#he's probably equal parts flabbergasted and frightened

[heardchef]

jeremy allen white + w magazine reflecting on the bear and season two

[snidgetsafan]

Whom the Gods Love Die Young

Rating: G (for the moment)

Summary: The bride bit into the shiny red apple as everyone cheered around her, the wedding ceremony ending with this ritual gesture. The clapping and hurrahs soon turned to screams of horror as Snow dropped the apple, choking and clutching her throat as she fell in her groom’s arms, a last I love you leaving her lips before she died, David’s screams the loudest of all.

David and Emma travel to the Underworld to claim back Snow after her untimely death. In order to do so, they're going to have to face the dark and mysterious God of the Underworld and complete his challenges.

Seems simple enough until you add magic, divine quarrels, and the worst thing of all: feelings.

Notes: And here it is! The first chapter of my @cssns​! Thanks to the lovely ladies who organized this second edition! I took inspiration from both the Hades/Persephone and Orpheus/Eurydice myths, which I hope you’ll enjoy. I’d like to thank @shireness-says​ for betaing for me (at such short notice too!) and for cheering me one. Thanks darling, you’re a gem! I’d also like to thank @distant-rose​, who helped me with the mythological aspect of my fic when I was plotting it. She is a font of knowledge, people! All mistakes are mine, however. I’d also like to thank all the lovely ladies at the CSSNS Discord, who helped me when I needed it, and who always encouraged me when I needed it. Love you guys! And last but not least, I’d like to thank @tennant-the-tigger​ for the fantastic art she made for this fic, and which you can see at the top of this post. Thank you so, so much! (Go give her some love!)

Word count: 3.6k (on AO3)

The bride bit into the shiny red apple as everyone cheered around her, the wedding ceremony ending with this ritual gesture. The clapping and hurrahs soon turned to screams of horror as Snow dropped the apple, choking and clutching her throat as she fell in her groom’s arms, a last I love you leaving her lips before she died, David’s screams the loudest of all.

Emma’s eyes follow David as he paces back and forth in the dark room, not unlike a lion in its cage. They’d been asked (well, asked was not quite the right word; almost physically pushed in would be more accurate) to stay in this waiting room until the King of the Underworld could receive them, but Emma isn’t fooled. There are no windows in the room – probably because they’re deep under the hill the palace is built against – and Emma is pretty sure at least one person is standing on the other side of the only door. They’ve managed to travel to the realm of the dead quite easily, but Emma fears it will take a lot more to get out.

It had been surprisingly easy to get this far. After David had convinced her to accompany him on his mad trip to reclaim his murdered bride, Emma had sought the counsel of Elsa, Hecate’s High Priestess and Emma’s mentor within the temple. Prayers to the goddess had resulted in the appearance of two golden boughs on the altar, which the young priestess understood to be Hecate’s blessing.

(The strange dreams which plagued her that night must have been another gift - visions of boats, three sets of glowing eyes in the dark, pomegranates, and whispers of a word. She has no idea what "Killian” means, but she feels that it's essential to their quest.)

The legends about the whereabouts of the entrance to the Underworld were surprisingly accurate, and showing the golden boughs had allowed them to cross the Styx on Charon’s boat. The sedative-laced meat that David had brought took care of the three-headed hound guarding the gates of Hades (hadn’t that been a frightening explanation for the glowing eyes), and they had soon arrived at the doors of the dark palace.

But that’s where it had gotten more complicated. The guards they had come upon apparently weren’t used to having to deal with living people, as David had barely been able to explain why they were there before they had been shoved into this room, were they had been waiting for what felt like hours, leading to David’s pacing. Emma, for her part, was trying to keep a calm façade in case they were being watched (they were, she just knew it, could feel eyes on her, had been able to since they had stepped into the Underworld).

Waiting for such a length of time is not beneficial to Emma’s nerves. Ever since Snow’s death, David – and Emma by extension – hadn’t stopped moving and acting. Emma knows that for her brother, this is a way to avoid confronting the memory of his bride ( wife , she can hear David’s voice insist in her mind) dying in his arms during their wedding ceremony. Grooms traditionally give an apple to their bride to symbolize their ability to provide for their future household, and the bride’s eating of the apple signifies her acceptance of her husband, the final act of the wedding ceremony (well, before the very last act of consummation of course, but that was not something done in public, nor something Emma wants to think about in relation with her brother. Ever). Except that this time, the apple had been poisoned by Snow’s witch of a stepmother in an unthinkable desecration of the wedding ritual and a blasphemy against Hera, and only a single bite had been enough to kill Snow in mere seconds.

The witch had been immediately smote, her heart giving out even before Snow had taken her last breath. Her corpse had been found on the steps of Eris’ temple, where she had probably been trying to seek refuge. Seems like not even the goddess of revenge can protect you from Hera’s wrath. She’d probably gotten a straight ticket to Tartarus, Emma thinks grimly.

Good riddance.

