#timeless ff

It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.

And there’s more people than expected. Lucy remembered only a little over 700 people making it alive to the Carpathia, yet she’s pretty sure the ship is already loaded with more than that. And there are still lifeboats being hauled onto the deck. She has flashes of her and Wyatt warning people, forcing the crew to led third-class passengers board, and under different circumstances she would feel some form of relief. There’s only ice-cold terror. Lucy, I’ll see you soon. I swear. Was Garcia’s last promise to her a lie?

They were prepared. They knew beforehand where and when things would go south. This mission, this one mission, had the highest probability of them making it back alive. And yet, here they are, freezing, soaking wet, and sans a Croatian.

“Lucy…” Wyatt says, reaching for her helplessly, trying to offer her some form of comfort. Soup and dry blankets are shoved at them, Wyatt taking one, Lucy still frozen in place, her eyes scanning the despairing, half-drowned Titanic-survivors. Tears slowly blur her vision as the realization that Garcia probably didn’t make it hits her like a…well, like an iceberg, she supposes.

At that moment, behind her, there is some commotion as a collapsible lifeboat is being hoisted to the top. Another heart-breaking, horrifying view as it reaches the deck and a whole wave of dead and dying people spill onto it. Others, however, are staggering, half-frozen and dazed. Among them…

Lucy’s heart lurches, hardly daring to believe, and she takes a single step. “G-Garcia?” she stammers, her voice weak with cold, pain and emotion.

The figure straightens up, whirls around, and stares straight at her. Lucy lets out a sob of relief, as the whole world falls away and her sole focus becomes him. It’s him, it’s Flynn, miraculously standing right there, alive. Half-frozen, shell-shocked, but very much alive. His mouth falls open slightly as he clocks her and then he’s moving. It looks painful, but he’s moving faster than he has any right to move. She’s crying, and either there’s ice melting on his face, or he is too, and then he reaches her. Grabs her around the waist, lifts her up with a strength neither of them knew he still possessed and kisses her.

Weeks, months, perhaps years of tension and emotion breaks open over them like a tidal wave, culminating in this one single moment of relief, hope, despair, love. They could be anywhere. The Carpathia could blow up around them and they would probably not notice. Lucy wraps her arms around his neck, and lays kiss after kiss on him, barely noticing how soaked and freezing they both are. She wraps one hand into his hair, holding on, making sure, because he’s here and she’s never letting go if she can help it.

Vaguely, she’s aware that he’s moving, shifting his grip on her so he can grab a blanket, which he wraps around her shoulders. She does not stop kissing him, and he lets her, sometimes managing to mumble her name between kisses. Then he’s moving down, through a door, into the slightly warmer, drier interior of the ship. His back hits a wall in a hidden corner and he sinks down with her in his arms. It’s dark, cold, and quiet, and not even a little comfortable, but this is not the time for physical comfort.

They break apart for a moment to look at each other. His dark eyes gleam in the darkness as he takes her in. His hand comes up to stroke her hair, her cheek and finally comes to rest in her neck, like he’s checking her pulse. She, likewise, moves her hands from his hair to his face, all the way down to his chest, where she can feel his heart beating. She lets out a small sob, then moves in to kiss him again. And again.

Vaguely, she hears more bodies hitting the deck above them, more desperate cries and shouted commands. If she had any energy left, she might wonder what Wyatt was doing, but all her remaining energy is focused on Garcia. He’s alive, he’s alive, they’re both alive, miraculously. The chances of making it off the Titanic were astronomical, and somehow, they’d all managed to.

“Lucy…” Garcia mumbles, his hands coming up to frame her face, and that’s how she realizes she’s been staring blindly at him for several moments. “We’re here, Lucy. I’ve got you, I’m here, draga.” She wants to ask what it means, but finds she doesn’t really care at the moment. She moves in again, capturing his mouth in another desperate kiss. She shifts position, placing her knees firmly on either side of his legs, pushing her body forward to get even closer. His arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her against him. They’re basically one, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins.

