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Tell Me, Oh Muse...

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Prompt: “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up line,” for Garcy.

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

There was only so long Lucy could take this shit.

She found the first handwritten message on her desk when she was dead-tired, after spending all afternoon, evening and a good part of the night trying to figure out where Rittenhouse might go next. The card was no larger than a credit card, and read: Are you sure you’re not a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you. She figured it was one of Jiya’s attempts to mess with everyone else, chuckled, and went to bed.

The next one was stuck to the back of her shampoo bottle. Raising an eyebrow, she plucked it off of the pink-coloured plastic and turned it over so she could read it. Do you have eleven protons? Because you’re so-dium attractive. She rolled her eyes and pocketed it.

Lucy didn’t find any cards the next day, and she figured the joke was over. Until she noticed something white pinned to her clean laundry. Are you a tower? Because Eiffel for you. What in God’s name was going on? If only she recognised the handwriting, but she didn’t have a clue whose it was. It wasn’t round enough to be Jiya’s, and it wasn’t Rufus either, but other than that, she was lost.

When she saw Flynn fill in an order form for a book he wanted to read, it dawned on her. Sneaking up to him, she suddenly whispered: “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up line.” Turning around and without missing a beat, he responded: “I can’t help that I’m suffering from a lack of vitamin U.”

She scoffed.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Garcia.”

Chapter Text

Garcyatt | Rating: G | No warnings apply


There are many things Lucy thinks of when you ask her what she likes about her boys. She’ll give you a numbered list ‘in no particular order’.

  1. The way they smell after their morning coffee;
  2. How Wyatt’s eyes light up when he looks at us;
  3. Feeling their strong arms around me;
  4. Listening to Garcia murmur softly when he’s concentrating on something he’s reading;
  5. How both of them can’t sleep without hospital corners on the bed;
  6. Hearing Wyatt belt out Broadway hits in the shower when he thinks no-one can hear him;
  7. The way Garcia lets Wyatt - and only Wyatt - gently correct him on his pronunciation when the absence of palatal fricatives of his youth conflicts with American English;
  8. How safe they make me feel no matter what we’re facing;

The list goes on and on, and she’s always adding things to it. She keeps it in the Lifeboat - just in case.

There are many things Garcia thinks of when you ask him what he likes about his partners. He’d never say them out loud, though, and saves them for whispered reverence in foreign tongues when they are hiding from the world. All he’ll give you is a mumbled: “Oni su dio mene.

There are many things Wyatt thinks of when you ask him what he likes about his partners. He’ll tell you that he isn’t good at putting them into words; but that he feels it all.

Ask any of the three what they love about the others, and they’ll all respond the same:

“Everything.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: "Garcy Black Friday... someone bumps into Lucy in a store and almost makes her fall over... Flynn flips his lid."

Rating: T for a bad word | No warnings apply


 

He hadn’t wanted to come here today at all. Thanksgiving had always been a foreign concept to him - literally - but it had become a holiday he had come to cherish. No European would ever say no to a holiday revolving around a lot of food and family. And though he was a bit lacking in the family department, the overall joy that spread through the country was more than enough to make him smile.

Black Friday, however, was a whole different story. Everything in him protested the obnoxious marketing ploys and greedy middle-aged women destroying everyone and everything, especially these poor employeeson their quest for gewgaws. It was disgusting - and no, that wasn’t because he was a commie. He hated capitalism for more reasons than just the appeal of socialism, thank you very much.

Only one person in the entire world was capable of getting him to drive over to the mall on Black Friday, and she was currently dragging him into the non-fiction section of Barnes & Noble. You could count on Lucy Preston to want to dredge through this living hellhole for a book. More specifically, one fucking book, but even he had to admit that the markdown had been impressive. Probably because the audience for books on the African-American jazz settlement in interbellum Paris was about as big as the number of people who had travelled through time to stop an evil organisation, but he was digressing. Lucy had seen the ad for Harlem in Montmartre : A Paris Jazz Story between the Great Wars by William A. Shack and had practically begged him to go get it. So here they were.

The brunette squealed softly as she found the coveted hardcover, grabbing it from the shelf immediately. 

“The last copy,” he commented amusedly. “Can we leave now?” Lucy nodded, and walked over to the register. If the salesgirl was surprised to see someone buy the book, she didn’t let it show. The historian swiped her credit card, and before he knew it, they were walking back out into the corridors; into the absolute chaos. 

Instinctively, his left arm shot out to keep her close to him. He didn’t want to lose her in this idiocy. He might be tall, but she was tiny, and finding her in the mess of people would be a hopeless task. His hand hovered above her hip while he guided her towards the exit. Getting there, however, meant having to pass by the main entrance of Macy’s. It had been a struggle when they had arrived, but by the looks of it, it had only gotten worse. A handful of desperate-looking teenagers were trying to guide the public into orderly lines, but failing miserably. Flynn grabbed on to Lucy a bit more tightly before taking a deep breath and guiding her towards the herd. 

He could feel her step closer to him. Neither of them was big on large groups of people anymore, but he was damn sure going to help her get back to the safety of the house they still shared. There was no necessity for it, but neither of them liked to be completely alone either. It was comforting to see someone in the living room when he got home, or to hear Lucy getting ready for her day while he cooked them breakfast in the mornings. It worked.

Before he registered the heavyset man walk into her, he heard her groan at the imapct and saw her book fall to the floor. She caught her fall with her elbow, crying out when she hit the tiles. He immediately dropped to his knees, cradling her close to his chest. Flashbacks of Salem and Chinatown burned through his mind. Not again. Not this time.

Jesi li slijep?!” he screamed at the shopper, who was staring at Lucy like she was a cardboard cut-out he had walked into, instead of the fragile history professor. “Idi u pičku materinu!” The man froze at the angrily-yelled foreign language coming from the tall man. Flynn presumed he looked like he was about to eat the man whole. He was considering it. When the asshole didn’t move, he added: “Not just blind, but deaf too? Get the fuck out!” 

That seemed to spur him into action, and the entire crowd parted around them. A female security guard approached them, softly asking: “Sir? Ma’am? Are you alright? Would you like me to call first aid?” Looking at Lucy, he silently tried to tell her it was up to her. Teary-eyed, she shook her head. 

“I just want to go home.” She hissed as he helped her up, supporting her right arm with her left. The guard led them through the maze of corridors until they reached the parking lot. 

“Thank you,” he told the guard, and he genuinely meant it. Lucy exhaled shakily next to him, and turned towards him, burying her face in his chest. He held her close while snow began falling around them. 

“I’m okay,” she murmured against him. “I’m okay.”

 “Are you sure, mala?” he asked, refusing to let her go just yet, snowfall be damned. The white crystals decorated her hair in tiny speckles.

Nodding, she got up onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss upon the corner of his mouth.

“Take me home?”

“Always.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: Person A: “Are you definitely okay?” Person B: “Yeah, I’m absolutely fine.” Person A: “Are you sure? You asked me earlier if you could borrow some glue to hold yourself together,” for Riya.

Rating: G | No warnings apply


“Ow! Fuh…dge!” The scowl came from beneath the Lifeboat, just after a loud bang that could only have been caused by a head hitting the side. Jiya could only see a pair of legs sticking out, the rest of the grumbling body hidden by the ship.

“You okay?” she asked, approaching the large metal ball.

“Definitely,” Rufus responded, his voice bouncing off of the panels.

“Are you sure?” she countered, dropping to the floor onto her stomach so she could see his face. “Because just now you asked for some glue to hold yourself together.” She chuckled softly.

“Well? Did you bring any?” The engineer asked, his voice serious, but she could spot a twinkle in his eyes.

“Nope.” She let her lips pop on the P. “I brought something way more effective.”

“And what would that be?”

“This,” Jiya replied, scooting towards him and pressing her lips onto his. She gently peppered his face with tiny kisses, finishing with one on his forehead. “You know you’re allowed to take a break, right?”

“I can’t,” Rufus responded, staring at the ship and the bullet holes Emma’s thugs had put into it. “Not yet.” Smiling softly, Jiya nodded, brushing her thumb across his cheek and setting a bottle of water down by his side before getting back up.

“You know where to find me when you’re ready.”

Chapter Text

Rating: G | Pairing: None. | No warnings apply.


With Christmas around the corner, the living area of the bunker was decorated with mutli-coloured lights and shades of green and red. Most of the decorations had been brought in by Denise, but Rufus had also smuggled in some things, Lucy suspected. The laid-back atmosphere was doing wonders for all of them, and even Emma seemed to have adopted a no-missions-on-Christmas attitude. It was hard to imagine the redhead in church pews, singing about love, hope, and forgiveness, but they had all learned that villains came in every sort, and not all of their actions had to be evil. At the same time, she hoped she could still be considered a good person, even though her moral compass had gone off-kilter a while ago.

She was paging through Skipping Christmas, whilst pretending she didn’t realise Jiya - whose lap was a wonderful headrest - was reading along, when someone cleared their throat. Looking to her side, she saw Denise standing next to the couch, looking at her with...a hint of nervousness?

“I was wondering whether I could talk to you, in private,” the older woman told her, her voice softer than normal.

“Sure.” Nodding, Lucy got up, handing her book over to Jiya. “Is my room okay?”

 

When they had reached the small room, Lucy sat down on her bed while Denise hesitated awkwardly in the doorway.

“Come in,” she told her, motioning towards the empty space next to her. Denise chose to lean against the wall instead, her hands shaking lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, per se,” the agent started, but corrected herself: “Or, well, there is, but no-one’s in danger.”

“You’re scaring me,” Lucy replied honestly.

“I…” Denise sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m trying to do here. The thing is, even though I don’t celebrate Christmas, it’s still the time of family, love and light. And because of that...I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?”

“When you wanted to leave, I used Amy’s life as bargaining material. I used your love for your sister against you. I forced you to stay.” At the mention of her sister, Lucy could feel a wave of nausea hit her straight in the face.

“You had no choice,” Lucy rejected her statement. “You were just trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing, perhaps, but with the wrong weapons,” Denise countered. “I put you on the spot; I was just doing my job, but you, you were mourning a loss you never truly got to witness. For all of that, I truly am sorry, and I wish every day that I could go back and change it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lucy whispered.

“Yes, it is. And it’s high time I acknowledged that.” Denise shoved her hands into her pockets, biting on her bottom lip. Getting up, Lucy stepped closer to her.

“Denise?” After an agonising handful of seconds, the agent’s gaze rose to meet the younger woman’s eyes. “I accept your apology, and…” Lucy took a deep breath. “I forgive you.”

Denise let out a choked sob, reaching out to pull Lucy into her arms. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but when they got back, Connor had saved them a plate and Rufus and Flynn were arguing about which sauce went best with the baked potatoes. Their Christmas would be merry indeed.

Chapter Text

Prompt: "I told you not to act recklessly like that. You might think you're protecting me, but you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep jumping in like that." for Garcy.

Rating: T | No warnings apply


Lucy hadn’t spoken a word to him ever since they had gotten back from Helen Keller, and it was eating him alive. They had gotten cornered by Emma and her goons in the gardens, instigating a large and highly unnecessary shoot-out. Lucy had flung herself in front of Anne Sullivan as he and Rufus attempted to protect the future author herself while Wyatt attempted to get a clear shot at the redhead. Emma had managed to escape unscathed as far as they knew, but so had Helen and Anne. He needed to talk to Lucy; they needed to debrief. He needed to make sure she was okay.

Walking down the hall, he entered her room without knocking. Jiya was on her bed, reading a magazine. Looking at her in a desperate plea, he silently begged her for some privacy. Nodding, the younger woman got up and left, presumably in search of Rufus.

“Lucy,” Flynn whispered when the historian still refused to look at him. “Please talk to me.”

