Hiya Timeless dwellers! I post most things on AO3 these days, but I figured I'd post my fics here as well. This is one of the first fics I wrote for Timeless. It's obviously written before the season finale, but that's fairly obvious.

If you want to find me on tumblr you find me under the username deckerprestonsmoak (can you guess my fandoms?). Hope you enjoy this little fic

The first time it happens she should have seen it coming. After months of chasing each other like a cat and mouse, alternating roles and blurring lines of who was the good guy and who was the bad guy it became, in some way, inevitable. Each trip seemed to chip away at the dichotomy of right and wrong that had set them on this journey in the first place. The antagonist of their story, a time-terrorist threatening the fabric of their reality, turned out to be a grieving father. A scared dog backed into a corner deciding to bite back.

They both knew that they were doing wrongs, justifying it with an ideology that felt more and more like an ill-fitting boot. But like a hamster stuck in the wheel they kept going. No matter how much Wyatt claimed that she had a choice in what she did she believed him less each time they strapped themselves into the lifeboat. Even if she believed in protecting history it was getting to her. Seeing people get shot, killed, and have their lives ruined before her eyes wasn't the same as reading about it. A death in a textbook was an event that possibly had a ripple effect to another event. It wasn't blood on her dress, or screams ringing in her ears.

She thought that she could separate them as historical figures in her mind, but she couldn't anymore. They were all alive once, and she'd seen them live and breathe.

This time it was the 1930s, and they'd once again reluctantly teamed up with Garcia Flynn and his men. It had ended up being an unsuccessful attempt at infiltrating the mafia to get intel needed to both preserve history and to be able to take a strike at Rittenhouse. In the quick escape from the restaurant she had been separated from Wyatt and Rufus, fleeing into the back door of a building and hiding in a scrub.

It was in there with her ear pressed against the door that she realized that she was alone with Garcia. They'd been alone once before. Just 40 years in the past in Chicago he'd helped her out of and in the corset, watching her sleep restlessly for just minutes at a time unable to stay awake but unable to stay asleep. That had been months ago, a nearly forgotten memory which she recalled with a shudder; yet it wasn't as horrible as it should have been. He was abrasive and rude, determinate to get what he wanted. Despite his threats that she was now expendable there was never a moment she actually believed he'd harm her. After months she'd come to understand that for whatever reason that probably had to do with her diary... he would not, could not, kill her.

At first she felt his warm breath fan over her neck, still rapid and shallow after running. It pulled her attention away from whatever could have been going on on the other side of the door to the prickling of her skin. Suddenly all too aware of his massive form behind her, of the tight space they were in that had them nearly pressed up against each other. It halted her own breathing as she had to swallow against the lump in her throat.

They stood there in silence for minutes, neither moving in any direction to get closer or to get away. His breaths evened out, became deeper and slow as he seemed to drink her in. For some reason her own lungs copied his, waiting for him to do something. Anything. She wanted to look over her shoulders to try to understand what he was thinking, but she stood still staring at the closed door instead.

Then he leaned forward, his nose just barely tickling her neck as he savored her scent. It was nothing like his wife's, but somehow it was just as good. Just as intoxicating. And she, despite knowing that she should know better leaned back into him, opening up her neck to him as she took one long deep breath.

With soft kisses along her neck he moved his hands to her waist, across her stomach, slowly exploring the planes and curves of her body. It sent electric chills through her body, and that primal part of her brain told the rational part to shut up. Burying her fingers in his hair as she kept his head where it was, his mouth licking and sucking at her pulse that was picking up more by the second.

Thankful for the looser skirts of the 30s, and the minimal layers compared to other centuries, he lifted the front of her dress his large hands finding themselves between her legs. Involuntarily her hips pushed against his hand, her own hand resting above his.

His breath was harsh against her neck now, his hand following her guided motions as he pressed himself up against her. She could feel him grow harder, her body instinctively knowing what was about to happen and a small whimper at the thought escaped her mouth.

Neither needing more prompting they fumbled to find the edges of her underwear pulling them down — out of the way, and he with the buttons of his tall pants.

He filled her with one fluid motion, pressing her up against the door. The fullness was almost uncomfortable, it had been too long since her last relationship in her own timeline, but as he moved with a few long languid moves she soon forgot about it.

"Flynn…" she said breathlessly, pressing herself back against him.

"Lucy." She could hear the smirk in his voice. "You're gonna have to be quiet," he whispered in her ear.

