COPYRIGHT: existing characters belong to NBC and the creators of Timeless. Story written for fanfiction fun.

AUTHOR: lezaanv

SUMMARY: "I am a spy out of time, to get everything into line."

(An AU which skips along the original timeline)

CHARACTERS: Garcia Flynn; Lucy Preston; Rufus Carlin; Wyatt Logan

PLEASE BE ADVISED: story has not been beta'd. I apologize in advance for any mistakes, as they are unfortunately mine.

ONE

"No-no this won't do." He pushed the flaming Hindenburg, screaming civilians and Lucy's terrified face aside, shook his head, keeping it in a canted position.

He stood towering over her, feeling every wake of the nerves teeming in his chest. "I don't think you want to know . . . you were older . . . and you looked good."

This, he too, slid off to one side and groaned, growled and then settled.

"Honestly, I didn't think it would happen."

The sun basked his face, clenched jaw, and black cowboy attire in a heated blanket. An expressive smile curled his lips. His whole body was on fire, knowing the outcome of the journal, even the soon to be peace and quiet between himself and Lucy.

Her cheeks flushed, but not from the warmth of its rays.

He clung to the image for long drawn-out seconds before he blinked it away.

Shifting on the cot, Flynn swallowed a few times, stemming the mixture of raw emotions battling against his need for perfect composure.

The feisty historian stood before him, strong and beautiful, form calm and eyes intense. They flitted from the detonator in his hand, to the tethered expression forming on his face. She pleaded for some kind of middle ground; a way to clear the distance between them, find something, anything to bridge the gap, and work together.

Sincerity lit up her face. She wasn't simply speaking for the sake of persuading him not to blow them to smithereens. She was tired, at a complete loss, just like he was. A scene so uncanny, but so beautiful and heart-warming, how could he not succumb to someone just as strong as he claimed to be?

Lingering on the image, Flynn rotated it in a three-sixty degree turn, until he found the desired angle and fixed it on a delicate moment not even Wyatt Logan knew existed. In his mind's eye, he stepped up to her, noting the deep intensity brimming in her eyes. Fear, desperation, life and death, and a slight, minute compassion flickered across her silky facial features. A façade so subtle and rare, he looked over his shoulder and marked the anger, fear and confusion which marred his jagged expression. The detonator blinked, his mouth ajar, as he reasoned for the maddening plan to kill a room full of Rittenhouse members.

"We work together."

"When?" Flynn said aloud. "Even in this moment, you doubt my credibility. Rather you take pity on me. You know I hate your pity and compassion." He swiped his arm through the air, casting the memory far off to the side.

A shot rang out.

Lucy's agonizing grunt resonated in the abandoned building, more bullets ripping after Emma's retreating form. The pistol fell to the floor, as did Lucy, and he quickly enveloped her in his arms, listening tentatively to the sobs echoing through the chaotic haze. She was angry, bitter, in pain. He held her close to him, suddenly realizing something needed to change between them. He placed his forehead against hers, understanding her pain and loss. So much loss and pain.

His heart pounded in his chest, the memory evoking a new kind of appreciation for this covert life he chose, for this time loop which Lucy's alternate-self had begun years before.

One in the same and by all means they still ran alongside one another.

"I felt like I knew you. Understood you. Lucy dammit, sometimes I feel like I know you better than you know yourself."

"What do you want from me Flynn? You don't know me."

Something tore at his heartstrings. Her rebuff cut deep, serrated, and for a split second, he wondered why he cared so much for her acceptance.

"Well, I guess we're having our own awkward moment right now."

They sure had a few awkward moments after then.

The more he focused on them, the more he came to realize the noose she'd tied around his neck. Following her lead, her intelligence and courage, feisty ability to stand upon solid ground when the world around her crumbled to pieces. But loss, it crippled the both of them, and he guessed that's what drew them together since the day he met Lucy Preston from the future.

He adored their disagreements, their agreements. Especially when they didn't coincide, at all, on what needed to be accomplished for the greater good.

Speedily, Flynn swiped the series of reeling memories far from his mind's reach and refocused, tightening the grip on his heart's desire. It wanted what it wanted, but at present, he had to focus.

With bound hands, he gestured to the empty chair across from him. The ball cap obscured her soft features, but he saw past the shaded parts. She had seen better days, not knowing, yet, the worst of them were still to come. Thanks to the journal, he knew the trials and temptations awaiting on the horizon. Couldn't do a damn thing about it either.

Willingness was earned, not forced.

Never expected her own mother to be the enemy. Hell, he never expected her to visit him in jail. Nor did he foresee her using his deceased wife and daughter as a means to goad him into submitting the information they needed.

She had guts. It gave him the guts, too much, afraid.

A deep chuckle shook his lean frame. It came again, with relief bubbling in its wake, but he swiftly snuffed it, knowing it wasn't the time to linger on bygones and lost memories. This task wasn't some run of the mill errand or a walk down memory lane for the sake of holding onto precious moments, good and bad. It was time to wipe away these curt flashes from existence. They weren't made to reminisce.

