It was barely two hours later that they stepped out of the Lifeboat into 1953. Rufus had run Christopher through what Lucy had told them and she had the Lifeboat prepared in record time. Something must have happened between them, Wyatt thought, something that brought them closer because Christopher was just as ready to jump at any chance to save Lucy as Wyatt or Rufus had been. He didn't really care beyond the fact that it had gotten them there quicker.

Rufus had managed to land them inside a disused aircraft hangar in what would become JFK International Airport. The clouds of dust that kicked up when they jumped out of the Lifeboat was enough to convince Wyatt that they probably wouldn't be disturbed here.

"December 9th 1953, 10:36PM," Rufus announced.

"According to Lucy's journal, Flynn should be by the East River around 6pm tomorrow," Wyatt said as he flicked through the pages of the book.

He'd found the letter when he was looking for the entry on Gelding, a small innocuous envelope with his name written in Lucy's combination print/cursive script. It had taken a lot of willpower not to open it as soon as it had slipped from the notebook but he remembered his promise. He'd tucked it safely into one of the storage compartments of the Lifeboat, ready for him when they bring Lucy back home.

"We should see if we can find Gelding's bookshop. That'll give us a place to start."

"I'm gunna have to steal another car, aren't I?" Rufus sighed. Wyatt grinned and clapped the pilot on the shoulder as they made their way out into the past.

Brooklyn was as full of life in 1953 as it was in 2016; even this late at night, the streets were crowded with people coming home from a night out or searching for a bar they haven't been kicked out of yet, cars rolled along the road splashing rainwater under their whitewalls and lovers huddled for warmth and protection from the elements in alcoves and alleyways. It was dirty, the streets littered with refuse and the air clogged with exhaust fumes and smoke from the barrel fires of the homeless, but it was alive.

Rufus managed to 'procure' them a car from the airport parking lot and they began making their way toward the river. It took them a while, the city was by no means small and the twists and turns of the roads weren't familiar to either of them, made even more alien by the minimal street lights and unknown landmarks, but eventually they found their way to Gelding's Bargain Books. It was right on the waterfront, like Lucy said. It was a small store with an apartment above crammed between a warehouse of some kind and a trading company's office. There weren't any lights on and the door was locked. A sign on the door claimed 'TRADING HOURS: 9AM-6PM MON-SAT'.

"We could break in," Rufus suggested slowly. It always amazed Wyatt how much he'd changed since they first met just a few months ago. That the timid scientist who had once balked at the idea of even setting foot in the Lifeboat was now openly suggesting breaking into someone's house was both funny and sad to him. Rufus should never have had to abandon his morals like that.

"No. We're not here for Gelding; we only need him to lead us to Flynn," Wyatt decided. "Is there a hotel around here somewhere?"

"I saw one a few blocks back."

They left their stolen car by the bank of the river and walked back to the hotel. The steward was happy to book them a room with two beds.

"It's the holidays, you see," he explained, "lots of couples staying but nobody wants to doubles!"

"Oh yeah, it's almost Christmas, isn't it?" Rufus blinked. The man smiled sympathetically.

"Been a busy month, has it?" he asked.

"You have no idea."

The room was simple, two single beds, an armchair by the window and a small coffee table. Rufus dropped onto one of the beds and asked,

"So how does this guy end up in the river anyway?"

Wyatt flipped through to the right page in the journal.

"Apparently, he's a drinker. Went for a stroll by the water and fell in. He hit his head on the way down and would have drowned if Flynn hadn't saved him," he read.

"That makes our job easier, I guess. All we have to do is keep Flynn away from the water long enough to for a man to die," he huffed and flopped onto his back staring at the ceiling. Wyatt looked at his friend sadly. Even with compromised morals Rufus had trouble standing by and letting a man die. Wyatt felt the same but…

"He's going to kill someone and sell their work to the Soviets. He'll betray his country and try to make us lose the Cold War," he said quietly. Rufus sighed and closed his eyes.

"I know but that doesn't make it any easier."

Wyatt had nothing to say to that because he was right; nothing ever made watching someone die easier. He'd seen a lot during his tours and if there was one thing he was sure of it was that the weight of seeing death never gets easier to bare, you just get more used to ignoring it.

"Tomorrow morning we'll scout out the bookshop, find Flynn and by tomorrow night we'll have Lucy back."

"Yes sir," Rufus replied with a crooked smile. Wyatt shook his head.

"Get some sleep, Rufus."

As Wyatt threw himself down on the other bed he thought of the woman he had seen in that hospital bed and wondered what their Lucy would have to say about the stories she had to tell.

