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Title: To Lucy With Love
Fandom: Timeless
Rating: General
Word Count: 2460
Pairings: Lucy Preston/Garcia Flynn
Warnings: None
Summary: Lucy wrote a journal to give to Flynn. And in another time and place, he writes back.
AN: Written for Chocolate Box as a gift for Rosecake

The whole fic on AO3

The first time Garcia Flynn saw Lucy Preston he felt no premonition of what she would mean to him. Then his mind had been too muddled by grief and drink to notice anything more than a pale oval of a face with dark eyes which looked at him with a strange urgency and a sadness as bottomless as his own. She kissed his cheek with an odd familiarity, but he would probably have forgotten her anyway, had he not woke up, still drunk in his cheap motel room, with his hand clasped around the battered volume of the diary she had given him. And because he did not dare to go out in the daylight and had the choice of inane television shows or the book in his hand for entertainment, he read. As soon as he saw the word, Rittenhouse, he forgot anything else, and read it through, flickering the pages in search of more information of this word he was sure was the source to all the terrible things which had happened to him.

He read quickly, scanning the pages for the one word Rittenhouse; eagerly drinking in everything the diary said about it. The rest, musing which seemed to be about the strange woman’s personal life, he only skimmed. At first, the content made him baffled, then he thought Lucy Preston must be crazy. She had written an elaborate fantasy and given it to him. Perhaps she was one of those delusional women who fell in love with criminals and the diary was some kind of bizarre and elaborate courtship. But that didn’t explain how she could have found him, and how she knew about Rittenhouse. And despite the fantastic and strange things she wrote about, she didn’t sound mad.

He checked her out, of course. She was easy to find on the Web; a history professor who seemed to live a perfectly ordinary life. He recognized her at once though there was something about the pictures of her which differed greatly from the woman he had met. It nagged at him so much he decided to see her in person, despite the danger. It was easy to attend one of her lectures; he slipped into a seat at the back. He didn’t really listen to what she said, but only watched her, drinking in the nervous energy she radiated and the passion her voice held, but he could still not figure out what made her so different. When the lecture ended he hung back, waiting for the students to finish their questions, and when she was leaving, he stepped up to her. Lucy’s eyes met his briefly, then her gaze slipped away without recognition when someone greeted her by name. And he had left, shaken. It wasn’t just how Lucy’s eyes had been without pain; she looked much younger too. However way he looked at it when he had met her in the bar she been an older woman than she was now.

He read the diary again, this time actually believing what it said. Then he read it again and again until he knew every word about Rittenhouse by heart. And a plan formed in his mind. It filled him with no joy, but if he could save his family nothing else mattered. For some time he was so immersed in bringing his plans to fruition he felt no need to read it again, but he was always carrying it with him; always aware there were more of Lucy’s thoughts in it. One day he picked it up again, this time focusing on what he had previously only skimmed.

Now he noticed how Lucy’s feelings changed. Her first words directed to him was curt and reluctant; she wrote unwilling because she had realised she must. Then, slowly, the tone grew warmer, words written for a friend, and, close to the end, she wrote with love. At first, when he noticed the hints he and Lucy would grow close, he could only feel anger. How dared she, this unknown woman, imply he could ever feel anything else than rage and grief again? He even toyed with the idea of killing her, only to prove her wrong. But then she could not write the journal he held in his hand. Still, the very idea sparked a need to talk with her. He had never written a journal before, but as it was impossible to speak directly to Lucy, writing was the only thing he could turn to.

Your journal exasperates me at times. You write a lot about what happened in the past, but so little of what is still my future. You say you wish I would take another path, but you don’t say what I should do instead. I can see no other road than the one I walk. You write you dare not tell me too much, because you still believe in free will and that we do not set our destinies in stone, and you fear telling me too much will bring on too much change. I wonder why you think it’s a good idea to tell me I will love you. Perhaps because you wish I will not, but that is not the feeling I get from you.

-----

You met me for the first time tonight. To talk with you for the first time was a strange feeling. I feel like I know you so well, but for you, I’m an enemy. I’m not sure what I can do to change your mind, because I know you can only look at my actions with revulsion. I don’t think that will ever really change, but I think you will understand one day.

-----

When I first read about Amy, I wondered why. Why write about something so close to your heart for a stranger, but I think I understand now. I’m not among those who has forgotten her, because I first learned about her in your diary. Through you I know Amy as she was; a living human being with both good and bad sides. I know what she looked like from your drawings, and I know how much you loved her. It must be frightening and lonely for you to grieve her when no one else does. You can’t share your grief with those who don’t know anymore what they have lost. But you are not alone; I know her now, and I mourn her as well. I hope you will bring her back. And if something happens to you, the memory of your sister will not be gone as long as I remember.

-----

I had not thought about my brother for many years, Lucy, not until I learned about Amy. He was never real for me as he died before I was born. But he was always there anyway, a ghost in my mother’s smile and her sadness never left her. I understand my mother now; as she I have held my dead child in my arms. I can’t describe the enormity of that loss, and when you helped me remember my brother I decided to save him.

And now I have a brother. I don’t remember him; perhaps we were close, but I can never find out. I will never know him, and I will never learn if he thinks of me with anger, sadness or love. But I’m sure it made my mother a happier woman than she is in my memories.

