I wish that I could fall asleep at night
Instead of wondering why I never get it right
So much swirling up inside my head
Of what I didn't do or what I should've said
I don't hate you, I don't hate you
I just hate how much I don't hate you
-Ingrid Michaelson, Hate You
Lucy had been readying herself all day to see Flynn again, but nothing could have prepared her to see him walking bold as brass straight into Benedict Arnold's sitting room - the very room George Washington had trapped them inside and had heavily armed guards stationed at each exit. She didn't even waste time on wondering how he'd wormed his way in here.
Flynn raised his gun, joined by Wyatt in an instant.
"Easy, easy!" Flynn told him as though he was an overexcited dog. "I got a man in the next room. If shots go off in here, he shoots Washington."
"You're bluffing." Wyatt took aim.
"You're talking to the man who shot Lincoln. You really wanna take that risk?"
Lucy looked at him imploringly - she knew Flynn was right, and was glad to see Wyatt hesitate for all their sakes.
"Just put the gun away." Flynn insisted, and with great effort, added; "I need your help."
"Our help?" Like hell she would help him. His eyes flickered to hers. She was pleased to see he looked nervous.
"The gun." He repeated. "Please? You really want to risk killing George Washington?"
"What the hell is this?"
"When he comes in, just nod and follow my lead. Or else, I'll let Washington hang you for treason." He stowed his gun away safely in his jacket. He looked somewhat sadly at Lucy.
"A truce." Flynn held out his hand, which she grasped gingerly. Even if she was furious at him and didn't want to give herself any opportunity to think about him that way, a small part of her still noted how warm and gentle his hands were. For God's sake.
"For now." Lucy nodded. He squeezed her hand gratefully and let go.
Wyatt was still unsteady on his feet, clearly undecided. Whatever the cost, they couldn't endanger George Washington. Time was ticking fast.
"Wyatt," she pleaded desperately. At that moment, the door opened - in a split second Wyatt made up his mind and hurriedly returned his gun to its pocket.
George Washington himself regarded them all from the doorway with beady eyes.
"Are you who this man says you are?" He asked, his voice deep and commanding.
Wyatt licked his lips nervously. "Well, that is a complicated question, Sir-" he floundered.
"Yes." Lucy cut in. "Yes, we are."
Their best chance was working with Flynn, she knew that, regardless of what had happened between them with Bonnie and Clyde. She wasn't stupid enough to let her hurt over his success at getting the Rittenhouse key prevent her from making the best decisions for the team.
"Mr Roe here says you're the best spies he's got in the Culper Ring."
Mr Roe... How typical of him.
"Yes, that's him. Mr Austin Roe. The renowned Prussian spy."
Flynn smirked at her from behind Washington's back. Jerk.
"Well, thank God for him. He's the one that warned me about Arnold's betrayal." He turned to smile at Flynn, who quickly looked down and willed his face into a neutral expression like a schoolboy hiding laughter from a teacher. "Though the bastard still slipped through our fingers."
Washington looked curiously to Rufus. "And you, you're a free man?"
"And a hell of a spy." Rufus stared him down. "I'm very unassuming."
Flynn, displeased by Washington's wandering attention, was keen to direct the conversation back to him.
"I'd like to tell them about the mission?" He looked to Washington.
"The mission?" Wyatt frowned at both of them.
"The four of you are to head into redcoat territory and capture Benedict Arnold."
Oh, is that all? Lucy cursed to herself. Of course, of course, Flynn had roped her into another one of his schemes. It would be mad to endanger Benedict Arnold, no matter how much of an internationally known dick (for want of a more elegant term) he was to become. Maybe the truce had been a bad idea.
"Say you were inspired by Arnold's example. You'll find him and bring him back. To justice." Washington regarded their sullen expressions and Lucy's glares towards Flynn and narrowed his eyes.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, no," Flynn assured him, cutting Lucy with his fierce gaze. "There's no problem. Right?"
"No. No, Sir." She ground out through her teeth.
"Bring him to me. Alive. I want to look him in the eye one last time before I hang him." Washington's voice was full of vengeance as he spun out the room and matched away from them, forcefully closing the door behind him. He was clearly a determined man who didn't take kindly to his pride being hurt. Who could that possibly remind her of?
"Why would he believe you're a spy?" Rufus challenged when he was sure Washington was out of earshot.
"Because," she answered for him, "even though George Washington trusted Roe, they never actually met face to face. So," She held her chin up and looked at Flynn. "Where is the real Austin Roe?"