But David hadn’t let misery take hold of him, and had instead gone straight into anger, arguing that Snow should have been protected by the goddess of marriage during her own wedding, that it wasn’t fair, and that the gods help him (or not, Emma couldn’t help but think), he was going to find his wife and bring her back. Emma had followed him, mostly so he wouldn’t end up dead too, but also because Snow was her friend. She could still see her collapse into David’s arms every time she closed her eyes.

The young priestess’ thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and a mousy little man wearing a red Phrygian hat comes in, looking surprisingly… ordinary. David stops pacing too, coming to stand next to his sister as they watch the man approach them, followed by a tall helmed guard.

“Good evening, Emma and David, my name is Smee. I was told you’d like to speak to his Highness?” the little man says, looking at them expectantly.

Emma blinks, jarred. The man – Smee – looks so out of place, with his colorful hat and affable manners, stepping into this dark stone room in the heart of a hill which is itself in the heart of the Underworld. The siblings have both been gearing themselves to meet with opposition and hostility, not… politeness.

“Er,” she says eloquently, looking at David, who looks as flabbergasted as she feels.

“This way?” Smee continues as if nothing is amiss, gesturing towards the door before exiting into the hall.

David leads the way out of the door, before slowing down to let Emma step up beside him as they walk down the corridor, sandwiched between Smee and the guard. David steps closer to her, allowing the folds of their chitons to conceal the frantic way he grabs Emma’s hand, the strength of his grip betraying his anxiety at the meeting to come. Emma doesn’t mind, as she’s grabbing onto her brother’s hand as tightly as he is, although perhaps not for the same reasons. David’s only goal is to get Snow back; he isn’t thinking about anything else. Emma can see the bigger picture, and that bigger picture is that they’re going to be face to face with the freaking God of the Dead .

Very little is known about the God of the Underworld. Emma knows he is the brother of Liam, God of the Seas and of Arthur, God of Thunder and King of Mount Olympus, that he was given the Realm of the Dead to govern, and that he rarely leaves his kingdom. So little is known about him that mortals don’t even know his name, forcing them to use one of several monikers when referring to him such as King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dead, or even simply Hades, as if the god were equal to the realm he rules. Despite all these names, the god is rarely mentioned in the mortal world. His very role of Agesander , the soul carrier, makes him the most terrifying figure in the Pantheon to most people.

Emma can still feel eyes on her, even more intensely than before. Her shoulder blades itch from the uncanny sensation of being watched, but she refrains from squirming, not wanting to show any discomfort to their escorts. She has to stay strong, she repeats to herself as a mantra. David’s sanity and Snow’s life (and their own, too, she guesses) are at stake here.

What feels like hours later, but is probably only minutes (five flights of stairs, though; she had no idea coming to the Underworld would be so physical), they arrive in another, more airy part of the palace. There are actually windows here, and she can feel a breeze ruffling her hair and the edges of her clothes. While made of dark stone, the palace didn’t seem as gloomy as she had expected, Emma notes with some surprise. Light streams into the halls, making the floors gleam, and a glimpse out of the window affords her a view of what seems to be an orchard and rolling fields beyond that.

Soon after they enter the hall, their guides stop in front of two massive basalt doors. The portal opens soundlessly in front of them, revealing a grand throne room beyond. Smee and the guard in front step in, heading towards the throne at the other end of the room, and David and Emma follow, taking a deep breath to center themselves.

A man – no, a god – sits on a high-backed throne on a grand dais, seemingly bored, if his slumped position can be believed. His lavish black clothes and spiky crown clearly designate him as the ruler of this place yet something feels… odd. Emma frowns but says nothing as she approaches with David. After all, it’s not like she has anything to compare the situation with. While becoming a priestess of Hecate has afforded her easier contact with her goddess, she hasn’t met her. Not even Elsa has had that privilege, and she is the High Priestess of their temple. Still… this doesn’t feel right .

“So, you dare trespass on my kingdom?” the god’s voice booms in the cavernous hall as soon as they are in speaking distance.

David steps forward, dropping on one knee at the foot of the dais and bowing his head in deference, Emma demurely following his lead.

“We’re sorry, my Lord,” David begins, his eyes still lowered to the floor. “I merely wished for an audience to beg a request of you.”

“A favor, eh? I have temples for that, why didn’t you use the traditional method?”

“Because you must get these kinds of prayers every day, and I wanted to be sure you’d listen to mine. My bride – my wife was killed during our wedding, and I’m here to beg you to let her come back home.”

“You’re right, I do get prayers every day. What gives you the idea that you are any different from all of these people?”

Emma frowns as David tries to justify his plea. Hecate has gifted her with the ability to detect lies, and that is what she feels coming from the god right now. Can her power even work on a deity? Is it a blasphemy to even presume it can? And yet… something’ s not right. Keeping her eyes downcast, Emma nonetheless focuses all her senses on what the seated god is saying. The feeling doesn’t go away; on the contrary, it amplifies as he goes on. What’s going on?