-----

Sometimes I wish you had met me when I was still a good man. Every time I meet you that wish grew stronger. I didn’t think it would hurt when you look at me with distrust, but it does. For good reasons, I know, but I long to be met with the same warmth you give your friends.

---

I never truly believed you when you said I would love again. But what I felt when David Rittenhouse threatened you angered me in a way I’ve never felt before. You may think I enjoy murder, but I don’t. Not until David Rittenhouse anyway. I knew then how precious you are and how much I want to protect you. But I live in a rage, and when you stepped between me and that Rittenhouse boy, you angered me as well. I felt like I was so close to achieving my goals and then you stood there and told me I was better than that. Don’t you see? I’m not. Would a decent man have forced you with him? I can’t forget how fragile your wrist felt under my grip, and how you shrank back from me when I pushed you into the time machine. My anger abated then, and I wanted to tell you I would never hurt you. But I could only see terror in your eyes, and how bruises were already forming on your skin, and the words died on my lips. I had already hurt you and whatever I said would only sound like lies in your ears. I have little room for regrets in my life but wish I had not done that. I never wanted to scare you. Not you.

-----

For a long time, I thought you betrayed me. After everything you had written, and after persuading me to go with your plan, I thought we were on the verge on something new. That your feelings for me had finally warmed, and when I gave me the journal your smile was warm and friendly. And then the soldiers came, and I felt a bitter fury over the way you had fooled me. But you have a lot of time alone with your thoughts in prison, and doubt crept in. And when you came, when I finally stood eye to eye with you again, I know you had been betrayed too.

-----

It’s so strange to be here with you. To talk with you every day and finally getting to know you. It’s good too; more than good. I understand the wariness the others feel for me, but you don’t feel it and it makes me happy. I’m not used to that feeling; it feels strange and a little awkward to find joy in my life again.

-----

It’s petty, I know, but every time we meet strangers who think you are my wife, not Wyatt’s, I feel a small surge of triumph.

---—

I never liked Wyatt. Perhaps I should have felt a connection; after all, we have both lost our wives to murder, but I didn’t. Not he either- our contempt is mutual. And now, because he makes you suffer, but dislike is turning to hate.

-----

I still reach for my wife in my dreams, but she is never there. Awake I think of you. Of the pride, I felt when you fell asleep in my bed because I knew then you trusted me. But I also think about how it would feel to sleep beside you, and to wake up with you in my arms. I wonder how your naked skin would feel against mine. Sometimes I think it may even happen. Do you know when you give me your smile, it’s a smile no one else is gifted with; not even Wyatt. There is something between us Lucy which is unlike anything else. An understanding I never experienced with anyone, I know you don’t love me, but one day I think you may.

-----
I’m leaving now, and if I succeed, you will have Rufus back. It’s a pleasing thought, but it was not my first idea. I wish it had been, but I’m not a good man. I will tell you what I wanted to even if it makes you think less of me. Why? Perhaps because I can at least die an honest man if not an honourable one.

I thought of killing Wyatt. It would have been easy to make it look like an accident or enemy fire. A bullet can go wrong so easily in a heated moment. And without Wyatt and Rufus, you would have turned to me, I know you would. And you would be mine. Only you wouldn’t be, not truly. You don’t belong to anyone, and I have no right to shape your life. And I couldn’t bear to see in your smile the same hidden pain I used to see in my mother’s. The pain I see in my own eyes in the mirror. So I’m leaving instead.

Live well, Lucy and be happy.


He hid the diary in the Lifeboat. Then it wouldn’t change, and sooner or later it would be found. He supposed Lucy would let Wyatt read it, but it didn’t matter. Now when the decision was made, he felt strangely content.

The knowledge his body would tear itself apart had not prepared him how terrible it would be. He had been sure it would be easy to kill Jessica Logan, but his strength and skills almost deserted him. But he did it, and then the only thing he had left to do for Lucy was to send the Lifeboat back to her.

To see his family alive and happy was both worse and better than he had imagined. Their smiles and happy faces; his own happy faces, unaware of the terrors which lay ahead. For a moment it tempted him to burst in, to warn them. But he would only send them into a panic, and there was no guarantee they would believe him.

He got himself to the sea before his last strength abandoned him. The salt-laden wind seemed to blow away some of the foggines in his mind. He slipped the wedding band from his finger; it wouldn’t do to leave it to be found. It slid easily as if it knew it was time to go. He briefly closed his hand around it before he threw it away, it glittered faintly and was gone into the dark water. His hand felt oddly naked without the gold band he had carried for so many years, and lighter too. His heart felt light as well. He had said goodbye to his family now, and though he knew what was waiting for them, he was grateful his last memories of them was seeing them alive and happy. Now he could spend his last minutes thinking of Lucy. He sat down, his movements heavy and slow now, and leaned back against a rock. Everything hurt now, every breath a painful labour. He closed his eyes, too tired now to do anything else. The sounds of the waves breaking grow louder in his ears, and his mind was playing tricks with him because he could hear the sea calling his name. Then it transformed into Lucy’s voice and with effort, he opened his eyes. The simple movement was too much for him, the world around darkened as he fell into unconsciousness, but not before a last glimpse of Lucy’s white face before the darkness claimed him.
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