We have traveled some distance and would like to wash off the dust of the road."
The proprietor looked up from sorting keys, "Hmm? Oh yes. We have a small bathhouse. It'll cost you extra. Together?" he asked, taking a good look at Lucy, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Lucy blushed and moved off pretending to inspect a painting on the wall.
Flynn stepped forward smiling slightly and bent so only the man could hear him. "We are newly married and she is… well… shy. I think separate baths would be easier." he finished and started to count out money.
"So long as she isn't shy in bed!" the proprietor whispered with a grin. "She is very pretty. You are a lucky man." he said with a wink.
Flynn stared at the man, his expression deadpan and his eyes cold, then broke into an easy smile and handed the proprietor the fee. "I am lucky."
Nodding apprehensively at Flynn the man called out for his own wife. "I hope you enjoy your stay monsieur. I'll have the maid ready the bathhouse."
A bustling, red faced woman came into the room. The man stood, gave his wife a buss on the cheek and handed over the key. Swatting at him good-naturedly she then turned to them, "This way." and she led the way to the stairs. Still watching Flynn, the man sat back down at the desk and made a show of unfolding his paper.
Their room was at the top of a well lit flight of stairs. The room was small and nicely kept and had been aired out recently. The inn they had chosen must do a brisk business. The goodwife kept up a steady flow of chatter as she lit the already laid fire in the hearth, took a taper and lit the oil lamp on the table, and opened the curtains to show them the view of the town in the setting sun. After informing them that she's send a maid for them shortly she bustled out of the room closing the door behind her.
Lucy turned from the closed door, a bemused look on her face. "She certainly had a lot to say."
"Indeed." Flynn said tersely, still irritated with the proprietor's comment. He went to the door and checked the lock on it. Satisfied with it he turned to look at the rest of the room.
The room was large by the day's standards but smaller than the average bedroom in their own century. A double bed made up with a colorful quilt and plump pillows was against one wall with a small nightstand holding an unlit candle in a pewter holder sat on it. Along one wall were a number of hooks for patron's clothing and gear. The window had heavy lace curtains that had been drawn back to show the view and under the window was a petit round table with two chairs. A worn wing chair sat in front of the diminutive fireplace that now had a cheery blaze going in it. Lucy removed her cloak and hung it on the hook near the door.
"Tonight I'll take the chair." Flynn said as he sat down in front of the fire.
"I should. I'm smaller. It'll be more comfortable for you on the bed."
He looked over at her and smiled slightly. "No, you'll take the bed and that's the end of that discussion." He turned back to gaze at the fire.
Lucy shrugged, unfolded her cloak, and began dividing their new clothing into two piles. Once done she wandered over to the window and looked out at the town being painted in shades of pinks, oranges, and red. "It really is beautiful here," she mused.
"It is, and will be in our own time."
"That's right, you mentioned you had been here before." she responded. She turned and looked to where he still sat, his back to her, "So, do you know of any good places to eat?" she joked. She could see that Flynn was starting to withdraw again and didn't want to spend the next 48 hours in tense silence.
She could hear him snort. "Well, let me think…. No, I guess I'll ask the proprietor where he recommends other than here. I'm sure you'd like to see more of the town although I hope you don't feel like anything exotic. I doubt they'll be any Chinese or Mexican places around." he said dryly.
At least he was trying, she thought. She thought about what other innocuous topics she could bring up when a knock sounded at the door. With cat-like reflexes Flynn was at the door opening it but with his gun in hand behind him. "Oui?"
A maid in an starched apron stood in the hall ready to guide them down to the bathhouse. "Un moment, s'il vous plait." he said.
Flynn closed the door and reholstered his gun. At Lucy's raised eyebrow he shrugged, "You can never be too careful." he said quietly, as he picked up his clothing and ushered Lucy to the door.
Later Lucy sat in front of the fireplace combing her still damp hair into some semblance of order. She had come back to an empty room and allowed her thoughts to wander. It felt so good to be clean and in clean clothing. While the clothing was worn at least she looked respectable and a little more in fashion for the area. After so many months of time traveling she had come to learn that being noticed was never a good thing.
She was so confused over everything that had transpired in the last few days. She felt like she had gone from one harrowing experience to another. From meeting George Washington, to teaming up with Flynn, to pretending to be traitors to befriend Benedict Arnold, and then the whole episode with David Rittenhouse. She shuddered at the thought of him and his plans for her. Secretly, she was glad that Flynn had shot him. Rittenhouse had been an evil little man.
As she continued to gaze into the fire her thoughts turned to her show-down with Flynn over John Rittenhouse and as she worked the knots from her hair she recalled the look on Flynn's face, the sound of his voice. He had been almost… deranged. She had been almost certain that he had been ready to shoot her to get to John. And yet he hadn't. And that confused her even more. She thought there was nothing he wouldn't do to return his wife and child to him.