He grinned. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to that.

Watching Arthur Gelding go about his day was one of the single most boring assignments Wyatt had ever had. He had gotten up before dawn and found a nice nook by the base of the Manhattan Bridge to watch the bookshop from. Gelding had stumbled home, clearly shitfaced, at around 6AM. He'd gone upstairs and passed out but true to his word, the store was open at 9.

Wyatt had wandered in and pretended to browse for a while just to see what this man was like. He was short and round, beer belly seeming to have migrated to just about everywhere. His hair was mousy, matching his narrow eyes, long nose and overbite. He was quiet, more worried about nursing his hangover than talking to any customers that happened to come in, but nothing about him screamed murder and treason. Then again, Wyatt knew better than to judge someone by the appearance they displayed to the outside world.

It was close to four in the afternoon when he spotted them. Flynn was striding purposefully down the street with Lucy trailing behind him and a second man at her back to force her forward. Wyatt's breath caught at the sight of her, his Lucy with hair that was still dark and no wrinkles in sight. She seemed worn, her hair frazzled and flyaway in its messy bun, clothes wrinkled and face pale. She seemed thinner than he remembered. Wyatt felt anger build in his stomach. What the hell had he been doing to her? She looked like she hadn't eaten properly in days!

It took a lot for Wyatt to hold his position, to not jump out, shoot Flynn and Lucy back then and there but he couldn't risk changing anything. The other Lucy had been adamant that Gelding had to drown in the East River tonight.

He watched as the group walked down the pier and paused in front of the bookshop. Flynn seemed to be speaking, gesturing to the building with one hand while the other held Lucy arm. Wyatt grit his teeth at the urge to break that hand. She appeared to be ignoring Flynn as much as possible. Wyatt felt kind of proud of her for the show of stubbornness. But Flynn must have told her who was inside because Lucy's head snapped around with frightening speed. She started speaking rapidly and at Flynn's reply she started struggling against his hold. He pulled her close and hissed into her face. She reeled back and slapped him with enough force to stagger him. The other man grabbed Lucy's hair and pulled her back. Flynn regained himself and called the man off. He grabbed Lucy's chin, tipping her face up to his and snarled at her. She didn't answer him. Flynn let her go and started walking again, the other man gave Lucy a rough shove and followed.

Wyatt watched the whole exchange with his hands balled into fists at his side. Just two more hours. Two more hours and Flynn would be dead and Lucy would be back home safe. He waited until they had vanished further down the docks before he left his hiding place to go find Rufus.

They were getting her back tonight.

Rufus had managed to find them a few more guns while Wyatt was keeping watch. Luckily, Christopher had thought to include gun licenses with their papers this time and it was an easy matter to walk into a gun shop and purchase two pistols and a rifle. Rufus was crouched in an open shipping container on the wharf with his gun drawn while Wyatt was planted on a vantage by the bridge sighting down his Springfield M1, finger rested lightly on the trigger.

It was past six now but Lucy's journal hadn't given a specific time. The sun had set an hour ago, winter claiming the light far earlier than usual. The air was cold and a light rain began to fall. The droplets were freezing against the ground, turning to a dangerous sleet.

It was almost ten minutes before Gelding started to make his way along the water's edge. Wyatt watched with detached interest as he made it five feet, ten, twenty. At twenty-five feet, his foot hit an icy patch. His drunken body couldn't compensate for the sudden shift. He toppled back, his calves catching on the low rope barrier sending him over. There was a loud thump as his skull caught on the wooden boards of the wharf. His body rolled bonelessly down into the icy water below.

Almost instantly Flynn appeared from down an alleyway and ran at a sprint toward the river. Wyatt turned with him, tracking him through the scope of his rifle. He released his breath. His finger twitched on the trigger. The crack of a bullet splitting the night air caught Flynn's attention just before it pierced his shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground.

Wyatt was up and moving before Rufus had even risen from his hiding place. When the soldier made it to the downed man, Rufus stood over him with his pistol pointed at his chest. He kept a few feet between them like Wyatt had told him knowing that Flynn was stronger than him and willing to fight dirty.

"How did you know where I was going to be?" Flynn gasped, his hand pressing painfully into his shoulder as he tried to staunch the bleeding. Wyatt pulled the journal from his waistband and held it out for him to see. Flynn's eyes widened at the familiar looking notebook.

"You left Lucy in 1971. She waited forty years to tell us how to stop you," Wyatt said coldly as he pressed the muzzle of his rifle against Flynn's sternum. The man's mouth gaped, eye locked on the book that had ruined his plans and led him here to his death.

