A/N #1: I know, I know, it's another W.I.P. from me, but I swear, the idea to switch Wyatt and Lucy's fields of expertise around hit me out of the blue the other day, and I was just so excited at the possibilities (HA) that I had to give this a try...

Misconceptions

Chapter 1

Wyatt pulled into a vacant parking space in front of his apartment, and turning off the truck ignition, wearily rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment. "What a long-ass, exhausting day it had been," he thought. Although he was very satisfied with the way his classes had been progressing thus far, he wasn't sure who was doing the scheduling for the History Department at Stanford, because, Jesus, it was only a few weeks into the quarter, and he was over it. There had to be a more efficient use of his teaching time than giving him classes three days a week at 9:00 and 11:00, and then a third one at 6:00. So far, it had been beneficial at times to have that huge unoccupied block of time several days a week for grading tests and essays, but mostly, it was a big pain in the ass. The other two days were slightly better, with 10:00 and 1:00 classes, however, as the tenure-less guy with the least seniority in the department, Wyatt had about zero clout, not to mention the fact that he had been lucky to even land the position with Stanford. But despite the time management "hiccup," Wyatt felt like this was exactly where he was meant to be (and God knows the price he'd paid to make this work).

Before her life had been tragically cut short, his mother had taught U.S. History at their small high school in rural west Texas, and from a young age, had instilled in Wyatt a love of, and deep appreciation for, all history, but especially American history. Although she had a bachelors degree in education from a fine university, Caroline Logan had yearned for even more higher education, but once she met and hastily married Wyatt's father, her son's impending arrival a few short months later had put that desire on hold. "Some day, Wyatt," his mom would often say, "Mommy will go back to school," and the small boy would grin and agree, "Yes, Mama." But when Wyatt was twelve, Caroline's dream ended abruptly at the age of 35 when she was killed by a drunk driver. Determined to follow in his mother's footsteps and fulfill her dream, Wyatt worked industriously all though high school and graduated at the top of his class.

However, even with numerous scholarships and a couple of grants, paying for college was a big concern until his Grandpa Sherwin offered a solution, suggesting that Wyatt could enlist in the service and earn money for his education before heading off to university once he was discharged. His grandpa, who had served in the Army overseas during WWII, also admitted that he thought the discipline and structure of military life would be of great value to his only grandchild, and as usual, the older man had been right. Wyatt had thrived in the Army, receiving outstanding evaluations and several commendations. More than once during his six-year stint, he'd even considered a future in the armed forces, especially when he had been approached by one of his C.O.'s about applying for the elite Delta Force unit. But in the end, once he had served his time in the Army, nearly all of it in Syria and Afghanistan, Wyatt had returned home to Texas and enrolled in college, working his ass off to earn his doctorate. He knew he'd been aiming high when he applied at the prestigious university in San Francisco, but intent on building a career on the west coast, Wyatt had left Texas after graduation and never looked back.

Once he got inside, he put his briefcase down on the small table beside the door and shrugged off his leather jacket. Wyatt stood for a moment absently sorting through his mail when the unhappy grumble of his empty stomach reminded him how long it had been since lunch. Sighing, he headed for the kitchen and once he made himself a sandwich and grabbed a beer, slumped down on the sofa to eat his pitiful, solitary dinner, such as it was. Looking around his too-quiet, sparsely-furnished apartment, Wyatt reflected that on days like this (most days, if he were being honest with himself), he really missed Jess.

Sweet and pretty as a picture, his ex-wife had such a fun-loving, bubbly personality. He had met and started dating Jessica in high school, and after waiting patiently for Wyatt while he was in the service, she had agreed to marry him within a month of his discharge, and the young couple had been very happy during the years while Wyatt had been earning his degrees and Jess was employed by the college. When they had first moved to San Francisco nearly a year ago, it had felt like a great adventure to fix up their tiny apartment and explore the city. Unfortunately, it really hadn't helped matters that during the long months he was trying to secure a teaching position, Wyatt had tended bar most evenings and weekends while Jess had worked weekdays for a dental practice, and considering that spending very little time together had been a difficult adjustment itself, apparently the last straw for his brief marriage was finally getting the first interview at Stanford last spring. He had been shocked, hurt and somewhat dismayed when Jess had guiltily confessed that she had only moved with him from Texas because to her, Wyatt actually being offered a teaching job at the university had seemed like such a long-shot, and she was confident they would eventually return home.

