A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, it was an absolute beast to write. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be ready for this same reason, since I wanted to share this as soon as it was done. That said, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

Slamming his hand atop his alarm, Wyatt expected the incessant beeping that woke him up to stop. When it continued, he groaned and sat up, turning over to Lucy's side of the bed figuring it was her alarm. Her alarm wasn't going off and her side of the bed was empty. Waking up more, Wyatt realized he smelled smoke. Calling out for Lucy, Wyatt scrambled out of bed. When he reached the hallway, the sound of her grumbling led him to the kitchen. Standing over the sink, was a panicked looking Lucy. She was clutching a slightly charred looking frying pan, running water over the burnt remains of what must have been her attempt at breakfast. She jumped when he called her name again, dropping the pan into the sink and spinning around.

"I didn't mean to wake you," She cried out, "I wanted to make breakfast for you. After everything at the Alamo…" She trailed off, "I just thought it would be nice," She finished with a shrug.

A smile tugged at Wyatt's lips as he walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her, "The gesture is greatly appreciated, ma'am, but I thought we agreed to leave the cooking to me."

Blushing slightly, Lucy replied, "I did manage to make toast," She tilted her head towards the toaster. In front of it was a plate of golden-browned bread, for once without the blackened char that generally accompanied any attempt Lucy made at cooking. Laughing, Wyatt told her the toast was enough. He reached over to turn off the sink, leaving the pan to soak in the water. Then, with one hand still wrapped around Lucy, Watt grabbed the plate of toast and led her to the kitchen table. As they ate the generous amount of toast Lucy had made, she explained what happened to the eggs. She had been going back and forth between the stove and the toaster, proud of herself for making an edible piece of toast she kept making more, ending up with the entire loaf on the plate. She became so focused on the toast and her success that she completely forgot the eggs until a burning smell reached her nose. By the time she turned around the eggs are blackened blobs and the smoke detector was going off. Ashamed by her mistake, Lucy buried her head in her hands as she admitted how she let the cooking get away from her. Wyatt, however, found it endearing. He didn't marry Lucy because she could cook. In fact, her inability to so much as boil a pot of water was one of the many things about her that charmed him. She looked up at him, rolling her eyes, when he told her who needed eggs with toast that tasted so good. When they finished their carb heavy breakfast, they moved to the couch, leaving their discarded plates on the kitchen table. The plates could wait, the talk they had pressed pause on the night before, however, needed to happen.

Lucy curled up on one end of the couch, her back against the armrest and her legs pulled close to her chest. Wyatt sat on the opposite end, his head propped up with a hand, his elbow on the back of the couch. He let out a heavy breath. The worry in Lucy's eyes made him ache. He hated that he was the reason that look was there. Reaching across the space between them on the couch, Wyatt took Lucy's into her hands in an attempt to offer some semblance of comfort. Letting out a heavy breath, Lucy loosened up, lowering her legs and letting out the tension from her shoulders. With Lucy more relaxed, Wyatt released another deep breath, and apologized.

He apologized for the Alamo, for trying to get her to leave him behind, even for a minute. He apologized for being bullheaded through the entire mission. He apologized for making her think he had stopped caring. Then he explained. He explained that he had convinced himself that nothing mattered other than eliminating Flynn because, if he failed, Lucy would have to go on the missions without him. He explained that nothing terrified him more than her hurtling through time without him, that she could risk coming home to a world where he didn't know her or he was gone, just like Amy. He explained how much the Alamo felt like Syria. He explained that there were some moments that the dusty and tense atmosphere of the Alamo was so similar to Syria that he saw his teammates, heard their voices, thought he was leaving them behind to die, again. Then he told her about Syria, details he had never shared with her before. He told her about the coin flip, about Zach's mirthless laugh when it landed on heads. He told her how he could hear the shots and screams as he fled with the intelligence. He told her how he was sent home days later. He told her how when he got home, he wasn't really there. He told her how he couldn't connect with Jess, how they fought about everything, how he couldn't say a goddamn word without wanting to scream, throw up, or cry. He told her everything he could think of, everything he hadn't told her before, everything he should have told her.

Once he started speaking, the words wouldn't stop. It was like a dam within him had finally broke. Every nightmare that haunted him, horror that he had witnessed, he shared. Since meeting Lucy, he had shared a lot with her, but never so much about his deployments, about his struggles with the memories of war. He had always felt like he shared enough with Lucy, but as his words kept pouring out, he realized how much he had failed to tell her. As he spoke, he started crying, but he didn't realize until Lucy reached out and slowly wiped away a tear with the pad of her thumb. He had finished speaking at that point, having finished pouring his heart out. Lucy was crying, too, Wyatt realized when he looked up at her. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Wyatt felt, for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Everything he had held since joining the army, he finally told someone. He finally told Lucy, which made it all the more important. When it became clear to Lucy that he had finished talking, she flung herself into Wyatt's arms, cradling his head against her. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and held him close.

Running a comforting hand through his hair, Lucy whispered, "I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that alone, Wyatt." Pressing another kiss against his hairline, she added, "Thank you for sharing this with me. Whatever you need, I'm here."

There were so many times in his life that Wyatt found himself wondering how he got so lucky to have Lucy, as she gently stroked her fingers through his hair, that thought lingered heavily. "I wish I had told you sooner," Wyatt said softly, "But I'm glad I told you now."

"I'm glad you told me, too," Lucy replied. They were quiet for a while after that, letting their tears dry and their breathing even. Wyatt sunk into Lucy's embrace like a rock thrown into the ocean, settled, at rest. He felt safe. When he sat up, extracting himself from Lucy's hug, Wyatt cupped her face with both hands. Leaning forward, he pressed a light kiss to her lips, a silent thank you. She smiled in response and then made a suggestion that Wyatt had never considered, "Have you ever thought of finding a therapist?"

Later that day, after their emotions settled, Lucy and Wyatt had different things on their agenda. Because of the drama from the day before, being fired and then rehired, Wyatt was required at Mason Industries to sign paperwork. After his conversation with Lucy, Wyatt followed her advice. In his meeting with Agent Christopher he discussed bringing in a therapist with high enough clearance that he could talk about anything, regardless of confidentiality. Agent Christopher, thankfully, agreed.

Lucy also had a difficult conversation that evening. It had been over a week since the confrontation at her mother's house and Lucy had to talk to her. Less than a month ago, her mother had, at best, weeks left to live. Lucy knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she squandered her relationship with her healthy mother. Especially considering Amy was gone. Her mother was all she had left. So, with a great deal of mustered strength, Lucy rapped her fist against her mother's front door, a little too nervous to announce her presence with the jarring sound of the doorbell.

It took a few moments for the door to open, during which Lucy was wringing her hands, wishing she was wearing her wedding band which she usually fiddled with when nervous. Her mother opened the door with a polite smile which faded as soon as she saw who was on the front step, "Lucy," Was her only greeting.

"Hi, mom," Lucy said with a strained smile, "Can I come in?"

Carol didn't reply, but she stepped to the side and gestured to the open space. Taking the motion as an invitation in, Lucy stepped into the familiar front hall. She didn't go any further into the house, though. Once the door closed behind her, Carol didn't make the move to leave the front hall, so neither did Lucy. Tension was heavy in the air. In lieu of spinning her ring on her finger, Lucy clutched her locket. "How are you doing, mom?" Lucy asked, her voice strained.