“I told you not to act recklessly like that,” she replied. Her voice was shaky, like it could break at any given moment.

“What are you…?” he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“You might think that you’re protecting me, but you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep jumping in like that. I can’t go through that, Garcia. I can’t lose someone I… Not again.” She sobbed softly, burying her face in her hands. Suddenly, a memory of today flashed in front of his eyes. It had happened before the shootout. Emma had jumped out at them, pointing a gun at Lucy’s chest, and he had pushed her behind him, facing the Rittenhouse pilot instead of her.

“I do that because I…” he started, as he tried to defend his actions, but when large teary eyes looked up at him, his walls broke. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I just wanted to keep you safe. You’re…” He sighed. “You’re all I have left to protect.” He reached out to her and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. “I’m sorry, tigrice ; I’ll try to remember next time.” She clung to him as she softly suggested: “You could just teach me how to shoot.” Chuckling, he sat them down and raised his now-free hand to caress her cheek.

“Someday, Lucy. But not today.” She smiled through her tears.

“Someday.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: "This is going to hurt. A lot. I need to pop it back into place." for Flufus.

Rating: T | No warnings apply


The explosion was louder than he had expected, and Garcia Flynn had seen and felt many explosions in his life. The air leaving his lungs as he was catapulted away from the SS Grandcamp, however, was something he’s never get used to. God, he hated explosions, but no matter how drastic, the Texas City Disaster was one that needed to happen. Now that he had set off the explosion that Emma had tried to prevent, they needed to get away quickly. Oil deposits from the nearby storage tanks would soon cover every surface in sight, and he doubted the Lifeboat would benefit from that. Rushing towards the meet-up point, he suddenly spotted a familiar face in an alleyway.

“Rufus!” he called out. “We have to leave!”

“I’m aware of that!” the engineer replied. “I’m having a little trouble getting up!” As Flynn got closer, he realised that the other man’s arm was in a position that shouldn’t have been possible at all.

Sranje ,” he murmured.

“Is it broken?” Rufus asked, his eyes scrunched closed.

Još gore od toga. Dislocirani .”

“What?! English, Flynn, please?” Sighing, Flynn stared him in the eye.

“Rufus...this is going to hurt. A lot. I need to pop it back into place.”

“Woah!” the engineer protested as he reached out to grab his wrist. “Can’t that wait until there’s a doctor who can do that? No offense, but you’re not exactly Nurse Joy.”

“It’s way too dangerous to risk axillary nerve damage during the jump. We have to do it now.” Rufus hesitated for one more second before nodding.

“Just get it over with.”

Bringing Rufus’ arm to his side, Flynn bent his elbow to 90 degrees. As be began to rotate his forearm, the other man’s biceps suddenly spasmed.

“I need you to relax your muscles. Think of something nice.” When he saw the tension in the muscle release, he continued the external rotation.

“Fuck!” Rufus exclaimed just as he reached full rotation, and the reduction took place. Removing his thick sweater, Flynn used it to create a makeshift sling and immobilised his arm as well as he could.

“Alright, that’s it, Batman. Let’s go. There’s Tylenol in the Lifeboat.” Grinning, he helped the other man up, and they sprinted towards the Lifeboat as the Grandcamp burned behind them.

Chapter Text

Prompt: Lucy and Jiya - "Am I supposed to believe this was an accident?"

Rating: M | Content warnings: non-graphic mentions of self-injury, depression


Lucy’s headboard was situated just beside the heating pipes, and on more occasion than one the ticking of trapped air in the system would wake her up. Normally, she’d just close her eyes and fall back into a slumber, but when she realised that the bed opposite to her was empty, she sat up. Yawning softly, she reached out to feel the mattress. It was cold. Jiya had left a while ago, it seemed. The LED display of the engineer’s alarm clock told her it was a quarter to three in the morning, and the hallway outside was dark except for the soft hue of the nightlights that were installed in case of emergency.

Grabbing her sweater from the foot of her bed, she pulled it on over her nightshirt and slipped into some slippers. Normally when Jiya wasn’t in her bed, she would be with Rufus, but… There was no Rufus. There hadn’t been a Rufus for over a month now, and Lucy could tell the girl was slowly losing hope. She’d lost the sparkle in her eyes. She’d lost her motivation. She’d lost her Rufus.

Continuing down the hall, Lucy paused at the bathroom, but one glance showed that it was empty. The boys’ rooms were dark and silent and the doors were closed, so that didn’t seem probable either.

Lucy stopped in front of the door to Rufus’ room. The door was ajar. Stepping inside, her breath caught in her throat. Jiya’s tearful eyes looked up at her in shock, like a deer in headlights.

“Am I supposed to believe this was an accident?” Lucy whispered. “Because you’re not very convincing.” She walked up to the bed and crouched next to it. “I’m going to hug you now.” As she pulled the younger girl into her arms, Jiya shook with emotion.

“It should’ve been me,” she managed to exclaim in between haggard breaths. “It should’ve been me, damn it!”

“It shouldn’t have been any of us,” Lucy replied, holding her tightly against her chest. “If anyone, it should have been Emma.”

“She’s taking everyone away!” Jiya nearly yelled. “Flynn’s family, Amy, Baumgartner, Jessica, and now Rufus. It’s just not fair!”

“I know it is,” Lucy soothed. She had to swallow back a few tears herself. “But hurting yourself won’t affect her, sweetheart. Come on.” Pulling Jiya upright, she made the younger girl lean on her as she moved the both of them out of Rufus’ room and into the bathroom. Raising her hands to the hem of Jiya’s shirt, she whispered: “Is this okay?” When the other woman didn’t protest, she carefully helped her out of her clothing, trying not to worsen her injuries.

“We need to get these clean and bandaged, okay?” Ridding herself of her own clothes, Lucy moved both of them under the spray of the shower. “Deep breaths.” Fuck modesty, Jiya needed help right now. And as long as she couldn’t get Rufus, Lucy figured she might as well be the next best thing.

The water at their feet turned a soft red as skin was flushed clean. When the worst of it was gone, Lucy gathered the younger woman in her arms once more. Whispering softly, she told her: “You’ll get through this; I promise. We’re going to get him back.”

“What if we can’t?” Jiya asked. “What if it’s impossible? I keep trying to go back, in my visions, and I can never change what happens.”

“We’ll find a way. Somehow. Come, we’ll get you bandaged.” Guiding her away from the shower, Lucy wrapped both of them in the biggest, fluffiest towels she could find and took them back to their room.

“Where are you going?” Jiya asked when she moved back towards the hallway.

“I’m going to go get the first-aid kit from the workshop. Flynn obsesses over the one in the Lifeboat, so I don’t want to take anything out of that one. I’m not feeling up to having him interrogate everyone to figure out why some supplies are missing. Denise is in charge of the other one.” Lucy might have been over-explaining, but she wanted to make sure the other woman wouldn’t panic in the few minutes she would be gone.

When she got back, supplies tucked between her arm and her towel, Jiya was sitting on the bed in her underwear and some sweatpants. Smiling softly, Lucy reached out for her abdomen, pausing just before she touched injured skin.

“May I?”

“Yeah,” came the whispered response.

“This might sting a little.” Swiping an alcohol pad across the cuts, Lucy waited thirty seconds for the disinfectant to do its job before covering them with adhesive wound dressings. “That should do it.” Letting her own towel drop to the floor, she pulled on some panties and a shirt. The rest wasn’t important; not right now. Climbing into Jiya’s bed, she gathered her into her arms for the third time that night. They’d get Rufus back, someday, somehow. And until he could hold his girl, Lucy would.

Chapter Text

Prompt: Garcy stuck in a small space, and admitting their feelings to one another. Extra points for kisses (and smut certainly wont take points away).

Rating: T | No warnings apply


 

Flynn’s heart was racing in his chest. He didn’t get frightened easily, but being faced with an actual real-life Nazi raid in 1944 Rotterdam was enough to shake even the strongest of men.

“This is the Nazi retaliation for the Battle of Arnhem and the public transport strike of ‘44,” Lucy told him, panting as they ran down alleyways in an attempt to hide from the razzia . They had gotten separated from Rufus and Wyatt about an hour ago, and he could only hope they were okay. “They’re going to grab pretty much every adult male in the city and the suburbs. Rotterdam is going to lose eighty percent of its male population.”

“Fuck!” Flynn exclaimed. He wasn’t one to curse often, but they were truly screwed. He could easily get mistaken for a traveller, which meant an immediate arrest. Lucy would hopefully be safe, but you never knew. Nazis weren’t exactly known for their stable behaviour.

Hier! Snel! ” a female voice suddenly called out. A blonde woman was standing in a doorway, motioning for them to enter. Looking at Lucy, Flynn decided the risk was worth it. He could hear soldiers and dogs approaching quickly. Grabbing her by her elbow, he pulled her into the home.

Wij geen Nederlands, ” he immediately told the woman. He knew his Dutch was broken and accented, only recalling a few words he had learnt from a Belgian friend back in Croatia, but it was worth a shot trying to tell her their nationalities. “ Amerika .” The woman eyed him suspiciously, but nodded, calling out: “ Frank? ” A man approached them from a back room.

“Americans?” he asked, his accent surprisingly British. Flynn nodded.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” he explained. “We were supposed to be in Brussels by now, but our transport fell through.” The man nodded. “I believe you. Come on, we need to get you hidden before the Moffen get here.” Frank escorted them through the small home until they reached a door to a basement. Once they had made it down the stairs, he grabbed a wooden barrier. “It’s small, but you should be safe.” Before either of them could protest, Frank had ushered them into a small recess in the brick wall and repositioned the barrier in front of them. “I’ll come get you when they’re gone. Keep quiet.” The man’s footsteps were the last thing Flynn heard before an eerie silence fell over them.

Then he sensed Lucy’s breathing against his chest. It was fast and shallow, and he could feel her trembling.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered in the darkness. “We’ll be alright.” Lucy’s next intake of breath was on a choked sob. Shit. She needed to calm down quickly, or they could get caught. “Hold on,” he continued, rearranging their positions so he could slide onto the floor, pulling her down with him. “Is it the darkness? The small space?”

“Claustrophobia,” Lucy managed to tell him, the trembling getting worse. He gathered her in his arms, keeping her close to his body in his lap. “And I’m…” she started, but he couldn’t make out the rest of her stuttered admission.

“You’re what?!” he whispered on a hiss.

“Jewish.” She hid her face in his neck, and his heart sank immediately. “I have a Star of David tattooed on my ribs, Garcia. If they grab me, I’m done for.” In any other situation, he would have pointed out her use of his given name, but now he only tightened his hold on her.

“Tell me five things you can see,” he whispered, trying to distract her brain. There wasn’t much visible, but it wasn’t completely black around them.

“What?”

“Five things you can see.”

“I… The wood, the bricks, the buckles on my shoes, my locket, your ring.”

“Four things you can touch.”

“The fabric of my dress, the stone on the floor, your scarf and….” He could feel her fingertips on his jaw.

“It’s okay, go ahead,” he whispered.

“...and your skin.”

“There you go,” he replied. gently stroking her back. “Now, three things you can hear.” She was silent for a while before replying.

“The wind outside, the footsteps upstairs and your heartbeat.” Flynn smiled in the darkness.

“Two things you can smell.”

“The wood, and...your cologne.” Now he truly couldn’t suppress a chuckle, swallowing the sound as he whispered the last part of the grounding exercise.

“Lastly, one thing you can taste.” He waited for Lucy to reply, but she remained silent, still trembling against him. Her fingertips suddenly trailing across his lips surprised him, but nothing prepared him for the feeling of her lips against his own, kissing him softly. He held her close, kissing her back but not initiating anything himself. This was on her terms right now. Lucy kissed him with a desperate sort of intensity, searching for a source of calm. When they separated, she whispered: “You.”