He'd felt betrayed and angry, but with the passing of time, came to understand that at heart, his wife was a small-town girl who had suffered tremendously all along from acute homesickness and gradually grew to hate the big city. She hadn't minded living in Lubbock while he attended Texas Tech since her parents and extended family were only a couple hours away, and to be fair, Jess had really tried at first to adjust to living in California. But each day, she grew more quiet and sad, and finally, at the beginning of the summer, when the job offer from Stanford had come through, he had arrived home late one night to a note and her engagement and wedding rings on the kitchen counter. Even though Wyatt sensed she had become desperately unhappy, receiving the dissolution papers in the mail a couple months ago had felt like one last kick in the gut. And he definitely could have done without the (so not) helpful email from one of Jess's sisters informing him that she was already dating one of his high school buddies.

Sandwich devoured, Wyatt pulled himself off the sofa, and drinking down the rest of his now slightly-warm beer, was heading toward the kitchen when there was brisk knock on the door. He set the beer bottle down and peered through the peephole to see a very official-looking shiny badge. Opening the door, he politely inquired, "Can I help you?" The older, gray-haired man in the nondescript black suit flashed his badge and asked, "Dr. Wyatt Logan?" I'm Agent Kondo, Homeland Security, you need to come with me. We have a situation and require your assistance." Wyatt stared at the man in bewilderment before shaking his head tiredly and responding, "Sorry, I'm not interested," but when he went to close the door, the agent's face hardened as he assured Wyatt brusquely, "I'm sorry, but this isn't a request, Dr. Logan." As the agent stared unblinkingly at him for several long seconds, Wyatt shrugged, and scratching the back of his neck, acquiesced with a deep breath. Grabbing his jacket and keys and making sure he had his phone, Wyatt locked his door and followed the taciturn agent to an over-sized black SUV.

Special Agent Lucy Preston jumped when her phone rang suddenly, the jarring sound echoing around the nearly deserted bullpen of the San Francisco FBI field office. Glancing around as she picked up the shrilly-ringing device, she was more than a little amazed to realize how late it had gotten. Thumbing her phone, she answered crisply, "Special Agent Preston," and frowning slightly at the caller's message, replied, "Understood. Be there in fifteen minutes," before ending the call. "What kind of terrorist situation could be taking place at Mason Industries?" she wondered as she rapidly powered off her laptop, and pulling her navy blazer from the back of her chair, slung the computer bag over her shoulder, and snagging her keys from the top of the desk, made her way to the elevator and the parking garage.

Flashing her badge at the front gate of the sprawling, brightly-lit facility, and after parking her bureau-issue sedan, Lucy was directed to a small, empty waiting room. Sitting erectly on the edge of a leather sofa, she pulled out her phone and googled Mason Industries. Just minutes later, she glanced up as the door opened and a deep voice protested, "Hey, can someone at least tell me what's going on?" and Lucy smirked inwardly at the dark-haired guy's obvious frustration (Join the club, pal). Judging by his neatly-pressed khakis, open-necked white button down, and brown leather jacket, he was definitely a civilian, she mused, and then he turned around, and Lucy's breath caught. Working for the Bureau, she was surrounded by all different kinds of men, day in and day out, but this guy was just flat-out gorgeous. Around her age, if she had to guess, tall, well-built, with angry dark blue eyes, and my God, were those dimples?

Pretending to be engrossed in her phone screen, Lucy struggled to hang on to her composure as the stranger finally seemed to notice her. "Excuse me, Ma'am, do you know why we're here?" and his dark brows drew together when she responded "No" without looking up from her phone. Glancing around the room, his gaze fell on the Mason Industries emblazoned on one wall, and turning back to Lucy, asked, "This is Connor Mason's company? Are you sure you have no idea why we were summoned here, Ma'am?" Lucy finally looked up, an impatient look gracing her face as she answered indifferently, "No, I'm afraid I don't have any idea, and since we're pretty much the same age, you can stop calling me Ma'am," and fought to keep from blushing at his dimpled grin (Good Lord, that smile alone should be registered as a lethal weapon).