"Uh huh." She nodded vigorously, biting her lip to stop a whining noise from escaping her. "Faster," was all she said instead. He chuckled in reply, but complied.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if she made noises or not, the door was not sturdy enough to stand against him fucking her up against it. It creaked and whined like old doors did, rattling on the hinges. But it did stay closed.

His fingers worked against her, and it surprised her how fast the warmth and blindness washed over her. She shuddered in his arms, and would've collapsed had he not been there to hold her up still. It was fast, and he wasn't far behind her either, marking his release with a strained groan into her neck.

It was in the immediate awkwardness that followed that she found herself in her body again. Unable to figure out exactly how they got there, and what led to what, she pulled up her underwear with a strained cough.

"That was weird," she said, echoing the thoughts in her head. She looked him over and he seemed equally shocked at the turn of events. "We're obviously not going to… we're going to pretend this never happened, right?"

"Right, of course." He finished buttoning his pants and looked at his wrist watch. "We should be in the clear now."

When they met up with Rufus and Wyatt and their rendezvous they seemed none the wiser about what had happened, only concerned with what took them so long. It was easy to wave it off as needing to take a longer route to shake the mafia guys off. Lucy's pink cheeks could easily be explained as exertion from running.

The second time was months later in the infant years of the United States in a cabin where the walls did little to offer shelter from the wind that howled outside. She had known before arriving that they'd get stuck in this storm, but there was no other option than to run right into it. Flynn did not have the same knowledge of the time, blindsided by it and forced to seek refuge with them in the cabin.

New York had been the last time they'd been alone together, or spent any length of time in each other's company. The cat and mouse chase had continued, and Flynn had always been ahead of them but still managed only minimal damage to history. With him across from her at the table it was difficult knowing where to look. What if they shared a look and Rufus and Wyatt figured it. While not the most perceptive they certainly were not dumb. Did the awkwardness scream we had sex, or was it just what it felt like to Lucy.

"We need firewood," Wyatt had said eventually, glancing out into the grey day. "When did you say the wind was going to get bad?"

"I didn't," Lucy confessed. "If the accounts I read were accurate we have until nightfall. Then all we can do is hope this cabin holds."

Wyatt gave Flynn a weary once over. "You'll come with me." It was a command, not a request.

"No, he stays," Lucy said. "He won't hurt me, but you however…" she gave Flynn the same look that Wyatt had given him, "I don't want to place any bets."

"Fine." He sounded anything but. "We'll be back."

When night had fallen and Rufus and Wyatt still hadn't returned she broke the uneasy silence as she paced the floor back and forth. She could no longer see out the window if they were out there in the distance. The last she'd seen or heard from them was as they set off into the woods to find dry fallen branches to burn.

"We have to go out there and look for them," she said, pausing her pacing to face the door as if expecting it to open and reveal Rufus and Wyatt.

"And put ourselves in danger too? That sounds like a terrible plan." She glared at him.

"You don't care if they are hurt, or die." She huffed and shook her head. "You know, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, so I'd like a little sympathy at least for the danger and misery you've put us in." She wanted to start pacing again, but deciding that staying still and keeping her eyes on him would be more effective. Maybe it would actually get through to him this time.

"It's Rittenhouse that is the reason, not me. I'm out here trying to do the right thing." Underneath the low words was the anger that always simmered, ready to boil and lash out at whoever or whatever that was in its path. She could see it in his eyes. See the lightning that flashed behind them, see the raw wound being torn open once again.

"No this one is on you. We're stuck here in this storm because you were the one who came here, and Rufus, Wyatt, and me don't have a choice if we follow or not." She ran a hand through her hair, pulling more at the hairdo that was carefully put together in the 21st century and had little by little been ruined. "We could go to jail if we don't. I mean Wyatt he'd follow nearly any order, and Rufus' has to go to protect his family… and I have to go because if I don't my sister will forever be lost to another timeline, but you had no business coming to this time."

Flynn stood up from the table, stalking the few steps up to her with heavy boots hitting the floor. He stopped just a feet before her glaring down at her. Months ago she would've shrunk away, become scared at the menacing look on his face. But now she knew that his anger wouldn't hurt her. He could lash out at her, but never actually hurt her.

"The diary told me a lot of things about you Lucy," he said as his expression softened. "It let me inside your mind and told me most of your deepest darkest secrets. I know about you being saved from drowning in the lake, and how your mother's illness and death changed you irrevocably. I know what you thought when you found out that your father wasn't actually your father, and I know things about you that you don't yet know…." he trailed off, watching emotions ping across her face as she thought about what he was saying. "What it could never tell me was your personality. Did you know that you are very demanding Lucy? I mean that in a good way, but you are very… challenging."