“Lucy, I…” Flynn began, but he was interrupted by a pounding on the door upstairs. “Keep quiet,” he told her, holding her as tightly as he could, while shifting slightly so his back was facing the opening of the recess. If they were to get caught, he would be the first thing they saw, not her. A lot of shouting in Dutch and German followed, and footsteps carried throughout the entire house. At one point he was absolutely certain there were at least two policemen standing less than three feet away from them, but they went away again, and the silence returned.

If he didn’t say it now, he probably never would.

“I love you,” he whispered into the darkness, feeling his cheeks get wet with someone’s tears. He wasn’t sure if they were hers or his; maybe they were both.

“I love you too,” she replied, nuzzling his neck.

“We’ll probably have to wait a while before Frank come to free us,” Flynn told her honestly.

“That’s okay,” Lucy responded. “Just...hold me.”


 

Chapter Text

Prompt: Garcy + things you said under the stars and in the grass

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

When you spend half of your days cooped up underground and the other half running for your life, there isn’t much time to spend doing anything remotely relaxing. When Denise comes running in, telling them she’s got intel that the bunker is compromised and they have to pack up immediately, Lucy can’t help the surge of hope that hits her directly in the face. Maybe this time she’ll get to see some daylight - twenty-first century daylight that is. Rufus and Wyatt move the Lifeboat according to coordinates given to them by Denise and everyone else piles into a blinded van. It reminds her of the summer camps her mother used to send her on - well, except for the death that’s looming over their heads.

The new safehouse is in the middle of, well, of nowhere, and though the water pressure is awful and the air conditioning seems to be bipolar, there’s a porch and a backyard. Denise forbids them from going out during the day, but she lets them out on Friday evenings. Mason is usually the first out of the door, followed by Jiya. This night is no different, and Lucy finds herself standing in the doorway, taking a deep breath.

“Are you going to go out?” She doesn’t have to look behind her to know who it is. She knew who it was before he spoke.

“Yes,” she replies, remaining exactly where she is. Flynn’s fingertips come to rest on her wrist, and he murmurs: “Shall I come with you?” Lucy nods.

Wordlessly, Flynn follows her outside into the yard, and she leads him to the plum tree in the far corner, sitting down with her back against the trunk. Flynn crouches down next to her, and she pulls onto his hand until he’s sitting as well. Lucy sighs.

“Are you okay?” he asks, whispering into the night.

“Just tired,” she responds. It’s not a lie. The effects of having to go on every single mission are starting to get to her, whether she likes it or not. Rufus and Jiya can fill in for each other, and Flynn and Wyatt are both excellent shots, but there’s only one historian. She has to.

“Come here then.” He carefully pulls her down until her head is in his lap. “Better?”

“I can see the stars.” She avoids answering his question, but he seemingly lets it slide. There are hundreds visible, the absence of light pollution revealing them all through the gaps in the branches of the tree. Flynn looks up, following her gaze, and smiles.

“You’re right.”

“Henry...he would point out constellations to me.” As the words leave her mouth, an invisible band constricts around her chest. Lucy can feel him play with her hair, his fingertips gentle against her scalp.

“Do you remember any of them?” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, concentrating as she stares at the sky.

“The three in a line over there, and the two above and two below, that’s Orion,” she tells him.

“Anything else?”

“Um,” she hesitates, but continues when he strokes her temple: “There’s a big star above Orion over there. Do you see it?” She points upwards along his line of sight, and he nods. “That’s Aldebaran in the horn of Taurus.”

She points out Cassiopeia and the Pleiades, Ursa Minor and Major, Gemini and Polaris to him before Denise calls them back inside.

He never tells her he learnt astronomy when he was enlisted.

Chapter Text

Prompt: murder vision - Flynn caring for jiya while Rufus is still gone ? (Ignore the movie pls)

Rating: T | No warnings apply


 

He may be the only one who knows even remotely how she feels right now. Wyatt lost Jessica and Lucy lost...everyone, but Flynn...Flynn lost Lorena and Iris to Rittenhouse and he knows the look on her face because he used to see it in the mirror every single day until Lucy gave him a reason to live; a reason to fight. It's a hollow sort of desperation, of clinging to a thread of hope that's fraying so badly even the slightest pull will break it beyond repair.

Jiya may not be his, biologically speaking, but he's damn well the closest she's got to a parent right now and Lord knows the father part of his heart is torn just looking at her.

So when Wyatt manages to injure Emma with a blade in 1894 and they're certain she's going to need at least twenty-four hours to recover, he goes to Denise and asks her for permission. Ten minutes later the agent hands him a GPS tracker and a burner phone and agrees without speaking a single word.

If he's going to call Jiya his unofficial daughter, he might as well point out Denise as his adoptive sister too, whether she likes it or not.

Flynn walks up to Lucy and Jiya’s room and knocks on the door, waiting until he hears an affirming hum from the historian. Entering the girls’ domain, he looks at Jiya.

“We're going running.”

“I don't…” the engineer starts, but he shakes his head.

“We're going running. I'll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

As he walks out, he hears Lucy offering to lend her some workout clothes.

 

Jiya is a surprisingly decent athlete, Flynn thinks to himself as they make their way up the hill the bunker is situated in. She keeps up with him fairly well. He assumed she would have been out of shape, with all her hours stuck underground behind a desk, but...he's impressed.

 

After half an hour, she's beginning to run out of steam; he can tell that she is, but she's refusing to give in to her oncoming exhaustion. Very well . She apparently needs to feel it a bit more. He directs them towards the next hill.

 

Halfway up the incline, her tempo starts to falter and she's taking deeper breaths than before. He pulls her aside and hands her a bottle of water, holding two fingers to her wrist to check her pulse. Jiya hasn't said a word since he pulled her out of her room.

“Scream,” he says. She looks up at him, chest heaving with every inhale.

“What?”

“Scream. Yell. Curse. It's not very productive, but it's satisfying. I promise.”

“I'm not going to-” Jiya objects. Before she can finish her sentence, Garcia takes a deep breath and yells at the skies. Three crows fly overhead. He hopes that Ernmas’ daughters are on their side. He yells for Lorena, for Iris, for Rufus, for Anthony, for Stiv, for Amy, for Jessica, for Carol, for Ethan, for Wyatt, for Connor, for Lucy, for Denise, for Jiya. God, he yells for Jiya.

Then a clear voice joins his own, reaching far into the valley.

Jiya screams until her voice runs out. Until she collapses into his waiting embrace.

He pulls the phone out of his pocket and dials the single contact - Home .

“Come pick us up please?”

The burden is still there, but at least she now has some tools to carry it with.

Chapter Text

Prompt: "I love you - muffled from the other side of the door" for Garcy.

Rating: T | No warnings apply

Written in memoriam of Annie, 30 December 1994 - 16 October 2016, our 'Amy'. - "Fill your life with good vibes."


No-one knows exactly what Emma said to Lucy when she had her cornered, before the men came running in and they managed to get the historian away from the barrel of the other woman’s revolver, but whatever it is, Lucy hasn’t spoken a word ever since. Even as they jump back to 2018, she remains silent. She doesn’t acknowledge Denise, Jiya or Mason with anything more than a quick nod, before nearly running off into the direction of the sleeping quarters.

“What the hell happened out there?” Denise asks the men, and Flynn can tell the woman is in protective-mother-mode. Wyatt shrugs. Rufus shakes his head. “Well, someone, figure it out!” The agent throws up her hands in exasperation, then walks off towards the kitchen. Flynn expects her to start the kettle, but to his surprise, she grabs the hot chocolate mixture Jess left behind. He watches in silence as she prepares a mug. Once it’s finished, she looks at the three of them before her gaze settles on him. Handing him the warm beverage and two granola bars, she commands: “Take this to her.”

Flynn knows better than to object.

He makes his way over to her room, but it’s empty. His eyes scan the room for clues. The alarm hasn’t gone off, so she hasn’t gone outside. They live in a bunker. There aren’t too many places for her to hide. Her bed is made and everything is where it should be, so where is she? Suddenly he realises her toiletry bag is missing. The shower.

Knocking at the door to the bathroom, he gets no response, but when he tries to open the door, it’s locked.

“Lucy, I know you’re in there,” he calls out.

“Yeah.” The response comes from a location closer to him than he would have expected. If he isn’t mistaken, she has to be sitting with her back against the door. He sinks down onto the floor, his knees protesting after having jumped down just a little too far today, and he stretches his legs out in front of him. The back of his head comes to rest against the door, mimicking her position on the other side of the metal.

“Talk to me, Lucy,” he tells her. “Please.” He hears a soft high-pitched sound. Is she crying? “What did Emma say to you?”

“That I…” She lets out another quiet sob, and he waits. He can hear her taking a deep breath, and she replies: “That I should have been erased instead of Amy.”

“Lucy, that’s…” he starts, but she interrupts him: “No. She’s right, you know? Amy was such a good person, Garcia. She was so inherently good . I’m not even close to being the kind of person she was.” There’s something she isn’t telling him, he just knows it. There’s something more, hidden beneath the tremor in her voice. He waits again, giving her the space to gather her thoughts into words. Just when he begins to worry that she’s passed out on him, she continues: “She also said that there’s no-one left who loves me now.” Oh , Lucy.

“That’s certainly not true,” he counters. “Jiya and Rufus adore you. Denise would adopt you instantly if she could. Mason is everyone’s ridiculous uncle. Even Wyatt loves you, you know? In his own, messed-up way, but he definitely loves you.” He never expected he would be telling her Logan loves her, but it’s what she needs to hear from him right now.

“And you?” Her voice is tinier than he has ever witnessed it being before.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Nerves constrict around his throat like a noose, but she needs to hear it from him. He knows she does. He’s just not sure he can express himself properly, but he’ll try.

“Lucy...I adore you like nothing else. I love you.” At this point, he realises, he doesn’t care who can hear him. He loves her. God damn it, he loves her. He loves her so much.

The door opens and he nearly falls backwards at the sudden loss of a surface behind his back.

“You do?” Her cheeks are tear-stained and her mascara has run down her face, but there’s something in her eyes. There’s hope in her eyes.

“I do,” Flynn confirms, reaching out to push some stray hairs behind her ear. “I do.”

“I...can’t say it back. Not yet.” His heart drops, but then the second part registers. Not yet . He smiles.

“That’s okay. Do you want to take a shower, then we’ll watch My Cat from Hell ?”

“You hate that show,” she replies, but she nods. He shrugs with a wink.

“I’ll live.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: Garcy + things you said in a hotel room

Rating: M | No warnings apply

This went and got a mind of its own. Content notes for religious themes and mentions of the KKK and their ideologies. If you disagree with my view of Lucy and her relationship with religion, I'd like to ask you to read Praising a Name first before yelling at me. Thank you to the prompter  for letting me take this prompt into this direction!


 

It's 1921. They're in Birmingham, Alabama, about to help start events that will help Hiram Wesley Evans rise to the head of the Ku Klux Klan.

Lucy isn't sure whether she wants to cry or scream.

Rittenhouse being involved in the Klan doesn't come as a surprise to any of them.

“The 90% white male society wants to strengthen the 100% white society? What a wondrous happenstance,” Rufus had exclaimed, and the rest could only agree. It seems Emma is here to stop the Columbus Enquirer-Sun and the New York World from publishing articles accusing Edward Young Clarke and Mary Elizabeth Tyler of financial and sexual misconduct, which will lead to an internal power struggle within the Klan, forcing Tyler out in 1923. Clarke will leave the country to avoid prosecution for human trafficking under the Mann act and power will shift to Evans. Evans' efforts notwithstanding, the Klan will be buffeted by damaging publicity in the early 1920s, partially because of leadership struggles between Evans and his rivals. At least, that's what's supposed to happen. Tyler and Clark are masters at marketing, and Rittenhouse wants to keep them in power.