“Please, my Lord,” David is pleading, desperate to sway the being in front of him. “I’d do anything to get her back.”

“I can’t give you your bride back,” the god says. True . “Can you imagine what would happen if people heard that the Lord of Hades lets people go? The kingdom would be swamped with people wanting their lovers, children, or evencats back.”

Emma decides to intervene, seeing her brother flounder in his desperation, and wanting to test a theory.

“The only way we were able to get to you, your Highness, was because Hecate helped us. I feel that if she deigned to assist us, it’s because she feels our quest is justified.”

“Help from Hecate?” the god asks suddenly, straightening on his throne, a move echoed by Smee and the guard still standing behind Emma. “What are you talking about, mortal?”

“The goddess gifted us with these boughs to pay the ferryman,” Emma answers, prompting David to open his satchel to show the glimmering branches. “And she gave me… instructions,” she finishes a little lamely, not knowing how to explain her dreams.

The god is silent, gazing over Emma’s shoulder, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Emma watches him, waiting for his decision.

Which is not the one she hoped for.

“Nonetheless,” he says, slouching back onto his throne, “a death is a death. I might be the Lord of the Underworld, but there are certain lengths I won’t go to, and this is one of them.”

Lie . A big, fat, blaring lie that sets all of Emma’s senses aflame as she takes a surprised breath.

“No, you’re not,” she blurts out, staring at him incredulously now. What’s going on? Who is this man – no, not a man, divinity definitely oozes from him, he is a god… but not the god of this place.

“What did you just say.” the god rumbles, David’s hissed “ Emma!” drowned by the sound echoing all around them. Everything is still in the room – deathly so, she thinks a little hysterically as she realizes she has become the center of attention. The stares from the men in the room, as well as the invisible eyes which have been following her every move, weigh on her like so many lead weights. And yet…

“You may be a God, my Lord, but you are not the ruler of this place,” she repeats a little more assuredly, ignoring David’s attempts to shush her. The more she thinks about it, the more Emma’s sure of herself. And the angrier she grows. They’re here to beg for Snow’s life; David is slowly going mad with pain, she’s grieving for her friend as well, and these gods (because the Lord Hades has to be part of this masquerade, he has to) are playing games with them.

“Quite presumptuous of you to make such a claim.”

“I know when someone is lying. And you are,” Emma answers calmly, knowing there’s a chance those could be her last words.

“You have some gall, mortal. I like it. Well, this was fun while it lasted,” the god says as he rises, his solemn demeanor dissolving into nonchalance as he descends from the dais, walking towards them. “They’re all yours, pal, have fun with them,” he says as he passes them without stopping, clapping the guard behind Emma on the shoulder before sauntering out of the room.

Emma and David turn as one man towards the guard, both having the same thought. Had the actual God of the Underworld been with them the whole time? How had they not noticed ? Because now that they look at him, the same powerful aura that had emanated from the pseudo-Hades also seeps from the guard’s skin, clearly betraying his divine nature.

The guard sighs, looking to the ceiling, before he unclasps his helmet and takes it off, looking at the siblings exasperatedly. Stepping in front of them, he throws the helmet to Smee before crossing his arms, his clothes changing right in front of their eyes from a soldier’s garb to a black himation revealing one of his strong shoulders as well as part of his chest.

“Cat’s out of the bag, then.”

Emma tries to keep her cool. It would serve no purpose at all for her to berate a god.

David has no such qualms, however, his temper getting the best of him. “You… you mean all of this was just a joke? Who was that?”

“That, as you so eloquently put it, mortal, was Hermes, messenger of the gods. Before you put voice to the thoughts I can so clearly see on your face, may I remind you that he is my nephew, and you are in my domain?”

David swallows nervously before chancing a look at Emma, who surreptitiously nods. All true, even the threat. Especially the threat. Hermes had been all talk; his uncle will not hesitate to put action to word.

“No, your Highness,” David mutters apologetically.

“Good. Now, let’s be quick about this: I cannot help you on your quest. Your fiancée has died, and dead she shall remain.”

David’s face crumples as he hears the god deal his judgement in such a final tone, before he steels himself once more, straightening his spine and raising his head.

“But it’s not fair! She was killed during our wedding ceremony! She should have been protected by Hera!”

At this, the god perks up, looking more closely at David. “Your fiancée is Snow Leukḗ?”

“Yes!” David exclaims, his hope renewing at the god’s recognition. “You’ve heard of her?”

“I’ve heard of her killer,” the god corrects, sneaking a glance at Emma. “It’s not often we get new guests in Tartarus.”

So Regina had been sent to Tartarus to endure eternal torment, then. Emma doesn’t feel as satisfied as she had been earlier, but she can’t feel any pity for the woman either. She had gotten what was coming to her. Taking a look at her brother, Emma is surprised not to see a smile on his face at the news. The gods know he had ranted and raved about what he’d do to Regina since Snow had died and they had embarked on their quest, but now that he knows she’s suffering far worse than anything he could have come up with, he just looks… grimly resigned. Which shouldn’t really surprise Emma anyway; her brother is a just and fair man who would never do ill on any other soul, despite his words.

