"So what's in the wallet, exactly?" Lucy asks as they reenter their room.

At the lake he said something about photos and she was more than ready to learn the rest of the truth even if Flynn seemed reluctant to share. Instead of coming straight back from the park he had insisted on walking her all over the city pointing out the sights, almost as if he were an amateur tour guide. While out they had eaten both lunch and dinner, with Flynn refusing to speak about Rittenhouse in any way, shape, or form. It was almost dark before she could get Flynn turned back towards their lodging. Even then he had stopped and purchased several bottles of wine to bring back with them to the room. Apparently he thought that whatever truth he had left to share would be more than Lucy could handle without having a drink or three to soften the blow.

Flynn locked the door and started the fire before responding. "Proof."

I guess I am going to have to drag it out of him, she thought. "What kind?"

Finishing up with the fire, he stood and brushed off his hands. Walking over to the table and he pulled out a chair for her. "You'll see. Here, sit down." he said quietly.

As Lucy sat down, he took a moment to light the lamp on the table. He closed the window against the chilly night air and closed the curtains. Did he think someone was going to be able to see whatever it was he had to show her?

Slowly he pulled out the wallet from an inside coat pocket. It was leather, and long like a sheet of paper folded in half. Unfastening the flap he pulled out a thick stack of papers and photos. Slowly, reluctantly, he laid out the photos and documents in piles, dealing them like they were cards. Lucy sat at the table and stared at them, her hands in her lap, but her eyes raking over them trying to catch details before each item was covered in turn by yet another photo or piece of paper. He dealt out the last two papers, placing one over the far pile, keeping back the other, and then rearranged the piles in front of her.

"Work from left to right. They go from most recent to oldest." he said tersely, "You, Lucy Three, Two, One." he said pointing to each pile in turn. "This pile contains the last pages from your journal." he said, indicating a fifth pile furthest from her. Turning away, he took the paper he had kept back and one of the bottles of wine over to the fire.

She could hear him flop down into the chair and the cork coming out of the bottle.

"Are you going to drink that all yourself?" she asked, eyeing the pile before her as if it were a live snake.

"Yes. And maybe the second one. The third bottle is for you, if you want it." he replied wearily. She could hear wine being poured into a glass.

"I didn't realize that alcohol was going to be needed to process… this." Now that she had everything in front of her she was unsure if she really wanted to know the full truth. Sometimes ignorance could be bliss. She heard him unfold the paper he had taken with him.

He sighed deeply, "I never thought I'd have to have this conversation with you… ever." She heard him gulp, and then pour more wine. "Don't worry, I'll be sober enough to answer any questions you might have. At least for the next hour." He chuckled but it was full of self-loathing, "You'd better get started."

Lucy sighed and hesitantly took up the top item in the front pile. It was a copy of her birth certificate. Under it were photos chronicling her life, some she recognized as photos her mother or father, step-father she now knew, had taken, some were obviously surveillance photos. She wondered how Flynn and his organization had come by them. Sifting through the surveillance photos she shivered as she realized that they were from as far back as Kindergarten. At the bottom of the pile were other documents, like copies of her high school and college diplomas and driver's license. She shuffled the papers back together into a neat pile.

That wasn't so bad, she thought. Although she had been unsettled at the surveillance photos and what that implied.

Shaking off her unease she pulled the next pile of papers to her. This was Lucy Three. Picking up the birth certificate on top she read the names. Her parents were still the same, mom and her step-dad, but her mother had named her Lucille. It had been her maternal grandmother's name. Quickly she set it aside and flipped through the photos. They were very much in keeping with those from the first pile. There were differences, of course, such as locations, clothing, and hair styles, but all were obviously from her life: her life, if she had lived it slightly differently. The bottom paper was her death certificate stapled to a police report detailing her car accident. There were accompanying photos. She held the paper closer to the lamp light.

"Did the police ever discover who ran me… I mean, Lucille, off the road?" she asked, trying for detachment.

