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somekindofflowergirl · 11 months ago

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Timeless, Hollywoodland, and The Philadelphia Story

I found this old meta I’ve had in my Google docs for years but I don’t believe I’ve ever posted anything about it, since I originally intended to use the idea in a fic. Since that isn’t happening, even though it’s been years and I doubt anyone is out here writing or reading Timeless meta anymore, here you go. Obviously spoilers for both.

Most Garcy fans will groan if I suggest we take a look at Hollywoodland, but considering a certain admittedly fantastic dress:

…and a certain cut scene involving a pool, it’s interesting to consider through the lens of The Philadelphia Story, of which the dress and pool scene are iconic elements. Here is a still from the movie:

Look familiar? This is also poolside.

The Philadelphia Story revolves around Tracy Lord (Katherine Hepburn), a wealthy socialite who is preparing to marry her fiance, George (who matters as little as Lucy’s quirk-of-the-timeline-fiancé Noah in Timeless but manages to be far less likable) in a matter of days. The head of Spy Magazine assigns Macaulay Connor (Jimmy Stewart, oddly nicknamed “Mike”) and his photographer, Liz, to go to the wedding and get the story posing as friends of her expatriate brother, with an actual friend of his as their in: C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant). Dexter also happens to be Tracy’s first husband. They divorced years prior due to his alcoholism—including a nasty incident of him shoving her down—and her criticism of him. Dexter originally seems to be doing this out of spite, but we quickly learn it’s actually to keep the magazine from releasing a bigger scoop about Tracy’s father’s affair and estrangement from her mother, which have devastated Tracy. The rest of the film is about Tracy’s entanglement with all these men.

(Sidenote: there are some very old-fashioned diatribes and comments about the nature of women and marriage and the shoving I found very hard to overlook, but that’s not the point of this post. Just heads up if you do ever watch it.)

On the eve of Tracy’s wedding to George, she dons The Dress to attend a ball in their honor. She gets drunk for only the second time in her life, and she and a similarly drunk Mike spend time together. They mainly talk drunk nonsense, drive drunk, and Mike sings Over the Rainbow. They have a grand time, end up kissing, and jump in the pool for a midnight swim.

Similarly, in Hollywoodland, Lucy and Wyatt share a sweet poolside conversation while she wears The Dress to a Hedy Lamarr party, they kiss, and they would have jumped in the pool if not for wildfire filming issues. They spend the night together, scar Rufus the next morning, then head back to the present. Wyatt soon receives a text from his supposedly dead wife. He takes off, without telling anyone why, and Wyatt spends the rest of the season trying to win back Jessica permanently while still having feelings for Lucy. In the “movie” (reminder: Christmas isn’t canon), Jessica is a pure evil Rittenhouse operative who lied about being pregnant, is killed, and Lucy and Wyatt are hastily shoved back together without fixing the issues between them on-screen. TPTB have claimed that their pairing was always endgame and the reunion would have happened anyway–albeit less swiftly and unrealistically–but they were Made For Each Other, loved each other all along, blah blah blah.

Which brings us back to The Philadelphia Story. The scene at the pool between Tracy and Mike is iconic for a reason. Mike is very “eat the rich” and she calls him out for being an intellectual snob, he tells her she’s wonderful and that the other men didn’t know what they were talking about, and their kiss is incredibly cinematic. It’s truly romantic…

In the moment.

For that moment, that one night, the audience can root for this couple. Mike is saying what Tracy needs to hear, and she’s enjoying letting herself fail by getting drunk and doing the unexpected. It’s sweet.

But it isn’t the endgame. No one means it to be.

After the multiple confrontations that arise out of the pool situation, Tracy breaks off with George just before the wedding. Mike asks Tracy to marry him and she turns him down. Liz loves him, and while he and Tracy like each other as friends, they would both be unhappy long-term. They live very different lives and have different values. And they’re not actually in love.