Of course, then they discovered that John had run off and that had led to Flynn kidnapping her. She absently rubbed her wrist where he had grasped her so tightly and pulled her along. She had been like a rag doll to him. In the fading light she noted the bruises that had formed.
The ring on her finger glinted in the firelight. She took a moment to really look at the band. It was yellow gold and perfectly proportioned for her small hand. She took it off and looked inside in. There was an inscription. She leaned closer to the light, squinting to read what was engraved. 'Semper Fidelis'. She slipped the ring back on and sat back into the chair. She thought about the love that inspired such devotion as 'Always Faithful'. Sighing she sat back and closed her eyes, trying to maintain calm; trying to figure out what to do about her predicament and how to handle this terrorist turned ally turned kidnapper.
When Flynn entered the room a short time later he saw Lucy asleep in the chair, the fading firelight casting a rosy glow to her skin. He quietly closed the door and stood there for a moment to drink the sight in.
She is so beautiful, just as the others had been. How am I going to explain this all to her? Will she believe me? If she does, will she stay? We can't protect her if she goes back to Mason but we may have no choice. If she stays, Rittenhouse will suspect she's switching sides and they'll have their in-house spy kill her off. At least Flynn was certain of who among his men the Rittenhouse spy was. That was why he had made the spy 'his man' in an effort to keep him close and to feed him disinformation. If he kept spouting off his crazed manifesto of getting his wife back it kept the spy from digging deeper and seeing the larger organization behind the front that Flynn was charged with keeping up. Flynn knew that no matter what he changed in history his wife and child were never coming back to him and that certainty tortured him on a daily basis. But it also made him want to fight back. When he was approached, Flynn had readily agreed to become the organization's poster boy, their front man, in their last ditch effort to divert and stop Rittenhouse for good.
The floor creaked as he shifted his weight and Lucy awoke. She caught sight of him standing by the door and was startled for a moment and then sat up embarrassed.
"Sorry, I must have dozed off."
He shrugged, "You've had a busy day." He came towards her and pulled a small cloth wrapped bundle from his coat pocket. "Here, I went out. I thought you might want these."
She took the bundle from him and unwrapped it. In it lay a delicate pair of earrings in a chevron pattern. She was pleasantly surprised and a bit taken back. "Thank you." she said not wanting to look up as her face warmed slightly. She laid the earrings in her lap as she finished with her hair, pinning it into a quick French twist. She put the earrings on and stood up. "Ready when you are. Did you find us any dinner options? I'm not sure I want to eat here with Monsieur Suggestive Remarks around."
Flynn walked over to the window and looked out. "I did. He recommended several restaurants close by. One is on the water, if you're interested." he said. "But I need your help with something before we leave." He turned around and shrugged out of his coat and started to unbutton his shirt.
Lucy's eyes widened. "Help with what?"
He grimaced as he gingerly removed his shirt and turned his left side towards her. Seeing the disconcerted look on her face he said, "That hole in my coat wasn't merely decorative. One of Rittenhouse's thugs actually winged me. It's stopped bleeding but I'd like something over it incase I get bumped and it bleeds again."
Composing herself Lucy hesitantly came over to him to look at the shallow wound. "Um. Of course. Do you have a bandage?"
Reaching into his coat pocket he took a strip of fabric he held it out to her. "I tried to tie it myself in the bath house but I couldn't get it on tightly." He gazed out the window, studiously not looking at her. He tried to focus on the city outside and not on her nearness. He swallowed convulsively and tried to rein in his wandering thoughts. He felt her warm breath on his skin as she leaned in to look at the wound on his shoulder. He gave up any pretense of keeping his thoughts in line and prayed that she would finish quickly.
Lucy took the strip of cloth. "OK. Sure." she said as she began to wrap the bandage around his upper arm trying not to touch him unnecessarily. As he did she was hyper conscious of how near she was to him, how he smelled of soap mixed with maleness. She tried not to focus on how muscular he was, the trail of dark chest hair, or how his skin seemed to burn her finger tips where they brushed against his arm.
"Done." she said, stepping back quickly. She turned back to the fire and concentrated on breathing slowly, once again annoyed with her body's responses to him.
Flynn watched her cross back to the fire as he pulled his shirt back on. He inhaled deeply through his nose and centered himself, closing his eyes and trying to empty his roving thoughts. He shrugged back into his coat. "Ready?"
Lucy turned, her face faintly flushed as she reached for her cloak, not meeting his eyes. "Yup. Lead on."
He took her cloak from her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. Opening the door he ushered her out before closing and locking the door. "Shall we?"