She heard him swallow. "No, but we did."

"Who?"

"The same person who ordered the hit on the original Lucy… the same person who'll end up killing you if you don't start working with Rittenhouse instead of against them." He bit out the words, anger making his voice sharp. "Just read the rest of the papers. It'll all become clear."

She stopped and opened the bottle of wine left on the table. Flynn snorted as he heard her pull out the cork. "I think you were right. I may want a drink." Lucy said, her voice trembling slightly. Flynn made no reply.

Lucy set the paper on the pile and rearranged the piles bringing the last three closer to her. She started in on the next pile. It was topped with yet another birth certificate. The differences this time were the location of her birth, her biological father was listed, and her name. "This time they named me Lorena." she mused, the name ringing a bell for some reason.

"Your paternal great grandmother's name." Flynn replied, as if she had actually asked him.

There was more to this pile, more photos, more documents, some written in her own handwriting. The papers Lorena, or Lucy Two as Flynn dubbed her, wrote were diary-like in nature detailing her time with Rittenhouse, her discovery of their true cause, her defection, and then her time with Flynn's organization. It took her some time to read it all and it left her reeling. Lorena had been quite the double agent. She also had a lot to say about Flynn and how she had depended on, and trusted, him.

"Have you read all the things that Lucy Two… Lorena… wrote about you?" she asked, her eyes scanning the photos in front of her.

It was a long moment before he quietly replied, "Yes. I've read every word you- that she, ever wrote. I don't deserve half of what she said."

"She obviously thought you did." The only response was Flynn pouring himself more wine. The fire snapped and popped.

Lucy shuffled the pile back together and set it aside. She pulled another pile towards her and once again a birth certificate lay on top. "Hmmm… Lorena again." Why was that name familiar to her?

"I think your father must have insisted, although it's obvious that both your parents preferred 'L' names." Had he slurred the last words?

She started to flip through the photos. There were no surveillance photos in this pile. There were differences in her childhood photos also. Her biological father figured prominently in many of them, just like with Lucy Two. Several were family photos, with both her father and her mother in them. Reaching down she lifted the next photo to the lamp light. Her own face smiled back at her, as did that of a little girl. Lucy gasped, "She's so beautiful." She knew that Lorena, Lucy One, had had a family, a child. She didn't realize that it had been a little girl.

"She was. Just like her mother." Flynn gently replied. There was no slurring now. Just bone weariness.

"I never saw myself having children… I wonder what she was like?"

"She was everything." he groaned, sounding as if he were in pain.

At that, Lucy turned to look at him, puzzled. All she could see was the back of the wing chair and his head over the top of it. Lucy figured that Flynn must be drunk by now. There was no way for him to know what Lucy One's… Lorena's daughter had been like. "Are you o.k.?" she asked.

"Fine." was his terse reply. "Just finish this, please."

She shrugged and went back to the pile of papers before her. "Is there a photo in here of Lorena's family? A marriage certificate?"

"Keep looking." This time his response was tense. What was going on with him?

Lucy sifted through the diplomas and remaining photos to find one with a man in it. Unclipping it from the attached paper she held it to the light. Looking closely she found a happy family staring back at her.

"Oh. My. God!"

Her hands shook as she looked at the paper it had been attached to. It was a marriage certificate.

"So now you know."

Dropping the photo and the paper on the table she got up, her knees weak, and went over to Flynn by the fire. She looked down at him, his head back against the high back of the wing-back chair, eyes damp, he looked up at her. He thrust the paper he had taken with him at her and turned abruptly and poured himself the last of the wine.

Lucy looked at what he had given her. It was a child's drawing of a house, flowers and bushes on one side, her family lined up beside it on the other. Labeled in a child's scrawl… Mommy. Me. Daddy. The mommy had black hair and the daddy had green eyes. They were all holding hands and smiling in red crayon. Taped to the corner of the drawing was a lock of hair, glossy and dark.