Apparently, she had amused the man, and just as Lucy looked back down at her phone in a futile attempt to remain calm, without warning, the door opened. Both she and the stranger stood as an older, dark-haired woman entered, and stepping over to Lucy first, introduced herself, "Special Agent Lucy Preston, thank you for getting here so quickly. I'm afraid we are in dire need of your reputed profiling skills this evening. I'm Agent Denise Christopher, Homeland Security," and turning to the man, "Dr. Wyatt Logan, Assistant Professor of U.S. History, Stanford University, with special emphasis on military and diplomatic history. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. Now, we are on the clock, so if you will both follow me, and, oh, yes, hold on to your asses," and with that cryptic remark, quickly left the room.

As he watched the slim brunette brush past him and hurry after the Homeland Security agent, Wyatt felt like maybe he had somehow stumbled into an alternate reality. What in the hell did they want from him? He was just a newly-hired college professor from Texas for God's sake, although he was an Army vet, and therefore, not a complete snowflake. And, damn, this (FBI? NSA?) Agent Preston might be attractive, but her tightly-wound attitude was anything but. When Agent Kondo has first shown him into the lounge, Wyatt had immediately noticed the young woman. Even as she had pretended to ignore him, he heard her quick inhale when he spoke to her. Wyatt should have know she was a "fibbie" though, her whole appearance damn near shouted it. Severe navy jacket and pants, white button down shirt, and sensible shoes were practically considered standard uniform for female feds, although he had to admit, her discreet makeup and tightly pulled back dark hair only seemed to enhance her big doe eyes and pretty features.

He wondered idly if her shoulder ached at the end of the day from carrying around that big chip sitting on it. To give her credit however, from his stint in the service, Wyatt was well aware that, unfair or not, women did have to work much harder than their male counterparts in certain guy-dominated fields. And did he hear Agent Christopher refer to the woman's profiling abilities? What the hell was going on at Mason Industries? Wyatt decided to give this whole thing a few more minutes of his time before he called a cab and went home, and in a few long strides (and no, he absolutely wasn't admiring the enticing sway of Agent Preston's backside), caught up with the two women as they entered a conference room where a bald black man in very expensive clothing, who turned out to be Connor Mason himself, was waiting on them.

Agent Christopher performed brief introductions, and then she and the millionaire businessman began to explain the alarming series of events leading up to this moment and the proposed mission to New Jersey, May 6, 1937. Wyatt immediately comprehended that they were talking about the place and date that the ill-fated airship, the Hindenburg, burst into flames as it was trying to dock, killing 36 people. After learning what they wanted (actually expected) from him and Agent Preston, Wyatt had heard enough, and standing suddenly, politely excused himself and made his way down the long hallway and outside. He had reached the front gate and was preparing to call for a cab when he heard Agent Christopher behind him, "Dr. Logan, please, we need your help. I would think someone who's sworn to preserve history would want to protect it," and after contemplating what the older woman had to say, it wasn't her words that finally convinced Wyatt to ignore his instincts and accompany the stoic agent back inside; it was the trace of uncertainty in her voice that she tried to hide.

A mildly concerned Lucy watched in silence as the handsome professor abruptly stood and left the meeting, quickly followed by a worried-looking Agent Christopher. While she absolutely understood Dr. Logan's initial gut reaction, it seemed there was a job to be done, and too much time had already passed since this terrorist, an ex-NSA operative named Garcia Flynn, had hijacked? stolen? an honest-to-God time machine (of all things). Carefully setting her emotions aside, Lucy gave her full attention to the file in front of her. As an agent with the FBI's "Behavioral Analysis Unit 1" (BAU), a division of the Bureau's National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime (NCAVC), it was her job to deal with all matters relating to counter terrorism that occurred on U.S. soil (present and past?).

