#oh the slavic need to throw hands with birds...

[spotsupstuff]

[devilsmagic]

butterflies around a flame (chapter one)

His plan to save his family is starting to come together, but Flynn can’t help but to be intrigued about the woman who wrote his journal. Deciding to kill two bird with one stone – learn more about Lucy and American history – he starts to attend her lectures. He knows he should stop, but he can’t help coming back.

Lucy is Rittenhouse royalty, although she doesn’t know what that means just yet. Her life is one monotonous day after another, until she spies a mysterious man sitting in on one of her classes.

[Set pre-series. Basically Timeless meets Romeo & Juliet, but our trash ship lives to tell the tale.]

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It was a normal Friday afternoon on a normal week in a normal month. Lucy was standing at the front of the auditorium, conducting a lecture on the events surrounding the establishment of the Civil Rights Act. Her students were enraptured – well most of them were; some typing away at their laptops or tablets, while others couldn’t take their eyes off of the front of the room, at her passionate eyes and motioning arms. Of course there were the slackers, those only in it for the class credit, but Lucy counted roughly two-thirds of the room who were listening attentively, and that was more than enough for her.  

This was her favourite part of the day. The hours she spent with her classes, sharing her love for history with her students. Detailing how events years, decades, centuries in the past had shaped and moulded their reality. American wouldn’t be what it was without the American Revolution, President Kennedy’s assassination, the moon landing.   

It was during a particularly entertaining class discussion on the introduction of the Pill into American society and its effect on the Civil Rights Act amendment (never let it be said that Lucy’s lectures were dull) that she first noticed him. 

He wasn’t a student in her class, or at least he hadn’t attended the first two months’ worth of lectures, but he sat at the back of the room as if he belonged there. His eyes were glued to her, bodying leaning heavily towards the front of the room – towards her. Lucy got the sense that the subject matter wasn't the only thing that held his interest.

She could feel him analysing her every word, her every move. Suddenly she felt self-conscious in a way that she hadn’t been since her very first year of teaching. She cleared her throat before intervening in what was quickly becoming a very heated debate between a mansplaining hipster and the college’s head cheerleader, bringing the class back to focus on the topic at hand. She decidedly ignored his side of the room, refusing to look at the man again. Yet still she could feel his heated gaze on her skin.   

----  

That night, she inserted her key into her parents’ front door and let herself in. Throwing her keys onto the rack beside the door, she pulled out a Snickers bar from her handbag and hid it behind her back. Retracing her childhood steps, she made her way to the far end of the corridor where her parents were in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on their habitual Friday night family dinner.  

Her father sat at the island, tossing a salad with his special homemade vinaigrette while her mother stood before the stove, sprinkling a handful of chopped coriander on top of the perfectly cooked bolognaise sauce.  

“Hi,” Lucy announced as she walked into the room.  

Her parents echoed her greeting with smiles. She leant over to give her father a kiss on the cheek and then hugged her mother tight from behind. Lucy bit back a smile as she brought out the Snickers bar from behind her back and presented it to her mother.  

Carol laughed at the sight of her favourite candy bar dancing in front of her. “You��re spoiling me.”  

“You deserve it,” Lucy replied, giving her mother a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll set the table.”  

She had just begun to prepare the cutlery when her father spoke. “Actually, there’s something we need to discuss with you, Lucy.”  

Lucy looked up in time to see her parents share a pointed look. “Is everything okay?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.  

“Everything’s fine sweetie,” her mother leaned over and ran a hand through Lucy’s hair with a soft smile on her face. “It’s time we talked to you about something, that’s all.”  

“Okay,” Lucy shot her parents a look before grabbing the plates and cutlery and taking them into the dining room.  

They were well into their dinner before the subject was brought up again. Lucy had finished her meal and was eyeing the leftovers, trying to decide whether to serve herself a second helping of pasta. She grabbed her glass of wine and took a small sip instead.  

Her parents shared a secret look and Lucy sighed.  

“Alright, out with it. What did you want to talk to me about?”  

Her parents looked at each other again. Lucy’s stomach twisted in response and she was suddenly had she had decided against seconds.

“Your father and I,” he mother paused, “we’re part of an organisation.” 

“Okay?”  

“It’s an old organisation,” Ben took over, “we’ve been around since the late 1700s.”  

“Are you trying to tell me you’re part of the Illuminati?” Lucy deadpanned.  

“Funny, but no,” her mother replied.  

“The organisation is called Rittenhouse,” her father continued. “We’re an elite group. You can’t request to join; you have to be born into it.”  

“Born into it? So if you’re both members then I am too?” 

“In short, yes. Or rather, you will be,” her father took a sip of his own wine. 

“Why are you telling me this now? Is there something you need me to do?”  

“No. At least, not right now. It is tradition that the children of Rittenhouse members join the organisation as adults, but that doesn’t have to happen right away. We just want you to get used to the idea, to think about it.”  

“Okay,” Lucy said, trying to collect her thoughts. Her parents were making everything sound like a giant conspiracy theory. She couldn’t help but be unnerved by the entire conversation. “What exactly does Rittenhouse do?”  