Placing her hands on her hips, Carol rounded on Lucy, "How am I? How am I? I'm not the one who has abandoned everything! I'm not the one who keeps disappearing for no reason! I'm not the one with a mysterious job that she won't even tell her own mother about! And you come in here and ask how I'm doing?"

"I, I know things have been weird lately," Lucy started, but her mom interrupted her quickly.

"Weird?" Carol snapped, "Weird is missing work for a day or forgetting your phone, weird is not ending your engagement and running away with a stranger. How could you do that Lucy? We had a plan. A clear plan. A solid plan. We were on track for a good life, Lucy. What happened?" Before Lucy could answer the question, Carol continued her rant, "You know what? Don't answer that. I don't want to know," Sighing, Carol softened her tone, her anger seeming to ebb away, "I want you to come home, Lucy, come back, if not to Noah, come back here. You've had your fun, your break from real life. It's time to come back."

Shaking her head, Lucy replied, "I can't do that, mom."

"Then why come, Lucy?" Carol asked, sounding both angry and defeated, "I made it clear that you weren't welcome here until you came to your senses."

Lucy's heart sank. This wasn't how she wanted the conversation with her mom to go. She had hoped that, after more than a week, her mother had calmed down. She had hoped that enough time had passed that her mom would listen to her, at least talk to her, and instead she was met with all the cold, disappointed, fury, that Carol Preston could muster. She had even brought a peace offering, a Snickers bar tucked in the bottom of her purse. Considering how the conversation was going, the candy was going to remain there. What Lucy had wanted, more than anything, to be able to tell her mother about being married to Wyatt. She wanted to share her happiness with her mother. Judging by her mother's persisting anger, that wasn't a possibility. Summoning all her inner strength, Lucy took a steadying breath and replied, "If you don't want to see me, I'll go," She paused, taking another deep breath, and said what she was most afraid to voice, "But before I leave, I need you to tell me my father's name. Something, something's come up, and I need his information."

Ever since learning her father wasn't her biological father, one question had been lingering in her mind. Who was her father? If her mother was being reasonable, she might have been able to put off asking, but with their tense relationship, Lucy needed the truth.

"Is that what all of this is about?" Carol accused, "Acting out because I'm your mother."

Lucy almost stomped her foot, feeling like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. Growing up, she had never pushed back against her mother. That was always Amy's role. Standing in the front hall, trying to get the truth and connect with her mother, Lucy was gaining a new understanding of her sister. Carol had never been as strict with Amy, but that didn't mean she accepted her daughter's more outrageous traits or actions. All of the fights Lucy had witnessed between the two made so much more sense. She had always thought Amy was brave. She had always known Amy was stronger than her. But facing off with her mom, Lucy to grasp just how incredible her sister was. "This is about me mom, not you. This is about what makes me happy."

"And he makes you happy?"

Lucy wasn't sure if her mother meant Wyatt or her unnamed father, but Lucy firmly nodded, "Yes, he does."

Lucy sank lower into her seat, hoping she was out of sight. She had her hand pressed to her mouth, the cool feeling of her wedding band keeping her grounded. All but storming out of her mother's house after their fight, Lucy had left with the paper with her father's name clenched tightly in her hand. It was easy to find Benjamin Cahill online, concerningly so. Part of Lucy wanted to cry, after the fight, after the timeline change, sitting in her car staring at a house felt so anticlimactic and monumental at the same time. His house, a beautiful, large, white house, in the middle of Menlo Park suburbia. It was less than half an hour from the house Lucy grew up in, yet she had never met him, in either timeline. He was so close, yet he was a total stranger. According to what she could find online he was a doctor. He was married. He had been married before Lucy was born. Was that why she grew up thinking Henry was her father? Because she was the product of an affair? Spiraling thoughts of what ifs and whys were clouding Lucy's head.

She had driven to his house without thinking. The desire to know the truth overpowered all rational thought. Lucy hadn't considered what she would do when she got there. Would she confront him? Yell at him? Introduce herself? Did he even know she existed? All of the possibilities were too much for her, she had spent her life running from uncertainty and suddenly everything in her life was off balance. Which was why, instead of knocking on the large, black front door, Lucy was hunched over in her car, willing herself to be invisible. She was so focused on staring a hole through the front door, of wondering who was hidden in that white house before her, that the ring of her phone startled her. Fumbling to reach her phone, it took Lucy a second to steady her hand enough to look at the screen.

Reading the caller ID of Mason Industries, Lucy answered immediately, "Hey."

Agent Christopher was on the other end of the call, "Lucy, Flynn's taken out the Mothership."

"Yeah," Lucy said, starting up her car, "I'm, I'm on my way." She took one last lingering look at her father's house, before pulling away. It took her about half an hour to get to Mason Industries. Once she arrived, she was rushed straight into the conference room for the mission briefing. Wyatt, having already been at Mason, was in the conference room before her. He looked up at her with concern, but Agent Christopher dived right into the brief. Flynn had jumped to June 20th, 1972 in the Washington D.C. area. As soon as the Homeland agent said the date and location, Lucy had an idea for what Flynn was after. She blurted out, "Nixon Tapes," causing all eyes in the room to land on her. "Sorry," She apologized quickly, "It's just, that's probably what Flynn's doing, right? June 1972? That's the first thing I think of with that date."

Going off of Lucy's suggestion, Agent Christopher told the team that she would get them the identification needed for access to the White House. When she dismissed them, sending all three to get into their disguise, it was the first chance Lucy and Wyatt had to talk to each other since she had arrived. Rufus, having spent enough time with the couple over the course of the previous missions, could tell they were going to have a private conversation and made himself scarce as all three got ready.

"How did it go with your mom," Wyatt asked as he searched through the racks of gaudy 1970s suits. He pulled out a bright pink shirt and pastel checkered suit pants and dipped into the changing room as Lucy spoke.

Lucy let out a heavy sigh, "It was bad, Wy. We didn't even make it out of the front hall before we started fighting. She's still furious, talking about how I'm throwing away my future and ruining our legacy, whatever the hell that means." Like Wyatt, Lucy pulled down an equally tacky outfit. It was a high collared multicolored dress. When she stepped out of the changing room, one of the Mason employees went to work on her hair, flattening it into an appropriate 70s style. "I couldn't even tell her about us," She sighed again, "She already seems to hate you enough for 'taking' me away from Noah, and that's just living with you. I think she would have killed me if I told her about," She raised her hand, showing off the wedding band, "Y'know."

"But were you able to ask her about…" Wyatt trailed off, knowing he was breaching a touchy subject. He was finishing getting ready, snapping on suspenders and tightening a very wide tie.

"Yeah," Lucy nodded, smiling at the Mason employee who handed her a burnt orange peacoat and large necklace to finish off her outfit, "I asked. She gave me his name. Benjamin Cahill. I Googled him. He was easy to find."

"And?"

"And I went to his house as soon as I left mom's," Lucy replied, "Then I just sat in the car staring at his door until I got the call from Christopher and came straight here."

