A/N: Regarding the official rules of Time Travel, Kripke says "We have this main rule that we're really operating under which is that you can never travel back to a period that you've already been." I'm going to take that to mean there can't be two of a character breathing at the same point in time (it sticks a little bit with Anthony but if you assume the character is about a decade younger than the actor, he could have gone to 1969 without issues.)

That being said, Wyatt needs to be the oldest time traveler for this plot line to work. Therefore, this story is AU for "Karma Chameleon" which puts him as younger than Rufus. If we push the "Karma Chameleon" episode back to 1982 and make Rufus' birthday a year later, it all works out.

Mason Industries, March 24, 2017

With a flurry of high-speed winds and teeth-grinding screeches, the Lifeboat blipped out of sight, sending Wyatt, Lucy and Rufus to Chicago, Illinois, April 28th, 1983. When Flynn had jumped earlier that day, the date hadn't been immediately apparent to anyone but, after some Googling, the team had determined that Harold Washington was about to be sworn in as the first African-American mayor of Chicago on the 29th. No one knew exactly how Rittenhouse was involved since Washington's name hadn't come up before, but, if Flynn was there, the Time Team needed to be too.

As soon as Jiya rearranged the small knick-knacks around her workspace, she turned back to her computer where a series of simulations for more accurately pinpointing the Mothership's location were running. As if on cue, her screen flashed red, signaling yet another sim had failed. She scowled at the machine—not that it changed the outcome at all—then pushed away from her desk and headed for the break room before the next simulation could fail as well.

She grabbed a soda from the fridge then, finding no one she'd want to talk to already sitting there, dropped into her own booth and pulled up her email. Most of it was listserv reply-alls from other divisions of the company but there was one in the middle of the bunch from HR. Jiya didn't usually read those as they tended not to apply to her but, based on the date, she knew it was probably the list of office birthdays for the upcoming month. Said email blast had begun last year after Mason employees complained about not feeling appreciated. Now, each employee received a special lunch on Connor Mason on their birthday and a monthly list was sent out publically in case coworkers wanted to make a bigger deal of the date.

It was a testament to how bored Jiya truly was that she actually opened the email. She spent a few minutes scrolling through the names before she was interrupted by notification that the sim suite was done running, with no better results than before. Groaning, she grabbed the soda can and headed back to her desk where she put her phone aside and began working on debugging the latest failure.

Exactly seven minutes later, she straightened up, her eyes wide in horror. She grabbed for her phone, unlocked it and reread HR's email. Her fears confirmed, she quickly punched in Agent Christopher's direct number.

Before the Homeland Security agent could even say hello, Jiya was already speaking: "Ma'am, you need to get down here. We have a problem."

Chicago, Illinois, April 30, 1983

To the Time Team's great surprise, Washington's ceremony had gone off without a hitch, matching in every way the research Lucy had done before they'd travelled here. Yet, for some reason, Flynn hadn't left yet. In fact, though the team had seen a fleeting glimpse of his men wandering around the day before the ceremony, they hadn't actually seen Flynn himself. Concerned that he was off somewhere constructing an even greater plan, the team got to work paging through newspapers, watching televised news shows, and listening to radio reports of upcoming events in the area, trying to figure out his next move.

Wyatt, who had been tasked with reading the various physical newspapers, put down the leaflet and rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to abate the pressure that had been building behind his eyes for the last day. To his knowledge, he had been perfectly healthy before he'd left, which made the sudden onset headache even more surprising. In typical Wyatt Logan fashion though, he ignored it, chalking it up to the large amount of reading he'd been doing the last few days without much sleep, and picked up the paper again.

He'd barely made it through the first sentence when a blinding pain exploded in his stomach. It came on so suddenly he hardly had a chance to think before instinct took over and he tumbled to the ground, taking cover beneath the small desk in his hotel room. His brain was so overwhelmed that he couldn't even remember where his weapon was.

He didn't know how long he laid there before the pain abated and he slowly came back to himself. As soon as he could move, he reached down and probed his abdomen, feeling for a wound. When he felt no tender skin, he looked down and quickly discovered the white shirt he was wearing was completely unstained.

In the interest of being thorough, he ran his hands up his sides and back but still found no injuries.

The hell?