“We have many aims,” Carol continued. “The most important is to help further each other’s interests; help other members to grow in the community.”   

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”  

“It isn’t. It’s a wonderful organisation with some truly powerful people. Thomas Edison was a member back in his day.”  

Lucy blinked. “Wow.”  

“But like I said,” her father moved to stack the dirty dishes, “we just wanted to tell you about it, make you aware that it exists so that when the time comes for you to join, you’re ready.”  

“Do I have a choice?”  

“It’s our family legacy, dear. You’ll see.”

----  

 That night, Lucy lay in bed, one word repeating itself over and over in her head.  

“Rittenhouse,” she said out loud, testing how the word rolled off her tongue, heavy in the air. “Rittenhouse.”  

Her head pounded with all the new information that had been crammed into it at dinner. Knowledge of a legacy older than the land she called home. A legacy she was supposed to be a part of.  

But despite everything her parents had said, she couldn’t help but wonder about what had been left unsaid. Why had her parents picked now to tell her about Rittenhouse? They’d clearly been a part of it for years, so what happened that made them want to include her? Did she even want to be part of Rittenhouse?  

Her mother’s vagueness when she asked about what the organisation did tickled at the back of her brain. She knew it couldn’t be anything terrible. Her parents were good people and there was no way she could imagine them condoning, or even being a part of, anything malicious. But still, she couldn’t help but wonder. And the wondering kept her up all night.   

----  

Coffee was the only thing on Lucy’s mind a couple of weeks later. The sun was shining but the wind was cold and she was so so sick of winter, even though it had yet to truly begin. She could practically taste the hot bitterness of the coffee; feel the warmth trail down her throat and deep into her core.  

The bell of the coffeehouse tinkled as she opened the door. It was much warmer than it was outside, and she could feel the heat blush her cheeks. She walked straight up to the counter, the café empty except for a few solitary figures huddled at their respective tables. It was still too early in the day for the morning rush, but she knew from experience that the café would get painfully busy in a few short minutes.  

She was standing at the counter, waiting for the pink-haired barista to make her double shot latte when she spotted him, the man who had been listening in on her lectures for the past few weeks. He always sat in the same spot, half in shadow, so she wasn’t able to get a good look at him. But she could tell by the way he was currently sitting, his intense gaze as he read from the notebook in his hands, that it was him. His dark hair was artfully dishevelled, longish strands falling down his forehead and obstructing her view of his face. 

It was a split second decision, but as soon as the barista placed her coffee in front of her, Lucy grabbed the cup and made her way over to his table.  

“Is this seat taken?” Lucy asked, startling the man.  

Surprise coloured his face as he quickly closed the notebook, slipping it into the large pocket of his coat.  

“Not at all. Please, sit.” He had a light accent; a trace of something Slavic coated his words.   

Lucy placed her cup on the table. Her stomach churned, angry at her impulsive decision to talk to this stranger. But it was too late to turn around and leave, and so she took the seat directly opposite him.  

“I’ve seen you in my lectures. Are you enrolled in my class?” Lucy’s head popped to the side as she studied him, her hand playing idly with the plastic lid on her cup.   

The man chuckled, dimples drawing across both his cheeks. Her heart gave a small thump and she took a deep breath trying to steady it. 

“No, I don’t attend this university.”  

“Oh? Then why have you been at the back of every single of my Friday night U.S. History classes for almost a month?”  

He shrugged casually. “I like to learn new things, and I’m very curious about the events that shaped America’s development.”  

“What you’re saying then is that you’re scamming yourself some free education?” Lucy smiled so he knew that she teasing.  

“I wouldn’t say scamming. I’m not getting a diploma out of this, am I?”  

“Touché,” she replied, taking a sip of her cooling coffee. “What made you choose my class?”  

“I like the way you teach.”  

Heat unfurled deep within her.  “And what is it about my teaching that you like?”  

The man, whose name she still did not know, smiled indulgently. “You’re very passionate. It’s clear to anyone who looks at you that you love history, love teaching it. History is important to you and you’re good at making me feel like it’s important to me too.”  

“You seem to know a lot about me,” she said, voice husky as she dug her fingers into the soft cardboard of her cup.  

“I’m very observant,” his voice lowered, as if he were sharing a secret with her.  

“And who are you, exactly?”  

The man’s face fell for a second, but the sly smile reappeared so quickly that Lucy wondered if she’d imagined it.  

“Gabriel,” he almost blurts. “My name is Gabriel Garcia.”  

A biblical name, a Hispanic surname and a Slavic accent. Pieces of a puzzle that just couldn’t quite fit together.  

“I’m Lucy Preston.”  

“I know.”  

“Of course you do.”  

Lucy was caught by his eyes, a strange grey or green, she couldn’t quiet decide. He was just as entranced with her, until he blinked and looked away, allowing her to come to her senses.  

“Well, I should get going. I have some prep work to finish before my classes today. I suppose I’ll see you on Friday, Gabriel,” she smiled as she stood, cup in hand.  

“Garcia.”  

“I’m sorry?”  

“Call me Garcia.”  

Lucy nods. “Don’t be a stranger, Garcia,” she says just before she walks out the door.