Lucy legs started to tremble and she sank to the floor in front of the fire. "What? How? I don't… I just…" She could feel her body going into shock, she grew hot, then cold, trembling all the while.

Flynn set down his glass and pushed himself from the chair. He walked unsteadily to the table and gathered up Lucy's glass and bottle of wine. He looked down at the photo of the happy family once before flipping it over. Blowing out the lamp he made his way back to his chair and handed Lucy her glass, "Here, drink this." He took his coat from the back of the chair and spread it around her shoulders, then sat back down watching her, his eyes wary. Would she finally believe him? Would she believe the evidence before her? Would she finally believe the truth?

Lucy took a large mouthful of her wine, and then another. She pulled Flynn's coat around herself , trying to compose herself, and gazed into the fire, her eyes frightened and wild.

After some time, Flynn spoke, his voice soft and distant, "You were traveling in Europe after graduating college. Your parents surprised you with the trip. You were to start work in the family business after you returned." he stressed the last words, lacing them with scorn. Lucy turned to look at him. He took a sip of his own wine and then returned to his original position, head back, eyes closed, reliving those moments in his head, sorrow clearly etched across his dark features.

"We met here, in Genève, quite by accident. We literally ran into each other. I was walking down the street, the same one we walked on earlier… the one that lead to the park. You were coming out of a store, I think it was a clock store. You were not looking where you were going." he chuckled, the lines of his facing easing momentarily as a tender look crossed his face.

He sighed before continuing on, "You were so beautiful… I asked you to coffee… and for some reason you accepted." his tone changed to one of astonishment and self-mocking. "We talked… and laughed… and in the end, spent the rest of your trip together exploring the city and getting to know each other." He smiled, his head still tipped back, eyes still closed.

Lucy poured herself more wine, the warmth of the fire and Flynn's coat eased her trembling. She watched the firelight dance across the planes of his face. He looked almost happy as he thought back to that time. A stick of wood popped, sounding like gunfire, and his expression changed swiftly back into his neutral killer mask.

He sat up and took another sip of wine. His voice was flat when he continued, his eyes empty. "We ended up marrying six months later. I don't think your family was happy about it but you left them little choice. You are… you were so headstrong." he said finally turning to look at her where she sat on the floor.

"I think your father was mollified when I joined the NSA…. Although now I realize he was probably thinking of using that connection somehow in the future." Now his voice held sardonic amusement.

Lucy was almost afraid to ask, Flynn was on edge and mercurial. But she had to know. "So what happened?"

"We were happy. We had each other. Then we had Iris." he shrugged, as if this information should have been self-evident. "We were happy." He turned back to the fire, his eyes sad, drinking again to drown the memories.

"I meant, what happened with Rittenhouse." she said gently.

"You never knew what Rittenhouse was all about until the end. Then you mentioned something over dinner one night." he laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head, "I've played that conversation back in my head hundreds of times. What you said was innocuous. There was no way the average person would have made the connection. All you did was really mention their name. Rittenhouse must have had our home bugged. Two nights later they came. I held y-"' he paused and then carefully ennunciated, "I held her in my arms as she took her last breath, her blood… spilled out… all over me." He took a ragged breath, "Our daughter was dead by the time I got to her…. She was so cold." Flynn voice rasped out. His head sunk into his hands.

The room was silent save for the crackle of the fire and Garcia Flynn's labored breathing.

Lucy was stunned; not by the information, she knew it had to be true. It was too fantastical to be otherwise. Wasn't the old saying, "The truth is stranger than fiction." proved true over and over throughout history? She had the evidence of her own trips to the past affecting the present… of Amy… to lend credence to what Flynn had told her. The documents, the photos, the journal, could all be fake. But deep down she knew they weren't. And the child's-, no, Iris's drawing. She was stunned because it was just all so real now. Before, it had been theory and story. She had detachment. She analyzed. She saw patterns. She saw behind the story. That was who she was; it was what she did. Now she was well and truly part of it: part of history, part of this sad, sad story. Her detachment was gone and all her analyzing couldn't tell her what to do now.