Turning to take a bright plaid jacket that matched his pants from the nearby wardrobe attendant, Wyatt looked up at Lucy and said, "So, just to be clear," His tone serious but his lips quirking slightly, "You lurked outside your dad's house for an hour without ever knocking. You know there's stalker laws, right?"

Both of them dressed for the mission, they started walking to the hangar as they continued the conversation, "Correction," Lucy said, raising a finger for emphasis, "I have a dad. This man is just my biological father."

"Sorry," Wyatt replied. Then he added, "You're still his daughter, though."

"A daughter that he didn't want to see for my entire life," She replied.

Turning on his heels, Wyatt stopped walking and came face to face with Lucy. He reached out to her, placing his hands on her upper arms and holding her close. "Listen, he said, "I don't know what kind of guy is gonna answer that door, but I do know at some point, you're gonna have to knock," Pressing a kiss on her forehead, he continued, "And I'll be here for you when you do, no matter who opens that door."

His grip on her arms was comforting. It was grounding. He always had that effect on her. She smiled slightly at him, grateful for his reassurance. Lucy was about to respond when Agent Christopher approached them, handing out their fake press credentials. Slipping the lanyard around her neck, Lucy couldn't stop herself from talking about the Watergate Tapes. Scandal in the White House had been one of the first historical topics to catch her attention. The drama was intriguing, and it showed how the actions of a single person influenced global history. Having the chance to hear the missing eighteen and a half minutes from the tapes was enticing. She was still talking about the Nixon scandal as she climbed into the Lifeboat, right behind Rufus. 1970s D.C. had to be the least dangerous location they had been to for their missions, and Lucy was excited. After everything at the Alamo and the fight with her mother, stopping Flynn's scheme of the day and exploring the past seemed like the perfect way for Lucy for clear her mind. For once, Lucy thought, the mission could even be fun.

Concern for Lucy tingled at the back of Wyatt's mind as the team walked for the heart of Washington. They both had the habit of worrying about the other more than themselves. Having scheduled an appointment with a therapist when he was at Mason earlier, it was easy for Wyatt to let his own issues drift away and focus on Lucy's struggles instead. He barely heard Rufus's jokes about 70s fashion or Lucy's continued complaining about the mud caked to her shoes. She had been so strong for him over the past two days, after the Alamo, but that didn't mean she wasn't struggling. Combining the fight with her mother, learning her father's identity, and his issues, Lucy had been dealt a hard hand emotionally in just over twenty-four hours. Wyatt wanted to do something, anything really, to help his wife, to lessen her burden, but he didn't know what he could do. Her entire life had been turned upside down and there was nothing he could do to help her. Part of him felt like a failure, as a husband, for not being able to ease her pain.

A fight between a hippie and a soldier on the edge of Lafayette Square jostled Wyatt out of his thoughts. He sprung forward, catching the hippie as he was shoved away, attempting to stop the fight from becoming bigger. A riot feet away from the White House would be far from covert. The fight surged around Wyatt, though. Before he knew it, he was separated from Lucy and Rufus, surrounded by more of the peace-loving protestors, coming to defend their peer. His concern for Lucy increased exponentially when he heard her desperately screaming his name. He spun around, ignoring the punches that were being thrown around him, calling out for his wife. Again, he heard her call for help, but in the confusion of the fight, he couldn't find her. Calling out for Lucy, trying desperately to find her, Wyatt managed to extricate himself from the fight. As he burst out of the chaotic crowd, Wyatt came face to face with Flynn. Instinctively, Wyatt lunged forward, ready to attack the terrorist. But before he could move towards Flynn, there was a large arm flung across his chest, stopping his movements. An intense pain radiated against his back and Wyatt inadvertently spasmed. Realizing too late that the fight was an ambush, there was nothing Wyatt could do he was tased by the goon behind him. His cries were muffled as a rag was held up against his mouth. Breathing in, he knew it was drugged, but again, there was nothing he could do. Lucy's cries were still ringing in his ears as the world around him grew fuzzy. Everything was darkening. He felt his knees go weak and, unable to stop himself, he fell back against the man behind him. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious was Flynn standing over him, an almost pitying look in the terrorist's eye. His last thought was that he'd failed Lucy. She needed him and he had failed.

Startling awake, everything is blurry for a moment. His vision clears after a few blinks and, as Wyatt comes to, he remembers what happened. Flynn set them up, he probably orchestrated the fight somehow as a distraction, and then took them down. Not knowing how long he was out; Wyatt does his best to assess the situation before alerting anyone else that he's awake. He's sitting up, which is good, better than alternative positions, and he isn't hurting other than where he was tased, also a good thing. He'd be ready to fight when he got the chance. His wrists are bound behind his back, held in place by a set of handcuffs. He gives a firm tug, hoping for there to be some leeway, but the cuffs are tight. Glancing to his right, Wyatt comes face to face with Rufus, also cuffed to a chair.

"You okay?" Rufus asked.

"Peachy," Wyatt snarked, as he turned the other way, praying Lucy was on the other side of him. Beside the door to the room, stood one of Flynn's men. They weren't alone. Turning his head more, he saw Lucy. He let out a sigh. Like Rufus and him, she was also cuffed to a chair. But the reassuring smile that twitched at the corner of her lips told Wyatt that she was alright, that whatever happened while he was unconscious, she wasn't hurt. He wanted to ask what happened, if she was still okay, but his thoughts were still a little sluggish from the drugs and he couldn't formulate any words before the door opened and Flynn swaggered in.

"Recognize this room?" Flynn asked, looking around. Wyatt took the opportunity to survey the space, look for possible weapons and escape routes. Wherever they were, it was old, probably abandoned for at least ten years. It was dusty, the wallpaper was faded and warping, and there was a heavy smell of rot. When all three remained silent, Flynn placed his hands on his hips and continued, "You stayed here the night Abraham Lincoln was shot." The terrorist moved, taking off his jacket. Wyatt bit back a sigh, realizing Flynn was going to monologue. He didn't care what Flynn had to say, what his insane explanations for ruining history might be. Flynn added, "A few weeks for us, a century for them."

Testing the terrorists limits, to see what he could get away with as a prisoner, Wyatt sighed and said, "Oh, god, you're gonna talk us to death, aren't you?"

Flynn ignored him, which is good, Wyatt thought. Less good, was the terrorist focusing his attention on Lucy. "I had a hunch I'd find you on the way to the White House, Lucy," Flynn said, slipping his hands into his pockets. Wyatt glared at the other man. He'd rather have the terrorist focusing on him than Lucy. If attention was on him, he could control the situation, with it on Lucy, she was in more danger. "I need you to do something for me," Flynn added.

"We're not getting the Nixon tape for you," Lucy replied, her voice steady despite the situation. Pride swelled in Wyatt's chest, intermixing with his fear. She was brave, even when being held hostage. She was incredible, he thought.

"Not necessary, already got it myself," He pulled the tape in question out of his pocket, proving the point.

Voice still even and with her eyes trained forward, Lucy said, "You broke into the White House basement." There was no question in her tone, she was stating a fact.