The Carpathia finally starts to move, Lucy notices distantly. Relieved and anguished cries fill the early morning air, and she pulls away from Garcia to look at him again. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark some more, and she can see more of his face now. He looks at her in awe and wonder, as if he can’t believe he’s holding her, kissing her. “You-you saved more,” Garcia mutters, moving a hand to touch her cheek again. “You changed history.”

Lucy shakes her head, fingers tangling in his hair. “We did that. We saved more. Those passengers from third-class…that was you, wasn’t it?”

Garcia shrugs one shoulder. “I might have killed a steward and destroyed some White Star Line property.”

Lucy lets out a laugh, because of course he did. Chaos incarnate, always looking to do the right thing in the most dramatic way possible. “I adore you,” she says, breathlessly, before moving back in. Garcia is caught off guard this time, and he lets out a small noise of surprise. But he’s not fazed for long, and reels her back in. The kiss turns hungrier this time, the first desperation of their reunion finally fading and the relief of their survival, their…success, in a morbid way, washing over them. She has no intention nor desire to take this any further than what it is, but the swooping feeling in her stomach is building, and if they don’t stop soon, a slightly more animalistic side might take over. But, as ever with Garcia Flynn, rationality is simply thrown out the window, because this wonderful, frustrating man is holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the universe to him, and she’s not immune to that kind of attention.

In the end, it’s a sharp turn of the ship that jostles them enough, Lucy nearly keeling over at the sudden movement. Garcia holds her tightly, pulling her back, and despite everything, they giggle. It’s a wonderful sound, and slightly weird to hear from the mouth of a man that usually growls or sasses. She settles more comfortably against him, pulling the blanket over them both, and puts her head on his chest. His heart beats strongly, comfortingly, against her ear, and she sighs. Now that they’ve finally settled down, she notices again how cold she is, and she shivers. His arms tighten around her and he rubs her arms to give them some warmth. She closes her eyes, counts his heartbeats, reminding her with every beat that he’s alive. Alive alive alive.

“You checking my pulse, Lucy?” Garcia asks, a slight tease in his voice, even as his hand wraps around her wrist to do the same. Lucy can only nod. “I’m alive, Lucy, I’m here.”

Lucy nods, doesn’t move. “I keep thinking that this is a dream. That I’ve slipped into unconsciousness from the cold. Or maybe never left the Titanic at all and these are just my dying moments.” She shakes her head to clear her mind before the fear takes control of her and sends her into a panicking spiral.

Garcia takes her hand, pulls it up to his mouth and kisses every digit individually, his warm breath washing over her freezing skin, sending pins and needles through each digit. “I know the feeling.”

They sit in silence some more, the hold around them slowly filling up with shivering and frightened people. It feels unreal, having read about the most famous shipwreck in history, having watched the movie, having known about this part of history for most of her life, and she’s living it. “The RMS Carpathia takes three days to get to New York, dodging icebergs for most of the journey. We’ll be slowed down by thunderstorms and fog, so it won’t be a pleasant journey.” She can feel her historian side beginning to kick in, take over, take control. Teaching is good. Teaching is not crippling fear. “I hope you’re not seasick.”

Garcia lets out a breath. “Three days. That’s going to be rough.” Lucy nods, linking her fingers with his. It will be rough, but at least they’ll be together. “Rufus is going to be waiting for us at the harbour, on the 18th.”

At hearing Rufus’s name, she looks up hopefully. “Rufus made it out?”

Garcia glances down, and Lucy can see he’s uncertain. “I told him to go straight to the Lifeboat. He promised he would. I hope to God he made it out.”

Lucy feels the fear creep into her heart, but then thinks of Rufus’s brilliance and resilience, and her she looks Garcia straight in the eyes. “He made it out. There’s no other option.” He nods, pulls her close again, kisses the top of her head.