As confusion settled in, he looked around the room and quickly realized the harsh knocking he'd been hearing was coming from the connecting door. He hauled himself shakily to his feet and made his way across the room, pulling open the door to find Lucy's concerned face staring back at him.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"Fell asleep at the table," he lied with practiced ease. "Slid out of my chair."

She fixed him with a piercing look and he forced his heart to slow down and his breathing to regulate. "You sure?" she finally asked.

"Absolutely."

It took Lucy a moment before she nodded slowly. "Well, Rufus wanted to get together to compare notes since none of us have found another key event. Maybe between the three of us, we'll find something we missed."

"Sounds good," Wyatt agreed. "I'll go get the paper."

He walked back to his room, gathered up the pages and was walking back to Lucy's room when his stomach twinged again. It wasn't nearly as ferocious as before but was still strong enough for his concern that this was a serious issue to ratchet up a notch.

After another two hours of going over current events and finding nothing, Wyatt began to get restless. As cliché as it sounded, he wasn't used to just sitting around and his body was practically begging him to do something active.

"I'm going to go for a walk. See if I can spot any of Flynn's men," he announced, hauling himself to his feet and grimacing as his back angrily protested.

Before Lucy could open her mouth, he waved away her concern. "I'm tired of sitting, that's all," he stated, replacing the grimace with a lopsided smile.

"I'm down for a walk," Rufus said as he pushed himself away from the desk.

"No!" Wyatt flinched as the word came out much more forcefully than he intended. He looked over at Lucy and Rufus to find them staring at him with a mixture of confusion and indignation. "You guys can't come with," he added in a much softer tone, hoping that would be the end of it.

But then Lucy straightened up, dug in her heels and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. "Why not?" she demanded. "We can cover more ground that way."

The reasons were too numerous for Wyatt to explain: there were too many variables with the three of them out there. One of them might be Flynn's target and could be more easily taken down in isolation. Sure he'd put Rufus and Lucy through a soldier's version of self-defense class but they were nowhere near the abilities of Flynn's men.

Mostly though, he couldn't protect both of them out there, especially if whatever happened earlier happened again.

"I need you both to trust me," he finally said. "It's better if you stay here."

There was a moment of silence before Rufus sat back in his chair. "You know, the whole splitting up thing has never worked well for us," he pointed out.

"I'll be fine Rufus," Wyatt replied, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smirk.

"I sincerely hope you're right." With that, the pilot slipped on a pair of Walkman headphones and turned the radio they were plugged into back on.

Wyatt looked over at Lucy, who shrugged. "If you think it's best," she said in a tone that was just shy of being convincing before she dropped back into her chair and resumed paging through the newspapers.

Wyatt stood there for a moment longer, contemplating whether or not he should tell them the truth. In the end, he decided against it, knowing they had a job to do, and that was more important than anything going on with him.

"I'll be back soon," he promised before heading into his own room, grabbing his weapon, then leaving the hotel.

He walked up and down the streets of Downtown Chicago, searching for any sight of Flynn or his men, until his feet hurt from tight fit of his dress shoes. Much to his surprise though, he found himself aching in more places than just his feet. His chest burned with the effort of bringing in air even though he wasn't walking all that quickly, and his limbs felt stiff and oddly disjointed.

Needless to say, he was grateful to not have run into Flynn's men as he finished another lap of the area. He was just turning around to head back to their hotel when the agonizing pain returned, this time in his head.

For an unending length of time, he knew nothing about his surroundings—there was nothing but a pain so sharp he couldn't even think. When it finally started to ebb, he found himself sitting against a wall, knees pulled to his chest, hands clutching at his temples. His foggy brain realized something was standing in front of him and, when he squinted, a cop came into view.

"You can't be out here," the man boomed. "Private property. I need you to collect your stuff and leave."

Unable to find the breath for words, Wyatt just nodded and shakily pulled himself upright.

"You okay, sir?" the officer suddenly asked, suddenly sounding more warm and generous.

"Migraines," Wyatt ground out, hand rubbing at his forehead. "Bad."

"You need a lift?"

Wyatt considered the offer for a split second, not sure if the man could be trusted, but then nodded, knowing he didn't really have another option. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Where have you been?" Lucy demanded as soon as she opened the door to her hotel room. "It's after seven!"

He'd been gone for almost four hours.

"Where's Rufus?" Wyatt asked, wincing as the ache in his head ratcheted up a notch.