"You think you're the only ones who can forge a 1970s ID?" Flynn scoffed, "I do own a color printer and a laminator." Talking about how he broke into the White House and killing civil servants, Flynn turned his back to the three time travelers. His goons had already closing the door, meaning there was nobody watching them. Taking the opportunity, Wyatt glanced at his bound wrists. The cuffs were modern, Flynn probably brought them to the 70s with him, but they had a standard lock. Wyatt's eyes fell on a loose nail on the edge of his chair. Bingo. Twisting his wrist a little, he ignored the way the metal of the cuff cut into his hand, focusing on wedging his thumb over the exposed nail. With a little wiggling, Wyatt would be able to pull out the nail and have a way to pick the lock. He glanced up at Lucy, her eyes were trained on his hands as well. Meeting his eyes, she nodded, understanding what he was doing. When Flynn turned back around, Wyatt froze. He kept his hand over the nail, but stopped working at it. "I need you to find something," Flynn said, staring directly at Lucy.

"What?" Lucy asked.

Smiling, Flynn gestured to the tape, "Let's have a listen." In different circumstances, Wyatt could only imagine how excited Lucy would be about hearing the lost Watergate tape. But, Wyatt was sure, being cuffed to chairs in an abandoned hotel dampened the mood. The tape started playing and, despite not knowing much about the time period, Wyatt was sure it was real. There was no doubt that the speaker, who was talking about a document and something or someone called Rittenhouse, was Nixon. Flynn flipped the switch on the, turning the recording off with Nixon mid-sentence. Was that really all Flynn wanted them to hear, Wyatt wondered. There were eighteen minutes of missing tape, but the terrorist hadn't even played five minutes.

"Did you hear what President Nixon just said, Lucy?" Flynn asked. Clenching his jaw, Wyatt turned to glare at the terrorist. The way Flynn spoke to Lucy, as if he knew her, as if they were familiar with each other, made Wyatt's stomach churn. He didn't like such a vile person focusing their attention on Lucy. She was looking Flynn in the eye and nodded at her question. Tilting his head, Wyatt tried to see her expression, but from how they were seated, he had no chance of doing so. All Wyatt could do was bite back his rage when Flynn leaned forward, dominating the space around Lucy and pushed, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."

Softly, Lucy replied, "Rittenhouse." Wyatt froze. Did she know what Nixon was talking about? He had never heard the word Rittenhouse before, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that Lucy had.

"I guess it's not so much my paranoid delusion anymore, is it?" Flynn asked, his face contorted with emotions that Wyatt couldn't identify. Partially anger, partially sadness, and so much more. Flynn took a step back from Lucy, his tone of voice returning to the professional one he had used earlier, any emotion seemingly gone, "This document that Nixon wants—"

Cutting him off, Lucy said, "I don't know anything about it." She shook her head as her voice cracked a little, "I don't know what he's talking about, okay?"

"I believe you," Flynn replied, reaching behind him and picked up a leather-bound journal, "I even looked in here. I couldn't find anything about this document."

Voicing the question that was running through Wyatt's head, Rufus asked, "What's that?"

"Oh, this is Lucy's journal," Flynn replied, smugly, "What? She never told you about it?"

Looking at Lucy, Wyatt asked, "What's he talking about?"

Flynn gasped, his sinister smile growing, before letting out a short laugh, "Not even your husband, Lucy?"

Ignoring the terrorist, Lucy turned to Wyatt. Her eyes were wide and pleading as she insisted that she didn't write it. There was panic in Lucy's eyes. A fear that Wyatt had never seen before, like every secret she had was about to break through. The look in her eyes worried him more than being bound to the chair. Maybe it was a residual effect of the drugs, but Wyatt was having trouble keeping up. The journal that Flynn had was related to Lucy, somehow. She said she hadn't written it, but why would she even have to say that? Why was Flynn so focused on her? What was he missing?

"Well, it's complicated," Flynn said, "You see, she is going to write it a few years from now. Time travel, right?" Waving his hands around his head, Flynn mimed an explosion. The terrorist seemed to be having fun with this, Wyatt realized. "It's my guide," Flynn continued, "Apparently, she and I are gonna be quite the team one day."

"It's not real," Lucy insisted, "It's a fake." Oh. Wyatt realized. Somehow, Lucy had already known about the journal. That's why she wasn't surprised like Rufus was. That's why she wasn't confused like Wyatt was. She knew that Flynn had a journal, written by her, that was leading him on his rampage through time. She knew and she hadn't told him. Lucy had kept it from him. Beside him, Lucy turned back to Flynn, arguing about the journal.

When Lucy mentioned talking about the journal with Flynn before, Rufus asked another question that began rattling through Wyatt's head, "But you did talk to Flynn? When?"

Laughing, seeming giddy about the infighting between his adversaries, Flynn listed off dates that he had talked to Lucy. Almost every trip, it sounded like. In 1865, when Wyatt was shot and bleeding, at Flynn's hand no less, she had talked to him. In Nazi Germany, when Wyatt had been worried out of his mind about Lucy's wellbeing, she had talked to Flynn. Not only had she been talking to the enemy, to the killer that they had been chasing across time, she hadn't told Wyatt about it. She had basically lied about it. With a grin, Flynn asked, "Lucy, what have you told them about us?"

Voice tight from a combination of anger and disbelief, Wyatt glared at his wife and asked, "Is that true?"

"It's complicated," Lucy said, pleading to him with her eyes.

Wyatt shook his head. After the last trip, after the Alamo, she had pushed him. She had him talk to her. Tell him her secrets and her pains. He poured his heart out to her that very morning and the entire time she had been holding back this monumental secret. She hadn't trusted him with any of this. She had lied to him for weeks. She had betrayed him all while urging him to be honest. "No," Wyatt replied, anger and disappointment boiling under his skin, "The truth is not complicated."

"I don't know what the truth is anymore." Their eyes met. Silently, Lucy was trying to tell him something. Apologize, maybe. Defend her choices, seemed more likely. But Wyatt couldn't tell what she was trying to say. He didn't want to know what she was trying to express. There was nothing she could say that would fix the rift that just cracked between the two of them. Their entire relationship, their entire marriage, was based on honesty, on mutual trust. Yet, since they first started time traveling, she had been keeping secrets from him.

Flynn, whether he didn't sense the moment between husband and wife or didn't care, started talking again, "Okay, the truth is she didn't believe in Rittenhouse until President Nixon just confirmed it." As he spoke, he walked away from the table he had been leaning against, moving instead to stand directly in front of the three prisoners, "But for now, if Rittenhouse wants this document so badly, whatever it is, I want it first."

"How are we supposed to find it?" Lucy asked.

Raising his eyebrows, Flynn responded, "If there's one thing you've proven, it's resourcefulness." Reaching into his pocket, Flynn pulled out a switchblade. Wyatt bristled as the other man flipped it open. The power imbalance of the terrorist holding a knife while he was tied to a chair, unable to protect his team, put Wyatt on edge. He kept his eye on Flynn as he walked behind them. It was then that Wyatt noticed that, unlike him, Lucy and Rufus were bound with rope. Standing nearly flush against Lucy, Flynn insisted, "You'll find a way," before cutting through her binds with a single slash. By passing Wyatt, Flynn went behind Rufus, and cut him free as well. "If you don't bring the document in five hours—"

Tired of the monologuing, Wyatt interrupted, "You'll kill me? Why don't you do it now, save everyone some time?" He looked down as he spoke, not strong enough to look at Lucy when asking to be killed. Even mad at her, he loved her.