I don’t honestly believe this was intentional as foreshadowing that Lyatt may not be endgame so much as Abigail Spencer really wanting to wear The Dress. But even as a subconscious accidental parallel, it’s decent. Mike is nice and he and Tracy get along fairly well, but he’s better suited to Liz, who has stood by and loved him for years while waiting for him to mature enough for forever with her. Tracy, having realized that she doesn’t want the picture-perfect (on the outside) life she envisioned—and having seen that Dexter, now sober and much changed, is not the man he was when he hurt her—she forgives Dexter for the pain of their past. He lets go of it all as well and they remarry, this time making it down the aisle rather than eloping as they did before.

And as a book I adore (Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos) says: “Jimmy Stewart is always and indisputably the best man in the world, unless Cary Grant should happen to show up.”

#timeless #garcy #lucy preston #garcia flynn #wyatt logan #anti-lyatt #the philadelphia story #timeless meta #long post #boy is it #christmas isn’t canon

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fuckupthebest · 3 months ago

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New Garcy AI, new kiss.

#garcy #flynn x lucy #flynn and lucy #garcia flynn #lucy preston #garcy kiss #timeless #Ai creation #Vidu Ai

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electricbluebutterflies · 5 months ago

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Garcy: they could offer me anything in the world, and i would ask for you

Or, I haven't written these babes in six months and the energy is good again YAY!! Post-canon-divergent, PG-ish, also on ao3.

He should stay away, after.

It is… heavily suggested, in the weeks-turned-to-months-turned-to-hell-if-he-knows-how-long he spends being… “deprogrammed” is the polite word they use for it, but “interrogated” feels closer, and he would like to never deal with federal bureaucracy ever again and the creative list of accusations had to have come from somewhere and-

He has no realistic plan to do anything he has to say he’ll at least consider to get this nightmare over with, but they don’t need to know that.

He knows his processing takes longer than anyone else’s; he knows for a damn fact that there are people from agencies even he hadn’t heard of before who want it to take even longer than it does, keep him under microscopes forever, and the only reason they don’t win is they can’t quite charge him with anything that would hold up and-

He sees daylight for the first time in he doesn’t even know how long, and in the middle of it all there is her.

He hadn’t expected this. Some form of continuing relationship, yes, perhaps the occasional text or something, but not-

“You have any plans?”

There are comments that could be made about how he’s spent the past few weeks in particular trying to avoid being press-ganged into some other unit, something about how much he apparently owes and… no, no he does not, he is due for a fresh start and that means no black-ops fuckery ever again and-

“None worth keeping.”

He realizes, in this moment, a few vital things. One, this woman he has an attachment to has probably spent an unholy amount of time trying to get him out into civilian life, time she could’ve used on her own readjustment but instead she fought for him. Two, she intends to take him home, and at the very least the day will end with a reminder that he sleeps better with her beside him. Three…

“How much did they try to talk you into?” Lucy asks as they walk to her car. She looks happier than he’s seen before, he thinks; her clothes fit a little different, she’s slept well, normal life agrees with her body and-

“Options were presented.”

“And you turned them down.” She sounds as impressed as she is unsurprised, and he wonders how much she actually knows, how much-

“They could offer me anything in the world and I would ask for you.”

“Bet that went over well.”

“What they don’t know…”

He is aware how many security cameras there must be in the exterior of this middle-of-nowhere federal complex, how many checkpoints she probably had to get through to even get back here, and still-

Everything that happens next is through her. Start there and rebuild around it. Start there…

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asks after a certain silence. They’re in her car by now, and there is not enough leg room in this thing for his body and he’s not saying anything, and-

“Would you be opposed?”

She turns to give him one of her looks, and everything is still the same, everything is still-

“I have spent the past month trying to… you don’t need to know, but-“

“So you-“

She leans over and takes a kiss. They haven’t had this opportunity in… three months, if his sense of time is any good, and he’s unsure he’s in any state for it, and-

“I have a spare bedroom in a house I don’t want to clean out alone,” she murmurs when they break for air. “And that’s… a problem for tomorrow, it’s a long drive and-“

“What’s the plan now?”

“Do most of the drive today and reconnect in a cheap hotel room, if you’ll have me.”