Lucy had gone into law enforcement like her now-deceased father before her, and after earning a masters degree in criminal justice, was accepted to the FBI Academy right out of college, and during her time at Quantico, developed an interest in profiling. She had been one of only a handful of female agents to pursue a spot in the BAU in the whole state, and considered herself fortunate as a native of San Francisco, to have eventually been assigned to the city's field office five years ago. Privately, she could admit to herself that her job was extremely stressful at times, but Lucy worked diligently to hone her profiling skills as she steadily built her career, and if her instincts were correct (and they usually were), this whole "time travel terrorism" case, outlandish and bizarre as it seemed, had all the ingredients to become the biggest case of her career with the Bureau. Deciding to worry about Dr. "Sexy History Professor" later, Lucy devoted the next few minutes to intently studying the meager file on Garcia Flynn.

Wyatt walked into the men's locker room that Agent Christopher directed him to and sank slowly onto a bench. He sat with his head in his hands for a long moment, trying to process everything. Coming to a decision, he stood and noticed an old-style men's three-piece suit hanging from a locker near him, complete with shirt, tie, shoes, and even a nice hat. "Why not?" he thought. His country evidently needed him, and besides, just the concept of actual, for real, no kidding, time travel intrigued the historian in him. The Homeland Security agent was right, Wyatt realized, he did feel an obligation to help preserve the nation's history from this terrorist Flynn. Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, he grimaced, and wished he could shave before the proposed "jump" into the past. Swiftly donning the costume, Wyatt hurried back to the conference room to finish the pre-mission briefing.

The pretty but prickly Agent Preston was missing, presumably changing her clothes as well. He was faintly surprised when Agent Christopher handed him a service weapon, explaining that while his primary responsibility was serving as mission historian, as a combat-experienced Army veteran, he would also be considered Agent Preston's security backup. As an FBI Special Agent, Lucy Preston had of course received extensive weapons training at the Academy; however, for the past five years, her position in the San Francisco field office was focused mainly on profiling, not necessarily field work. At Wyatt's vaguely skeptical glance, Agent Christopher assured him that Agent Preston was re-certified every six months and consistently scored very high in marksmanship. Somewhat mollified, Wyatt accepted the firearm and holster, and removing his suit jacket, eased the holster over his shoulders and put the jacket back on before picking up the hat and following the agent out of the conference room and down the steps to the platform (launch bay?).

Lucy's nerves were stretched pretty thin by the time she had dressed in the ill-fitting blouse, skirt, and unbelievably itchy wool plaid coat that someone had managed to find for her to wear, and was trying to repress the urge to pace back and forth across the platform as she waited for Dr. Logan to finish changing into his costume. It certainly hadn't helped when Agent Christopher had returned to the conference room and reported that the professor had changed his mind and agreed to participate in the mission, and furthermore, she was planning to loan Dr. Logan one of her service weapons. Her eyebrows had shot clear up into her hairline, but before she could offer any kind of protest, Agent Christopher had fixed a steely glance on her and solemnly informed them that not only was Dr. Logan an Army veteran, but that he had served over five years in war-torn Syria and Afghanistan, and actually had more experience with guns than Lucy had. Chastened, Lucy had fled to the women's locker room with the few remaining scraps of dignity she had left to get dressed.

She was ready and (visibly) impatiently waiting on him, and as he finally stood in front of her, Wyatt was taken aback at her appearance. Not her costume, which unlike his suit, looked haphazardly thrown together, but at how young and attractive she appeared with her shiny dark hair down and waving around her face and wearing more makeup than she had been. He decided that Agent Preston was quite good-looking, save for the worried frown she was currently directing his way. "I've been informed that you are armed, and I want to make certain you understand your place on this team as historian. I am in charge of strategy and security. Are we clear?" as she gazed up at him with expectant dark eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he drawled, letting a tiny bit of Texas twang slip into his reply, and Wyatt was quite amused by the look of annoyance on her expressive face she tried to hide at his flippant, probably perceived as insincere, response (I bet she's a terrible poker player). The agent huffed her displeasure, and brusquely said, "Let's go, then, Dr. Logan," and he obediently followed her down the steps to the hulking, round silver time machine or "lifeboat" as Connor Mason fondly referred to it.