“Lucy? Flynn! Did you guys die of hypothermia or what?” Lucy and Garcia are startled from their little cocoon when a nearby voice starts calling their names. “Guys!”

“Over here, soldier boy,” Garcia calls, half-sarcastic, half-relieved. Lucy feels a little guilty. She’s pretty sure they’ve been down here for at least 2 hours, and not once have they given a thought to Wyatt. From the shadowy darkness, Wyatt stumbles towards them, relief written clear on his face as he drops to his knees next to them and, to everyone’s surprise, wraps them in his arms. Lucy wraps her own arm around his shoulders, too. She feels Garcia, frozen in shock, slowly move to pat Wyatt on the back. Flynn and Wyatt aren’t usually on the same page, and even less physically affectionate, but they seem to be equal parts relieved and embarrassed to be relieved in this situation.

“Look, I know you needed your alone time, but I’ve been getting really worried. I’m sorry if I interrupted…you know…”

Garcia rolls his eyes and pulls Lucy into his lap so as to make room for Wyatt to sit. “We’re slowly contracting hypothermia after just having survived one of the most horrible disasters in recent history, in the hold of an over-crowded early 20th-century steam ship. But yeah, we were humping like bunnies.” Lucy hits him in the chest at that, and he takes it with a wry chuckle. Even Wyatt manages to chuckle at that.

Wyatt settles in next to them, wrapping himself tightly in his own blanket and produces another he managed to snag. He drapes it over the three of them, and the huddle together for warmth, settling in for the gruelling three days yet to come. Ridiculous, Lucy feels a sense of calm. The three of them are together, and Rufus is waiting for them three days from now, as they’ll arrive. They’re going to be fine.

The three of them stumble off the RMS Carpathia in the early hours of the evening on 18 April 1912. Their clothes are stiff from the cold, still slightly damp, and all of them must look ridiculous. It doesn’t stop a lone figure from barrelling towards them and wrapping the three of them in a bone crushing hug. A huge wave of relief washes over Lucy, and fresh tears threaten to spill over. With one hand tightly holding on to Garcia’s, she wraps her other arm around Rufus’ shoulders. Rufus buries his face in her shoulder, and she feels more than hears his sob. “Thank God, thank God, you guys made it,” he mutters.

Garcia wraps him in a gigantic hug, too, the first time Lucy sees true affection between the pair of them. “I was worried you hadn’t made it to the Lifeboat,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

“How long has it been for you,” Wyatt asks, giving Rufus another hug of his own.

Rufus laughs a little maniacally. “Only a couple of minutes. I went back, had to change clothes, because I was soaked to the skin. Had to wade through waist deep ice water to get to…” He clocks their soaked and dirty clothes, realises they’ve been through worse, and stops talking. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. I changed clothes and jumped straight here.” He takes a step back, looks at them all with tears in his eyes. “You all look like crap, you know.”

And despite everything they’ve just been through, despite all of them being colder than they’ve ever been in their entire life, they burst into laughter. The euphoria of having the Team back together, of being alive, finally settling in, as Flynn, Lucy and Wyatt realise that they’re safe and going home, to functional plumbing and hot water. They hug again and Lucy lets tears fall, and she’s laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because they’ve made it and her boys are safe.

“Let’s go home,” Rufus says at last, and he links one arm with Lucy’s and wraps another around Wyatt’s shoulder. Garcia moves naturally to Lucy’s other side and slides his hand into hers. They hold each other tight as Rufus leads them towards the Lifeboat. Garcia helps all of them in before climbing in himself, and Rufus prepares to take off while the other three strap themselves in. From across each other, Lucy and Garcia take each other’s hands again, holding on tight, reluctant to even let go for a second. When Rufus turns around to check if everyone is secure, his eyes land on their hands and he raises an eyebrow. “That’s new…”

“Rufus, can we do this when we’re clean, warm and dry, please?” Garcia interrupts, and Rufus turns back with a nod. Lucy locks eyes with Garcia and gives him a soft smile. He squeezes her hand and at that moment Rufus flips the switch. The Lifeboat rocks and spins and then disappears. They materialize a second later, landing roughly, and with a high whine.