“So you agree that Snow’s death was unfair, then?” David tries to press his advantage.

“My role is to care for dead souls, not to pass judgement on their lives or deaths,” the god answers shortly, clearly growing tired of this conversation. “Now, I’ll kindly ask you to leave my kingdom, unless you want to be made permanent residents of it sooner than you expected.”

David isn’t budging. “But, the goddess Hecate – “

“Hecate gave you two trinkets and a dream and what, I should indulge your desires? You think you’re the only one who’s ever gotten a god’s favor to come down here? Orpheus did, and Orpheus failed. This is my kingdom, my realm, and I will rule it as I see fit, whether or not it pleases you, your sister, or bloody Hecate!” the god shouts in anger, getting closer and closer to David until their noses are practically touching.

Emma watches all of this, thinking furiously. When put in this light, Hecate’s gifts did help them get here, but now if looks like they’re on their own. Are they, though? Every step of their quest, every difficulty had been thwarted by a hint or a boon from the goddess. Why not this one too? Emma thinks about her dream. She doesn’t see how pomegranates could help her in this situation, which leaves her with…

“Killian,” she says, looking up at the god, who freezes as soon as the three syllables pass her lips before whirling to look at her, completely ignoring David and an agape Smee.

“What did you just say?” he growls, stalking towards her, his blue eyes flashing.

This is the first time she has the full attention of the god, and it is… intense. It feels like being under a hundred gazes at the same time, watching her from all angles. Actually, she has felt like that several times since arriving in the Underworld, even though the feeling hadn’t been that strong then. Was that the god’s eyes she had felt? Had he been watching them since the gates? If he had known about them, then why hadn’t he come to them earlier?

“I said ‘Killian,’ your Highness... That’s your name, isn’t it?” she realizes, seeing him react once more to the word.

“Who told you?” he demands, now towering over her and ignoring her question.

“I– it was in my dream?” Her answer sounds more like a question, the god’s proximity and the fire in his eyes rattling her and making her lose control of her voice. “I told you, Hecate sent me a dream, and that was– “

“Yes yes, that was part of it, right,” the god – Killian – interrupts as he once again whirls around, pacing agitatedly in front of the two siblings. In the distance, a dog barks (there are dogs in the Underworld? Are there other animals?) and the god stops walking, his back to them. Dragging his hand heavily over his face, he sigh   s as he goes to slouch on his throne , mutters of “bloody meddling hag ” reaching Emma and David before the god speaks up, sounding as if each word is a chore to utter.

“Very well. I agree to give you a chance to reclaim your fiancée. But!” he hurries to say, before David and Emma can get their hopes up too much, “in order to be allowed to leave the Underworld with her alive, you must accomplish three tasks for me to prove your worth and devotion. If you can complete them, then I’ll give Snow Leukḗ back to you, and the three of you will be able to leave freely. If you fail one of those… you’ll be taken out of the realm, and only allowed back in after your death. Are we clear on this?”

David seems about to burst with joy and hope, barely daring to believe this reversal of fortune. Overcome with emotion, he nods enthusiastically before thanking the god profusely. Emma too feels fit to burst with relief, bowing to the god before looking up, catching his eyes scrutinizing her before he turns away, his himation swinging about his legs as he walks towards his throne.

Emma has no idea what pushed the god to change his mind so suddenly, but she knows it has something to do with his name. No one knows his name in the living world, so she understands that it has at least some importance that Hecate chose to reveal it to her. But why did Had– Killian fold so quickly?

Three tasks to get Snow back. Seemed reasonable. If Herakles could manage twelve, Emma and David could manage a quarter of that, right?

Right? Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed!): @hollyethecurious, @shireness-says, @gingerchangeling, @slow-smiles, @wingedlioness, @branlovesouat, @snowbellewells, @kmomof4

[qqueenofhades]

Could really use trash saga part... whatever the next part is (8?) after that Timeless season finale... Pretty please? My Garcy heart hurts.

methinks you know the drill; catch up in the trash saga of flynn and lucy. tagging @deckerprestonsmoak, @prairiepirate, @garciiaflynn, @extasiswings, and @xyber116.

Lucy always thought that the world fading into dramatic slowmotion was only a gimmick of the movies. That things didn’t actually stretch out,stagger, stop, and then fall flat like a star collapsing in on itself, butthen, that was also before she traveled through time on a weekly basis. Alsobefore she locked eyes with Garcia Flynn among the smoldering wreckage of FortMcHenry and original American history alike, as she can see the shock havingtime to good and settle in. He turns convulsively to Cochrane. “Your Excellency– ”

“Not now, sir.” Cochrane is more interested in graciouslyaccepting Armistead’s surrender, which he provides, and motioning for asquadron of dragoons off the longboats. “Take the men up into the fort andraise His Majesty’s colors. Deal with anyone you find, but no need to bebarbaric about it. They are, after all, His Majesty’s subjects.”