"About to go out looking for you." Without taking her eyes off Wyatt, Lucy tapped on the connecting door. "He's back," she called loud enough to be heard in the other room.

Rufus burst through the door almost immediately. "We are never splitting up ag—What happened to you?" he demanded as soon as he saw Wyatt's disheveled appearance.

"I think I'm getting sick." Wyatt then proceeded to describe his symptoms to his teammates. "And that might not be a big deal but I wasn't sick before I got here and haven't been sick for the last few days and I really don't want to be a Typhoid Mary for some futuristic virus."

Lucy walked over and rested her hand against his forehead. "You're not running a fever but I don't know if that's a good thing or not."

"So what's the plan?" Wyatt asked, dropping into a chair and wincing as the motion jarred his knees. "Do I have to worry about this or—"

Without warning, pain lanced through his chest, stealing his breath. He doubled over, clutching at his ribs and forcing his lungs through steady inhales.

"Rufus, what's happening?" he heard someone…Lucy…ask as he struggled to bring air into his lungs.

"Either he was poisoned somehow or…" Rufus cursed. Loudly. And creatively. "Would you say the pain is sharp or dull?"

"Seri'sly?" Wyatt grunted out, his forehead pressed to the wooden table in front of him.

"It's important! Sharp or dull?"

"Sharp!"

"Started in your stomach, head, then chest." Rufus cursed under his breath. "This is bad."

Suddenly there were hands under his arms, hauling him to his feet. Disoriented, Wyatt looked around until his gaze landed on Rufus, who was fully supporting him, Lucy hovering off to his right.

"Waz goin' on?"

"We need to go now!"

"Why?" As the new pain began to die down, Wyatt hazily took stock of his body. Once again, there were no obvious wounds but this latest round of…whatever was happening to him…left him feeling lighter, like he was floating, as if all of his body weight wasn't being accounted for in gravity anymore.

"What's going on, Rufus?" Lucy asked as she grabbed their few belongings, shoved them into her purse, and followed Wyatt and Rufus into the hallway.

Within seconds of Lucy appearing, Rufus had adjusted his grip on Wyatt and began hobbling down the hallway. The soldier was desperately trying to straighten up and take some of his weight off Rufus' shoulders but was having little success as his body was slow to react to any of his instructions.

"Today's your birthday, isn't it?"

"What?" There was now a shrill ringing in Wyatt's ears and he was no longer sure he'd heard Rufus correctly.

"Answer the question," Rufus snapped, the raised voice easily able to be heard around the ringing. "Today is your birthday birthday, like the day you were born?"

Wyatt had to think about it for a long moment, his brain much slower to make the connection than it should have been. "Yeah," he finally ground out. "So?"

Obviously Lucy was now on the same page as Rufus for she swore just as creatively as Rufus had earlier, all while furiously punching the down button for the elevator. "We have to go, now," she stated in the same tone Rufus had used.

"Why?" Wyatt finally managed to ask. He could barely feel his extremities anymore and had no idea if he was actually walking or if his feet were just dragging.

"At some point today, there will be two of you," Rufus huffed as he readjusted Wyatt's arm over his shoulder. "And that messes with the timeline."

"Oh." That sounded bad but Wyatt couldn't remember why.

"I assume it's only by sheer dumb luck that you haven't been born already..." The rest of Rufus' words were lost as the ache in Wyatt's head kicked in with full force, sending him doubling over and clutching at his skull.

There were hands around him, propelling him forward and he could only barely hear words floating by his ears. Then his cheek was burning hot, stinging. With the temporary flash of adrenaline, he was able to understand Rufus's query: "What time were you born?"

"Eight...thirty..." he slurred, just before the ringing in his ears morphed into a shrill screeching.

From then on, Wyatt was vaguely able to catch snippets of the pilot's and Lucy's conversation: something about 45 minutes…and a cab.

Then he was sitting, his back against a rough material. And for some reason, that set off a desire to cough. The harsh motion hurt his lungs and he felt something wet pass by his lips.

His abdomen was on fire, hot-white pain shooting from every nerve fiber.

There was a loud noise that hurt his ears but he couldn't make his arms move to cover them.

Then there was a sharp stabbing pain in his lungs and he knew no more, as his body gave up the battle to remain conscious.