"It's up to you," Flynn said, directing the comment at Lucy and Rufus.

"Go straight to the Lifeboat," Wyatt said, staring straight at Lucy, "Screw Flynn. Do not give him what he wants." His mind went back to the Alamo, to before the Alamo, to the fact that he was disposable. The team would go on without him. Lucy would move on eventually. He wasn't worth them risking their lives, risking history, getting messed up in whatever the hell Rittenhouse was and Flynn's insanity. Not when they could go home safely. Lucy furrowed her brow, looking at Wyatt like he was insane. She met his gaze, love and sorrow clear in her dark brown eyes. Quirking the corner of his mouth, Wyatt tried to smile, tried to tell Lucy that it would be okay. He nodded his head, encouraging for her to go.

But Lucy, his Lucy, was too stubborn, too headstrong, and too wonderful. "Five hours. Don't hurt him." Wyatt called after her, begging her to just leave, but she ignored him. Their pilot seemed to agree with Lucy, because Rufus followed close behind her, paying no heed to Wyatt's yelling. As the door closed, Wyatt called out for Lucy one last time. Then they were gone. And he was alone with Flynn.

Chest heaving, Wyatt let out an angry yell. He was trapped. Held hostage by the man he was supposed to kill. His wife, who had been lying to him for weeks, was off on a potentially deadly mission. There was nothing he could do.

"Stubborn, that one, isn't she?" Flynn asked, walking out from behind Wyatt and towards the door, "Hope she pulls through. For both of our sakes."

"Don't you dare talk about her," Wyatt hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at Flynn.

The terrorist shrugged, a smirk on his lips, "Don't need to talk about her, not when I can just talk to her, hmm?" At his comment, Wyatt strained against his cuffs, wanting to lunge at Flynn to strangle the smug bastard. Instead, all that happened was his chair scooched forward an inch. With a harsh laugh at Wyatt's inability to fight, Flynn turned around, closing the door behind him, with a promise to visit later. Adding, "It would be a shame for you to die lonely now, wouldn't it," as he locked Wyatt in.

Pulling the nail out from his seat was harder than Wyatt had anticipated. It was wedged in at an angle, deeper than he had thought at first, and took a lot more than wiggling to get out. He had expected to have the nail out within fifteen minutes of Lucy and Rufus leaving. It was hard to tell how much time had passed since his team had left, but Wyatt was certain it was closer to an hour, maybe even two, than he would have wanted. The nail was almost an inch out, maybe an inch and a half, when the door to the room opened and Flynn sauntered in. He had to be a sadist, Wyatt thought. The way Flynn seemed to be enjoying Wyatt's predicament, completely ignoring him as he walked through the room to fiddle with the tape player. Flynn didn't speak, the only noise in the room coming from the whirring of the tape being rewound. As if on cue, when the tape clicked to a stop, Flynn said, "It's got to be hard. You know as well as I do: a soldier's only as good as the guy beside him in the foxhole. And if your own team is lying to you…"

Smirking, Wyatt let out a small hum as he interrupted his captor, "You are really Jedi-mind-tricking the crap out of me, pal. You really think this psych routine's gonna work?" Despite his outward show of bravado, Wyatt was nervous. He still hadn't worked out the nail, meaning he had no way to free himself. Being alone in the room while tied down was one thing, but Flynn joining him set off alarms in his head. What reason could Flynn possibly have to want to talk to him? Nothing good could come of it, that Wyatt was sure of.

"Not a routine, Wyatt," Flynn replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked across the room to face Wyatt, "We're two grunts in the same war. The only difference is, lately, you're fighting on the wrong side. I just wish you could understand that."

Pursing his lips, Wyatt took a steadying breath, before replying, "Well make me understand," Flynn raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but Wyatt insisted, "No, no, no I'm serious. We're just sitting here. Two grunts, right? So, explain to me how you're not just some creepy sociopath." Getting Flynn to talk had two benefits, considering the situation. The first, more immediate reason Wyatt why wanted to get the other man to talk was that as long as Flynn was talking, he wasn't killing. Delaying Flynn in any way, even if just for the span of a conversation, was important. It helped Lucy. It helped Rufus. It helped Wyatt keep himself alive. The second reason was, if Wyatt were to somehow make it out of this alive, the more Flynn shares, the more intel he has. A basic strategy, sure, but judging by the look in Flynn's eyes, it was going to work.

"I've got nothing to hide," Flynn said, waving his arms out in a grand gesture of showing himself, "Not like Lucy." At the quip, Wyatt tried to hold back a grimace. His attempt was unsuccessful, considering Flynn added, "What? Low blow?" As he settled himself into the seat beside Wyatt to tell his story. "Two years ago, my old pals at the NSA outsourced some surveillance to a group I worked with. Wanted it off the books. Standard stuff. Evade security, retrieve and review some corporate financials."

"Thrilling," Wyatt replied with a flat tone. Everything Flynn was saying, he already knew. It was all in the file they had on the terrorist. But, as Flynn spoke, Wyatt realized a third benefit to getting the terrorist to talk. As long as he was talking, he was distracted and, even with Flynn in the room, Wyatt was able to continue picking away at the nail. Finally, he was able to press it between his thumbs. One more good tug and the nail would be free, Wyatt realized with relief.

"Well, not until I stumbled onto huge sums of money being funneled through the Caymans to a world-renowned tech mogul, Connor Mason, to help him achieve his latest ambition: time travel."

That was new intel. Before, Wyatt hadn't known how Flynn found out about the work at Mason Industries. None of them had known how Flynn had discovered the top-secret project. Filing away the new information, Wyatt said, "Is that so," Then he paused and turned to Flynn, pushing for him to continue sharing, "Where'd the money come from?"

"Hard to tell. But once I broke the encryption, one name kept popping up. Rittenhouse," Despite Wyatt's lack of response to the revelation, Flynn kept talking, "That's right. Rittenhouse bankrolls Connor Mason. So, I flagged these transfers to my NSA contact, and," Flynn paused there, slowing down on his words as if he couldn't find the right thing to say. After a second he finished, "He said he'd take care of it."

"But he didn't?" Wyatt asked, still searching for more details about his adversary.

"But he did." No longer looking at Wyatt, Flynn's eyes were trained to the floor, but the distant look in them suggested he was seeing something completely different. Something only, he could see. Wyatt studied his face, as Flynn shared, "Um, four nights later, I'm home asleep when my wife gets up in the middle of the night to go check on our little girl. She thought she heard her coughing. We call them silencers, but they're not that silent. Not at night. Not when it's two shots murdering your family."

Everything Wyatt knew said that Flynn killed his own family. But listening to the other man, to the pain in Flynn's voice, and seeing the tears shining in his eyes, it was hard for Wyatt to believe. "You didn't fight back?" Wyatt asked, not able to admit to Flynn that he might believe any part of the tale.