Just as Wyatt is opening his mouth, either to remark something smartabout who won the Revolutionary War or to inform Cochrane that the first manwho needs to be dealt with (preferably, in fact, barbarically) is the onestanding next to him, Armistead catches sight of Lucy and Flynn staring at eachother. A flicker of dark suspicion crosses his face, and he whirls on her. “Is this your husband, madam?” he demands.“No bloody wonder you promised to obtain me information on Cochrane’s plans, ifyour own spouse was assisting him in carrying them out! Or was it that you were passing information to him, and that is why the fort hasfallen? Is it?”

There’s an ominous clunk as the Americansoldiers, surrender or no surrender, raise their muskets and point them atLucy. The redcoats accordingly go for their own, Wyatt throws himself in frontof her, Flynn lunges forward and grabs for the semi-automatic pistol that hemust be wearing beneath that nicely tailored Napoleonic-Royal-Navy officer’sjacket, and the beach is on the verge of threatening to deteriorate intocomplete chaos on the spot. Cochrane bellows at his men to hold their fire, andthe standoff holds, if barely. “Your wife, sir?” he demands of an equallyflabbergasted Flynn. “Your wife was among the American contingent this wholetime, and you offered none of this intelligence to me, nor suggested a word ofdecency? Beastly behavior! Beastly, I say!”

“I – ” Nobody has ever seen (or likely ever will again)Garcia Flynn so completely at a loss. “I didn’t… she’s not my – ”

“Then you will not object, sir, if we shoot her for treason?” Armistead is looking at Lucywith a rather unsettling hatred. She’s gotten oddly used to the fact thatpeople in history – Robert Todd Lincoln, Ian Fleming, Harry Houdini, JosephineBaker – seem to like her. Flirt with her, even. There is none of that here.This man wants her dead. “A spy neither for my side nor yours, but somenefarious agent of – what, perhaps, the French? Or – ”

“Shoot her,” Wyatt says loudly, “and you’ll only wish you didn’t.”

“But if she’s a – ”

The American soldiers raise their muskets again. Cochrane islooking alarmed but not as if he’s going to stop it, Armistead is furious,Wyatt has his hand on his own gun and Rufus has picked up a very large boulderto brain someone like Fred Flintstone if they try to touch Lucy, but there’sstill no way that’s enough of them to –

“Stop!” Flynn says, almost a roar. Has to modulate himself,which he does with a terrible effort. “Stop,” he repeats, with a twisted smile.“What I meant was, I didn’t know that she was in there. Not that she wasn’t mywife. She is. She must have… followed me. I’m not sure how.”

“Your wife.” Cochrane chews that over. “Well, it’s damned morethan an apology you owe her, sir. Mrs. Flynn, my profuse regrets for thedistress of your situation and the unworthiness of your husband’s actions. Ifyou wish to retire with me to my flagship, we will make you the morecomfortably lodged while this messy business is carried out.”

Lucy doesn’t budge. “No thank you, Your Excellency,” shesays icily. “I prefer to remain with my countrymen.”

Cochrane raises an eyebrow at Flynn. “Inevitable result ofmarrying a colonial, sir? Choosing her native soil over you – would that wewere all blessed with such faithful spouses. Shall I leave you to disciplineyour wife while we handle the work of the fort? Kill all the combatants, spareonly the unarmed and children. We’ve burned Washington and forced PresidentMadison to flee, if we move quickly, we can consolidate this victory and – ”

Wyatt flashes a desperate look at Lucy, asking if hecan just shoot Cochrane now and prevent this from getting any worse than it is,but she shakes her head. “Yo – our daughter!” she yells at Flynninstead. “Our daughter is in the fort! That’s what I was doing all night,looking after her, trying to stop her from being frightened, telling her itwould be all right, and now she’s what – going to be taken as a prisoner? Allshe wants, all she’s wanted, is to see you again, just like I know you have, and this is what you doinstead? This?”

Cochrane harrumphs, gesturing to the redcoats. “Well, chaps.Let’s leave the man to his much-deserved arse-skelping in peace. If we findyour daughter, Mrs. Flynn, she will be brought to you safely and unmolested,you have my word. Gents, forward.”

The dragoons and the admiral march off with the defeatedAmerican garrison to assume command of Fort McHenry, Wyatt and Rufus stayfirmly where they are, and all three of the Time Team stare absolute daggersthrough Flynn. “You know, man,” Rufus says coolly. “I’ve told you thisbefore, but you really suck.”

Flynn flinches. Raises a hand as if to run it through histousled hair, then drops it. “How did… I severed the connection, youweren’t supposed to be able to –”

“Surprise, dickhead.” Wyatt glares at him. “Lucy’s smarterthan you. She’s always been smarter than you.”

Flynn looks as if all things considered, he can’t reallydeny that, and would probably agree.