"Is this why you've never hurt me?" she finally asked. In all this time of traveling, of being at odds with each other, it would have been so easy for him to kill her, to eliminate her and the road block she always presented. Yet he never had. He had made her life damned difficult at times, but he had never harmed her.

Without raising his head, he said, "I could never… the spy has asked why… I just could never…" he trailed off, his voice weak. After a long moment he asked rhetorically, "Can you imagine? Do you know what it's like? Losing the woman you love only to have her doppelganger wandering around? It was like watching her ghost… and each one of you the same… yet not." His fingers grasped at his hair as if he were mad.

She reached out a hand and tentatively laid it on Flynn's knee. Regardless of what he had become, he was a man grieving over the loss of his family. Flynn flinched as her hand made contact. She wondered when the last time was that someone touched him in any way but anger. He inhaled deeply and sat up, regaining some semblance of control although his eyes were wet. He turned his face away from her, finished the wine in his glass, and then reached for her bottle. She took it out of his shaking hands and poured for him. She poured herself a glass. Pulling her knees up and resting her head on them she looked at Flynn.

"Tell me about them."

Flynn shook his head weakly, passing off her comment.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know." she pressed gently, "Please… Garcia, tell me about your little girl."

Flynn stared at her. She had never called him by his given name before. No one had, not since Lorena. Lucy held his gaze, her eyes deep and dark, until he acquiesced, turning to gaze back into the fire.

They talked long into the night about Lorena and Iris. About his life with them. Flynn… no, Garcia, she could no longer think of him any other way, even chuckled a time or two as he related Iris's childish antics. As the night wore on, the silences grew longer, until she caught Garcia nodding off. Reaching out she took the glass from his hand before he dropped it. She placed it quietly on the floor and rose. She leaned down and grasped him by the arms and tugged.

"Come on… up…" She strained against his dead weight.

He opened a bleary eye and looked at her. "Mmm fine in the chair, Lorena." he mumbled closing his eyes, drifting off.

A pang of sorrow went through her. Gritting her teeth, Lucy tugged again more forcefully, making her voice brisk and business-like, "Nope. Up mister. You're sleeping in the bed tonight." She tugged a third time and roused him. He slowly stood up, the wine making him sway on his feet. Lucy led him over to the bed and got him turned around. Gently pushing him she got him down on his back, sprawled across the bed. She tugged off his boots and covered him with the quilt. His breathing evened out and he fell into a deeper sleep.

She stood there and studied him for a moment. His face relaxed in sleep, the pain of the day, and the past, leaving his face gaunt and exhausted. She sighed and picked up Garcia's coat from the floor where she had left it. Shrugging into it she turned back to the table. She gathered up the remainder of the paper work and took the seat he had vacated. She shuffled through them, finding the papers on Lorena and Iris's deaths. A note was attached with the name of the Rittenhouse member who ordered the hit. Lucy stopped breathing, her eyes wide in shock, glad for the warmth of Garcia's coat.

Benjamin Cahill.

Lucy stared at the words until the letters danced in the firelight. She should have known. Setting down the papers about Lorena, she looked at the last stack; the pages torn from Lucy Two's journal. There were several pages consisting of lists. Confirmed Rittenhouse members, suspected members, and 'civilians' or every-day-safe-to-be-around-people. Some of the names listed were new to her and meant nothing. Apparently enough had changed from Lucy Two's timeline to her own that many of those in her life were not in Lucy's. Her eyes scanned the suspected member lists, there were several work associates, Noah the blind date, and close friends. Her eyes reached the last name on the suspected Rittenhouse list. Lucy bolted upright and bit back an exclamation. Tears welled up in her eyes.

At the bottom of the list was her mother.