"There were too many of them," Flynn admitted, his voice soft, "It was dark. The bullets were flying," Raising a hand to his eyes, Flynn wiped away tears that had yet to fall, "I barely made it out alive, and then Rittenhouse framed me for all of it, and I found myself on the run. But it was all Rittenhouse. Just because I asked a single question. And that's who they are." Looking at Flynn felt, for one moment, like looking in a mirror. It was like looking back at himself from nearly five years ago. From before he met Lucy. When he was only pain, anger, and grief. When the only thing that concerned him was Jess's death. When nothing in the world mattered more than justice, than vengeance. Everything Wyatt saw in that moment was a man in mourning, a broken man, who would do anything to change the past. It was something Wyatt understood all too well. Maybe Flynn hadn't killed his family, Wyatt found himself thinking. Maybe he had been set up. But that didn't make stealing the time machine alright. That didn't make destroying history was allowable. That didn't mean anything he said could or would convince Wyatt that he was anything less than psychotic. Wyatt had been on the edge of that once. Grief could turn people into monsters and that's exactly what Garcia Flynn was.

Sighing, Wyatt forced a smirk back on his face. He couldn't let himself feel sympathy for Flynn. He wouldn't let himself feel sympathy for Flynn. If Wyatt could move on from Jess's murder without going on a rampage, then Flynn could do the same. He didn't deserve any pity. He didn't deserve anything. "Look," Wyatt said, "If any of this were true, you have a time machine. Why don't you just go back and save your family?"

For the first time since Flynn started talking about his family, he looked back up at Wyatt. There was a darkness in Flynn's eyes, spurned by Wyatt's comment, "Like how you want to save your wife?" Wyatt's smirk fell from his face. It had been nearly a month of knowing time travel existed and not once had Wyatt thought about saving Jess. Did that make him a bad person? That he was so happy in his life he wouldn't change it, even if it meant leaving someone, he once loved more than anything dead? Leaning forward, Flynn got close to Wyatt's face, knowing full well he had struck a chord, "Or is Lucy more important than her? Not that it matters. You know the rules as well as I do. Can't go back to any time I already exist. And since I don't know who put the hit out to begin with, I'm gonna just wipe Rittenhouse from the map. And once I do," Once more, the darkness ebbed from Flynn's eyes to be replaced with sorrow as he shrugged, "Who knows? Maybe one day I'll come back and my girls will be there again."

Rising from his seat, Flynn's demeanor changed like a lightning bolt. Any sign of the father longing for his daughter or the husband yearning for his wife was gone. Instead, the Flynn that Wyatt was familiar with, hostile, smug, and a little insane, returned. Grabbing the back of his seat, Flynn dragged it, moving it from beside Wyatt to in front of him. "That's enough about me," Flynn said, plopping back down into the seat, forcing Wyatt to face him, "Let's talk about you Master Sergeant."

Smirking, Wyatt replied, "And if I don't talk?"

"Then I'm sure your wife will," Flynn responded with a smirk of his own, pulling the journal from earlier out of his pocket. "The handwriting looks familiar, no?" The terrorist held open a page of the journal before Wyatt. Eyes scanning the page, bile rose at the back of Wyatt's throat. The mix of cursive and print letters within single words, the way the descending part of lowercase Ps, Qs, and Ys went down a little further than necessary, the lack of dots over lowercase Is. He knew that handwriting. It was the handwriting from every grocery list he had been handed over the past 3 years, the handwriting scribbled across students' essays that had so often been scattered around his coffee table. It was Lucy's handwriting. "She has quite a bit to say about you, you know," Flynn continued, pulling the journal away to flip through the pages. Glinting in the depths of Flynn's eyes was knowledge of Wyatt's recognition. Stopping on a page, Flynn announced, "Here we go! I worry about him, sometimes, mind you, this is Lucy speaking, That his is all too much for him, especially after the Alamo." Pausing there, Flynn stopped, letting out a laugh, "Oh yes! The mental break down you had at the Alamo. I almost forgot! And that was just yesterday, wasn't it? Must still be struggling, Master Sergeant."

Gritting his teeth, Wyatt tried to lunge at Flynn. Like before, the only thing that happened was his chair scraping against the floor, barely moving an inch. There was no way Flynn could know about that. No way Lucy would write it down. But it was there, wasn't it? In Flynn's hands, the private story of Wyatt's PTSD, revealed to the enemy by Lucy's own words. What was the journal, Wyatt wondered, and how did Flynn get it. But the question tingling at the back of Wyatt's mind, that seemed more important as he listened to Flynn read aloud stories of his father beating him, was how could Lucy write this down. Flynn finished reading a passage about the time Wyatt's father locked him out of the house the entire night one winter, when he suddenly snapped the journal shut. Lifting up his wrist, he looked at his watch.

Flynn sighed, "Two hours left. I wonder if your friends are going to make it."

"Well why don't you look in that magical future book. It should tell you." He managed to keep his voice calm and steady, despite the churning of his stomach from the words Flynn had been reading.

"Doesn't say," Flynn replied.

With the reprieve of Flynn pausing his reading of the journal, Wyatt returned to pulling at the nail at the back of his seat. That was a goal he could concentrate on. That was something he could do. "But it told you to come to 1972?"

"It has an entry on the erased Nixon tape, yes."

"So, how's this end?" Wyatt asked, "Do you kill me? Am I rescued? What's the point spread in the next Super Bowl? Who's playing?"

Leaning forward, Flynn grasped the journal, holding it out to Wyatt almost as if it were a religious doctrine, "I don't know what happens today because the journal doesn't tell me everything. Lucy didn't write about everything. And what is written does sometimes sound crazy, like a different Lucy."

"Yeah, Lucy's the one that sounds crazy," Wyatt scoffed.

Tightening his grip on the journal and clenching his jaw, Flynn sat back in his seat. "Did I not prove that she wrote about you? Do you want to hear more? What she wrote about your wife?"

"She is my wife; you clearly already know that."

With a dark grin, Flynn continued, "Your first wife. Jessica. Lucy has quite a bit to say about her. She talks about how you were out with her. That dive bar. The Pelican Lounge in San Diego. She ran into an old boyfriend at the bar. You were jealous. You drank too much. As you were driving home, you had a major fight, started shouting. She told you to stop the car. She got out right there on the side of the road. And you drove off."

"Shut the hell up," Wyatt growled, the subject still painful.

Ignoring Wyatt, Flynn continued, "It took you, what, only 20 minutes until you cooled down, came back for her. By then she was gone. Never came home that night. Or any night. Not until two weeks later when they found her, strangled in the bushes. But hey," Flynn shrugged, "Maybe it's not such a bad thing? If Jessica never died, where would you and Lucy be? Hmm?"

"I said shut the hell up!" Wyatt yelled, willing to do anything to get Flynn to stop talking.

Raising a finger, Flynn again ignored Wyatt and said, "But see, that's just the beginning of what Lucy has to say. Wyatt was obsessed with her death. Sometimes I worry he still is. That he never moved on. That he still loves her. That he loves her more than me. That he will always love Jessica more than me." Holding the journal in front of Wyatt, Flynn showed him the pages. Pasted to one side was a news article from right after the murder. Wyatt recognized as one of the ones that had been pinned to the wall in their new timeline. On the other page, was Lucy's familiar handwriting, spelling out every word Flynn had read, and stained with tears. Pulling the journal back to him, Flynn continued, "I understand. It's okay if you can't let go. You can change history. We can change history. Somehow, someway, we can save the people we love."