"Can't take a woman who stands up for herself?" She cocked her head.

He chuckled. "You remind me a lot about my wife, in that way." She had expected anger to boil up at the memory, but he seemed to soften even more. It wasn't at all something she had dealt with before, or knew how to deal with either. She frowned at him, taking a few steps back until her back was against the wall.

"But you killed her." She knew in her heart it wasn't true. All that she had learnt about Rittenhouse was enough, she no longer needed to be convinced by him. But it was one of those truths that held on even when it had been demented, it was a truth that needed to be real to justify this chase through time.

The anger that had dissipated blew up again, just as she predicted. Barely a second later he was in front of her again, backing her up further against the wall, pinning her with a furious glare that made her question her certainty that he would not hurt her.

"Do not play with me Lucy," he growled, one hand reaching forward as if to grab her, but instead finding her wall. "You know very well who killed my wife and my daughter." His voice broke at the mention of his daughter.

"Do I?" She glared right back into his eyes, forcing herself to not flinch away from him, or avert her eyes as his jaw flexed. "Honestly Flynn I don't think I know anything anymore except that I've seen you kill indiscriminately from the moment our paths converged." His head shook, barely visible but still drenched in disappointment and anger. "You took my sister from me, so what am I supposed to believe?"

"You are supposed to open your eyes Lucy. You've seen what Rittenhouse does, who they are and that they are a threat to all of us." He was close enough she could taste his breath.

"I've also seen what you do," she spat back. Anger at him was what she had left. She had tried to let go of it in the past but it left her in places where all that was left was spiraling. Hating Rittenhouse might be right, but she could do nothing about it. She couldn't run away and hide like Flynn could, they all had lives to return to back in the 21st. When they returned they returned to Homeland security and risked treason charges if they cooperated with Flynn and his agenda. Anger was the only thing keeping her on track.

The anger echoed in him, and he slammed his fist against the wall, and this time she flinched.

"What are you going to do?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you going to hurt me too now?" She searched his eyes for an answer, but could find none.

Suddenly his lips were on hers. Bruising, demanding, almost punishing. Her body relaxed against his, as if saying finally, and her mouth opened to his, inviting him in. Their tongues brushed against each other as he pressed her up against the wall.

This time there were more skirts, and he searched for the hem frantically as her arms wrapped around him fisting his hair and the back of the shirt he was wearing. He was inside her quicker than she thought he could be with all the fabric between them, pinning her against the wall with his chest and hips.

He set a punishing pace promising tell-tale aches come morning for her. But in that moment she didn't care, she opened herself up to him, her legs wrapping around his hips as he pulled her up. She held onto him, clung to him almost. All that could be heard in the cabin was the whining of the wind, the wet slapping of skin against skin, and her breathless moans and his grunts as slammed into her again and again.

It felt like forever and no time at all when his hips jerked and stilled inside of her, burying himself as deep inside of her as he could.

Despite the anger she felt towards him, justified and not, she slumped against him. She smoothed the hair of his neck down as their breathing evened out. He remained inside of her, but to anyone on the outside looking in it would seem almost innocent, two lovers embraced in a comforting hug. She was reminded of her own mother brushing her neck like she was doing to him, and remembered doing it to her own baby sister when she was a baby.

That was enough to jerk her out of whatever moment she had lost herself in, and started to detangle from him. She was reminded by Rufus and Wyatt who were still out there in danger and felt a pang of guilt for having sex with Flynn, their enemy for a lack of a better word, instead of being on the look-out for them.

"I need to freshen up…" she said, feeling the stickiness between her thighs and wondered if the room smelled like them. If they returned now would they be able to smell what they did, and would they be angry at her for it?

They had a basin with water standing behind a room divider, and she did her best to scrub her thighs clean with it. Without soap and a shower with good water pressure it didn't feel much better, but it was enough for now. In the morning when the storm had passed they would return to the 21st and she would take a long and hot shower to wash herself of Flynn.

Barely an hour later Rufus and Wyatt returned. Cheeks read from the strong wind, and arms empty of any fire wood. Not that it mattered anymore, the night was soon over, and with it the storm would slow down long enough for them to get back to their ships and return back.

"Thank god the two of you are back." Lucy flung herself in their arms, hugging them as tight as she did when she had escaped Flynn in 1890. "I thought you'd been hurt, or died… Thank god." She almost cried of relief.

When they parted ways in the morning Lucy told Flynn that what had happened that night would never happen again. That turned out to be a lie, because it would happen again, and again, in all centuries they traveled to.