This means that Lucy now has the damaging news article quite literally on her person - the paper is digging into her skin at every move - and though they don't have the time to get to New York, they're on their way to Georgia to at least get it to the Columbus Enquirer-Sun.

How Wyatt has managed to find them a hotel that will accept all four of them, she doesn't know, but she's too emotionally overwhelmed to care. Wyatt rooms with Rufus. Lucy wanted to stay with the engineer, but they don't want to cause any rumours that might put them in danger. Besides, with the Klan at one of its most racist, anti-immigrant and anti-semitic points in history  (and that's saying something when you're talking about the KKK), having the white guy stay with the man of colour and the Caucasian woman with the guy with an accent is probably safest, no matter how much they despise even having to think of it.

The room is quaint, and almost feels homely to the point where Lucy feels like she might be able to catch at least a few hours of sleep tonight. Flynn has taken a seat in the chair in the corner of the room and hasn't spoken a word except to ask her whether she wanted some water. It's a surprisingly comfortable silence. The sun has set quite some time ago, so she might as well change out of the dress she's been wearing all day. She can sleep in her slip, she supposes, but she really needs to get out of this damn corset. She grabbed it from the stash of clothing they have collected on their various missions before they left 2018, and Jiya helped her lace it up, but the pressure on her chest is really starting to get to her. It's not even the right type for the decade they're in, but it looks more natural than a twenty-first century bra.

There's just one problem: Lucy can't get out of it herself. Normally, she'd be able to wait until they're back in their own time so she could ask either of the women to help, but now… Taking as deep a breath as the undergarment will let her, she shifts to face Flynn. He's reading the newspaper like he belongs here.

“Would you mind helping me unlace?” she asks him, her voice raspier than she had expected it to be. Flynn looks at her over the top of the paper and she motions at her torso. Nodding, he folds it neatly and places it on top of the desk before telling her: “Of course. Here, or the bathroom?”

“I…” She hadn't considered that. “The bathroom, I suppose.”

He lets her walk in first, waiting until she's pulled both her dress and her slip over her head to approach her.

“May I?” he asks, his fingers hovering at the laces.

“Be careful; the article is on my stomach,” Lucy tells him. Flynn hums in acknowledgement and pulls at the first loop. Getting in and out of a corset is never a pleasant occasion, but he is being as gentle as humanly possible in the low light. As more of her skin is being revealed, Lucy can't help but notice the contrast between them right now: he's fully clothed and she's nearly nude, but she doesn't feel intimidated, while she can feel a tremor in his usually so steady hands. When he reaches the halfway point, he suddenly pauses. Lucy can feel his gaze burn into her skin. She knows exactly what he's looking at, and it's not the article. It's the tiny lines of ink on her ribs. She can hear him swallow.

“Why…” Flynn whispers, but he doesn't finish his question. She'll have to do it for him, then.

“Why is there a Star of David tattooed on my skin?”

“Yes.”

“Because I got it in college.”

“Are you…”

“Jewish? Yes.”

“But isn't…”

“Tattooing prohibited? Yes. We are all created b’tzelem Elohim and my mother flipped when she saw it, yelling that: ‘You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves,’ for quite some time, but I rebelled against her during my sophomore year. I know, okay?”

It's the most awkward conversation she's had in a while, but she's spent her entire life having to defend herself and she's had to listen to these stupid white-supremacist Protestant arseholes all day and she's so over it. She can hear him inhale sharply, but he doesn't say anything other than: “Okay,” and finishes freeing her of the corset before leaving her to get ready for bed in privacy.

It isn't until they're both in bed and the lights are off that he speaks again.

“I'm so sorry, Lucy.” His voice is soft, fragile even. Lucy’s brow furrows.

“For what?”

“For…” Flynn sighs. The sheets rustle and the mattress shakes as she suspects he turns onto his side to face her. A gentleman, even in the dark. “For dragging you into Castle Varlar.” His tongue wraps around the dark L in the middle of the name, emphasising his accent.

“What makes Varlar so different?” Lucy inquires, shifting so she too is facing him.

“Because I made you have to pretend you were… You had to put on that uniform and… It's the damn Holocaust , Lucy, and you had to be a part of that because of me!” He is louder than he objectively should be right now, yelling about a war that hasn't even happened yet, but oh . So this is what this is about .

“You're not the one who put me in that uniform. Ian Fleming gave it to me. I'm the one who put it on,” Lucy counters softly. “If you want to blame anyone, blame him. Blame me.”

“I put you in that position.” He says the words like an admission of defeat, but she refuses to let him beat himself up over this - there are already enough people attacking them.

“No. Rittenhouse put us all in that position.”

“I chose to do it.”

“I told you to.”

“But…” Lucy has a feeling that words aren't going to get her anywhere right now. She reaches out and blindly feels for his hand. The moment her fingertips come into contact his palm, Flynn braces himself as if she might burn him just by touching him. She grasps his hand gently and moves it under her slip.

“Lucy,” he objects, but she shushes him. Moving their joint hands upwards along hee torso, she places his fingertips on her ribs. She knows he will be able to feel the ridges the amateur tattooist left on her flesh in one of the bedrooms of a frat house. She feels him exploring the tiny patch of rough skin; memorising the shapes, most likely. Then she drags his hand further upwards, brushing along the swell of her breast as they come to rest in the centre of her chest. Feel my heart beat beneath my ribs. I'm okay. I survived.

“Lucy,” he repeats, but this time it's a revering whisper on his lips.

“Garcia."

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: 'Blowing hot air on your hands to keep them warm' for Garcy

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

It's February 1887.

They're in North Dakota, trying to protect future president Roosevelt.

And it's freezing.

It's not just a little nippy out, no, the temperature is so far in the negatives that it's affecting their speech. This winter was so harsh that it marked the end of the open range era and led to the entire reorganization of ranching, Lucy recalls. At least the men have thick coats. All she has is a ridiculous amount of skirts, but they've gotten wet and are doing nothing to stop the harsh wind from biting its way into her skin. Her joints ache and her head is pounding, but she dutifully follows Wyatt’s lead, with Rufus doing his best to guide her through the snowstorm as efficiently as possible while Flynn covers their six.

When they finally reach Roosevelt's ranch, the man in question at first doesn't want to let them in, but when Wyatt steps aside to reveal her, his jaw nearly drops. Flynn adds “she's with child,” as a white lie and Theodore nods, letting even Rufus enter without any further protest. As she passes a mirror in the hallway, Lucy absentmindedly registers that her face is so pale she's nearly cyanotic. Wyatt, Flynn and Rufus immediately rush to warn the future president of the incoming threat, but Lucy lets herself be led into a sitting room by a servant girl, who silently guides her to sit by a fire, taking her soaked coat from her. Within a minute, a door opens to her side, but her body is too tired to look.

“Hey,” Flynn’s voice announces. His fingertips come to rest upon her cheek, and the temperature difference is so harsh it nearly burns. “You're hypothermic. Stay with me, okay?” Forcing her eyes open, Lucy shakes her head.

“I'm not even shivering,” she manages to mumble in a weak protest.

“Not yet,” Flynn counters, nodding at the girl who's re-entered the room and hands him a steaming mug of tea. “Thank you, Miss Clara,” he murmurs in a low voice, accepting the drink and handing it to Lucy. She tries to make her fingers wrap around the porcelain, but they refuse to move and everything hurts and she's so tired .

“Hey, hey,” Flynn soothes, setting the mug onto the nearby table and grasping her hands in his ever so gently. Lucy barely realises she's let out a sob as he blows warm air onto her aching hands. Pins and needles shoot through her joints but she's finally, finally able to move her fingers again, wiggling them against his palms. Flynn smiles, dismissing Clara with a nod, and sits down beside the historian, handing her the tea once more. Lucy settles into his side as the warm liquid begins to warm her insides.

Soon, they'll have to prepare for whatever Emma has in store for them.

For now, she drinks her tea.

Chapter Text

Prompt: “Secret passageways? Really? Are we in a gothic novel?” Any characters or pairings you want. | Garcyatt

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

“Secret passageways? Really? Are we in a gothic novel?” Lucy can’t suppress a chuckle at Wyatt’s grumbling while they are led through Versailles, the actual freaking Palace of Versailles, though it’s not as glamorous as she had hoped it would be. It’s 1793; the abolition of the monarchy has been announced by the Convention, and the palace has been demoted to a pretty storage facility right now. Luckily, suggesting they have intel on the location of a hidden spy in the buildings was enough to get them inside. All they have to do now is figure out what Emma wants, and how they’re going to get to it before she does.

“While gothic fiction started in 1764, that’s England, not France, srećo ,” Flynn comments, ducking in the stairwell to avoid slamming face-first into a supporting beam. The hidden corridors are narrow, and Lucy has to take a deep breath to steady herself, but she’s got Flynn in front of her and Wyatt behind her. Wyatt’s fingertips are on the small of her back, grounding her, and Garcia is softly humming the Marseillaise . They’ve got her.

Now all she has to do is make sure she doesn’t trip in these damned skirts.

Chapter Text

Prompt: 'Bundling up in a stack of quilts to read a book' from the Winter Prompt List for Garcy.

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

With his Croatian roots, Flynn isn’t exactly impressed by two inches of snow. It’s a bit of a hindrance; a slight cause of annoyance, but nothing big.

Lucy, however, hates the cold. She spends her entire days curled up by the space heater, and her nights curled up to him - not that he’s complaining about that. They’ve found some very, very effective ways to share their body heat that also leave her in a state of bliss, and it’s made this cold snap a heck of a lot more enjoyable.

Right now though, Lucy’s on the couch again, her legs folded beneath her, and the words that come to mind when he watches her are disgruntled kitten. She’s attempting to read a book, but between her thick sweater and the chunky infinity scarf she’s nearly buried in, the pages get lost in a sea of knitted fabric. Shaking his head, Flynn gets up from his seat at the table and walks over to her. Before she registers his presence, he reaches out and grabs her by her hips, throwing her over his shoulder.

“Garcia Flynn!” Lucy squeals, swatting at his back. He only chuckles as he walks down the hallway, squirming historian in his arms. Connor raises an eyebrow as they pass him, but says nothing, letting them continue on until they reach Flynn’s room. He manages to open the door with his free hand and sets Lucy down on his mattress. “What in the world are you…?” she starts, but before she can finish her sentence, he's next to her, reaching behind the headboard and pulling out multiple and blankets. She silently lets him pull her into his lap and smiles as Flynn nearly drowns them in brightly-coloured quilts. Handing him her book when he holds out his hand, she settles against his chest. Her head fits nicely under his chin as he continues where she left off, his voice a soft rumble.

And once again I had recognized the taste of the crumb of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-flowers which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy), immediately the old gray house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like the scenery of a theater.

Lucy falls asleep before he reaches the bottom of the second page.

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: Silent ways to say "I love you".... Tucking them into bed... Garcy | From 50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”

Rating: T (Bordering on M) | No warnings apply


 

The bunker is unusually quiet. Most of the electronics - except for the monitoring devices - have been turned off; no-one’s in the shower for once and there are no conversations going on; even Mason isn't humming a tune. Flynn sighs ever so softly as he gets up. The springs in his mattress creak as they release mechanical energy without his weight to keep them compressed. He does this every night; he quickly walks through the corridors, making his rounds, once at two in the morning and once at four. He can't help it. He did this when he still had Lorena, when he still had Iris, except on that one night. He's not going to let that happen again.

