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change the future.

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Lucy knew the Mothership would be stolen again, that they would end up chasing someone else through time. The Lucy who had written the journal didn’t know who took the Mothership, not like she did now, but she did know that it wasn’t Flynn.

This was when she started working with Flynn.

Lucy bit her lip, glancing down at the journal in her lap. How was she supposed to work with Flynn when, in this timeline, he was currently being held in prison for stealing the Mothership the first time around?

“You okay?” Wyatt asked, startling Lucy out of her thoughts. She quickly snapped the journal closed, clutching it to her chest as she smiled easily up at him.

“Fine,” she lied, leaning back into his couch cushions. He frowned but didn’t press, which she was grateful for. He passed her a glass of water and gestured to the couch, sitting down next to her.

“So, anything interesting?” he asked, taking a sip of his water. Her hands shook, and she was still holding the journal tightly in one hand, pressing it to her chest, her knuckles white. She glanced up at him, seeming defeated. “Come on, Lucy, you don’t have to hide it from me.” She sighed, flipping the journal open.

“Emma has the Mothership now,” she began, glancing up at Wyatt, who nodded. “But, in the journal, I don’t know that it’s her. We’re just blindly chasing after someone,” she whispered, fiddling with her locket as she frowned down at the handwritten pages of her journal. “I haven’t gotten too far ahead,” she admitted, looking up at Wyatt. “I’m not sure if I want to.”

Wyatt rested his hand on her knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her cotton pajama pants. “You’ve had a long night,” he murmured, taking her half-full glass of water and placing it on the coffee table in front of them. “I’ll get you an extra blanket, and you can get some rest, okay?” He smiled at her, moving to stand from the couch.

“Wyatt,” she whispered, reaching her hand out, placing it over his on her knee. He paused, glancing down to her hand on his before looking at her. “Thank you,” she smiled. “For letting me stay here.”

“You can stay as long as you want,” he replied sincerely, smiling at her. She nodded and he left to grab her a blanket. She leaned back into the couch, tucking her feet up under her, propping the journal open on her lap.

Whoever took the Mothership will pay. It started in 1805, where we chased the mysterious thief. Even as I write this now, sitting in this church, I feel unclean. I feel vengeful. I want to hurt whoever did this; I want to kill whoever did this.

I want him back.

It’s selfish, and I’ve seen firsthand what that kind of vengeance can do to a person, but I want him back. I will do anything I can to bring him back.

It’s my fault. He ran after me, he was protecting me. He would still be alive right now if we hadn’t split up, if that man hadn’t followed me, if Wyatt hadn’t come looking for me, if he hadn’t been asking me if I was okay. He would be alive if I’d pushed him out of the way.

The date was April 13th, 1805. It was in Philadelphia. Whoever took the Mothership knew this would happen, knew it was this date that would change my path.

I’m writing this a few weeks later, sitting in the church where we held Wyatt’s funeral, because I need you to fix it. I’ve tried already, I’ve been trying. Flynn has joined Rufus and I, and we’ve all tried to get Wyatt back, along with Flynn’s family. We’re trying to take down Rittenhouse, but it’s no use.

I’m writing this so you know that I’m not a traitor, that I have a plan to end this. I’m going home tonight, to tell my mother that I have to leave. I’m going to find Benjamin Cahill, my father, and tell him that I want to join Rittenhouse, that I want to help however I can.

I’m not a traitor. I promise you. But, this date is the date it all changed.

Change it back. Save him. Please.


Lucy’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Wyatt’s concerned gaze. She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning his body. He was alive. He wasn’t dead. And, they hadn’t been to 1805 yet. She could change it. She could save him.

“Hey,” he whispered, sitting down next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Lucy, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice strong as he looked into her eyes. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes already, lunging forward and burying her face in his shoulder before he could see. He automatically wrapped his arms around her, his hand instantly pressing into her hair.

“I’m going to stop it,” she breathed, her body wracked with sobs. Wyatt shushed her, running his fingers through her hair, trying to calm her down. “I promise, Wyatt. I’ll stop it.” Wyatt pulled back, brushing her tears from her cheeks.

“What are you going to stop?” he asked softly, rubbing her arm softly as she tried to catch her breath.

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered, another tear sliding down her cheek. “But I promise I will.”

Wyatt nodded, understanding, and pulled her back into his arms.

She already knew what was coming when his phone rang a few moments later.

He didn’t let go of her as he reached into his pocket, answering his phone. Lucy could hear Agent Christopher apologetically tell Wyatt that Emma had taken the Mothership out again, and then inform him that she would call Lucy next. “You don’t have to, she’s with me. We’re on our way.” He hung up, pulling back to look at Lucy. “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing her tears away again.

She nodded, giving him a watery smile. He helped her up from the couch and into her coat, and they left for Mason Industries.

Wyatt and Rufus stood by the Lifeboat, Wyatt helping Lucy down, his hand gripped tightly around hers. “Okay, what would she want in 1805?” Wyatt asked Lucy breathlessly as they glanced around at their surroundings. She took a deep breath, looking up at him, still holding his hand.

“I told you I would stop it,” she reminded him, and he frowned down at her. “There’s something I have to do here. Emma is here because something happens today that changes my future.” Rufus stepped forward, frowning as well.

“How do you know that?” he asked gently. Wyatt and Lucy exchanged a look before both turning to Rufus.