“Yeah, she did not like that. Three jumps without a charge is pushing it. But we made it. Let’s go get you guys warm and dry.”

The door opens and they pile out, dazed, confused, a little seasick. “Showers,” Wyatt grunts, as he hugs them tightly once more and then moves immediately towards the company showers.

“No offense, guys, but I gotta get to Jiya. She’ll be worried sick.” Rufus hugs them once more and then hurries off, leaving Lucy and Garcia alone in the landing bay. She moves closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He presses his lips to her forehead, then looks down at her. Lucy asks before she can stop herself.

“Garcia, do you – do you want to come home with me?”

He rears back, stunned, and Lucy has to giggle. They kiss like the world is ending, don’t let go of each other for three full days, and the man is still surprised she might not want to leave his side now. “Lucy,” he says, voice raw with emotion, “Are you – are you sure – ?”

“Yes. Yes.” Lucy is more than sure, and is absolutely done with pretending like she doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with him, like he isn’t the reason she gets up in the morning sometimes. She’s done waiting, and when Lucy Preston sets her mind to something, she usually gets it. “If you don’t want to, of course, then you don’t have to, but – ”

“No,” Flynn says, half to himself and then louder, “No. I want to.” He breaks out into a grin and leans down to kiss her. She kisses him back fiercely, determinedly, and the kiss is full of promise, of possibility.

“Come on then,” she whispers, takes his hand, and leads him to the company garage. He follows eagerly, and they can’t help but stop a few times to make-out like teenagers against several walls. They make it back to her home slightly more dishevelled than they left MCI. And then suddenly he’s nervous, and she has to take him by the hand and lead him up the stairs and into her shower. They undress each other as the water heats up, but there’s not heat behind it. They’re gentle, kind and the warm water nearly causes them to drop to their knees with satisfaction. They help each other wash all the muck and rime off, as they slowly remember what it’s like to not feel cold anymore. Lucy fetches them towels and they dry each other off, without any meaning behind it other than taking care of each other. After they’ve both wrapped themselves in towels, Lucy takes his hand and looks up at him with bright, clear eyes. “Should we – do you want to – ”

Garcia takes her face in his hands and silences her with a heated, searing kiss that sends tingles all the way up her spine. “Yes,” he whispers. With a sly smile, she starts walking backwards, taking his hand once more to lead him towards her bedroom. Garcia follows, gripping her hand tightly. When they enter her bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls her into him, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and closing the door with his foot. He presses her back against it and captures her mouth in another searing kiss. “Lucy…” he whispers, as he moves his hand down to unwrap her towel. She lets him, feels his fingers brush the side of her breast and the top of her thigh. It’s thrilling, and they’ve waited far too long. She allows the towel to fall away, and he takes a sharp breath. They’ve seen each other naked in the shower, but this is different, the air between them is charged and the promise of what’s to come pours out of every kiss.

“Take me to bed, Garcia,” Lucy whispers, as she starts frantically pulling at his own towel. He grins, kisses her hungrily, then turns around to move over to the bed.

All things considered, the middle ground is better then she could have hoped for. When she went into labor, when she accepted both it and her situation were real, she thought either she’d give birth to a premature baby in the 18th century, or she’d go with Wyatt and the others to the 21st, which wouldn’t have guaranteed a hospital, and would have likely meant prison time. 

She might have never seen her daughter again, and bizarre as Coney Island‘s baby incubator attraction of the 1920s is, it saved Harper’s life and preserved her freedom. She’ll send Lucy a fruit basket, she decides, someday years from now.

Wyatt’s more reliable then he’s ever been. He visited every day, from her prospective. From his, it was closer to once or twice a week, because time travel.