"Dead in a ditch." He answered plainly.
"You're a bastard."
"What is all this, Flynn?" Wyatt snapped.
"I need Lucy."
Her eyes met his despite herself.
"She'll know how to find Arnold. She knows everything about him."
"Why?" Wyatt pressed on. "So you can help him?"
That was one of the worst scenarios she could imagine.
"Oh, I'm not going to help Arnold. But I'm not taking him back to Washington, either. I'm going to interrogate him, probably beat the hell out of him..."
"Interrogate him? About what?" Lucy pressed though she wasn't actually sure she wanted to know the answer.
"That key from Bonnie and Clyde opened an interesting door, or clock." Flynn tossed a small scroll onto the table.
"Oh, you mean the key you left me handcuffed on a bed for?"
"He what?" Wyatt's voice turned threatening. Damn - she'd forgotten she hadn't told them about that part. Or the kiss part. Or the sharing a bed part. Really, any part that involved her and Flynn doing anything other than talking to Bonnie and Clyde had been omitted from her report.
"Nevermind." Lucy said hurriedly and picked up the scroll. She could feel his eyes burning into her as she read it. The letter appeared normal, but in between the lines of words written in black ink, there were pale lines of secret writing, perhaps scrawled in lemon juice, that had been revealed with age.
"It's a letter from Benedict Arnold..." She frowned. "It says something about a Rittenhouse meeting. Are you telling me that Benedict Arnold was a member of Rittenhouse?"
"Wasn't just a member, he was a founding member. This is the year they began. This is our chance. We're going to kill Rittenhouse in the crib. We're going to stop them before they even get started."
Lucy refused to break his intense eye contact. He certainly made a passionate case, but trusting him felt out of the question.
"We can't talk about this," Rufus warned, going ignored by everyone.
"You're gonna hunt these people down and you want us to help you?" Lucy scoffed.
"We can't talk about this!" Rufus repeated, louder.
"Why?" Flynn snapped at him. "Because of your secret little recorder? What, you think I don't know?"
Flynn sighed exasperatedly at Rufus's shocked face.
"Okay, I'll make this easy for you. You help me, here, now, and I'll hand over the keys to the Mothership, all yours. After all, once Rittenhouse is gone, why would I keep taking these godforsaken trips?"
"You're talking about killing people, changing history."
"One last time and it's over. That, or you keep chasing me, and I change history a hundred more times. Or we can end this, Lucy! Now - once and for all!" He spoke so passionately, and presented such an appealing proposition before her, that she was dangerously swayed, though the prospect of this aspect of her life being gone left her feeling as though she was on uneven footing.
"Here," Flynn said, reaching into his pocket. The atmosphere was thick with tension as he pulled out something she knew well: her diary. She saw it in her nightmares now. It felt like sacrilege when Flynn ripped two pages out of it and held them out before her.
"Your journal. Show of faith. See for yourself how bad Rittenhouse really is. See it in your own words."
Lucy could tell he was desperate. As her own show of faith, she took the pages from his hands, but that was as far as she was willing to go.
"You're so full of crap it's coming outta your ears. We're not gonna help you, not after everything we've been through." Wyatt sneered. She couldn't help but agree.
"I figured you'd say that. So I'm sweetening the pot. You help me, and I'll tell you what happened on Portero Road, Mile Marker 47."
Lucy looked up from the journal pages, looking from Flynn's intense expression to Wyatt's widened eyes, completely stumped.
"That's right. I'll give you the name of your wife's killer."
Oh.
"You have no idea who could have done that-"
"I'm not some local cop, Wyatt, I've still got some friends in the right places." He said gruffly. "There was blood on the scene, right? Blood they never matched? Well, I know whose it was."
Lucy could tell that he had successfully won Wyatt over. She couldn't blame him. Flynn always knew just the right things to say.
"You help me get Benedict Arnold, no more Rittenhouse," He looked pointedly at Rufus, "no more chasing me through time," he met eyes with Lucy, "and your wife's killer found." He gestured to Wyatt.
It was the things he thought all three wanted most. "Everybody wins. Consider it."
Without another word, he left the room. To think just a few months ago she had actually been sat in a theatre watching Hamilton the Musical with her sister - Washington definitely wasn't the man she remembered belting out tunes on the stage. She'd take him over the actual George Washington any day. There was one incredibly fitting Hamilton lyric she could apply to her current bizarre situation; "Are these the men with which I am to defend America?"