“Well, Flynn gave her the journal,” Wyatt explained. Rufus’ eyes widened and he took a step closer to his teammates.

“He what?” Rufus asked, looking at Lucy. “And you read it?” Lucy nodded and Wyatt tightened his grip on her hand.

“Look, why don’t we split up, find Emma?” Wyatt suggested, glancing at Lucy. Her eyes widened as she shook her head.

“No, Wyatt, we can’t split up,” she said firmly, looking up at him. “Something’s going to happen.” Wyatt lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into her fingertips.

“Luce, it’ll be fine,” he whispered before letting her hand go. “Flynn isn’t here, so neither are his guys. It’s just Emma, and I can take her.”

She watched helplessly as Wyatt ran one direction and Rufus ran another. She took a deep breath, going in a different direction as well.

A couple hours later, Lucy knew what would happen next. She didn’t know what kind of trick fate was playing on her; if she hadn’t read the journal earlier, she wouldn’t be here right now. She would be in the middle of the road, about to find out that a man had been following her. Instead, she was tucked into an alleyway, waiting for Wyatt to show up, looking for her.


Her breath caught as she heard his voice. She could see him now, could see it all happening. The man stepped out from behind a carriage, aiming his gun for Wyatt. It was now or never.

Lucy didn’t have a plan, never really did. She just knew Wyatt couldn’t get shot today. She ran as fast as she could, screaming his name as the gunshot rang out.

Pain tore through her side and she lost her voice as she fell to the ground. She heard another gunshot, and she panicked, thinking it was all for nothing. Suddenly, though, Wyatt was there, and he was safe, his hands running up and down her body. There was a muffled noise coming from right by her ear as Wyatt pushed her hands away from her side, looking at her wound. She looked up, her vision blurry, and Rufus was next to her, too. He and Wyatt were speaking, talking to her, but she couldn’t understand them.

She was so sleepy, she just wanted to rest. Wyatt had pulled her into his arms, lifted her into his lap as he worried over her. He was so comfortable and strong. She felt so safe. Surely, she was safe enough to rest for a while. Wyatt’s frantic voice broke through the fuzz in her brain, and she could hear him asking her not to close her eyes.

But, she was so sleepy.

Lucy was on a cloud, a soft puffy cloud, and it was bright. Was she dead? That hadn’t been a part of the plan. She shifted on her cloud, her eyes still closed, and felt a weight on her hand. She tried to move her hand, but something was holding it down. Frustrated, Lucy cracked her eyes open, immediately shutting them again once she saw how bright everything really was. She took a deep breath and cracked her eyes open again, squinting into the light.

Everything was white, and there was an incessant beeping coming from her side. She looked down, seeing a rather colorful blanket draped over her form. She instantly recognized it as her favorite blanket from Wyatt’s. She snuggled deeper into the blanket, smiling softly.

Someone shifted next to her, and she turned her head, gasping softly when she saw why she couldn’t move her hand.

She wasn’t dead.

Wyatt was sitting in a chair pulled up as close to her bed as he could get, his arm stretched out on top of her bed, his hand gripping hers. His head was laid across his arm, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers gently through his hair. He was still dressed in his clothes from 1805, and his entire front was soaked in blood.

Lucy felt her stomach twist; was that all from her?

She shifted a bit, wincing at the pain that erupted from her side. She cried out, her hand flying to her side, and Wyatt’s head shot up, his eyes blinking repeatedly as he awoke.

“Lucy,” he breathed when he saw that she was awake. “Don’t move too much, you’ll pull your stitches.” He rested his hand on her cheek, turning her towards him. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispered, leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers. She sighed, smiling.

“Me too,” she whispered, and he brushed his nose against hers, eliciting another sigh. She pulled away, pointing down at his shirt. “Is that mine?” Wyatt glanced down at his shirt, grimacing.

“I know you hate the sight of blood,” he apologized, trying to cover his shirt. “But, I just couldn’t leave you to change. I kept thinking as soon as I left, you’d wake up, and I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“How long have I been here?” she asked, frowning.

“Four days,” Wyatt whispered. Lucy sat up straight, her side protesting once more. “Lucy, you need to stay down, okay? You’re still healing.” Lucy nodded, and Wyatt helped her lay back down, propping the pillows up so she was comfortable. He sighed, holding her hand in both of his, smiling at her. “So, what was so important that you had to change?”

Lucy winced, but not because of the pain. She remembered what had almost happened, how she’d almost been too late. How another gunshot had sounded and she’d feared it hadn’t even helped.

“There was a second gunshot,” she said instead, and Wyatt nodded stoically.

“He shot you, so I shot him,” he said simply. “But, why did you run out in the first place?”

“Do you have my journal?” she asked gently. Wyatt nodded, reaching behind him to grab her bag and pulled out her journal. She took it, flipping it open to the page she’d read earlier. Wordlessly, she handed him the journal He frowned, but began to read it.

She could tell when he read about his death.

She could see it from the way his frown smoothed, his eyes widening a bit. He glanced up at her, his eyes watery.

“Lucy,” he whispered, his voice catching as he gripped her hand tightly in his. “It’s my job to protect you. I wouldn’t have blamed you at all for my death.” Lucy visibly flinched as he spoke of his death, and he soothed her, rubbing circles into the back of her hand. “But, thank you for saving me.”

“I was going to say the same thing to you,” she replied, smirking. Wyatt chuckled, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the crown of her head. She leaned back against the pillows, smiling at him.

He was safe.