Jiya came as well, to pilot, and to assess her then levels of evilness. What she looked for, Jess has no idea. She hopes she passed her judgement. If not, or if after they meet today, within the hour, Denise decides her knowledge of the new Rittenhouse isn’t good enough or she isn’t sincerely reformed enough or whatever, then her and Harper are staying here in the past. That’s the deal.

She doesn’t trust them, not really, but what choice does she have? If the recollection of their little girl cradled in Wyatt’s arms doesn’t stop her from slipping into the crowd then Rittenhouse’s boogeyman at her side does.

He gives her an irritated look. Her stare must be like ants on his skin.

He always came too, as far as she knows, and stayed outside with Lucy, only coming into the exhibit when she did, which wasn’t often. They seem to be a package deal these days, which Jess finds relief in as she tentatively salvages her marriage.

She’s going to raise her daughter.

Flynn doesn’t get to raise his.

“I looked into you.” He looks into her, sharp as the knife she wishes she had. “Let me start over.”

“That is the idea.” His growl does not deter her. This might be her only chance.

“Has Wyatt ever mentioned his father?”

“What does that— do we seem close to you?”

She shifts Harper in her arms. "Well, has he?”

He looks at her for a long moment. His gaze drifts to the baby and snaps away. “No.”

Jess adjusts her daughter’s bonnet, shielding her skin from the sun. “I killed him.”

He blinks, rises his eyebrows. “Because of Rittenhouse?”

“Because I had a good reason.”

Bewildered, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere other then here, with anyone else. The feeling is almost mutual, but this is important.

“Look, this story has a point,” she says. “I was 15. We have something in common.”

He gives her a sharp look, as if his service record isn’t public information, as if she couldn’t put two and together. Rip the band-aid off, get it over with, push down the guilt for Harper. “You had a daughter and from the articles about the case you were a good dad. How were you going— or did you plan to tell her about when you were a teenager?”

His jaw’s clenched like a fist and his eyes shine with rage but Jess knows the baby in her arms makes her safe. She’s never been sure of that until now.

“You have a lot of nerve asking that.” He’s barely audible above the crowd noise, despite their uncomfortable proximity. It’s meant to be a warning, she thinks, a breathy threat, but it’s nearer to panic.

“I know.”

“So fuck off.”

“But it’s not for me.” 

Harper stirs and yawns, grunts and falls back asleep. She still sleeps like a rock. The parenting book Jess read half of warned the phase wouldn’t last forever. Flynn watches her, too.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “not for asking, but for what Rittenhouse did to you and your family. I didn’t even know about it until a few mouths ago, but for whatever it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“Save it.” He shifts from foot to foot, agonized.

She learned what Rittenhouse did to that five year old child and she couldn’t justify them anymore. She tried, she really did, but with that revelation the threat to her own child become too great and she couldn’t stay.

Harper wakes up again and fusses. Her diaper is dry and it must be less then an hour since she was last fed.

“I wouldn’t,” he says finally.

Jessica bounces her. “What?”

“I wouldn’t go back because I... wouldn’t be good for her, for them.” He won’t look at her and Harper for very long, and rotates surveillance of them with  surveillance of the crowd. “But before all this,” he looks at her now, “my mistakes weren’t a part of me like they are now. I could forgive myself.”

“Are you saying I should forgive myself?”

“I’m saying I don’t have a problem with you, not really. I’m saying you were a part of something evil, almost born into it.” That’s the part Jessica can’t yet fully accept, despite her clearer eyes and the overwhelming evidence, that Rittenhouse isn’t just dangerous or misguided or flawed, it’s evil, and she never had a chance to see it until Harper. Or maybe she did, and what does that say about her? “You want my expert advice? You’ll be fine; you aren’t ashamed. They raised you, you saw them as your family. She’ll understand that, eventually.”

He looks at her, at Harper settled into her shoulder, for one moment, with an openness she never would have imagined him capable of, that she’ll no doubt never experience again.

She wants to say: are you ashamed? Instead: “You don’t have a problem with me?”