He takes another feather of a kiss, and everything else comes from here, and-

“Yes.”

#ebf writes fic #garcy

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years ago

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The Dark Passenger - Chapter Ten.

A big thank you to everyone for your feedback! I’m going to push the boat out a little and say this time, it’s 40 notes to unlock the next chapter, of which you can accumulate with your likes, but most importantly, comments and reblogs. Don’t let me down with the engagement, now!

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine

Words - 3,154

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Hey, Garcie,” Gilly spoke, entering the garage of his home, which he’d converted into a workshop so Amelia could have a place to run her business from and work on her leathercraft items in plenty of space, her hands currently pushing a piece of black suede through her sewing machine. “Listen, I brought Camille back with me, she’s in the lounge. Something, um... something bad went down tonight.”

She ceased her sewing immediately, taking her glasses off and turning in her chair. “Is she okay? What happened?” In her heart, though, she knew. She just knew that whatever it was, it involved EZ.

“She and EZ got into a fight, and he slugged her. Knocked her out cold.”

Immediately she gasped, pausing to hug him and kiss his head before exiting her seat at speed.

“I know I said we shouldn't get involved, but...” he trailed off, Amelia halting.

“You did the right thing.” He knew he had, knowing she shouldn’t be alone, especially since he didn’t trust his president not to turn up at her home and perhaps do something else heinous, where she wouldn’t have anyone there to protect her from such. He’d attempted to get out to her before they’d left, Bishop hauling him back, telling him to ‘get inside and leave her be’ as he’d worded it, stating strongly that he’d done enough.

“Sweetie?” she spoke softly, Camille emerging from within her hands, her cheek already turning an angry shade of purple. “Oh, love. Come here.” Seating herself beside her, Amelia pulled her into a hug, letting her cry in her arms, stroking her back, Gilly coming back in through the side door and making a motion with his hand that he’d fix them both a drink. Luckily for Camille, his girlfriend was also a fan of rum, going over to the small bar in the corner of the room and grabbing a bottle along with two glasses, and a beer for himself from the mini fridge.

“I can’t believe he did this,” Amelia began, Camille straightening, thanking Gilly for the drink he slid across the large, glass coffee table towards her, his girlfriend picking hers up and sinking it in one, topping off both their glasses after she watched her friend do the same. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?”

She nodded, but then made a face that alluded to more, looking a little uncomfortable. Gilly read the room quickly. “I’ll leave you girls to it. I got dragons to slay on Skyrim.”

“Nerd,” Amelia joked, poking out her tongue, chuckling softly when he raised a middle finger. “Love you!”

“You’d better.” Exiting the lounge, he headed into what used to be the dining room, he’d carved out the space as his man cave, giving the girls the privacy he sensed they needed. They both moved further back onto the big, comfy couch, sitting cross legged as they faced one another, Amelia holding her hand.

“He hasn’t hit me before, but... he, he has scared me by being overly physical,” Camille stated, Amelia nodding. “When we were having sex once, he gripped me around the throat and called me a whore, and I’m not the kind of girl who likes that. I mean yeah, dirty talk and throat holding is great, but he was close to throttling me. I tried to get away from him, but he wouldn’t let me go. As soon as he saw me crying afterwards, though, he was completely different, so apologetic and loving, and I don’t understand it, how he can be so lovely to me one minute, and then... then...”

“Abusive the next,” Amelia finished, sighing, her worst fears confirmed. “Because that’s abuse, Camille. And you shouldn’t have to tolerate it. It isn’t acceptable, no matter how much you love him, or how much he says he loves you.” They were silent for a time, the weight of her words sinking into Camille’s head, the truth she’d been so desperately trying to ignore. “What triggered him tonight, what was it that happened that lead to him hitting you?”

Camille sighed, knocking back her drink, Amelia quick to top up her glass. She was so thankful, to have fallen on her feet with finding such lovely new friends in the shape of her and Bella. She guessed it was easier to confide in them somehow, because they saw it too, they knew of the duality in her boyfriend. They had insight to offer. “I booked tonight off to spend time with him, but my boss called me and asked if I could come in at short notice as he was two girls down, both testing positive for covid. I said I would, but when I revealed that to EZ, he went ballistic.”