“You helped.” Lucy slips her arm through Wyatt’s on one sideand Rufus’s on the other, standing shielded between them, making it clear whereher allegiances lie. “Both of you helped. You know why? Because we’re a team.That’s what teams do.”

“Lucy.” Flynn takes a step. “Lucy, listen to me, I didn’t –”

“I don’t care!” At last, it bursts out of her, everythingshe’s been dying to say, her confusion and frustration and desperation andutter bewilderment that she, Lucy Preston, who finished a double PhD atStanford at age twenty-seven and has always been so smart, so logical, so incontrol of herself, has been so utterly undone by this man, and theunfathomable, unforgivable effect he has on her. “I don’t care if you thoughtwe could follow you or not! You still went! You still didn’t stop! You ran awayfrom your daughter, you ran away from me – I know you were scared, I know youdidn’t think you could, but you are so blinded that you cannot seewhat is directly in front of you! Nowyou’ve torched the timeline beyond all recognition, who knows what you’ve done to the future, and whether any of it evenmattered to Rittenhouse at all, or if you just like destroying things too muchto stop! I can’t believe I thought there was even a question as to whether ornot I might decide to come with you! You’re a selfish, vengeful, dangerous,uncontrolled car bomb of a man, and you bite any hand that comes near you! I’ve done – I don’t even know what I’ve done! Or what you have! I don’t know what apologyyou were planning on offering, or if you even were, but it is not accepted. Itis not accepted.”

Flynn looks absolutely stricken. A card and flowers doesn’texactly cut it for this level of fuck-up, and he definitely knows it. Thesilence remains icy and endless, until there’s the sound of tramping bootsbehind them, and they turn to see a redcoat leading Iris by the hand. “Thisyour daughter, Mrs. Flynn?”

“Yes,” Lucy says, turning to take custody of Iris, whowhimpers, wraps her arms around Lucy’s waist, and buries her face in herstomach. “Thank you.”

Flynn has turned into even more of a statue on this secondsight of his daughter, the proof that she’s real, she’s somehow made it back,and that she’s been tagging along with the Time Team on their mad joyridesthrough history after him and his bull-in-a-china-shop routine. A muscle worksin his jaw. After the redcoat has departed, he coughs painfully, clears histhroat, and says at last, to the distant horizon over Lucy’s left shoulder,“Iris.”

She turns around slowly, but unlike in London, she doesn’trun to him and hug him. She remains where she is, holding onto Lucy. It’s clearshe is too terrified of another rejection – and as she looks at him, reallylooks at him, this strange man in his Navy uniform, dark and grim andbattle-worn, it’s clear that she isn’t seeing her father anymore. She doesn’tknow who he is. He scares her. He damn well should.

“Iris,” Flynn says again, painfully, half in a hoarsewhisper. “Iris, it’s me.”

At last, Iris lets go of Lucy, takes an uncertain step, thenstops. Loses her nerve, turns around, and runs back to Wyatt, who picks her upwhile glaring at Flynn, as if to say that yes, he hates him, but he isn’t goingto take it out on his kid. With Rufus providing a parting shot of stink-eye,the Time Team starts to walk, leaving Flynn behind on the beach, waves stillcrashing just a few feet from his boots. Lucy doesn’t look back. She can’t. Shecan’t.

She can’t.

————-

They have no idea what to do. Should they stick around andtry to salvage as much of the aftermath as they can, see if there’s any way toget history back on track, jump back to the present (assuming the Lifeboat canmake it) to see how badly it’s gone FUBAR, or – what? Wyatt is all for handingFlynn over to Cochrane and court-martialing him, or something, but Rufus and Lucy aren’t sure what that’s going to accomplish.“Maybe we can steal the Mothership,” Rufus says. “Has to be around heresomewhere. It definitely has enough charge to get us back.”

“And what about Flynn? We just leave him here?” Lucy speakswithout opening her eyes. She feels as if her head weighs a thousand tons. Therest of her too. She should be happy, feel liberated, avenged. Instead she justfeels flattened.

“He’s tried to strand, imprison, or shoot us in the pastmultiple times,” Wyatt points out coolly. “We can’t kill him, as you said, butwhy can’t we do exactly that? Leave him? He can go have a nice life as an armycommander in the new British States of America or whatever is going to happento history as a result of his fucking around. And he’s a smart guy, he’llprobably figure out how to get the Lifeboat back into action eventually, makeit home. He won’t be arrested or chased by Rittenhouse here. It’s more than hedeserves.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. Wyatt is right, sheherself has just told Flynn in no uncertain terms where to stick it, and thesolution is neat and fitting. There is a certain appeal to leaving him stuckhere permanently to clean up the mess that he himself made, and this isundoubtedly what she should want todo. It makes sense, that way. All of this godforsaken bitch of anunsatisfactory situation makes sense that way.

“Let’s see if the Lifeboat is out of gas,” she says at last.“Then we can decide if we need to.”