Her fears, Lucy's fears, the ones Flynn read from the journal, hit Wyatt in the heart like a bullet. How long had been Lucy holding those thoughts in? Ever since they met? Why had she never told him? How could she even think that? But, a small part of Wyatt's brain whispered, it wasn't like he never asked those same questions, too. If Jessica hadn't been killed, would he have Lucy? Would it matter? He knew he loved Lucy more than anything. He would kill for her; he would die for her. But what would he do if they came back to a timeline where Jess was alive? What would they do? Swallowing hard, Wyatt met Flynn's eye, unwilling to let the other man see any weakness, even as his mind was reeling, filled with fears and doubts.

Smirking at the look on Wyatt's face, Flynn said, "I'll let you think about this for a while," Rising from his seat, he slipped the journal back in his pocket, "Relax, make yourself comfortable, you only have so much time left." Without another word, Flynn left Wyatt alone with his tumultuous thoughts.

It took longer than Wyatt would care to admit to pick the lock on his cuffs. In his defense, it was near impossible to tell which end of the nail was which, to find the keyhole, and to get the nail just so in order to free himself. When he finally heard the click of the cuffs opening, he let out a sigh of relief. One step closer to getting out, Wyatt told himself. As he had worked to unlock the cuffs, he came up with a plan for escape. Once the cuffs were loose, he called out, "Hey Flynn," After a moment the door opened, and the terrorist walked in. Wyatt continued speaking once he had his desired company, "Let's just say, if I believed you — big if — and Rittenhouse really is that dangerous…"

"Yeah?" Flynn pressed, walking further into the room, the door closed behind him.

"Well, there's got to be a way to take them out without destroying America. I mean, what you're doing It's kind of scorched earth, don't you think?" As Wyatt spoke, he remained seated, letting Flynn think he was still trapped. He needed to wait for the right moment to surprise Flynn.

Flynn replied, "Rittenhouse and America are so intertwined, sometimes it's hard to tell one from the other. They're a cancer." The distant look that Wyatt had noticed before returned to Flynn's eyes. His voice was gravely, serious, and it was clear that he had spent a great deal of time thinking about this, "There's no other choice. To save the body, you have to attack the body." When he finished speaking, he trained his eyes on Wyatt.

Meeting the terrorist strong stare, Wyatt said, "Well, then that settles it," He paused for a moment and smirked, "I guess you really are a creep sociopath." The words had barely left his lips before Wyatt surged from the chair, swinging out his right arm to punch Flynn. The terrorist ducked backwards, but Wyatt swung around, landing a solid punch with his left hand. In the millisecond it took Flynn to recover, Wyatt had grabbed the cuffs, still attached to his right wrist, and used them as an impromptu set of iron knuckles, slamming a fist into Flynn's stomach. Flynn grunted, the wind knocked out of him, but he had no time to catch his breath. Grabbing his collar and shoulders, Wyatt choked him, slamming him into the wall in the process. He had the upper hand, but Flynn managed to punch him in the side of his head as they struggled. But Wyatt hadn't subdued Flynn fast enough. They were making too much noise. One of Flynn's goons heard them and burst into the room, gun in hand. Kneeing Flynn in the groin, Wyatt was able to get enough leverage to fling the larger man across the room, right into his armed henchman. Another man came into the room, also with his gun raised. Not giving him a chance, Wyatt plowed forward, slamming him into the hallway wall and causing the gun to go flying. With one hand around the man's throat, Wyatt used his other to grab the wall sconce and smashed the glass against his opponent's head, knocking him out. But as he had tousled with the man in the hall, the first guy who came to help Flynn had recovered. Grabbing Wyatt by the shoulder, he dragged the soldier back into the room. Wyatt struggled, trying to fight back, but the momentum of the fight led him to being body slammed against the floor. Wyatt groaned, pain radiating up his back. He moved to sit up, ready to continue the fight, but froze. Flynn was standing over him, a gun trained at his face.

"You have an hour left," Flynn hissed, anger burning in his eyes and dripping from his voice.

Breathing heavily, Wyatt raised his hands in defeat. With a nod and a flick of his gun, Flynn silently told his goon to pick Wyatt up. The man hefted him up and, with a single shove, forced him back into his seat from before. Reluctantly, Wyatt complied, collapsing back into the chair. Once he was seated, the goon walked behind him. Harshly grasping Wyatt's wrists, the henchman pulled them together. The scrap of metal against his skin and the distinct click told Wyatt that he was once more, cuffed to the chair. Beside him, Flynn paced, grasping the nail Wyatt had used between his fingers and the Watergate tape in his other hand. Coming to stand before him, Flynn crossed his arms, staring down at Wyatt with a look that seemed almost disappointed, "And that's all the time we have," He said.

One of Flynn's other henchmen, who Wyatt hadn't fought, came into the room. Just how many men did Flynn have working for him? Wyatt didn't have time to dwell on that thought though, as a thousand other worries filled his head when the henchman said, "Lucy called the payphone."

"What did she say?" Flynn asked, looking at Wyatt rather than the goon.

Smirking, the henchman also turned to Wyatt, "Said she got the document, even gave us an address. Just begged us not to hurt her precious husband."

Wyatt snarled at the goon, making Flynn laugh. "No more daring escapes, Master Sergeant, Bill here will make sure of it," Flynn warned. The henchman who had slammed Wyatt to the floor nodded and dropped down into the seat Flynn had occupied earlier that day. With a terse nod at Wyatt, Flynn turned on his heel and beckoned for his other goon to follow. The door shut behind them with a definitive click. Wyatt groaned, dropping his chin to his chest. He was trapped again, with even less hope of escape. Time was running out. Lucy was putting herself at risk. And there was nothing he could do.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed. Somewhere between fifteen minutes and half an hour, Wyatt guessed. The room had been silent since Flynn had left, apparently Bill wasn't a big talker. Just as Wyatt was getting ready to goad Bill into a fight, a crash sounded from the floor below. The sound of something shattering soon followed. Grabbing his gun, Bill got up from his seat and opened the door. He slipped out quickly, not even giving Wyatt a chance to sneak a peek of the hall. As soon as the door slammed shut, Wyatt heard a noise coming from the window next to him. Snapping his neck, Wyatt turned to look. Despite being on the second story of the former hotel, the window was being opened. Wyatt watched in amazement, and then amusement, as Lucy pried the window open, climbed in, and collapsed to the ground when she tripped over the edge. He had never been so relieved to see her.

Scrambling up, Lucy hurried to him, "Oh my god, are you okay?" She asked, reaching out a hand toward a bruise that was forming above his eyebrow from the earlier fight.

Pulling his head away from her touch, in part because of the urgency of the situation and in part because of the anger from earlier reigniting at the sight of her, Wyatt replied, "Yeah, he's coming back soon. There's a nail in the trash can, get it."

"Okay," Lucy nodded, hurrying over to where Wyatt had nodded his head. "Okay, I got it. Oh my god, it's so small."

"Hurry," Wyatt urged. She dropped down to her knees behind Wyatt, trying to pick the lock herself. "What are you doing?" Wyatt asked, "You can't pick a lock!"

Panicked, Lucy replied, "I was just trying to be helpful."

"Put it in my hand," Wyatt snapped, knowing they were racing against the clock. She dropped the nail in his hand and stood up. As he started working the lock, Lucy walked in front of him, keeping her eyes trained on the door. Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, raising the tension in the air. Luckily, picking the lock went faster than before. In less than a minute, Wyatt was out of the cuffs.