"Well," Rufus was the first to speak. "There goes the recording. There is no amount of tampering to hide the fact that we are helping Flynn destroy Rittenhouse. My life is literally over!"
"Not if we wipe 'em from the map." Wyatt countered, surprising them both.
"You're seriously considering this - helping out a terrorist? It makes us a bunch of Benedict Arnolds, you know that?"
"You've had better jokes."
"Well, I'm nervous! You can't tell me you actually trust Flynn."
"No, of course not, but if there is even a one percent chance that he really knows who Jessica's killer is..." He sighed and sat down. "Where do you come out on this?" Wyatt looked to Lucy, who had been silently reading her pages over and over.
"If this is true, then Rittenhouse has their fingerprints all over American history..." She said slowly. "The Trail of Tears, The Jonestown Massacre, The Waco Siege... But it's all still history. Which is what we're supposed to protect, even the bad stuff. Aren't we?"
Lucy's thoughts again drifted back to that dark place she'd experienced standing outside Bonnie and Clyde's house - if they let people die, were they not just as much to blame as Flynn? But maybe they had to play God. Maybe they were the only ones that could. She hated herself for that thought.
The door swung open.
"Lucy, can we - talk?" Flynn stepped back in, rubbing his neck somewhat anxiously.
"No." Wyatt stepped in front of her. The very fact he said that only made her want to prove him wrong.
"I can handle myself, Wyatt." Lucy moved around him and marched up to Flynn, signaling him to leave first and slamming the door behind them. She had actually impressed herself with her own ballsiness lately. She whirled to find herself face to face with Flynn in the tight corridor. They were closer than she thought.
"So?" She raised her chin defiantly.
"I wanted to check if you were all right."
"It's a bit late for that." Lucy scoffed, going to open the door again only to find his arm blocking her.
"Did something happen?"
Who was he to show such concern?
"You left me tied up on Bonnie and Clyde's bed, Flynn. That happened."
"Technically, I left you handcuffed on Bonnie and Clyde's bed." His smile died at the look on her face.
"Lucy, you're not okay."
"No shit." She shot back. He simply stared at her. She felt something warm run down her cheek and dabbed at it with a finger - she was crying. How hadn't she realised she was crying?
She stared up at Flynn, the man who'd upturned her life, and yet who kept trying to shield her from it.
Realization dawned on her.
"When you said back at NASA that I might get hurt... You meant by you." She wondered what the personal cost of his warning would have been if she had heeded it -it would have made it much more difficult for him to get the key if she hadn't been there to help him. But still he had warned her not to go, as if he knew what the betrayal would do to her.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. For the first time, Lucy believed him.
"How do you deal with it?" She burst out. "How do you deal with playing God, choosing whether people live or die? The-the emptiness? How do you live with yourself?"
He chewed on the inside of his mouth for a few moments.
"I don't. I just keep telling myself I'm a good person and hope that maybe one day I'll actually believe it." Flynn's half attempt at a smile was pained.
"I hated you for leaving me there," Lucy admitted, "but now I think I just hate myself for letting you."
Flynn cast his eyes down to the floor.
"You were wrong," she told him, "when you said everybody wins. And you - you looked right at me when you said we wouldn't have to chase you anymore. Like I wanted that."
"Don't you?" He stood very still.
"I don't know what my life is anymore," her voice cracked. "Everything is different and this is the only thing - the only thing - that I feel any kind of normal doing. I don't know who I am without this anymore." She felt so pathetic, so weak, telling him this, that she burst into tears.
Somehow, neither of them really knowing why and with a great deal of awkwardness, Lucy ended up wrapped tightly in his arms. Flynn let her simply sob silently into his jacket. Their boundaries were so thoroughly blurred now that it felt like returning to something familiar - a thoroughly platonic feeling that she craved now, even if it was Flynn.
She calmed down quickly, and he released her with a worried look. The words hanging in the air between them didn't need to be said. At this moment, she didn't feel like his enemy. Maybe, just maybe, this was the day they became a team.
"Shall we?" Flynn gestured to the door. Lucy dabbed her eyes with her cloak and nodded reluctantly. He strode in first, Lucy following close behind, willing her face into cool indifference.
Whether he knew it or not, Flynn had just prevented her from breaking completely.
"Are you ready?" He addressed Wyatt and Rufus, who both immediately checked Lucy over as though expecting her to be hurt. She didn't know if she should be offended or not.
"Ready for what?" Wyatt demanded as soon as he was satisfied she looked alright.
"Well, there's a British Garrison up the road. We go defect."