Everyone is sound asleep. Flynn can hear soft snoring coming from Mason’s room, and there's a green glow visible under the door to Rufus and Jiya’s room. He knows Jiya can't sleep in pitch black, which is why Rufus got Denise to buy her a tiny alien night light. The door of Wyatt’s room is slightly ajar. Glancing in, Flynn spots a tangle of limbs and sheets that sends the tiniest pang of jealousy through his heart.

Walking into the common area, he expects to see a small body curled up on the sofa, buried beneath at least three blankets.

Instead, Lucy’s sitting at the table, using Jiya’s tablet as a reading light. She's bent over a multitude of books, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Lucy?” Flynn calls out quietly, not wanting to startle her. As he head snaps up into the direction of his voice, her sweater slips off of her shoulder. God , she's become thin. Her clavicles were never this noticeable before.

He makes his way over to her and lays his hand on the corner of the pile of books.

“I thought, maybe if I figure out everything that's been changed since we started, I'll be able to discover their long-term plan, you know? So I'm trying to compare what's in here to what I think I know happened in our original timeline, but there's...there's so much that I just don't know or can't recall or.. ” Lucy’s voice trembles, and there are unshed tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“You can't do it all by yourself,” Flynn replies, putting a bookmark at her current page and gently closing the book with a dull thud. “I'll help you go through this in the morning, but right now you really need to sleep, okay?” He stretches his hand out to her, releasing a breath he didn't realise he was holding when she lays hers in his. Flynn leads her over to the sofa, while making a mental note to ask Denise about the possibilities of getting her a better pillow. Lucy already has to run around in heels half of the time; this thin bag of stuffing can't be helping. He averts his gaze as quickly as he can when she accidentally pulls her thin tank top up with her sweater, exposing her bare stomach and the swell of her breasts. Coughing nervously, Flynn waits until she hums softly, her clothing rearranged to protect her modesty once again. As much as he'd like to see her in all of her nude beauty, now is not the time nor the place.

“Get comfortable,” he tells her, wincing at the roughness of his own voice. Lucy doesn't seem to mind. She curls up into a foetal position, her chest facing the back of the sofa. Flynn grabs the blankets, carefully arranging them over her petite form until she properly tucked in. He can't help but take a moment to appreciate the trust she's showing him, letting him see her at her most vulnerable. He could hurt her right now, but she knows he won't - at least he hopes she does. Everything inside of him wants to place a kiss on her forehead. He settles for a gentle sweep of his thumb across her temple.

“G’night,” Lucy mumbles softly, face pressed into the soft fabric of the cocoon he's created for her.

Flynn smiles.

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

When he returns a little after four AM, she's out like a light. He watches her for a minute or two before returning to bed.

He'll help her in the morning, once they've both had their coffees.

Now, they sleep.

Chapter Text

Prompt: Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise + Garcy. | 50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”.

Rating: T | No warnings apply


 

Flynn hates this part of the missions. He hates knowing that innocent people get hurt. He hates knowing that Lucy, his Lucy can get hurt.

And oh, today has been nothing short of a disaster. They got separated; they got knives thrown at them, bullets fired at them and they had to evade more than one sniper shot. How Emma manages to get all of her rent-a-thugs this capable of hitting their mark, he doesn't know. His ears are still ringing from the blast. It doesn't matter. Lucy is in his arms, whimpering, and the only thing he cares about right now is getting her to safety. Murdering Emma Whitmore is on the back burner for the moment.

Rufus does his best to land the Lifeboat as gently as possible when you're in a titanium ball going faster than the speed of light, but the impact still sends a shockwave through the vessel and Lucy slumps in her seat, her seatbelt keeping her upright. When they don't immediately exit, he can hear Denise and Jessica inquiring about their well being. Rufus and Wyatt squeeze themselves past them so they can go reassure the ground team. The soldier offers him a tight nod. In his broken way, Flynn knows Wyatt cares about Lucy, but the man’s got a resurrected wife and more issues than Flynn cares to count. Reaching over, he carefully unbuckles Lucy, gathering her in his lap so he can carry her down the stairs. Shooing everyone away, he takes her into his room. The excuses for couches in the common area are not where she should be right now.

Flynn’s cautiously helping Lucy out of her multitude of layers of clothing when someone knocks at his door. He's immediately ready to tell them to go where the sun doesn't shine, but Jessica is standing there with a first-aid kit and a small pile of clothing.

“They're mine,” she explains softly, motioning at the T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. “Wyatt told us what happened. I thought Lucy might want to wear something a bit looser.” The historian on the bed mumbles her appreciation and Jessica leaves the supplies on his desk before leaving them again.

Once Lucy's down to her slip, Flynn turns away in an attempt at privacy, but after a few heavy breaths, she whispers: “Could you please help me?”

“Do you want me to go get one of the women?” he asks. She shakes her head. He hopes she doesn't notice the trembling of his hands as he pulls the cotton over her head. The contrast between his large hands and her tiny frame is humbling. Her alabaster skin shows more scars than it should, old and new, angry raised lines on her arms, legs, chest, abdomen… There are a few new superficial cuts which he quickly dresses. From the looks of it, she hasn't fractured anything, by the grace of God. The time between the explosion and them getting home seems to have been long enough for bruises to start showing, and they're everywhere. If only he could bear the pain for her. He can take it.

He applies some arnica on the worst of the bruised skin before helping her into the clothing so generously offered by the blonde. It's not that Jessica is large, he realises as the fabric falls against Lucy’s hips; it's that Lucy is objectively tiny. Once she's settled, reclining against his pillows, he finally takes a moment to get out of his own ‘borrowed’ clothes. With his shirt off, he sits on the edge of the bed to get his shoes off when he suddenly feels pressure against his ribs, a dull ache pulsing beneath Lucy’s fingertips.  

“Are you alright?” Flynn asks, reaching over to face her, but before he can, she presses her lips against his skin.

“Lucy?” he repeats.

“Shh. I'm kissing it better.”

He wants to argue that if anyone needs kissing anything better, it's her, but he just smiles and lets her soothe them both.

Chapter Text

Prompt: Garcy + 29: “Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face.” | From 50 Wordless Ways to Say "I Love You"

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

There are a few benefits to being in the late sixties. For starters, Lucy actually gets to speak to men instead of having to get her ‘husband’ to do it for her. Electricity and running water are things that exist. She gets to wear an actual bra.

Having her hair down and fairly wild while they’re running through Alamogordo, New Mexico, in search of Emma and Edward Lee Howard, however, is not the most convenient thing. She’s sweating, panting, and her hair is clinging to her forehead and getting in the way every five seconds. A swipe of her hands towards her temples keeps it at bay temporarily, but then it’s back. Groaning, she pauses to rearrange it once more, wishing she had brought an elastic from 2018 to make it more manageable.

Next to her, staying in the background while Wyatt and Rufus try to find someone who will show them the way to the White Sands visitors’ centre, Flynn silently loosens his tie, pulling it off of his neck in one fluid movement. She can’t blame him - it’s ridiculously warm out.

“Come here,” he murmurs, motioning for her to stand in front of him, her back to his front. Lucy looks at him quizzically, but does as he says nonetheless. He carefully gathers her hair, lifting it away from her neck, and moves his tie underneath, bringing the ends of the strip of fabric towards her forehead. He ties them together and rearranges the makeshift headband until the flat knot is in her neck, hidden by the lengths of her hair.

“Wha-” Lucy mumbles, turning around to face him, but Flynn just shrugs before nodding his head towards their teammates.

“They’re ready. Let’s go.”

Lucy raises one hand to touch the silk before following quickly, into the heat.

 

Her hair stays perfectly in place until she finally takes it down, back in 2018.

When she tries to return the tie to Flynn, he shakes his head.

“Keep it. You may need it again.”

Lucy copies his motion, dropping the accessory onto his bed anyway.

“Then you are more than welcome to help me with that again.”

She swears she hears him chuckle as she walks out of his room.

Chapter Text

Prompt: “Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain,” and “Standing between them and a busy road.” for garcy if it's not too much trouble. | From 50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”.

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

“You’re going to get pneumonia like this.”

“You don’t get pneumonia from standing in the rain, Lucy,” Flynn tells the historian. “You get pneumonia from bacteria, viruses or aspiration.” The man sounds way too smug, and she feels like physically wiping the look off of his face. She would, but she’s currently focusing on keeping her umbrella from flying onto the highway.

“Any luck yet?” she asks Rufus, who is holding their other umbrella over Wyatt as he tries to fix their 1950s car, but he shakes his head. Of course it had to break down on the side of the beltway. They have no paperwork, no money, no means of identifying themselves. They’re going to have to find a way to repair whatever is causing the engine to emit a dangerous-looking cloud of smoke, or they’ll have to walk. And honestly? These heels were most definitely not made for walking.

A loud clap of thunder sounds overhead, and Lucy nearly squeals at the sudden bang. Cars are passing them by at high speeds, splashing water towards them every time one whizzes past. Flynn is looking dubiously at her.

“What?”

“I’d prefer it if you weren’t standing so close to the road,” he admits through pressed-together lips. “Could you come stand here?” Flynn adds, motioning to the free space in front of him.

“Only if you’ll share the umbrella with me,” Lucy decides. He’ll have to compromise if he wants her to listen - even though he’s probably correct about her safety. She may be dressed in bright yellow with white polka-dots, but the severe rainstorm isn’t making their visibility any better. Huffing quietly, he nods, accepting the umbrella from her. She quickly moves to stand close to him as he shields them both from the downpour. A gust of wind blasts past them, and she can’t help but shiver. This dress really wasn’t made for warmth. Shaking his head, Flynn unbuttons his coat with one hand and drapes it across her shoulders before she can protest.

“Don’t want you getting pneumonia now, do we?”

Chapter Text

Prompt: u said u had to write more in other languages. so imma ask for 37 for garcy in any language u feel like. and maybe a translation?? i hope that's ok

Me and my big mouth…

I could’ve written in my mother tongue, but that felt lazy, so here’s a tiny drabble in German and French with an English translation.

37: Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap. | 50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You.

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

Es ist nicht oft, dass Flynn schläft, während andere noch wach sind. Er ist immer auf der Hut; schaut sich immer um. Er kann damit nicht aufhôren. Lucy weiß das. Trotzdem bittet sie ihn, jedes Mal ein Nickerchen zu machen. Manchmal versucht sie, ihn mit sanften Worten zu überzeugen, manchmal mit sanften Küssen, manchmal mit ihrem Körper. Manchmal wird sie wütend. Manchmal wird sie traurig. Aber sie versucht es immer wieder.

Als sie ihn plötzlich auf der Couch trifft, patrouilliert sie wie ein Wachhund in der Gegend.
Flynn schläft endlich. Jetzt ist sie dran, ihn zu beschützen.


 

Il n'est pas fréquent que Flynn dorme pendant que d'autres sont encore éveillés. Il est toujours sur ses gardes; regarde toujours autour de lui. Il ne peut pas l'arrêter. Lucy le sait, mais elle lui demande néanmoins de faire une sieste à chaque fois. Parfois, elle essaie de le convaincre avec des mots doux, parfois avec de doux baisers, parfois avec son corps. Parfois elle se fâche. Parfois elle est triste. Mais elle continue d'essayer maintes fois.
Quand elle le rencontre soudainement sur le canapé, elle patrouille comme un chien de garde dans les parages.
Flynn est enfin en train de dormir. C'est maintenant à son tour de le protéger.


 

It’s not common for Flynn to sleep while others are still awake. He is always on guard; is always observing his surroundings. He can’t stop it. Lucy knows this. Still, she asks him to take a nap every single time. Sometimes she tries to convince him with soft words, sometimes with soft kisses, sometimes with her body. Sometimes she gets angry. Sometimes she gets sad. But she keeps on trying.