"Hell hath no fury…" Rufus said with a tight smile.

"Did she even tell you who this was?" Flynn tried desperately, "She didn't, did she? She lied to-"

Bang!

Flynn's head snapped backwards, red spraying up from his temple and exploding from the base of his skull like a macabre Pollock painting of blood and brain matter. Wyatt stood with his gun held steady, steam rising from the barrel in the cold night air. Rufus just stared at the limp body by his feet.

"You just shot him…" His voice was numb as he forced the words out.

"Lucy doesn't deserve his lies," Wyatt told him simply. The image of that woman who had endured so much laying in a hospital bed waiting to die would be branded in his mind forever. He wouldn't let Flynn taint that image with his false words.

The sound of sirens started drifting in from the streets further down and Wyatt turned to Rufus.

"Gelding?"

The pilot ran to the barricade and looked down. He stared into the water for a few moments before returning with a brisk nod.

"Dead," he confirmed. "But how are we supposed to find Lucy without Flynn?" Wyatt tapped the notebook against Rufus' chest.

"She left us a map."

It took them less than thirty minutes to find the abandoned apartment building Flynn had been staying at. Wyatt could see Lucy through the window, sitting in a chair with her hands bound as a man walked circles around her, his fingers trailing across her shoulders. Her face was filled with disgust and her shoulders tightened every time he passed behind her.

Wyatt rested the butt of his gun against his shoulder and looked down the scope. Just when he was about to take the shot the man leant down and pressed his face right beside Lucy's. Wyatt cursed; he couldn't take the shot without hitting her.

He handed the Springfield to Rufus and pulled out his Beretta.

"You're going in there?" Rufus asked.

"Can't make the shot from out here." Wyatt nodded to the rifle. "You know how to use one of those?"

Rufus swallowed thickly and loaded a new round into the chamber before mimicking the stance Wyatt had taken, butt to shoulder and cheek to stock, eye looking down the sight. The soldier nodded approvingly and readjusted his hands on the weapon.

"You're backup. He comes through that door, you shoot. Got it?"

Rufus nodded. Wyatt squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as he made his way across the street and into the building. He almost couldn't believe how close they were. Lucy was only three floors up and Flynn was dead. This would be their last mission together.

He tried to convince himself that he didn't feel kind of sad about that. He had grown to like Lucy and Rufus and while he was happy that they wouldn't have to keep jumping through time after a maniac, he was going to miss them. He knew they would probably still stay friends after all was said and done, after all, who else could they talk to about all that they'd seen. But it wouldn't be the same.

He pulled himself up the last flight of stairs and cautiously pushed the door open. Wyatt winced at the obnoxious squeak it let out and waited to see if anyone had heard. The floor was silent but for the murmur of an old radio, or possibly a new one. Time travel, man. He stepped into the hall, gently testing the boards for noise as he made his way toward to noise. He reached the door and pressed his ear against it.

"…no Flynn and no soldier boy here to keep you safe this time," a muffled voice said. There was silence for a moment and then a yelp and a crash. "You bit me, you bitch!"

"I told you not to touch me," Lucy's replied and Wyatt felt something in his chest ease at the sound of her voice, just the way he remembers it. The distinctive sound of a safety being flicked off made it through the door.

Wyatt crashed through the door with his gun up and fired two shots. One grazed the man's arm, the other missing. He dove to the side and let off two shots of his own. Wyatt ducked back behind the doorframe. The bullets thunked into the timber and Wyatt span around again, let off another shot. This one caught the man in the thigh and he went down with a scream of pain.

"Wyatt!" Lucy cried in relief. He didn't respond, just stalked around the table and fired two rounds into the man's chest. When he was sure he was dead he turned back to the woman in the chair.

"Lucy," he breathed. He ran to her and cut her bindings quickly and grabbed her in a tight hug. "Thank God."

She clung to his shoulders tightly and he felt the quiet hitching of her breath against his neck as she nodded her agreement.

"How did you find me?" she whispered, not trusting her voice to speak louder. He pulled back slightly and brushed her hair out of her face, his eyes locked on her features. She was dirty and clearly tired but she still looked like he remembered.

"It's a long story. Right now, we've got to go; we weren't exactly quiet," he told her.

She nodded her understanding and Wyatt took her hand to lead her back out to where Rufus was waiting. The instant he saw her, he dropped the Springfield on the ground and wrapped her in a relieved hug.

"It's so good to see you," he grinned.

"You too, Rufus," she smiled, tears sitting in her eyes. Wyatt let them have a moment but he had to interrupt when he heard sirens approaching.

"Come on, guys. Let's go home."