This is agreed, they tramp out of Baltimore to the woodswhere they left it, and quickly discover that yes, yes it is out of gas.Maybe if they were chronologically closer to 2017, they might be able to riskit, but from 1814 is too far, and you obviously cannot get out and push a timemachine that has run dry. Wyatt wants to know what the odds are of making ithome anyway if they shut down all non-essential functions and rerouteeverything into the engine, and Rufus says they’re dim. You really don’t want toknow what happens to you if you don’t stick your landing, and you end up exiledfrom the time stream forever. It is, so much as he can tell, a fate quitehonestly worse than death.

“What if we just sent a few of us back?” Wyatt says quietly.“You, Rufus, you’re the pilot, you have to go. Lucy, you take Iris, and… Imean, I probably use the most resources anyway. If I stay, I can deal withwhatever Flynn’s got going on, stop the bleeding as much as I can, and you cancome back for me in a few months, when you won’t have already been here anddon’t have to worry about crossing your timeline. I swear,” he adds, at Lucy’slook. “I wouldn’t kill him. Just make sure he doesn’t jump again, and see if Ican fix things.”

“No,” Lucy and Rufus say in unison. “No, we’re not leavingyou behind.”

“This is unprecedented,” Wyatt says. “We can’t just check outof this like usual. I’m the sergeant, I take control of handling it andprotecting my team. That’s you two. Someone needs to know what the damage is inthe present, and someone needs to mitigate the damage in the past. Rufus. Couldyou make the jump with just you two and Iris?”

“Maybe, but Wyatt – ”

“Then do it,” Wyatt says stubbornly. “You’ll come back forme, I know you will. I trust you.”

Lucy and Rufus exchange a long look. They both hate thisintensely, but Wyatt, as usual, has a point. Finally, it’s decided to risk it,because the situation is simply too unprecedented. Lucy hugs Wyatt for aboutfive minutes, refusing to let him go, promising they’ll make it back, as Rufusfinally has to tap her on the shoulder and tell her they can’t waste what energythe Lifeboat does have. They get in with Iris, shut the door, strap in, andRufus boots up the controls, preparing for the jump. Does his calculations,prepares for launch. As usual.

The machine is spinning faster and faster, also as usual,and yet, Lucy oddly can’t take it. It’s worse than the usual claustrophobia,it’s something deeper, primal existential terror, the knowledge that she can’treturn to the present and survive. She starts to scream. “RUFUS! RUFUS, NO!RUFUS, DON’T!”

He aborts the launch at the last instant, slamming down thecontrols, and the Lifeboat’s waning energy gurgles and dies. That is it.They’re dead in the water. No chance of a second attempt.

“Lucy?” Rufus unbuckles and runs to her. “Lucy! What is it?”

“I…” Lucy bends over, nauseous, spitting, stomachchurning, still caught in the throes of that unspeakable pain. Looks up at himin terror. It doesn’t make sense, and yet she knows it’s true. “Rufus,” shewhispers. “Rufus, I don’t exist in the present any more. I’ve been erased.”

————–

“Changed my mind,” Wyatt says grimly, breaking off a twigand throwing it into the fire. “Let’s kill Flynn after all.”

Lucy is still feeling too sick to do more than give him alook, as they sit against the logs with stomachs rumbling, all of them hungry(except for her, because her guts are still revolting) and realizing they’reeither stuck here for good, or they have to find some way to hijack theMothership. It’s already risky enough that they’ve been jumping with four peopleinstead of three, but Iris is a child, and small enough that she doesn’tregister; the calibrations are fixed for three adults, not four, but she fliesunder the radar, literally. Still. There is obviously no way that Lucy, Wyatt,Rufus, and Flynn can all go home inthe Mothership, Iris or otherwise. Someone is going to be the odd man out,unless they can jump the Lifeboat like a dead car battery. Talk about a short strawyou don’t want to pull.

“So,” Rufus says. “We have to go back to the fort and get Flynnto help us, after his dumb ass already is the reason Lucy was eradicated fromthe present? Isn’t that like someone running you over with your car, then youasking if they would mind taking you to the hospital?”

“Yeah.” Wyatt’s jaw clenches. “Pretty much. But we don’treally have a choice, do we?”

Lucy doesn’t answer. She stares up at the stars and tries toshut out her head. Stuck here. Stuck. Something about the fall of Fort McHenryhas twisted the fabric of time just so. As long as she stays in this timeline,she exists. If she tries to leave again, to any time, anywhere –

It’s Rufus, Wyatt, and Flynn who have to go home in theMothership.

She is the odd one out.

She’s the one never going back.

She rolls over and tries to sleep. It doesn’t work.

It doesn’t stop.

—————–

They arrive at Fort McHenry the next morning, cadge anaudience by trading on “Mrs. Flynn’s” desire to converse with her ungallantspouse, and while Wyatt and Rufus stand guard, glaring at the passing redcoats,Cochrane takes Lucy by the arm and escorts her down the hall, continuing toapologize for her discomfort. It’s clear that if anyone, he’s the historicalfigure who might have a bit of a thing for her, and she has to take itfor what it’s worth. He shows her into the office he’s taken over, promises he’llfetch her husband, and departs.