When she suddenly finds him on the sofa, she guards the area like a guard dog.

Flynn is finally asleep. Now it’s her turn to protect him.

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: "Giving them space when they express wanting to have some time alone," for denise and her wife? | From 50 Wordless Ways to Say "I Love You"

Rating: T | No warnings apply | Content warning anxiety


 

Denise releases a breath she didn’t realise she was holding as she walks out of the bunker. There’s nothing like being stuck in the dark all day to appreciate the glow of the moon. At least the light isn’t artificial. She thinks she’ll see the fluorescent glow of the lamps inside in her nightmares for the rest of her life.

The drive home allows her to collect her thoughts, though the first thing she does when she gets to her car is check for a tracker. The chances of Rittenhouse finding her here are slim, but they’re there, and she would never be able to forgive herself if they touched her family. Carol has threatened her already, but she’s dead. And though Lucy’s mother had a bit of a heart left, she’s completely convinced that Emma Whitmore has a black heart where hers is supposed to be.

The front door is open when she pulls into the driveway.

It’s not supposed to be open.

Denise grabs her gun from her hip and exits her car as quietly as she can, hugging the hedges and the walls as she approaches the entrance. She checks her six before continuing into the home.

“Fuck!”

The curse comes from Michelle, standing at the kitchen counter. Denise nearly collapses at the sight of her wife stirring pasta sauce, perfectly fine. Michelle is staring at her drawn pistol with wide eyes.

“Sweetheart, what’s got you spooked?” she asks, reaching out to push the barrel of the weapon towards the floor. Denise tries to answer, but words are failing her. Shaking her head, she holsters her gun and raises a shaky hand, making her way to their bedroom upstairs. She takes a seat on top of the sheets, closing her eyes as she focuses on her breathing. If only she could tell Michelle everything that’s going on; her worries and her fears. But she can’t. This is her burden to bear.

Forty-five minutes later, once her heart has finally stopped trying to beat out of her chest, she descends the staircase and enters the kitchen.

Michelle and the kids are waiting for her, and they envelope her in a gentle hug.

“Shall I warm up some pasta for you?”

She’s home.

Chapter Text

Prompt: “Holding their hands when they are shaking,” and “Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh,” for Garcy | 50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”.

I really tried combining these, but panic/anxiety and the second one just wouldn’t mix in my mind. I hope you don’t mind this take on the prompt!

Rating: T | No warnings apply | Content warning panic attack


 

He’s been watching her for a while now. He always keeps an eye on her, but he’s been truly watching her for at least an hour.

She’s not coping.

Lucy is sitting on the couch, trying to focus on the movie Mason has put on, but she can’t. Wyatt and Rufus are making goofy faces to her side in an attempt to cheer her up, but it’s only making things worse. Shaking his head, Flynn calls out: “Lucy?” Her head snaps up to face him much too quickly. Heightened awareness.

“Would you mind helping me with something I found in a book?” he asks. It’s a white lie, but extremely necessary right now. She can’t afford to fall apart completely; they both know that. They have two pilots, three soldiers if you count Denise, but only one historian. And everyone remembers the Kennedy disaster when she was grounded. Now that the battles are becoming fiercer and the trips have increased in frequency, she needs to keep it together. And he’s going to help her with that.

She follows him wordlessly to his room. Once they get there, she inquires: “What did you find?”

“I lied,” Flynn immediately admits. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” she replies, arms crossing in front of her chest. A defensive stance, that he needs to break.

“You’re having a panic attack,” he tells her, his voice as neutral as he can force it to be.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re shaking.” Her hands disappear under her arms. “And you’re hyperventilating. You’re having a panic attack.”

“I just need to eat something,” Lucy counters. “I’m fine.” Sighing deeply, Flynn suddenly snaps his fingers behind his back. The historian nearly hits the ceiling. Silently, he offers her his hands, palms turned up. Please understand what I want.

Thankfully, she does. Her trembling hands come to rest in his, and he holds them with the lightest pressure.

“Breathe with me,” Flynn tells her. “Just focus on me.”

He’ll be strong for her when she can’t. As long as it takes.

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: "Who is this? Should I be worried?" For Denise/Michelle

Rating: T | No warnings apply


 

“I’m so grateful for your help!” Denise hears as she walks through the front door of her home. She knows that voice from somewhere, but she can’t figure out where. “I don’t know what I would have done otherwise!”

“It’s no problem at all, Miss Whitmore!” Michelle’s voice replies.

“Please, call me Emma.”

 

Emma Whitmore?

 

Denise forces herself to keep breathing steadily, entering the kitchen. Michelle is sitting at the island, flanked by a familiar redhead.

 

Emma Whitmore.

 

The Homeland Security agent feels like she’s just been the target of an uppercut.

“Emma?” she asks once she’s regained her use of English. “What are you doing here?” She does her best to repress the panic in her voice, keeping her question on a friendly level of politeness. Emma smiles back at her.

“Oh, my car broke down a few blocks away, and my phone was dead. I remembered you lived nearby, so I figured I’d check whether anyone was home so I could use your phone! And your lovely wife and beautiful children were!”

“Why haven’t you ever told me about her?” Michelle asks. “We should have had you over much sooner, Emma.”

“Oh, you know Homeland Security,” the redhead replies. “Clearance and things. I tend to be hard to track down!” She laughs. Denise forces a chuckle.

A car horn sounds outside.

“That must be my brother!” Emma announces, hopping off of the barstool. “Thank you so much, again!”

“I’ll see you out,” Denise responds. She needs to get the woman as far away from her family as possible, immediately.

“You have a wonderful family, Denise,” Emma tells her by the front door. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, would you?”

“I could have killed you the moment I saw you,” Denise replies, her hand on her gun.

“You wouldn’t have done that in front of your children. Bye now, and until next time!” Emma responds. She walks out of the house, waving at the kids in the window before leisurely making her way over to a black car. Californian plate, Denise realises.

 

“Who was that? Should I be worried?” Michelle asks when she returns to the kitchen. “You reacted so strangely.”

“I just...wasn’t expecting to see Emma here,” Denise responds truthfully. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re okay,” she adds, pressing a kiss onto Michelle’s lips. Hopefully she can’t sense her unease.

If she can, her wife decides not to comment on it.

That evening, Denise arranges permanent observation of her home and the kids’ school.

 

Emma-fucking-Whitmore.

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: A park bench looking out over a playground for platonic Jessica & Flynn. | 50 Hangout Locations for Character Building

Rating: T | No warnings apply


 

“I’m pregnant.”

It’s a weighted statement, and not one Flynn expected to hear anytime soon, and especially not from a woman who’s only just come back from the dead. Of course, she’s never been dead in her timeline, but to him, she’s pretty much the equivalent of a zombie.

(Whether he’ll also see Lorena and Iris as undead when - if he gets them back, is a question he pushes to the back of his mind for now.)

“You’re pregnant,” he responds instead, repeating the statement without any emotion. That’s just perfect, isn’t it? If having a child has taught him one thing, it’s that babies never make anything easier. If people have a strong relationship, the offspring will strengthen that. If there are issues, they will be exacerbated. And God, these two have issues. Though, in their defence, there’s not a single person in that damned bunker that doesn’t.

“Yes,” she confirms. “It’s Wyatt’s.” As if he was going to assume it would be anyone else’s. There's something hiding behind that statement, though. She's a troubled woman, with a weight resting on her chest, which is strange. She's ‘just’ a bartender, isn't she?

(He worries about the implications of her revival. It doesn't feel accidental. Rittenhouse doesn't make people disappear on accident. He presumes they don't randomly bring their enemies’ dead wives back either.)

“I don't know why I'm telling you this,” Jess admits, staring at the empty playground in front of them. “I haven't even told him yet.”

Silently, Flynn turns his palm skywards where it had been resting on his knee. A small hand slides into his and he squeezes gently.

“For what it's worth coming from me, you probably won't be a terrible mother.”

Jessica chuckles.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

The thing is, he doesn't know the answer to that either.

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: #35 for Garcy!!🙌🙌 | 50Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” | 35: Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

“Shh,” Flynn soothes the historian in his arms. Lucy caught...something in the nineteenth century, and they're waiting for her fever to break. She's been throwing up and passing out intermittently all night. Denise drew her blood - he has give the agent credit for her hidden skills - and managed to get her an IV marked ‘Ringer’s’, but other than that and a boatload of Tylenol and antibiotics, there's not much they can do. Lucy’s struggling to keep anything down at all, and she's whimpering against his chest.

Then the alarm goes off.

He wants to stay with her. He knows he can't. Without their historian, he's the next best option.

“Cannes, France, 1964!”

He makes Denise and Mason promise to keep an eye on her. Jiya will be too busy keeping track of them.

“I promise I'll be back as soon as possible,” Flynn tells Lucy. She smiles, eyes refusing to focus.

“That sounds nice,” she replies, feverish hallucinations clouding her vision. “I'll have the chicken soup please.”

 

He manages to convince Rufus and Wyatt to stop by Plascassier before they return to 2019.

 

“He brought soup from ‘64?” Mason asks Rufus as Flynn sprints past the desks to get back to Lucy.

“Not just soup,” the pilot replies. “He brought Julia Child’s chicken soup.”

 

The next morning, Lucy can finally sit up again.

Chapter Text

Prompt: : “I thought we were family!” for platonic Jiya and Jessica? | 200 Prompts

Rating: M for language | No warnings apply


 

“I thought we were family!”

Jessica winces, a lump immediately forming in her throat the moment the words break the silence in the attic of the new safehouse. It's an old munitions factory this time, situated somewhere on an abandoned industrial plot. It feels even less like a home than the bunker did.

“We…” she tries, but Jiya shakes her head, raising a hand to stop her.

“I thought we were family.” The girl’s voice is breaking now, and she closes her eyes. Jessica forces herself to keep looking at her. She owes her that much. “And then you suddenly kidnap me. I ended up in the eighteen-hundreds. For three fucking years, Jess! An unmarried Lebanese-American woman with no family in the nineteenth century; do you have any idea what my first days, weeks, months were like? How I had to fight for my Goddamn life? The looks, the words, the touches? Damn it, Jess, huh?”

“I don't.”

“What?” Jiya’s stance falters.

“I don't know what it was like for you. And I am truly, deeply sorry,” Jessica clarifies, shifting so she's facing Jiya more. “But I also know that a million apologies won't change the fact that I was - am - the direct cause of that.”

“So what, now you're going to ask for my forgiveness?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. That's up to you.” Jiya stares at her in silence before nodding slowly.

“Okay,” the engineer finally states. A tiny foot kicks against the inside of Jess’ uterus. Yeah, she probably deserves that, she thinks as she absentmindedly rubs her hand across her abdomen.

“I don't hate you,” Jiya comments, coming to sit next to her. She raises her hand to the baby bump. “May I?” Jessica nods, and the other woman softly strokes along the fabric of her T-shirt. Another well-placed kick hits her hand. The worm doesn't discriminate, it seems.

“Not tonight, but…” Jiya begins, her voice gentler than before. “Watch bad reality TV with me again sometime?”

Chapter Text

Prompt: 184: “Can I touch you?” + Garcy? | 200 Prompts

Rating: E for Explicit | No warnings apply


 

The door to the home he shares with Lucy opens smoothly as Flynn pushes against it. His weekly meeting with Denise turned into a quick phone call - she's a busy woman since her promotion - and so he's home early. Lucy should still be at the university, so he'll be by himself until she returns.