“He just turned, and this time it was worse than before. His whole personality, it shifts sometimes, and so rapidly, but tonight it was something else. He started by saying that, oh, I can’t remember exactly now, something about him having to be cool with me going to grind on someone’s lap, and I tried to keep my cool and remind him that it’s exactly how he first met me. He’s never, ever had an issue with the fact I dance and strip, ever, but now I’m thinking he must’ve had something brewing away, and tonight it just exploded.

“I said to him that he was the only guy it had ever gone further with, and he immediately told me that he didn’t know that for sure, and for all he knew, I could be taking guys out back and fucking them. Then he accused me of doing that with my boss, too! That was it, I was out of there after hearing all of that, but he wouldn’t let me leave. He grabbed me and said he wouldn’t let me go and hoe it up in that place, as he worded it, so I slapped him for it. The next thing I knew, I had a fist in my face.”

“Oh god,” Amelia exclaimed shakily, running a hand through her hair, the other tightening its clutch on Camille’s. “What the fuck is wrong with him? He was never like this! I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry he’s put you through all of this.”

Camille nodded, sniffing as tears prickled her eyes again. She couldn’t believe it either, feeling like she was a magnet for bad guys, whether they’d always been bad or not. She couldn’t discount it, though, that beneath the considerate, loving boyfriend he was, there was something very, very dark festering within. What she hated more? The fact that all she wanted was to fix him, because she knew, even though she’d only been with him for four months and known him for just under five, this wasn’t him.

She was shaken and scared after being on the receiving end of his fist, but she wasn’t blind to wondering what the hell was wrong with her in all of this, that her first instinct wasn’t to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction of her abusive boyfriend. True, she had no desire to see him right at that moment in time, but in her mind, she at least wanted to hear what he had to say, to explain it, indefensible as it was. She wanted to get to the bottom of it all with him, because she was emphatic in her stance that it wasn’t truly him.

Sitting there, she detailed all of these thoughts to Amelia as well, her friend nodding, her face creased with concern. Inside, she felt very frightened, that being knocked out wasn’t enough to make Camille see that if she stayed with him, she remained very much in danger of the same thing happening again. However, she also knew as a grown woman, she couldn’t tell her what to do.

“Look, I can’t sit here and tell you how to live your life, or be governing over the decisions you make, but all I will say is that if you remain with him, it’s gonna set a precedent, it’s gonna tell him that hitting you isn’t the final straw for you. In other words, he’ll know he can do it again and it won’t change anything, you’ll still go back to him.” Biting the corner of her lip with nerves, she had to wonder if she’d said too much, Camille’s face twisting, sighing heavily, sinking her drink in one gulp.

“Right now, I don’t know what I want, Amelia,” she began, unclipping her mountain of curls and running her fingers through them, setting the clip down on the table. “My better judgement is telling me it can’t continue like this, and I hear what you’re saying, but there’s something I feel so deep down, something that’s yelling at me that this isn’t him. I think he needs help, someone to bring him back to himself, and that someone is me. I know it sounds like wishful thinking and that I’m making excuses for inexcusable behaviour, but I feel it so strongly.”

It did. It was exactly what it sounded like to Amelia, her concern growing. If being knocked out didn’t frighten her away from him, what on earth was it going to take? While Amelia sat there having no clue how to guide Camille into safer waters, the storm she wanted so desperately to protect her from was being placated by large measures of alcohol, just the two of them remaining in the clubhouse.

Pouring a bourbon, Bishop slid it across the bar, the glass scraping against the wood from the jerky movement it had been passed with. EZ took it, glancing at his VP, his jaw tight and twitching.

“Thanks.” He knocked it back, the glass snatched away again, anger still cording the muscles in the arms of the man who refilled it, sliding it back once more. “I’m kinda surprised you’re actually sitting here drinking with me, though. I have to say.”