When Wyatt politely gestured for the agent to board first, she sniffed audibly, and as she was climbing up the step, her foot slipped and he instinctively caught her around a very trim waist to steady her. "Oh," she gasped in dismay, and he tried, rather unsuccessfully, not to notice how her slender body felt in his arms or how good her hair smelled (Damn, it has been too long since he held a woman). "You can let go now, Dr. Logan," she hissed when Wyatt took a little longer than necessary to release her. "Sorry, ma'am, just trying to help," he offered, and grinned when the agent snapped, "And stop calling me Ma'am," much to his delight. "This might be a lot more interesting than I expected," Wyatt mused, as Lucy Preston's shapely rear disappeared through the open hatch.

He nimbly climbed in after her, and settled himself across from the woman in the third seat. Wyatt easily buckled the safety harness, and watched in amused silence as she tried and failed several times to fasten hers before taking pity on her and leaning over, rapidly snapped everything into place. It was quite cramped inside, and the dizzying array of flashing lights surrounding them was almost blinding. A black man around his age was seated to his immediate right, busy flipping switches and pushing numerous buttons. "I'm Wyatt Logan," he offered, and the man hastily turned and looking over his shoulder, grinned, "Nice to meet you, Wyatt, I'm Rufus, Rufus Carlin, the pilot of this bucket of bolts, kind of," and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly at Agent Preston's faintly panicked, "I'm Lucy Preston. Um, kind of? Rufus, what does that mean, exactly?" The pilot rubbed a hand across his forehead, and confessed, "Well, I've only trained on the simulator, never actually made the jump through time," and Wyatt seriously felt kind of bad when Lucy swallowed thickly as her face turned a rather pale milky white.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked her, and when her nervous, wide-eyed gaze swung to him, Wyatt could see that the (up to now) no-nonsense FBI agent looked scared stiff. Closing her eyes briefly, she admitted, "I'm extremely claustrophobic," and when Rufus murmured, "And here we go," before selecting one final button, Wyatt impulsively reached across and took her small, cold hand in his as the world around them shuddered and jerked for seemingly endless moments before landing with a bone-jarring, teeth-rattling thud. Afraid to open his eyes, Wyatt breathed deeply through his nose to keep from emptying his guts in his lap. Lucy's hand flexed with a jerk in his, and he cautiously opened one eye to see that the agent had leaned toward Wyatt as far as she could and like him, was breathing as deeply as possible.

"Rufus," Wyatt croaked, "Hurry up and open the hatch before I lose the contents of my stomach all over the place," and he swore the pilot might have chuckled before smacking a button and the hatch slowly slid open. He managed to reach for Lucy's harness and unbuckle it before tugging her to her feet so she could exit first. She clumsily slid a little before finding her footing and jumping to the ground, just before Rufus pushed past him and also jumped down. Wyatt got to his feet and swayed precariously before he slowly inched over to the open hatch and looked out. Oddly enough, although it had been late at night when they "jumped" from 2016 San Francisco, it was broad daylight here, where (when) ever they were.

"Are we there?" he stammered as he slid rather gracelessly down the side of the lifeboat, and bending over at the waist, was trying desperately not to gag, when Lucy answered, "I think so," and Wyatt followed her gaze upwards to see the impossible sight of an enormous silver bullet-shaped airship almost noiselessly floating serenely past. My God, it was the Hindenburg. They had done it. Gone back in time nearly 80 years. And as Wyatt's stomach slowly, painfully began to settle, his nausea was rapidly being replaced by an almost childish anticipation for what they would encounter. Suddenly, no matter what happened in the next hours, he was very glad he had agreed to be a part of this crazy mission. What was happening right this very minute was the opportunity of a lifetime for anyone, but for a historian, it was sure to be an extraordinary experience, and in addition to hopefully serving his country and saving the past and future, Wyatt fully intended to savor every moment.

A/N: Oops! Just a little bit of a cliffhanger, 'cause I wanted to devote more time to finishing their first mission. At this point, I feel like this premise has the potential to go all of Season One (as long as I have the time, LOL). Hope you all enjoy this little experiment. Heartfelt thanks, as always, for everyone who follows and favorites my stuff, most especially anyone who's able to take the time to leave a review. You are awesome people :))