He's not exactly sure what to call their relationship. After the final legal battle was finally over, not one member of the team, save for Mason, felt like living on their own again. Silence can be deafening after all. Wyatt moved back in with Jessica. Jiya and Rufus have gotten an apartment in the city. Denise has Michelle. That left him and Lucy, and without truly talking it through, they moved into a two-story house in San Mateo. They have late-night talks over wine and cheese; he makes them dinner because he's the better chef and she does their laundry because it calms her. She's fallen asleep in his arms more times than he could possibly count. They've kissed. Twice. But the last occasion that happened was at least three weeks ago, and he doesn't want to force anything onto Lucy. She's spent her entire life being ordered around; he's not going to become the next person to do that to her.

Making his way further into their home, he drops his keys onto the side table in the hallway and slips out of his shoes.

Only now does he realise there's voices upstairs. One of them is Lucy’s, and he's pretty sure she just cried out. Dropping his messenger bag onto the floor, he races towards the source of the noise, traversing two steps at a time.

When he barges into her bedroom, he freezes.

Lucy’s by herself. She's wearing a short silk nightgown he's never seen before that couldn't pass for modest even if it tried. The other voices are coming from her iPad.

And he can hear a distinct buzzing sound coming from where her hand is moving between her spread legs.

“Flynn?” she asks on a shudder, her eyes large as she stares at him.

“Lucy, I…” he stammers. His body is refusing to look away from the scene in front of him. “I'm so sorry, I...I'll leave, and then we can pretend this never happened.”

“And what if I asked you to stay?” the historian replies, the buzzing stopping but still moving what has to be a toy lazily between her thighs. This can't be happening. Lucy Preston can't be masturbating while watching porn and wanting him there with her. He has to be dreaming.

“Unless you don't want to,” she adds, and he sees the flicker of insecurity flash across her features.

“Lucy, I…yes. God, yes. But are you sure?” Flynn replies, taking a tentative step towards the bed.

“Please?” she asks on a soft whimper. She doesn't have to say another word; he's by her side within three seconds.

“Can I touch you?”

Chapter Text

Prompt: “Since when have we ever been friends?” + Mason/Flynn friendship? | 200 Prompts

Rating: T - bordering on M - for some frustration expressed through adult vocabulary | No warnings apply


 

English, Flynn decides, is a living nightmare. Croatian makes sense. Three grammatical genders and seven cases make up a language, along with seven verb tenses, of which only four even truly matter. French makes sense. Spanish makes sense. German makes sense.

But English?

English is a mystery.

However, he’s so incredibly done with being pointed out as ‘the one with the funny accent’. He’s been in this damn country for forever, and yet, it’s still the first thing people notice about him; the reason they immediately single him out as an outsider. And when you’re fighting a guerrilla war, that’s never a good thing. So here he is, mumbling to himself like a child learning to read, and he’s furious. Furious with the language, and furious with himself.

Dearest creature in creation, study English pronunciation…

This damn poem wasn’t even written by an anglophone. Curse you, Dr. Gerard Nolst Trenité, you and your condescending poetry.

Tear in eye, your dress will tear, so shall I!  Oh hear my prayer…

He’s pretty ready to give up, grab a book in any other language from the shelf and never even try to speak this ridiculous language ever again.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery, daughter, laughter, and Terp… Terp… Te…

“Terpsichore.”

His head snaps up to meet Connor’s gentle gaze. Motioning towards the empty bed, the Brit asks: “May I?” Flynn shrugs. The scientist takes a seat and turns so he can see the hellish poem as well. “Go on.”

Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles, exiles, similes, and reviles…

As Flynn fights his way through the words, Connor corrects him when his tongue tangles and his lips won’t form the correct vowels, whilst humming softly when he gets it right.

Hiccough has the sound of cup. My advice is to give up!

Flynn lets out a deep sigh. Connor looks pleased.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” the Croatian comments, “but why would you help me?”

“That’s what one generally does for friends,” Connor replies.

“Since when have we ever been friends?” The Brit ignores his sarcastic question.

“Same time tomorrow? Brilliant.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: "Leave me alone," for Garcy | from 200 Prompts

Rating: G | No warnings apply


 

“Leave me alone, Lucy, please.” Flynn’s voice is soft as he pleads with the historian standing at the foot of his bed. “I just need a nap.”

“Like hell you do,” Lucy replies. Her entire being is exuding determination. “You’ve been holed up in here for hours. You haven’t even come out for dinner - for which you owe Jiya an apology, by the way. She spent forever working on that baklava. Now what’s going on?” Sighing, Flynn motions towards the photos on the wall. Lucy’s brow furrows as she steps closer, examining them one by one. He doesn’t have to look to know which ones come in which order. First, Iris on Santa’s lap. Second, Lorena pregnant with Iris. Third, a newborn Iris in Lorena’s arms. Fourth, the three of them at Iris’ dance recital. Fifth…

“Oh no,” Lucy whispers.

Fifth, the grave.

“It’s today,” she realises. Flynn can only nod. Silently, Lucy walks away. Strange. He hadn’t expected her to actually listen to him.

Footsteps returning tell him she didn’t. Lucy enters his room with some fruit, two bottles of water and two pieces of the syrupy dessert. Ignoring his gentle protest, she arranges herself alongside him. As her hand comes to rest on top of his, she asks: “Tell me about them?”

He shares the stories of their lives. The early walks to see the sunrise. The late-night chocolate milk. The monster spray Lorena had made for Iris’ nightmares - Febreze. Going to mass on Christmas morning. Iris’ favourite books and Lorena’s favourite music. He tells her everything.

And she listens.

Chapter Text

Prompt: "Accidentally opening a door on their face," for any ship | Meet Cutes

Denise Christopher × Michelle Christopher | Rating: G | No warnings apply 


She's in a hurry. The meeting started five minutes ago, and even though it's not her fault there was a ten-car pile-up right in front of her building, her Captain is going to have her head for it. So, she's running.

As she rounds the corner, she instinctively pushes her hands against the double doors. Instead of going through them, though, she's met with resistance.

“What the…” she mumbles, pushing again until a voice yells: “Stop!” Looking up, she comes face to face with gentle eyes in a pained expression. The woman's hand is stuck between the door and its frame on the other side.

“Oh my God!” she calls out, pulling on the swinging door so her victim can wiggle her fingers free. She immediately joins her, carefully grabbing her hand. It doesn't seem broken, but it's definitely bruised. “I am so sorry! I was in a hurry and I wasn't paying attention, I…”

“Buy me a drink after your shift, and we're even, officer…?” the woman suggests, a smile on her face.

“Denise Christopher,” she replies as her cheeks begin to feel warm.

“I'm Michelle. See you tonight.” With that, she leaves Denise, who can't suppress an excited a giggle and a slight skip to her step.

(Until she remembers her meeting, that is.)

 

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: Belle! Maybe "They jump into your car breathless and tell you to keep driving" from the meet cute pronpts for Garcy?? - Meet-cutes

Rating: G | No warnings apply 


 

As Lucy Preston idles in front of the social studies and political sciences building, trying to find a song to listen to on her way home from dropping Amy off, the last thing she expects is for a stranger to jump into her car.

It's exactly what happens, though, and she yelps when her passenger door is pulled open unexpectedly.

The guy seems slightly older than she is. His hair is messy and his chest is heaving with every breath as he tells her: “Please, drive!”

“Wha-”

“Please!”

A redhead storms out of the brownstone, screaming: “FLYNN!” When she spots Lucy's car, she begins heading for it. Lucy knows her. She's Emma Whitmore, and she's not exactly known for her tact.

So, she floors it, tires screeching under the friction.

Ten blocks later, Flynn looks at her sheepishly as he softly comments: “I'll get out now. I apologise for scaring you, Miss…”

“Preston. Lucy Preston.” Digging into his pockets, he hands her a contact card. Who even carries those around in this day and age?

“In case I caused any damage or fines.” Lucy pulls over, and he leaves her wondering what has just happened.

 

That night, in bed, she grabs her phone and types a message.

So. What did you do to make Madame Morrible scream?

She hesitates just a second before adding: xx Lucy

Chapter Text

Prompt: "Not sure if you could tell, but I'm not exactly a people person," +Platonic Flufusvision? (Aka Riya and their friendship with Flynn?) | 200 prompts

Rating: G | No warnings apply 


 

“Not sure if you could tell, but I'm not exactly a people person,” Garcia Flynn protests as Jiya pulls on his arm with a surprising amount of force, trying to get him to get up from behind his desk. She's gotten extremely strong in the three years she spent in Chinatown. He makes a mental note to offer to teach her proper technique sometime.

“Luckily, I know you're lying,” she replies, taking a moment to catch her breath, but not letting go of his forearm. “You're most definitely a Lucy person, and you're a Mason person, and a Denise person, and underneath all the sarcasm I'm pretty sure you even don't mind Wyatt all that much. And right now, all you need to be is a Jiya-and-Rufus person. Please?” She bats her eyes at him and he's fully aware he's being played. He chuckles, the laughter a low rumble in his chest. Jiya's mental fistpump puts the brightest smile on her face. Shaking his head, he lets her pull him up and drag him towards the game console.

“Alright. Who should I try then?”

Rufus and Jiya give him a once-over before immediately announcing: “Hanzo.”

When Lucy walks into the room two hours later, Jiya has fallen asleep against Flynn, who is watching Rufus play and offering commentary. She writes just one line in her journal about that night:

“They're a family.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: How about "the Hanged Man: punishment, knowledge, nature, halo, sacrifice" for Carol Preston? | Major Arcana Prompts

Rating: T bordering on M for minor character death | No warnings apply | Content warnings for death, blood, gunshots


 

As Emma aims the gun through the curtain, Carol can't stop herself.

“Lucy!”

“I am so sick of this!”

Two bangs.

“What have you done?”

Another.

It takes a moment for her to register that the first two bullets have lodged themselves in her chest, but then it feels like her lungs are being torn open. It burns, it burns so badly. Has it been this cold in here the entire time they've spent in the photo studio? Wyatt and Flynn walk past her. Her back is wet.

Then, her Lucy. Her beautiful Lucy. She's asking for a doctor, but it's too late. It's getting harder to stay awake with every exhale.

She never should have trusted Emma.

Doctors. She needs help. Lucy. They're away from home. Where is she? Lucy. Lucy. It's all for Lucy. A better world for Lucy. Take it. Take it. It's so cold. All for Lucy. So cold.

Lucy.

Chapter Text

Prompt: “Stay here tonight," for Garcy. | Fluff/Angst Prompts

Rating: T | No warnings apply 


 

“Stay here tonight.” It stops her in her tracks.

“Wha-”

“Stay here tonight,” Flynn repeats, getting up from his chair to stand in front of her. “You have to be tired. I know I am. You shouldn't have to drive back to San Mateo right now.”

He's not wrong, Lucy supposes. They've spent the past few days getting grilled by Denise's colleagues while the last remaining members of Rittenhouse received their sentences. They've been treated like criminals. And though she doesn't exactly feel like an all-American heroine either, it became harder by the minute not to break down crying, to tell agents Harsh and Harsher that she had tried her best, that she was just a historian, damn it.

They all agreed to have dinner at Flynn's studio apartment before travelling back to their respective residences. Wyatt's moved back in with Jess. Rufus brought Jiya to his mom. Denise, obviously, returned to her family. Mason went off doing whatever it is he does. And Lucy? She's been staying at her mom's house. Carol's been declared dead despite her body never having made it into the twenty-first century, and Lucy has been announced the only heir.

It's been a lonely few weeks.

Empty house, empty life, empty heart.

So, she nods.

He smiles.

For the first time in days, she does so too.

Chapter Text

Prompt: "You're adorable," for Flogan. | Fluff/Angst Prompts 

Rating: G | No warnings apply 


 

 

Soft murmuring is the first thing Wyatt hears as he makes his way downstairs. It's Saturday morning, and it's the start of the first weekend where neither of them has to work.