Bishop’s tone was biting, frostier than a Siberian chill. “Oh, I ain’t doing this out of any feelings of brotherhood. I’m doing it to get you so wasted that you’re incapable of getting on your bike and riding off after that poor girl to start round two.” His nostrils flared, sinking his drink and refilling it, a rasped sigh echoing his throat. Bishop Losa had few lines he drew in concrete, ones that he considered too much to ever cross, but striking a woman who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it was at the very top.

So, she’d slapped him. For what he’d yelled at her, it was the very least he deserved, Bishop thought. He’d caught the same from his wife in the past, after coming home drunk and calling her a complaining bitch, Julia leaving a sizable handprint upon his cheek. Even near blackout drunk, he’d realised he’d been in the wrong, and very much deserved that ‘come to your senses, you absolute mess’ slap. EZ was sober, and so far, not verbal at all in admitting any wrong.

“You have a problem,” he began, knowing now was the time to voice it, what everyone had been thinking for months. “And it needs to be addressed. Your behaviour, EZ, it’s spiralling. You’re spiralling, carnan, and if no one pulls you up, pretty soon, ain’t nobody gonna be able to reach you to help you stop spinning.”

EZ bit down on his tongue, suppressing the urge to speak from sarcasm about Bishop stating he wasn’t there for brotherhood, only to offer words that reflected it.

“What is it?” he spoke, the statement delivered a little gentler than the sharp cut of his words to him so far. “What the fuck is causing you to behave like this, together one moment, only to descend into unhinged, reckless asshole territory the next? You have virtually everyone in your life walking on eggshells around you. It’s like dealing with a mine field with you. Nobody knows where the hell to step, save being blown the fuck up.”

Looking at him, Bishop finally watched some of what he felt on the inside play across his face, EZ closing his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know, and if we’re being candid, that’s the truth.”

Straightening, Bishop topped up their glasses again. “I think we’re way past anything less than total candidness, don’t you?”

“I do.” The words slipped from his mouth on a sigh, sinking his drink, refilling it himself. “Sometimes, I have control of it, other times, I don’t, but I can see myself doing it. Sometimes not in the moment, actually most of the time not in the moment, and it feels soothing when I am, when I’m acting in a way that dictates I have to have a stranglehold on every single aspect of my life. The club, my friendships - or rather what little is left of them - and then of course, Camille. I’m sure I can’t count her now, after what I did to her.”

Finally, he had the good grace to look ashamed.

“You can’t carry on like this, mano,” Bishop stated, lighting a cigarette, the air filling with blue-tinged smoke.

EZ shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.” And it was the truth. He didn’t have a single clue over how he should begin putting himself back together again, sewing up whatever gaping hole had been torn into his psyche that allowed the free-flowing darkness to keep creeping in and poisoning his entire life. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so prepared to discuss it further, simply turning, sliding from the bar stool and heaving himself up the stairs, feeling heavy, his shoulders slumped, his head starting to pound.

The only thing that could improve upon this was sleep. It was, as he anticipated, completely unattainable, though. His bed felt cold and vast without Camille next to him in it, and he didn’t know how to undo the kind of damage he’d done that would prevent him from feeling her warmth within it again, or even if that was possible at all.

What was worse? The fact that it wasn’t hitting him as profoundly as it should have. Yes, he knew it was wrong to punch his girlfriend straight in the face, even more so to knock her out, but it didn’t cut him deep. He was more irritated by his complete loss of control than he was at the fact he’d hurt someone he loved.

That was, until he saw her the following day, Gilly arriving with her on the back of his bike so she could collect her car while he was out in the yard, throwing a ball for Sally. Sitting on the steps, he saw the bluish-purple bruise as soon as she took off the helmet, handing it to Gilly and kissing his cheek before she slowly walked towards him. Her steps grew slower, the fear of him palpable, swirling around her, her arms folded as she stopped in front of him, EZ viewing the damage close up.