"And why," Wyatt crossed his arms, "would the British believe we're defectors?"
Lucy didn't like the foreboding look on Flynn's face at all.
---
An hour later, Lucy was still picking leaves out of her hair. His genius plan had been to run full speed at the British garrison, with their own soldiers shooting over their heads. They'd had to drop down in the mud to avoid getting shot in the face - it was reckless but effective; Flynn's signature style.
She thanked God it had been enough for their defection to be believable - they had been led by the unsuspecting soldiers right into Benedict Arnold's hiding place.
Arnold hobbled down the corridor slowly, making his way towards the four of them. He was about ten years younger than Washington, but didn't look it; he was unattractive, walked with a cane, and had grey skin with red lining his eyes.
"Okay, Lucy, you're up." Flynn nudged her forwards as Arnold neared.
"General Arnold." He greeted.
"You asked to see me?" Arnold inquired, his face full of suspicion.
"General Clinton sent us." Lucy lied.
"We're loyalists, sir, inspired by your example."
"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow.
"We have covert information for you about Washington's troop movements," Flynn fibbed.
"I received no word from General Clinton."
"Clinton was supposed to send it. Confidentially," Lucy lowered her voice to a whisper, "you and I both know General Clinton can be a bit erratic. Perhaps a touch of his mother's lunacy?" This earned a tight smile from Arnold.
"And you've met this man before," she pressed on, gesturing to Wyatt. "You fought with him at Ridgefield. He served under Colonel Lamb."
"Yes. That's right. I did. So good to see you again, Sir," Wyatt nodded to him. They all held their breath as Arnold walked forward to examine Wyatt. The seconds of silence were torture.
"Yes, I think I remember, after all," he conceded eventually, eliciting pure relief in Lucy's chest. Her risks had paid off. "Of course. This way."
Flynn flashed a smile at her over Wyatt's head. Lucy couldn't help but grin a little back - she was both proud of her quick thinking, and giddy with adrenaline.
Arnold led them through the winding halls, up several staircases, and around many tight corners, to a large room that could really only be described as 'golden'. The wallpaper, painting frames, furniture, and even the fireplace glinted at her - she was so dazzled she almost didn't even notice the smaller man standing at the other end of the room.
"Let me introduce Earl Cornwallis," Arnold stood beside him. "These are loyalists to the cause. They've come bearing gifts," he told the man, who peered at them doubtfully. "So, what's Washington's plan for his troops?"
Flynn eyed Cornwallis carefully.
"Could we speak in private, sir?" His voice was edged with cold threat.
"He's a trustworthy man. Say what you've come to say."
Lucy could feel Flynn itching for his gun, and so said;
"We've defected because of your example, General. We'd prefer to speak only with you."
"Well, Madam, I'm not sure you're in any place to make that decision," he said curtly.
"Come on!" Flynn exclaimed angrily, and whipped out his pistol. Two shots were fired directly into Cornwallis's chest before she could even react. Arnold tried to flee, but Wyatt forced him onto the floor.
"What the hell is going on?" Rufus yelled in the commotion.
"Managing the situation!" Wyatt struggled with the thrashing Arnold.
Lucy could only gape. "You just killed Cornwallis... In twenty years, he's supposed to negotiate the peace treaty between Britain and Napoleon!"
"History will find someone else. You've seen one redcoat, you've seen them all. Big deal," Flynn rolled his eyes.
"It's a very big deal!" She cried.
He simply stepped around her to where Wyatt was now tying Arnold up with curtain rope.
"You're Washington's men?" He panted.
"No, no, no, Washington's men never find you. Actually, you're meant to get away scot-free, live a comfortable life in England." Flynn stared down at him distastefully.
"Then who are you?"
"Honestly?" He looked around at them all and raised an eyebrow. "We're time travelers from the year two thousand and sixteen who came all the way here just to meet you!"
They all gaped at him, but Arnold simply began to laugh.
"You're mad."
Flynn smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It doesn't matter who we are. What matters is what we need to know. About Rittenhouse."
The room went deadly quiet.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Lucy stalked to his side and unfurled the scroll she had been holding tightly in her hand.
"This is your handwriting, isn't it?" She confronted him, adopting Flynn's intimidating stature.
"Today I met some gentlemen with a great vision for America," she read aloud. "Rittenhouse. They are recruiting worthy men and have sought me out."
"I never wrote that." Arnold looked up at them defiantly.
