AN: Oh, my God, you guys! I am amazed and humbled by your responses to this! It's always scary posting a story in a new fandom, but wow!

Indulge me for a second here - a need to give a huge shout out to The Mentalist fandom. Some of you already watched Timeless, some of you read chapter one without ever seeing the show, and SOME OF YOU BINGED THE ENTIRE SERIES just so you COULD read part one (looking at you, Crazer Cat!) YOU. GUYS. ARE. AMAZING.

So now this - I wasn't planning on a part 2 for this particular piece, but hey, things happen. This is also my first attempt at Lucy's POV. I have a harder time getting in her head than Wyatt's for whatever reason, and I'm not precisely thrilled with how it turned out. But hey, practice makes perfect or something.

The Ties that Break

Part II

She awoke in the darkness with the nagging feeling that something terribly important had happened in the hours before she'd fallen asleep, but no clear explanation of what it might have been.

Her head was foggy, dense, and more than a little achy. Hungover? What the hell? She was definitely in her room, in her bed, but there was something different…

She shifted slightly, and her fingers brushed someone's hand. Her breath caught, and it all came back.


She sat bolt upright, head pounding alarmingly, squinting into the darkness. There was just enough light from the hallway to see the outline of his face. Yes, definitely Wyatt, relaxed as he slept.

He was, thank God, fully clothed. Not that she was opposed to the idea, sort of the opposite, but there were certain things a girl wanted to remember.

And speaking of remembering…

Oh, God.

Her mother.

The throbbing in her temples intensified, and for a moment, she wondered if she was going to be sick. She threw herself out of bed, held onto the hallway wall as she made her way to the bathroom.

A liberal application of cold water on her face made the world spin at a normal speed. Her reflection in the mirror, however, told her she didn't look normal. Not at all.

Her eyes were too dark, face was too pale.

Her mouth tasted like yesterday's news. With slightly shaking hands, she reached for her toothbrush.

Wyatt was awake when she made it back to her room. Ignoring how awkward this all suddenly felt, she crawled back under the covers.

Apparently Wyatt felt no such compunctions. "You okay?" he asked, propped up on one elbow.

"Hm?" she asked, stupidly. Then, "Yes, yes of course. I'm fine."

It was too dark to see his face properly, but she could feel him raise an eyebrow. "Uh huh. I did promise to hold your hair back if you threw up, you know."

Her lips twitched. Yes, she remembered. "Considering you were the one that got me drunk in the first place…"

She heard his smile in his voice. "It was good for you."

This was absurd. She was laying in bed, next to Wyatt Logan, after her entire world had been turned on its head, again, for like, the fourth time since the Department of Homeland Security had shown up her house, and they were talking about hangovers.

Wyatt reached for her, hands reassuringly warm, and she gratefully rested her head on his chest, his t-shirt soft under her cheek.

This had been the wildest day of her life. And that was saying something, considering the things she'd gotten up to in the past few months.

First, elation that she was going to get Amy back. Amy, her collateral damage, her reminder that you should not change history.

Then, quiet jubilation and fierce hope about what was going to happen with Wyatt. His admission that he wasn't ready to say goodbye had caused her heart to jump into her throat. Given another minute, she might have thrown caution to the wind and kissed him.

Given another minute, he might have kissed her.

But then, first, she needed to go have one of the most difficult conversations of her life. Telling her mother that she was consciously making the choice to give her cancer again. But she knew her mother - she would give all of that and more for Amy.

And then the universe had swung violently around on its axis.

Lost and broken, she had instinctively turned to the most solid person in her life. She didn't remember driving back to Mason Industries, but suddenly she had been there, had been in Wyatt's arms.

He was warm and steady and had promised her that everything was going to be alright and she so, so wanted to believe him.

One of his hands was tangled in her hair, cupped around the back of her head. This was one of her favorite versions of Wyatt - the one that held her and let her know she was safe.

They were quiet for a few minutes, their breathing and the soft rustling of sheets the only sounds. She didn't precisely recall how Wyatt had wound up in her bed, but it didn't matter much. She assumed she probably asked him. There had been more wine after the pizza.

Her hand was against his stomach. In a purely shallow part of her brain, she appreciated the easy play of muscle as he breathed. For just a second, she wanted to giggle. She was in bed with G.I. Joe.

She closed her eyes.

She'd lost track of the times she'd imagined this moment. The reality of it was so far off that it was laughable. This should just teach her to be careful of what she wished for. Yes, she was in his arms in the middle of the night after making out with him in her kitchen.


Literally nothing else in her life was the way it should be.

Silently, she sighed.

There were things she needed to think about. Was her mother a member of Rittenhouse in the original timeline, the right timeline? The one with Amy? It seemed likely.

Her mother had said there was an assassin aboard the Mothership. Who was that? What were they going to do? Take the ship, obviously. But where? And who was the pilot going to be?

That was what she had to focus on. They were still at war, still in a fight. It was more important than ever that they won.

They were going to need some help.

"Wyatt," she said abruptly, not opening her eyes.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

"We have to break Flynn out of jail." The words were calm, utterly matter-of-fact.