"Wait, so it was only a week for you?" Lucy asked as they made their way back into the hanger at JFK.

"Yeah. The other Lucy said it was a month for you, right?" Rufus asked. He was finding the whole idea of the different timelines fascinating.

"He left me in Paris 1818 for two weeks when he first took me and then we jumped around Europe in the 1930s, not the safest place to be, might I add, before he brought me here. I have no idea what he was trying to do or why he took me in the first place."

"Well, maybe these'll help," Wyatt smirked and handed her two notebooks, one a battered brown and the other a bloodstained black.

"Are these…?" she asked as she cradled them cautiously.

"The other Lucys' journals. I lifted that one off Flynn's body before we came to find you. Thought you might find it interesting."

She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes but nodded. Wyatt got it; it was always dangerous to know too much about your future and he'd just handed her two possibilities. What would those journals reveal to her, he wondered.

"What was she like? The old me?" she asked slowly. Wyatt thought of the woman he had seen so briefly, so like Lucy and so not. He couldn't keep the sad remembrance from his face.

"Tired," he answered. He shook his head to bring himself back to the present and smirked. "Much like me. Let's go home."

They clambered up into the Lifeboat and Wyatt took great pleasure in tightening Lucy's harness like he always did. She smiled warmly at him and leant back, secure in the knowledge that they'd be home soon and they had their team back together.

Wyatt stepped down out of the Lifeboat first to the complete silence of the Mason Industries hangar. Everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on him, their breath held and eyes hopeful. He smirked to Christopher and turned, arm held up. Lucy stepped out and took his hand to help her down. The bay erupted in cheers and applause. She blushed lightly as she made it to the ground and Wyatt squeezed her fingers for a moment, letting go as Jiya ran forward to wrap her in a hug.

Christopher walked forward and welcomed Lucy home then turned to Wyatt.

"So, the mission was a success?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Flynn is dead," he reported. Christopher nodded approvingly. "What about Lucy?" he asked. She stared at him blankly.

"What about her? She's home safe, I imagine she'll want to go home and see her mother-"

"No, the other Lucy, the Lucy from '71," he corrected. Christopher shook her head slowly.

"I'm sorry, Sargent Logan, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"So it worked," Rufus said as he clambered down from the Lifeboat, "Lucy never got stranded in 1971 and she disappeared from this timeline."

"I guess so," Wyatt smiled. She got what she wanted; she didn't have to die and Lucy will get to live a real life.

"It sounds like we need to have a talk," Christopher said, her eyes skating between the two of them before she looked over her shoulder at the haggard Lucy who was still receiving well wishes from everyone. "But it will have to wait. Lucy needs to get checked over and you two need to rest up before your next mission."

"Wait," Wyatt called, "Next mission? Flynn's dead."

"Yes," she agreed, "but given recent events we can assume that Anthony is not a hostage but was working with Flynn and he still has the Mothership."

A weight settled low in his stomach. Of course they forgot about Anthony and the Mothership. How could they have been so stupid?

"And Wyatt," Christopher continued, "please call your wife; she said you missed dinner with her parents and she sounded quite upset."

Wyatt's head snapped up so fast he was surprised his neck didn't break.

"Wife?" he breathed. Christopher's eyes widened.

"You were married in this other timeline, right?" she asked with concern.

"Excuse me," he breathed and pushed through the crowd. Rufus was calling his name behind him but he didn't stop until he reached the lockers off from the wardrobe dock. He dropped onto a bench as the words rattled around inside his mind.

Jess was here. Jess was alive. How? He couldn't think of anything that they'd done that would…

"Promise me you'll read it but only after you save her. Once everything is done and you've all made it back home safe, read it."

He ripped the letter from his pocket and opened it only slow enough that he wouldn't tear it.

Wyatt,

I lied to you. I know this isn't the first thing you want to hear after you get back but it's the truth. The man I sent you after, the man that you were supposed to let die, didn't kill anybody. After Flynn saved him, Arthur Gelding married his sweetheart, a jazz singer from a bar downtown. They had three children, twin sons and a daughter. The daughter, Abigail died in childbirth in 1977. The eldest son, James was killed in a robbery two years later. Their last child was named John and in 1984, he married Rebecca Olson and had a son of his own that they named Jim after John's brother. When John died of cancer in 1994, Jim took his mother's name.

On July 16th 2013, Jim Olson was walking home late at night. He was as fond of alcohol as his grandfather had been and with twice the temper. He saw a woman walking along the road alone. She seemed upset. He tried to pick her up but when she refused, he became enraged. He grabbed her by the neck and strangled her to death. He panicked and carried her body off into the woods.