Lucy stands with fists clenched, trying not to let themtremble, listening to the hammering of the British soldiers rebuilding andgarrisoning the place, until the door opens and Flynn steps inside, shutting itbehind him. He looks as if he’s spent the night in hell. She’s still mad athim, she’s still furious, but his desolation is so absolute and evident thatshe bites her tongue on everything else she was planning to shout at him. Theystare at each other, stiffly and agonizingly, for a very long moment. Then Lucyblurts out, “You erased me.”

He stares at her. This seems to completely rattle thefoundations of the world. “What?”

“You erased me.” She jerks her chin back. “Rufus and I triedto leave in the Lifeboat. I can’t go back. I don’t exist in 2017 anymore.Something that happened here, with what you did. I’m trapped here. I can’tleave this timeline, or I just…” She waves a hand. Her voice shakes. “I’mnot there anymore. I don’t know what happens.”

Flynn actually staggers a bit. Sits down on the edge of thedesk. Has nothing to say to that. Doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to stir theair. His voice, when it comes, is barely a breath, a deep gravelly rasp. “Lucy.. .”

“I said a lot of things yesterday. I know.” She stares atthe ground, then forces herself to look at him. “I’m still angry at you. But I.. . listen to me. I need you to go with Wyatt and Rufus to the present. I needyou to take them in the Mothership, and find out what changed as a result, whyI wasn’t born. And then put it right. I can’t go back myself. I need you toundo whatever you did. I need you to save me. I don’t have any other choice.”

He closes his eyes hard. The one thing he has been trying todo all this time, to ever less result. And now he’s gotten Iris back, somehow –and in return, erased Lucy. Recaptured the past, but destroyed the present. Hesits there with his shoulders crunched under the weight of the world, the realizationof how no matter what he does, the scales will always be unbalanced. It’s a terriblething to do to a man, and despite everything, Lucy can’t bear to watch him gothrough it alone. Somehow, not meaning to, she comes closer. Reaches out, andputs a hand on his knee.

That small thing, that tiny connection, that light touch,after everything far less innocent they’ve already done, utterly snaps both ofthem. The next instant his hands are in her hair, he’s dragging her mouth downto his, and she’s sliding onto the table between his knees, crouched betweenthem, as they kiss and bite and devour each other, open-mouthed and wet andgasping, her arms wrapped around him as far as they can go. He shucks off hercloak and buries his face between her breasts, kissing up her throat, brandingher, sucking and licking. Swings her around, scattering papers, and slides ahand up her skirt, even as she’s hauling him closer, fumbling at him, doesn’tcare about anything else but this. How doI love thee, she thinks, somewhere, somehow, faintly. Like a sickness and its cure together.

Flynn shucks the white Navy breeches with a rip, climbingbetween her legs as Lucy can’t wait, gets her hands inside to grasp him, caresshim, guiding him into her, fingers slick on herself, moaning. Their breathcatches in stuttering moans as he slides his arms under her shoulders, liftingher up into him, thrusting desperately. He can’t get deep enough inside her foreither of them. Rips her bodice, actually rips it – that actually happensoutside of romance novels, apparently. Grips both of her hands, their fingerstwining together, and pushes her arms over her head, stretching her, bendingher up to every bit of his mouth, her legs sprawling open for him, the slickand bunch and heave of their bodies, the heavy thump of the table beneath them.She gasps and whines and curses. Bites at his ear, jerks and ruts and rubsagainst him. Still not enough. “Harder,” she manages. “Harder.”

If he went any harder, they’d about strike flames, and yethe does. They roll over, sending ink and papers flying, and he ends up beneathher, still inside her, as Lucy straddles him, knees sliding to either side ofhis hips, fingering herself as he continues to thrust, hot raw mouth andhalf-grown stubble burning the tender skin of her breasts. His hands close likevises on her hips. Sickness and cure. Mercyand madness. Poison and wine. Beauty and thebeast.

Her climax almost tears her in half, as she heaves andwrenches and loses her mind, as he rolls her over, pushes her flat, and thrustsinside her to the core, pulsing and shuddering and spilling. She wraps her armsaround his neck, and they lie there amongst the devastation of the desk, papersfloating gently, sunlight embroidering a golden track among the dust motes. Hisbody is still shivering, completely hers, one flesh, one breath, one life.After the hard breathing and the crashing and gasping and thumping, the silenceis towering and eternal.

At last, Flynn jerks. Once and then again. His head remainsburied in Lucy’s shoulder. She’d almost think, for half a moment, that he’scrying. Yet when he lifts it, when he looks at her and she feels it to the backof her, his eyes are utterly clear.

“Lucy,” he whispers, as he shifts, slides out of her, and standsup. As her arms stay around his neck, as their foreheads touch, as she is rawand ragged and bare to the bone, as there is no way she can imagine having tolet go of him now. “I swear. I’m going to save you.”