Pushing Lucy towards the backroom, Wyatt slammed against the door with his full weight, right as Bill came back to the room. Thanks to the earlier fight, Wyatt knew what to expect from his opponent. Knowing that Bill relied on his height, Wyatt kicked one of his knees, causing the other man to drop down a little. In the same move, Wyatt slammed his elbow against Bill's throat, pinning him against the wall. Bill scrambled against him, trying to fight back, but Wyatt had the upper hand. As Bill reached for his gun, Wyatt slammed his elbow up into his nose. The burst of pain served as enough of a distraction for Bill that Wyatt was able to get his hand on the gun. A shot rang through the room. The bullet had gone into Bill's leg. Bill dropped to the floor, allowing Wyatt to knee him directly in the face. As Bill collapsed to the floor, bleeding and unconscious, Wyatt turned back to the bathroom where Lucy was.

He froze for a second, looking at her. Lucy, in her panic, had grabbed a lamp and was holding it up, ready to use it as a weapon. "You good?" She asked, still holding the lamp in the air, despite their opponent already being knocked out.

"Yeah," Wyatt said, giving her a small smile. No matter how angry he was, he couldn't help but love her. Who else in this situation would have tried to pick a lock, just to be helpful or grab a lamp to use in a fight? She was incredible, even after finding out about the journal and her thoughts about Jess, Wyatt thought.

"Okay," Lucy panted, relieved, she carefully placed the lamp down and scrambled out of the room, Wyatt following close behind.

Never in his life had Wyatt felt more betrayed. Rufus spying on the team was one thing, but Lucy lying? It was like a knife through Wyatt's gut. Especially after the Alamo. After everything he had told her, after her promising how much she trusted him, she had still been walking around with the biggest secret of them all. Neither of them had kept secrets from the other before, not really. There were things Wyatt held back about his deployments, but he never kept secrets. As far as Wyatt knew, Lucy had never kept a secret from him before the journal. But how could he be sure? If she could walk around for weeks knowing that Flynn had a journal she wrote, if she could have conversations with a terrorist and not tell him, what stopped her from keeping over things from him? How much was Wyatt in the dark about?

With thousands of thoughts swirling through his mind and a dull ache caused by the betrayal settling in Wyatt's stomach, the trip back to the present was tense. He had made it clear to Rufus that he was to keep spying. He had made it clear to Lucy that he was angry. But he couldn't do much more than that. When they got back to Mason Industries, Wyatt didn't speak to either of them. For the first time he climbed out of the time machine before Lucy. If he looked at her any longer, he was either going to scream or cry and Wyatt had no interest in doing either of those in public. After the debrief, Wyatt changed into his modern clothing in record time, not interested in hanging around any longer. At his car, he let out a sigh of relief. Because he and Lucy had come separately the morning before, he was able to drive him alone. He needed to think, and the drive home gave him that. Driving had always calmed Wyatt down. He had always been good at driving, even as a kid when there was nothing else, he could do, he was a master behind the wheel. Clearing his thoughts, Wyatt drove aimlessly around the city until the early evening, struggling to process everything he had learned. Rittenhouse. Rufus. Lucy. It was all too much. She was his wife. His best friend. And she had been hiding the truth from him. Lying to him. Before Lucy, everyone in his life had lied to him. His mom, saying she would come back. His dad, for saying he'd quit drinking. Grandpa Sherwin, saying that he'd get Wyatt out. Jess, for saying that she was loyal. Lies. All of them had lied. But Lucy. She had never lied to him. Never. Not until this.

When the sun was finally dipping below the skyline and Wyatt pulled up to the apartment complex, Lucy was already home. He walked past her parked car as he entered, already dreading the fight they were about to have. Opening the door to their apartment, Wyatt found her sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands. At the sound of him coming in, her head shot up. In an instant, she was rising from the couch, apologizing as she stood, "Wyatt, please let me explain."

"I don't want an explanation Lucy," He said, walking into their bedroom. She followed after him, pleading for him to listen, but he ignored her. Instead he reached into their closet and pulled down a spare blanket and pillow. "I don't want to hear what you have to say. There is nothing you could say that would make this okay." Walking past her, he went back into their living room, dropping the blanket and pillow on the couch. It was where he was planning on sleeping for the foreseeable future.

"I didn't mean to keep it from you," Lucy tried to explain.

"Then why did you?" Wyatt snapped angrily, "Why didn't you tell me after the first mission? Or the second? Or any time before now? Why did I need to learn about your little chats with Flynn from the wanted terrorist himself? Why did I have to hear him read your words to me from a journal I had no idea existed?"

Voice breaking with emotion, Lucy replied, "Because I was scared, Wyatt."

"That's not a good enough answer," He said, turning to her, "We are a team we don't lie to each other. We don't keep secrets. Not if we're scared. Not if we're angry. Never. And you kept this from me."

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Talk to me!" Wyatt yelled, fully releasing his rage, "Come to me! I am your fucking husband! What does that mean if you're keeping this shit from me! Especially after this morning! How could you sit with me, have me pour out my heart, and not tell me? How could you tell me you love me, you trust me, and not tell me? Does it mean nothing to you?"

Tears began pooling at the corner of Lucy's eyes, causing Wyatt's heart to ache at the sight, when she said, "I didn't mean to keep it from you, Wy, I didn't. I'm sorry."

"But you did keep it from me," Wyatt replied, his voice dark, "Not only did you lie, you put us in danger. You put us at risk. I'm not sure if I can forgive you for this, Lucy. I can barely even look at you right now! I have never been so angry!"

Turning on her heel, Lucy marched toward the apartment door, grabbing her jacket as she did, "Fine! Then don't look at me! If you won't listen, then I won't stay! No need to sleep on the couch then, right?" Before Wyatt could respond, Lucy was leaving, purse in hand, and slamming the door behind her.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Wyatt all but collapsed against the closed door, leaning his forehead against it. Silently, he started crying. How had he become the bad guy in the fight, Wyatt wondered. More importantly, how would they ever get past this?

Anxiously, Lucy waited on the doorstep. She was fiddling with her purse strap, trying to hold in what few tears she had left. When the door opened, Lucy let out a small sob, "Mom, I really messed up."

The angry look that Carol seemed to wear every time Lucy saw her since the timeline shift faded, replaced by a concerned expression Lucy was familiar with. "Oh, sweetie," Carol replied, stepping forward and pulling Lucy into a hug.

As soon as she was in the safety of her mother's arms, Lucy started weeping. Clinging to what little comfort she had left. Despite their fight, despite being kicked out, her mother was still there for her, whispering comforting promises against her hair and protecting her with a warm embrace.

"I am always here for you," Carol promised, as she led Lucy into the house, "Even with everything going on, I'm here for you." Lucy sniffled, nodding, as she followed her mom into the house.

A/N: In case you were wondering why Carol let Lucy back in so easily, it's easier to manipulate your daughter into joining the family cult when you aren't fighting with her, right? Don't worry though, the Carol drama is far from over.

I had so much fun writing this chapter primarily from Wyatt's point of view, despite how hard this chapter was to write.

As always, reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated! I'll try to get the next chapter up faster, but I can't promise anything.