The next morning, he remembered none of this but something must have remained because he quit drinking afterwards.

If the mission went as it was supposed to, Arthur Gelding died in 1953. He never married and he never had John. John never met Rebecca and Jim was never born. Jessica should be alive.

I told you before, Wyatt. You're a good man and you deserve to be happy. Jessica is your happiness and just as you freed me from the sadness of the life I lived under Flynn, I'm giving you back the life that you deserve.

Love Jessica and smile. I always thought you had a beautiful smile.

Thank you,

Lucy.

Wyatt couldn't stop the tears on his face if he tried. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he pulled his phone from the locker behind him and dialled the number that he knew by heart. His breath shook in and out of his chest as the call rang and rang. He almost lost hope but at last it picked up.

"And where the hell have you been?" a stern, beautiful, angry, angelic voice growled through the line. Wyatt laughed. He couldn't stop the rasping, pained laugh. She was there, at home, waiting for him. "Wyatt?" she asked, her voice concerned now.

"I'm here," he gasped.

"Here where?" she wondered, the worry still in her voice but the anger creeping back in. "You promised to have dinner with mom and dad last night."

"A last-minute mission came up," he explained as he tried to calm his voice but every word out of her mouth threatened to send him back over the edge.

"Well, at least call and tell me that! We waited in the restaurant for an hour," she huffed. "When are you coming home?"

"Soon," he promised, "I just have to do something first."

"Get off the phone, then! The sooner you do whatever it is you need to do the sooner I can beat your ass for skipping out on me," she threatened. Wyatt let out a wet laugh. God, he'd missed her.

"I love you," he told her, the words sticking in his throat but he forced them out, needed to say them.

"I love you too," she replied warmly. "Now get to work!" The phone line clicked as she hung up and Wyatt had to spend the next few minutes convincing himself that she would be there when he got home, that the disconnected call wasn't Jess disappearing into the ether and leaving him all alone again.

He sat there staring at the phone until his breathing got back under control and his eyes drifted over the letter. He stood and ran from the room. He pounded down the hallway to the women's change room and threw the door open without pausing. Lucy was there pulling a fresh shirt over her head. She stared at him surprised.

"Wyatt?" she asked, "Are you oka-" But before she could finish he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She tentatively settled her arms around his waist and rubbed his back comfortingly. "What's wrong?" she asked, feeling the tremor in his limbs.

"Thank you," he whispered softly, "Thank you so much."

"Wyatt, I don't know what you mean," she frowned.

"I know," he laughed, "But thank you anyway."

"Then, you're welcome, I guess," she said with a confused smile. He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by his display. "And thank you, Wyatt. You came to get me, just like I knew you would. Thank you."

"Like I would ever leave you behind," he smirked. She shook her head with a laugh.

"Go home and get some sleep, Wyatt. From what Jiya told me, you need it," her sharp eyes glanced over his unshaven face, dark circles and dishevelled hair. He shrugged in a 'what can you do' fashion. "And it sounds like they're going to want us back sooner than we thought, what with the Mothership still out there."

"We're not getting out of this any time soon," he mumbled.

"Guess not," Lucy replied tiredly. "But at least we know what we're up against." She tapped the notebooks on the bench behind her.

"We've got the playbook," he grinned. If they knew exactly where Anthony was supposed to be-

"That's assuming Anthony follows the same schedule Flynn was going to," Lucy thought. "I mean, in this journal Flynn isn't dead. So doesn't that mean we've already changed the way things are going to play out?"

"Yeah," he agreed, "but Anthony still wants to destroy Rittenhouse so if that journal can tell us its members-"

"-Then he's bound to show up eventually," Lucy finished. "We can get him on the run."

"All we have to do is wait for him to take the Mothership out."

"Just like old times," Lucy smiled and Wyatt returned it.

"Get some sleep, Lucy, and get something to eat; it looks like Flynn didn't feed you at all."

"Goodnight, Wyatt."

"Night," he waved as he left.

Everything was back the way it should be; Lucy was home and safe and not 70 years old, Jessica was alive and waiting for him. It was almost perfect. Now they only had to stop Anthony and he wasn't really a threat. The man was a scientist that had been held under the thumb of a madman. They could finish this quickly and then they would get to return to their normal, one time period lives.

But for now, Wyatt didn't want to think about that. His wife was waiting for him at home, alive and well and still in loving him despite his ridiculous jealousy. He was going to go home and hold her, kiss her, tell her he loved her and he'd deal with time machines and insanity tomorrow.

For now, he'd been given a chance to live again and he was taking it with both hands.