“Jesus,” he whispered, dropping his head after seeing it, the darkly bruised, swollen cheekbone, her bloodshot eye, and absolutely no sparkle left. “I’m so sorry, and I know that’s not enough, I know it isn’t. I know I’ve lost you now, because how the hell could you ever still want a fucking monster like me after I did that to your face?”

When he looked back up at her, he had tears streaming down his face, reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her thighs, hugging them tightly. Eventually, Camille rested her hands to his head, her nails trailing his scalp softly, biting her lip before she spoke.

“Because I know you’re not a monster. I know that underneath whatever it is that causes this, there’s a good guy. Don’t ask me how, but I just know. I feel it. I’ve seen him. He’s the man I’m in love with. If you want me to stay with you, though, you need to get help. Go see a therapist, get to the bottom of your anger issues, because you can’t go on like this any longer, and neither can I. Do something about it, or I’m gone.”

Suddenly, he felt scared, very, very scared, both sides of him. The one that saw the control he had over her slipping, but even more so, the man who was in love with her, and didn’t want to ruin what he had with her when it was good, and then be without her. The thought left him terrified. Looking up at her, he felt icicle cold in the pit of his stomach, Camille stroking his cheek before dropping down to sit astride him, beginning to cry. “Please, please don’t let me down.”

Looking at her, stroking her face gently, her tears wetting his fingertips, he nodded, kissing her forehead. “I’ll try. I will. I don’t want to be like this.”

And he meant it. For how long, though, neither of them knew. That was the thing about inner darkness; it overshadowed everything, whether the person afflicted by it wanted it to or not. With EZ, he was at about fifty fifty. Unfortunately for them both, the pendulum that was his fragile mental balance would only continue to swing further into the shadows. Luckily in that moment, though, his keel remained even, standing up with her in his arms, carrying her inside, Sally running in after them.

Taking her upstairs, he lay down on his bed, stroking her fondly, telling her the same thing over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Pushing herself up, she rested her head on her hand, her other stroking his chest. “However, things won’t go back to how they were, at least when they were good, until I see you starting to really try here, not giving in to your anger. Your arms used to be the place I felt safe, untouchable. I don’t any longer, no matter how much I love you.”

His face crumpled, shifting to prop his head beneath the pillows, both eventually moving so they lay side by side. “I understand that, I do.”

And he did, he knew it would take time before she trusted him again, he understood that.

And the darkness? It smiled. Because it knew it held all the cards. The side of EZ that wanted to remain in control of it, though, it tried like hell to fight it. The last little spark of the man he used to be didn’t want it, to be so in tune with his darkness, and that’s what he knew made it so difficult. Dark felt good. Dark felt right, but then again, so did lying there holding Camille, telling her over and over how much he loved her.

#ez reyes #ez reyes fanfiction #ez reyes smut #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes x ofc #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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misscrazyfangirl321 · 1 year ago

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Rules: Make a 24-hour poll with the names of your WIPs and then for whichever wins, write one sentence for every vote it gets. Tag others to do the same.

Thanks for the tag, @amandamonroe! Tagging @taleasoldastime-andspace @lanistas @sarcasticsciencefictionwriter and anyone else who wants to play. No pressure, though!

#polls #i speak #tag games #thanks for the tag!#tried to find a magnitt one but i was looking for short almost finished fics and there weren't any :(

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chiefnooniensingh · 2 years ago

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one more chance to say what really mattered

A/N: I’ve been caught in a Timeless spiral this last week, and the amazing Titanic episode of @timeless-season-four plus this (completely canon) add-on by @qqueenofhades has finally inspired me to write. I have to wake up in 4 hours to go to Berlin but fuck it. Enjoy some Garcy post-Unsinkable/pre-Aloha ‘Oe fluff. The title is a quote from The Matrix Revolutions because I’m watching that in the background. Sorry, neighbor.

Rating: M for mature. No smut but a looooot of kissing and some suggestiveness and nakedness.

Summary: It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.

on AO3 here

It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.

