Hilary, Iām requesting 73. āYou do have a stupid faceā for Garcia and Wyatt because itās perfect for them. :) Shippy or gen. But no pressure, and only if you have time and interest. šš
Thank you for considering itāand thank you for your political posts, too.š¤
They've been drinking for a while, steadily, since Wyatt brought over the six-pack and they've sat in silent commiseration in Flynn's hotel room, staring over the San Francisco city lights. Normally, three beers are only enough to get Flynn to the edge of buzzed, but what with everything, his tolerance is shot and heās approaching genuinely tipsy. They haven't said anything. There's nothing to say. Far away from the bright lights and breathless news about Connor's funeral, the question as to how Mason-Carlin Industries and Silicon Valley itself can stand to go on, all that Flynn can hear is the endless howl of rage and blame and grief in his head. He said, he swore, he was never going to let this happen again, and now it has. What the hell does that make him?
"So," Flynn says, startling both of them with the sound of his voice in the antiseptic rush of the air conditioner. He drains the last dregs of the bottle and sets it aside. "Rufus is never going to forgive me."
"Aw, come on, man." Wyatt sips meditatively, not looking around. "I don't think so. Rufus loves you, and it... it wasn't your fault."
"Valkyrie killed Connor. Iris -- " Flynn almost chokes with grief over his daughter's name, how little he has been able to utter it aloud, like something that's going to evaporate into mist and darkness yet again, and leave him to wake up with nothing. "Iris works for Valkyrie, and I didn't -- I didn't stop her, or it, or them. I just kept thinking that if -- "
"Hey, man. Hey." At that, Wyatt looks at him, his face slanted in strips of light and shadow from the venetian blinds. "You saw what was in front of you, you wanted to save your daughter, and you did whatever you had to do. I'm pretty damn sure that I'm the last, the last member of this fam -- this team -- who gets to tell you off for that. Connor knew the risks. We all did." He pauses, amends. "We all do."
"Maybe." This doesn't soothe the fevered part of Flynn that's still desperate to blame himself, to take away the pain from everyone else, to at least give them the satisfaction of throwing the guilt at a familiar enemy. He's not, not anymore, but sometimes he thinks that it would be easier for all of them if he was. "So what does that make us, then? A couple of total idiots who keep being selfishly willing to burn down the whole world, if it gets our dead kids back?"
"The idiot part definitely isn't in question, huh?" Wyatt's mouth quirks, very dry. "Look, I don't know what's going to happen with Iris, and I don't know what's going to happen with S-Sarah." He stumbles a little himself. "But at least we know that they're together, right? When we went to Macau and met Ching Shih, when Iris was trying to save her. So whatever we screwed up, at least they met each other in Valkyrie's future. Maybe that's worth something. They were there for each other, even if we couldn't be there for them."
"Yes, I suppose, but -- " At that, Flynn stops, looking at Wyatt in astonishment. "Wait a minute, did you just say something helpful?"
Wyatt shrugs. "It's been known to happen. But honestly, don't be too hard on yourself. Fatherhood is hard, man. Fatherhood with fuckin' time travel? Even worse."
"You're not wrong." Flynn is forced into a reluctant chuckle. "I -- thanks, Logan. Truly. For the beers, and your stupid face."
"Oh?" Wyatt arches an eyebrow. "That's the thanks I get?"
"Well, you do have a stupid face." Flynn feels a little better on this familiar territory of sharp-edged bickering, and knows that Wyatt has steered it here on purpose, to give that comfort and take his good-natured lumps, the way they don't actually want to hurt each other anymore, not really, not now. "But I appreciate it."
"You're welcome." Wyatt says it simply, without pretension, then gets to his feet. "I'm going to take off now. Don't get into too much trouble. I'll see you at work tomorrow."
Right, Flynn thinks. Work. As if anything can be the same without Connor, but they're going to have to carry on. See the fight through to the end. Stop Valkyrie, and save Iris and Sarah. If it's possible. If they still can. Garcia Flynn has never particularly been an optimist, or seen the best in people, or any of that cheery stuff, but the one thing he does know is how to fight past all human understanding, for what he believes to be good and right and true. He can't stop now. None of them can. In that, Wyatt's right. All of them, Connor included, knew what this was going to cost. The only way to honor him is to pay.
"Are you driving?" Flynn asks. "You've had three beers too, so -- "
"I'll get an Uber." Wyatt smiles crookedly. "Don't worry about me, buddy. Get some sleep."
When he's gone, and Flynn is alone again in the vastness of the silence, looking at his suitcases and his scattered things and everything else that he hasn't dared to unpack out of fear that he's just going to have to run again, he lets out a long breath, shucks off his crumpled funeral suit, puts on his pajamas, and settles on the bed. He didn't think he was going to sleep at all tonight, but maybe he will. And for that, he's grateful to, of all people, Wyatt Logan and his undoubtedly very stupid face. What was it he said, or started to say, before catching himself? This fam -- this team.
Well, Flynn thinks. Well then. How about that, indeed.
And at last, for now, he rests.