She felt Wyatt tense under her hands. There was a long pause where she could practically see him thinking. "And why exactly do we need to do that?"

She sat up, and his arm fell to her waist. "Because we need allies. And if there was ever someone who was assuredly not Rittenhouse, it would be Garcia Flynn."

The argument he was going to make kept dying on his tongue. Because he knew she was right.

"I don't trust him," he finally said. "In case you forgot, he tried to have Rufus killed."

"Obviously, I can't defend that," she admitted. "But you know as well as I do that everything he's done has been in pursuit of wiping out Rittenhouse. He doesn't care about who gets in the way, as long as it takes him closer to his goal. I mean, he's had plenty of opportunity to do me harm and he hasn't."

Wyatt's face darkened. "Yeah, I remember. I also remember Flynn sending Rufus and me right into the arms of a serial killer."

Involuntarily, she shivered. That was a mission she would like to forget, for so many reasons.

"Wyatt," she said again. It was an entreaty.

He let out a breath, ran his free hand through his hair.

"I don't like this," he told her.

She shrugged. "I don't either, but we don't exactly have a lot of options."

Her head was starting to bother her again. She rubbed her temples. Wyatt pulled her back down.

She wondered if they could be like this tomorrow or if it was just for tonight. If there were rules that could be broken in crisis in the dark of night that would reappear in the morning.

"Go to sleep," he whispered. "I don't think any of our problems are going to disappear overnight."

"My hangover might," she suggested, and he chuckled.

And, despite her errant thoughts, despite the anxiety that was lurking just beneath the surface, there was something entirely peaceful about being where she was. There was a steady heart beating beneath her ear, deft fingers tracing down her spine.

In the morning, she was laying on her other side, Wyatt wrapped around her, his nose almost touching the back of her neck.

She wanted to stretch, but refused to do anything that would potentially disrupt her current position.

It was the third time she had woken in his arms. All in the last twelve hours. But definitely something she was looking forward to doing again.

Quietly, she watched the patch of sunlight on the floor slowly creep and spread. They were in a bubble right now, where the outside couldn't touch them, where the nightmare that was waiting didn't matter for the moment.

Gradually, she became aware that he was awake. Maybe it was his breathing, maybe it was a subtle shift in the way he held her. But she knew he was there with her, knew he felt the same strange forbearance that she did.

"Morning," he murmured into her hair.

"Hi," she whispered back.

"How're you feeling?"

She shrugged as best she could. "Fine, I think. Just trying to plan our next moves."

He caught her fingers, laced them with his. "Remember - one problem at a time."

It went against her nature, not to focus on the big picture at all times, but Wyatt's methods had gotten them out of a few sticky situations before. Fine - problem number one was probably letting Agent Christopher know about her brand new family revelations.

And to solve that problem, she needed to go find her phone. Which meant getting out of bed. Not something she particularly wanted to do. Especially when Wyatt's lips were currently brushing her shoulder when he spoke.

"So I couldn't help but notice that your refrigerator was alarmingly empty yesterday," he said. "Since you weigh about ten pounds, I'm not surprised, but I do need to actually eat real food. Especially since I think I have to plan a federal prison break."

She chuckled. Her life was utterly absurd.

But would she change it?

That was the thing.

So much would be better. Amy would be here, for one.

But her mom would be sick.

She wouldn't know her parents were part of some creepy, Illuminati-esque shadow organization.

But they would still be.

She wouldn't have been captured by the person who literally invented the term serial killer.

But she wouldn't have met Abraham Lincoln, Josephine Baker, ridden with the Lone Ranger, picked a lock with Harry Houdini, drank hooch with Bonnie and Clyde.

Wouldn't be here, in this moment, with Wyatt.

If this strange new world she found herself in had taught her anything, it was that it was impossible to figure out what changing the past did. Some things were simply fate. You could change the cause, change the timeline, and it would still happen.

In the end, this was a useless train of thought. There was no going back, not now. Like she told Wyatt, it was time to focus on the present, and all the challenges that came with it.

They were literally out to save the world.

For a second, she had a shiver of desperate nostalgia for the life where she just gave lectures about Lyndon Johnson's genitals.

But then she rolled over, met Wyatt's impossibly blue eyes, and knew that her choice was already made. He had the courage to be here, to move forward.

The least she could do was be here with him.

Abruptly, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. Hard.

He smirked. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" His thumb swept across her bottom lip.

"I need a reason?" she demanded, but returned his grin. "Just…just thank you, I guess."

His eyes grew serious. "Lucy, I'm in this as much as you are, even if it was originally for different reasons. You don't need to thank me." Then his tone changed. "However, if you, you know, feel the need to thank me in this particular manner again, I probably won't object."

She swatted at his chest. Still, she was grateful that she had this one moment, one light-hearted memory to hold onto. She had a feeling that instances of humor were going to be scarce in the future.

"Ready?" she asked, finally sitting up.

"Ready," he replied, following her lead.

"Okay," she said, very calmly. "Let's go save the world."