"Why?"

He spun on his heels. "I can't remember."

"Think."

Flynn stroked his forehead, the pain relentless. "I said I don't know."

"Not good enough."

"It hurts. The pain-" He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, breathing deeply and achingly. "Please. Stop. I can't do this."

A man drenched in a white lab coat sighed. "It's a long shot."

"He's the key." A woman announced through gritted teeth.

"I am the key." Flynn echoed, facing the two-way mirror. "To what?"

"The pain of her existence."

He frowned at that. "Erasing?"

"Gluing thoughts together." The man explained.

"False or true?"

"We've been through this already." The woman flung her hand at the mirror. "Start it again."

"The time in between relapses are shortening."

"I don't care."

"You want a robot, or an effective killing machine?"

"How about neither." Flynn jested from the other side of the mirror. "Less pain. Those odds I like a little better."

"You are in no position to demand, or think. You've submitted to the process, I expect you to hold to our agreement."

A scowl crinkled Flynn's forehead. "I . . . agreed. Why?"

"We don't have time for this. Subdue him and begin again."

The man nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Flynn charged for the mirror, slamming rounded fists against its glistening surface. The lab coat jumped back with the intensity, observing how the pure agony played out on the man's face.

"Please don't. I feel them slipping away. Please, I don't want to forget."

The man adjusted the white coat too slack for his small figure. He cleared his throat. "Them?"

Flynn's hands slid down the cool surface, the expression of unreserved heartache clear-cut on his face. He was devastated and alone, murmuring loud enough for the lab coat to hear. "My wife and daughter."

The man scowled down at the clipboard in his left hand. "No mention of a wife and child. This could be the side-effects of extracting your memories, Garcia."

"No." His index finger tapped the area he thought the man stood watching him. "They're there. It's the main reason for crusading the timeline. The fight's always been for them. Lorena and Iris. They are my world, I'll never forget them, but now they linger on the outskirts of my mind. I can sense they are barely in reach. My subconscious mind is fighting for them. I feel it – the war between your meddling and their . . . ."

In the backdrop, the lab coat called for the orderlies.

Behind Flynn, the door glided open with a loud whoosh. Big burly men dressed in beige clothes filled its frame from one end to another.

"Don't be callous, Richard." Flynn pleaded.

The men stepped inside and the door closed. A panic settled in his chest.

"You knew the consequences when you submitted to her demands."

Backing into the corner, he shook his head vigorously. "Not at the expense of my wife and daughter. Lucy was the agreement. Not them."

The lines on the monitor spiked. Richard scowled at the translucent screen mounted beside the two-way mirror, then shouted at the advancing men. "Wait!"

They halted centre room.

"Your vitals are sky rocketing. You're telling the truth?"

"I told you!"

"When?"

"2014."

In Richard's hand, the clipboard reeled the disastrous memory vividly. "Stop the recall!"

Flynn slid along the wall, down to his rump, his body shaking exhausted and on the brink of collapsing altogether.

"I believe you." Richard lulled. "Now that I know what I'm looking for, I'll keep the remembrances safe and intact. I promise Garcia, but you have to focus on Ms. Preston. She is your only target."

"When was she not?"

At the question, the burly men walked away, with only their tennis shoes squeaking a hasty retreat, and then the door whooshed shut.

Flynn gazed about the whitewashed room, finding its vast space particularly small and constrained.

"She was always the target." He murmured, rubbing both hands through his unruly hair. Grey strands stained its jet-black colour. "A means to an end, but just for a second I hoped. Seconds that turned into months, to years. Lose her or lose my precious family."

"I can see why you are conflicted." Richard cleared his throat. "Sit on the cot, Flynn." The tall man stood and did as instructed. "Good."

"When you're done, I won't recall who she is?"

The man nodded even though Flynn couldn't see. He spoke his answer. "Yes, I'm positive."

"A killing machine." Came the whispered regret.

"A spy rooted in the past." Richard confirmed.

Flynn chuckled wearyingly.

"The team, at every time jump. At every alternate timeline."

"What about entropic cascade failure? Being present in a time and place where my original self will be, and supposedly vulnerable, it then has to be quick enough to avoid the merciless headaches."

"We saved you, didn't we? You survived that evening."

"After Jessica Logan died, yes?"

"That's correct."

"Immune or running on bought time?"

"Neither."

"And won't he notice my presence? Won't my memories fuse with his? Why did I agree to this?" Flynn screamed frustratingly.

"Not if it's Flynn Prime, and not if you've achieved mission success within the first twenty-four hours. So calm down, Garcia. You have nothing to be worried about."

"Don't you dare pacify me! I have the right to admittance. At least let me deny what I can no longer deny."

"Fair enough."

The Croatian laid down on his back and gestured at the mirror. "Don't condescend me either."

Richard sighed a tad riled. "Full of demands today."

"Just . . . let's get this over with. Take my agony away. Erase her. Make me the effective assassin my other self will never be."

The man scoffed. "Don't worry, I'm good at it. Now, close your eyes and think."