“You're such a smart girl. You know English as well as Croatian. I hate English.” Flynn has to be talking to Sam. “ Znate li koliko sam pametan na hrvatskom? Ljudi me ismijavaju. Oni se smiju. Ali ja govorim engleski jer ne govore hrvatski .” A sigh. Wyatt understood about four words: smart, laugh, English and speak . Flynn continues murmuring in Croatian,  and though he doesn't know any of the words that follow, Wyatt knows one thing: it's baby talk. That tone of voice is universal.

Entering the living room, the sight in front of him immediately puts a smile on his face. Flynn is sitting on the sofa, Sam's head in his lap.

“You're adorable.” Flynn looks up at him.

“You'd better be talking about her,” he replies, stroking Sam's head.

“You're both adorable.” Wyatt takes a seat next to him, kissing his cheek.

Sam barks softly in agreement.

Chapter Text

Prompt: for the angst/fluff meme #13: “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” // garcyatt?

Rating: T | No warnings apply | Content warnings: nightmares, trauma


 

Wyatt is the first one who realises something’s amiss. Lucy is draped over his chest, when normally she occupies Flynn’s.

“Lucy,” he hisses quietly, and the brunette groans. “Lucy!” he repeats. Her eyes blink open slowly.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” she mumbles, her grip on his shirt tightening slightly as she begins to wake up.

“He’s not here.” At that, Lucy sits up straight.

“Let’s go find him, then.”

 

A short search through the many empty rooms of the bunker leads them to what has recently been designated as the gym. Wyatt freezes, pulling on Lucy’s arm.

“Oh, darling,” she whispers. They carefully approach their husband in the middle of the room. Lucy reaches out to touch his hand, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, his head snapping upwards to reveal his tear-stained skin.

“Want to talk about it?” she prompts as they gather him into an embrace on the foam rubber mats. Garcia hides his face against Wyatt’s neck, and all they can make out is: “Dreamt...Rittenhouse...Emma...you...blood.”

“We’re okay,” Wyatt murmurs. “We’re okay.” The taller man turns his face and replies: “I won’t let anyone hurt you; you’re safe with me.” Lucy smiles.

“We know. We know. We know.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: "You said this time it'd be different," for Denise and Michelle, please?

Rating: T | No warnings apply

 


 

 

“You said this time it’d be different.” It’s not an accusation, not anymore. After years of disappointment, chagrin turns into defeat. Michelle sighs. “And I actually believed you.”

“It’s my job,” Denise replies, wincing at the harshness in her own voice. “My duty. We’ve been over this.”

“We made a promise, nearly twenty years ago. Seven steps. You can’t possibly have forgotten.”

Closing her eyes, Denise recalls the vows as if they had been uttered only yesterday.

 

"Let us take the first step to provide for our household a nourishing and pure diet, avoiding those foods injurious to healthy living.

"Let us take the second step to develop physical, mental and spiritual powers.

"Let us take the third step to increase our wealth by righteous means and proper use.

"Let us take the fourth step to acquire knowledge, happiness and harmony by mutual love and trust.

"Let us take the fifth step so that we are blessed with strong, virtuous and heroic children.

"Let us take the sixth step for self-restraint and longevity.

"Finally, let us take the seventh step and be true companions and remain lifelong partners by this wedlock."

 

“I…” Denise begins, but Michelle shakes her head.

“You forgot the seventh a long time ago.”

 

Chapter Text

Prompt: "I can't remember why I ever loved you," for Riya.

Rating: T | No warnings apply | Content warning: panic attack

 


 

 

“I can’t remember why I ever loved you.” Jiya nearly chokes on her anguish. “I can’t remember anything.” Tears land on the screen of the tablet in her hands - her tablet, the strangers had told her - as she swipes through the photos.

“Nothing at all?” the British man asks her, holding out a box of tissues in an awkward gesture. She shakes her head. The young guy who’s by her side in all of the photos moves in to hug her, but she instinctively flinches. His hands snap back to his side, his head hanging in defeat. She begins to cry again. The hospital room feels too large and much too small at the same time, and her lungs wheeze with every breath.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the older woman soothes, stepping closer while shooing most of the group out of the room. Only she - was her name...Chris? Agent something; she can’t remember - and the tall man - Flynn? - remain. The agent hands him a handgun from her holster and commands: “Guard the door.” Turning to Jiya, her voice changes to a softer tone. She must have children, Jiya muses, or maybe pets. Sliding onto the bed and gathering Jiya in a gentle embrace, she tells her: “Breathe with me.”

 

In the corridor, outside of the closed door, Rufus breaks down, being held up only by Wyatt’s hands as he pulls him as close to his body as he can. His chest heaves, but his cries are noiseless, the silence broken only by sharp intakes of breath. Mason holds Lucy, letting her hide her face in his chest.

“What do we do now? How do we solve this?” she whispers.

For the first time in his life, Mason has no idea.

Chapter Text

Prompt: Timeless / Emma / Apodyopis: The act of mentally undressing someone.

Rating: T | No warnings apply 

 


 

 

“Emma? Emma?” Jessica eyed the redhead suspiciously. It wasn’t like her to suddenly freeze in the middle of the street, especially not when running after Garcia Flynn. “Are you alright?” Emma blinked.

“Oh, I’m more than alright.” Jess followed her gaze, rolling her eyes as she realised what had caused her superior to slam into an invisible brick wall. On the other side of Vine Street stood a woman in front of a cafe, smiling and giggling. If the woman had been a doe, Emma was a damn tigress. Shaking her head, Jess grabbed hold of the redhead’s wrist and pulled her along.

“Mission now, getting intimate with Clara Bow later, you useless lesbian.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: Garcy + Duende: "Unusual power to attract or charm."

Rating: M | No warnings apply

 


 

 

“You know,” Flynn murmurs as he kisses the swell of Lucy’s breast, “when I first saw you in São Paulo I thought you weren’t real.”

“Like a…” She hisses softly as he scrapes his teeth along her skin. “Like a hallucination?” Writhing beneath him, her eyelashes brush against the silk blindfold.

“Hm,” he hums. “More like a…” He struggles to find the right word. “ Boginja .”

“I have no idea what that means,” she replies.

“That’s okay. I do.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: the overwhelming desire to kiss + emma/lucy

Rating: T | No warnings apply 

 


 

 

In a forgotten alleyway, two women find a breath of air, away from the suffragettes and police officers.

“I should shoot you.”

“Likewise.”

Hearts race as adrenalin reaches its peak and lips fuse together in a battle for dominance. If someone catches them in the act, they're screwed. Maybe that's the whole point. Take the other down along with you in the ultimate sacrifice.

The fact that the other is a very good kisser is extremely distracting, though.

 

(In the present, Emma Whitmore awakens with a gasp. She needs a drink. Or two.)

Chapter Text

Prompt: A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin for Garcy

Rating: T | No warnings apply 

 


 

 

“I can't do this anymore.” The words spill out of her throat like a tsunami reaching land; breaking the ominous silence in a never-ending crash. “I can't. I just can't.” A single sob follows, and she curses herself for it; curses her emotional nature.

“Do what, Lucy?” he asks on a whisper, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wants to gather her in his arms and hold her until she stops hurting; until the cuts and bruises and her heart, her beautiful heart, have healed; until he finds a way to bring Rufus and Amy, and, hell, even Carol back.

“Don't make me say it,” she begs.

“I don't know how to,” he replies. He can't force this.

She lets herself fall into his arms. He lets himself fall for her.

They're lost, but they're not alone.

Chapter Text

Prompt: Platonic MurderVision 

Rating: G | No warnings apply 

 


 

 

The heating system gave in yesterday. Normally, in early June in California, no-one would care, but when you live in a bunker, several feet underground, every degree counts. Denise has brought them extra blankets and space heaters, but it's barely enough. Wyatt has Jess; Rufus has Jiya and Lucy has convinced Mason to share some body heat. Flynn has told the rest he is fine by himself; that he has survived worse and isn't bothered by the cold in the slightest.

But he is.

So now he finds himself turning on the shower in the middle of the night, trying to get some warmth into his aching joints; to get his old bullet wounds to stop burning. He lets out a shaky breath as the water cascades down his back and he finally starts feeling like a human again.

Then the water turns cold and he cannot stop the anguished cry. It feels like acid on his skin. He tries to get away from the stream as quickly as possible, pulling a towel around his shivering body.

The tears fall on their own.

He ignores them.

He cannot ignore the young woman who steps in front of him as he exits the bathroom and hands him a mug of tea. Jiya silently takes his hand and gently drags him towards her and Rufus’ room, where she instructs a half-asleep boyfriend to make some room. He does, continuing to snore quietly immediately after. Positioning Flynn in the middle of the thin mattress, Jiya gets in on the other side and curls up to him, thermos in her hand as she pulls a tablet onto his now blanket-covered lap.

“You pick a movie,” she whispers, taking a sip of tea.

If she notices the tears falling onto Flynn's chest, she doesn't mention it.

Chapter Text

Prompt: it's not from the list but could you write more about gabriel and his wife in enamel eyes?

For this to make sense, read Enamel Eyesfirst.

Rating: G | No warnings apply

 


 

 

“Darling? I'm home!” Hanging her trench coat on a hanger, Maëlys walks into the sitting room, where Gabriel is watching the Olympics.

“How did it go?” he asks her, kissing her cheek and pouring her a glass of merlot. She hums quietly, commenting: “They all danced marvellously. How's the match?”

“The Frenchman is flicking and hitting the ground on purpose,” he replies on a slight grumble. “But you know I wasn't talking about the dancers.” Maëlys laughs.

“And I presume his lovely Croatian opponent hasn't bent a single rule, hm?” She tugs at his wrist until he lets her fall back against his side. “Doctor Preston is a beautiful woman; Garcia didn't exaggerate, though she could use a decent dinner or two. Once we reunited her with the younger Miss Preston, she finally started smiling, and I don't think she's stopped since.”

“And you left them in my brother's care?” Gabriel asks, cursing as the tip of the Frenchman's blade touches his opponent’s jacket.

“Hm. Yes.”

“But I trust you want to invite them over for those dinners?” Maëlys chuckles and pokes his arm.

“You know me too well, Gabriel. Now, whoever loses does the dishes, oui ?”

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Prompt: Garcy + cuddling in public 

Rating: G | No warnings apply 

 


 

 

“Lucy? Lucy?” It is July 14th 1789, and Flynn is standing next to the Porte Saint-Antoine in what will be named the fourth arrondissement of Paris in just six years. Normally, the streets would be bustling with pedestrians.

Today, they're filled with rioters.

It's the storming of the Bastille: the start of the French Revolution. Rufus and Wyatt left to find Bailly, who is supposed to become the new mayor tomorrow. Lucy and he stayed here to make sure the damned fortress actually does get invaded by the protesters.

But a few minutes ago, a drunkard bumped into them, and Lucy disappeared into the rioting masses.

Excusez-moi, ” he comments, approaching a man who has climbed onto a wagon. “ J'ai perdu ma femme. Elle est petite, mince et brune. Elle est anglaise et ne connaît pas Paris. ” The man glances down at him and rolls his eyes. “ Elle est enceinte ,” Flynn adds, and the white lie seems to change the protester’s mind.

Grands yeux, robe rouge ?” The urge to correct him and say that Lucy's dress is burgundy, not red, is strong, but Flynn nods. “ Elle est au café .”

Before the man can even finish the sentence, Flynn has already thanked him and is basically running towards the cafe.

“Lucy!” Her head turns towards him as he approaches her. The moment Flynn reaches Lucy he immediately pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he gently inspects her for injuries. She trembles. Her hands have his jacket in a death grip.

“I've got you,” he soothes.

Lucy nods.