And there’s more people than expected. Lucy remembered only a little over 700 people making it alive to the Carpathia, yet she’s pretty sure the ship is already loaded with more than that. And there are still lifeboats being hauled onto the deck. She has flashes of her and Wyatt warning people, forcing the crew to led third-class passengers board, and under different circumstances she would feel some form of relief. There’s only ice-cold terror. Lucy, I’ll see you soon. I swear. Was Garcia’s last promise to her a lie?

They were prepared. They knew beforehand where and when things would go south. This mission, this one mission, had the highest probability of them making it back alive. And yet, here they are, freezing, soaking wet, and sans a Croatian.

“Lucy…” Wyatt says, reaching for her helplessly, trying to offer her some form of comfort. Soup and dry blankets are shoved at them, Wyatt taking one, Lucy still frozen in place, her eyes scanning the despairing, half-drowned Titanic-survivors. Tears slowly blur her vision as the realization that Garcia probably didn’t make it hits her like a…well, like an iceberg, she supposes.

At that moment, behind her, there is some commotion as a collapsible lifeboat is being hoisted to the top. Another heart-breaking, horrifying view as it reaches the deck and a whole wave of dead and dying people spill onto it. Others, however, are staggering, half-frozen and dazed. Among them…

Lucy’s heart lurches, hardly daring to believe, and she takes a single step. “G-Garcia?” she stammers, her voice weak with cold, pain and emotion.

The figure straightens up, whirls around, and stares straight at her. Lucy lets out a sob of relief, as the whole world falls away and her sole focus becomes him. It’s him, it’s Flynn, miraculously standing right there, alive. Half-frozen, shell-shocked, but very much alive. His mouth falls open slightly as he clocks her and then he’s moving. It looks painful, but he’s moving faster than he has any right to move. She’s crying, and either there’s ice melting on his face, or he is too, and then he reaches her. Grabs her around the waist, lifts her up with a strength neither of them knew he still possessed and kisses her.

Weeks, months, perhaps years of tension and emotion breaks open over them like a tidal wave, culminating in this one single moment of relief, hope, despair, love. They could be anywhere. The Carpathia could blow up around them and they would probably not notice. Lucy wraps her arms around his neck, and lays kiss after kiss on him, barely noticing how soaked and freezing they both are. She wraps one hand into his hair, holding on, making sure, because he’s here and she’s never letting go if she can help it.

Vaguely, she’s aware that he’s moving, shifting his grip on her so he can grab a blanket, which he wraps around her shoulders. She does not stop kissing him, and he lets her, sometimes managing to mumble her name between kisses. Then he’s moving down, through a door, into the slightly warmer, drier interior of the ship. His back hits a wall in a hidden corner and he sinks down with her in his arms. It’s dark, cold, and quiet, and not even a little comfortable, but this is not the time for physical comfort.

They break apart for a moment to look at each other. His dark eyes gleam in the darkness as he takes her in. His hand comes up to stroke her hair, her cheek and finally comes to rest in her neck, like he’s checking her pulse. She, likewise, moves her hands from his hair to his face, all the way down to his chest, where she can feel his heart beating. She lets out a small sob, then moves in to kiss him again. And again.

Vaguely, she hears more bodies hitting the deck above them, more desperate cries and shouted commands. If she had any energy left, she might wonder what Wyatt was doing, but all her remaining energy is focused on Garcia. He’s alive, he’s alive, they’re both alive, miraculously. The chances of making it off the Titanic were astronomical, and somehow, they’d all managed to.

“Lucy…” Garcia mumbles, his hands coming up to frame her face, and that’s how she realizes she’s been staring blindly at him for several moments. “We’re here, Lucy. I’ve got you, I’m here, draga.” She wants to ask what it means, but finds she doesn’t really care at the moment. She moves in again, capturing his mouth in another desperate kiss. She shifts position, placing her knees firmly on either side of his legs, pushing her body forward to get even closer. His arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her against him. They’re basically one, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins.

The Carpathia finally starts to move, Lucy notices distantly. Relieved and anguished cries fill the early morning air, and she pulls away from Garcia to look at him again. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark some more, and she can see more of his face now. He looks at her in awe and wonder, as if he can’t believe he’s holding her, kissing her. “You-you saved more,” Garcia mutters, moving a hand to touch her cheek again. “You changed history.”