"Maybe we can help you remember," Lucy said coldly. She caught Flynn looking at her appreciatively, and winked at him in the spirit of their new, strange sort of camaraderie. Despite the stressful situation, it was much more fun than she had expected to put on this scary persona.
"Beat me to death, have Washington hang me. I don't know what you're talking about."
"I understand why you would betray Washington. Why you would go to Rittenhouse," Lucy approached him.
"You must know me well." He sneered at her.
"Careful." Flynn growled protectively. She shot a warning look at him - she didn't need his help. He backed off quickly.
"I know you sank your entire fortune into the Patriot cause," she continued. "I know that you were one of Washington's best and brightest. At Saratoga, when they shot your horse dead right from underneath you, you kept fighting. When a musket ball shattered your leg, what did you do? You kept fighting."
"What of it?" Arnold grumbled, though politer now, with occasional fearful glances at Flynn.
"But when it came time for your promotion to Major General, the promotion that you earned, Congress just passed you over, didn't they? And what did Washington do for you? Nothing! And so you betrayed him, you betrayed everything that you once believed in. But for what, pride?"
"He betrayed me." Arnold seethed. "He was my brother, and he abandoned me. But Rittenhouse, he's going to give me the future I deserve."
All four of them looked up immediately.
Arnold had said the word he. Not they, not it, but he.
"Wait. Did you just say 'he?'" Wyatt strode forward.
"The man you're asking about, David Rittenhouse."
"Rittenhouse isn't a 'they', it's a person?" Flynn looked shocked.
"He has more followers every day, but yes."
Lucy approached Flynn menacingly.
"Did you know about this? That it was just one man?"
"No," he stammered, looking around wildly. "It wasn't anywhere. And it wasn't in the journal."
Flynn bit his lip, the first real sign of distress he'd exhibited since arrival. It was a strange kind of relief to know he hadn't known.
"Introduce us to him," he rounded on Arnold.
"A woman? A negro? You're insane."
Flynn's face told her she did not take well to that insult.
"You will introduce us to him," Lucy leaned down to face Arnold.
"And why would I ever do that?"
"Because," she declared. "Washington is holding your wife prisoner. If we haven't returned with you in three days, he'll execute her for your treason. So take us to Rittenhouse, and save your wife."
It was a total lie, and she felt absolutely horrible saying it, but it worked. He agreed.
"Flynn, you get him sorted. Wyatt, Rufus, you come with me. We leave as soon as possible."
Lucy led them away, leaving Flynn and Arnold in the golden room. They found their way back through the labyrinth of twisting corridors, long hallways, and down the many sets of stairs until they finally emerged in the lobby.
"Okay," Lucy heaved a sigh. "Arnold and Flynn will be down any second. What do you think?" She looked over to Rufus, who had sat himself down on one of the lobbies' chaises, and Wyatt, who was tapping his foot impatiently.
"I'm in," Rufus said.
"You're the one that said we were a bunch of Benedict Arnolds," Lucy raised an eyebrow.
"That was before Rittenhouse was just one dude. If all we have to do is stop one guy... If this one move cuts the head off the snake, wipes Rittenhouse out, frees me from them, frees my family from them, then my vote... My vote is yes."
"I vote yes too," Wyatt said. Lucy gnawed at her lip. It clashed with her morals, yes, but if this one death could stop Rittenhouse, save lives, and maybe... Maybe even bring her home to Amy? She had to. There was no question about it. She just had to. She couldn't excuse every single one of Rittenhouse's actions purely for the sake of history.
"Then we're agreed," Lucy said, flicking her eyes up to the stairs. "And just on time."
Flynn emerged from the staircase, a hobbling Arnold in tow.
"Are we ready?"
"We're ready." Lucy nodded.
"Off to see the wizard," He joked half-heartedly. One sour look from Lucy had him holding his hands up in mock apology.
"The carriage is outside," Arnold told them grudgingly. He led them out into the expansive, sunny garden, where a rickety wagon attached to two chestnut horses awaited them. It certainly hadn't earned the title of 'carriage' - it was more of a glorified wheelbarrow.
She stayed back while the others boarded the wagon, which creaked dangerously, and tilted her head, watching Flynn stroke the horses and adjust their gear. In spite of herself, she cracked a little smile watching him coo and fuss over them. Once he was satisfied with their tack, he climbed into the front of the wagon.
She moved to follow him, standing on the step and gripping the sides to hoist herself up the rest of the way, but as soon as her full weight was put on the wood, it splintered and cracked in her hands, sending her careening off the step.
Flynn's hand shot out instinctively and snatched her up by the front of her dress, swiftly steadying her. She found the air knocked out of her, and could only breathlessly accept his outstretched hand to help her clamber onto the seat next to him.
"Thanks," she muttered, feeling her face redden. She genuinely couldn't remember ever embarrassing herself this much in front of the same person - at least, a person who wasn't family - before.
"Let's go." Flynn graciously didn't comment on her fall and took a hold of the reigns.
Lucy calmed her racing heart and settled in for the long journey, wrapping her cloak tightly around her arms. According to Flynn, they likely wouldn't arrive at David Rittenhouse's mansion until dark. Sleep didn't seem likely - the cart bumped and creaked loudly with each turn of its wheels. She'd never been great at relaxing during travel - aeroplanes made her antsy, and her seasickness was wicked. Nevertheless, Lucy settled back into her seat and closed her eyes - any kind of rest was a relief after being awake for at least forty-eight solid hours.
Even with the discomfort, she must have managed to fall asleep at some point along the way, because she woke up to a sudden, sharp prod on her leg.
"Huh?" Lucy groaned, opening her eyes blearily and raising her head. She realised with a start she had slumped onto Flynn's shoulder.
"Where are we?" Lucy was extremely disorientated - her and Flynn were sitting alone in the middle of a nondescript forest. She knew had been dreaming about him, but for the life of her couldn't remember what had happened. All she remembered was it had included that bed they'd shared in Bonnie and Clyde's cabin. And definitely some wandering hands. She adjusted her cloak awkwardly. At least it was better than the usual nightmares. Hmm... Actually, that was debatable.
"We're taking a break." He answered her, gesturing to a gap in-between the trees where she could see Arnold, Wyatt, and Rufus's retreating backs. He hopped onto the ground with ease and reached into the back of the wagon, pulling out a large bucket.
"What are you doing?" She frowned.
"Horses need water."
He crouched down beside a stream adjacent to their path, filling the bucket with its water. Lucy stepped down from the cart with great anxiety, now extremely cautious around the wooden sides. It was, however, a relief to stretch her cramped legs.
Flynn held the now full buckets up to the first horses head, whispering comforting words to placate them. She stared off into the forest and debated talking to him for a few seconds before deciding to say;
"You know about horses?"
"I wanted to be a cowboy growing up," he admitted, eyes twinkling.
Lucy's eyebrows flicked up. It was hard to imagine him as an excited little boy.
"You ever heard of, uh, Tex Willer comics?" Flynn asked. "He had a horse named Dynamite, they protected the good guys against the bad guys."
How ironic. She just smiled tightly and turned back to the stream.
"I hate to be a told you so, but... The journal did say something about you and me working together."
"Don't push your luck," she said half-jokingly, half seriously.
"Fair enough."
"Say - say we do this." Lucy took a tentative step towards him. "We really take out Rittenhouse. What will you do?"
He paused from his care of the horses.
"I'll go home to my family. They'll be alive again. Let my little girl jump into my arms, hug my wife..." Flynn took in a shuddering breath. "And then say goodbye and walk away forever."
Lucy blinked in surprise. "What? You would just - you would just leave them after all that we've been through?"
"By chasing Rittenhouse I've done horrible things. Become something... Else. How can I bring that into my home?"
Lucy looked at him as though she had been given a new perspective. She saw his eyes glisten tellingly.
"What kind of husband or father can I be after what I've done?"
She realised a newfound respect for Flynn - he wasn't doing this all for himself, not really. It wasn't an act of complete selfishness, but an attempt to save his wife and child. She could sympathize with that, at least. She reached out to touch him, or comfort him, anything, she didn't really know, but from the distance, there was a yell;
"We should keep moving!" Wyatt stared directly at Lucy and Flynn, a venomous expression appearing on his face as his eyes passed over her outstretched hand, which she quickly stuffed back in her cloak pocket. She supposed it didn't look good to him: the private conversation in the hallway, her falling asleep on his shoulder, their shared smiles... It toed the line between allyship and friendship - or something more.
She shook the thought from her head. That was just outright idiotic. With a last frown at Wyatt, Flynn emptied out his bucket and again mounted the wagon. Wyatt practically ran to take the seat beside him.
Lucy simply exchanged a bemused look with Flynn and reluctantly took her place in the back beside Rufus. She didn't feel like sleeping anymore, and instead determinedly kept her eyes on the road ahead. She had to have her head on straight - after all, they were headed straight into the belly of the beast.