Lucy shakes her head, fingers tangling in his hair. “We did that. We saved more. Those passengers from third-class…that was you, wasn’t it?”

Garcia shrugs one shoulder. “I might have killed a steward and destroyed some White Star Line property.”

Lucy lets out a laugh, because of course he did. Chaos incarnate, always looking to do the right thing in the most dramatic way possible. “I adore you,” she says, breathlessly, before moving back in. Garcia is caught off guard this time, and he lets out a small noise of surprise. But he’s not fazed for long, and reels her back in. The kiss turns hungrier this time, the first desperation of their reunion finally fading and the relief of their survival, their…success, in a morbid way, washing over them. She has no intention nor desire to take this any further than what it is, but the swooping feeling in her stomach is building, and if they don’t stop soon, a slightly more animalistic side might take over. But, as ever with Garcia Flynn, rationality is simply thrown out the window, because this wonderful, frustrating man is holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the universe to him, and she’s not immune to that kind of attention.

In the end, it’s a sharp turn of the ship that jostles them enough, Lucy nearly keeling over at the sudden movement. Garcia holds her tightly, pulling her back, and despite everything, they giggle. It’s a wonderful sound, and slightly weird to hear from the mouth of a man that usually growls or sasses. She settles more comfortably against him, pulling the blanket over them both, and puts her head on his chest. His heart beats strongly, comfortingly, against her ear, and she sighs. Now that they’ve finally settled down, she notices again how cold she is, and she shivers. His arms tighten around her and he rubs her arms to give them some warmth. She closes her eyes, counts his heartbeats, reminding her with every beat that he’s alive. Alive alive alive.

“You checking my pulse, Lucy?” Garcia asks, a slight tease in his voice, even as his hand wraps around her wrist to do the same. Lucy can only nod. “I’m alive, Lucy, I’m here.”

Lucy nods, doesn’t move. “I keep thinking that this is a dream. That I’ve slipped into unconsciousness from the cold. Or maybe never left the Titanic at all and these are just my dying moments.” She shakes her head to clear her mind before the fear takes control of her and sends her into a panicking spiral.

Garcia takes her hand, pulls it up to his mouth and kisses every digit individually, his warm breath washing over her freezing skin, sending pins and needles through each digit. “I know the feeling.”

They sit in silence some more, the hold around them slowly filling up with shivering and frightened people. It feels unreal, having read about the most famous shipwreck in history, having watched the movie, having known about this part of history for most of her life, and she’s living it. “The RMS Carpathia takes three days to get to New York, dodging icebergs for most of the journey. We’ll be slowed down by thunderstorms and fog, so it won’t be a pleasant journey.” She can feel her historian side beginning to kick in, take over, take control. Teaching is good. Teaching is not crippling fear. “I hope you’re not seasick.”

Garcia lets out a breath. “Three days. That’s going to be rough.” Lucy nods, linking her fingers with his. It will be rough, but at least they’ll be together. “Rufus is going to be waiting for us at the harbour, on the 18th.”

At hearing Rufus’s name, she looks up hopefully. “Rufus made it out?”

Garcia glances down, and Lucy can see he’s uncertain. “I told him to go straight to the Lifeboat. He promised he would. I hope to God he made it out.”

Lucy feels the fear creep into her heart, but then thinks of Rufus’s brilliance and resilience, and her she looks Garcia straight in the eyes. “He made it out. There’s no other option.” He nods, pulls her close again, kisses the top of her head.

“Lucy? Flynn! Did you guys die of hypothermia or what?” Lucy and Garcia are startled from their little cocoon when a nearby voice starts calling their names. “Guys!”

“Over here, soldier boy,” Garcia calls, half-sarcastic, half-relieved. Lucy feels a little guilty. She’s pretty sure they’ve been down here for at least 2 hours, and not once have they given a thought to Wyatt. From the shadowy darkness, Wyatt stumbles towards them, relief written clear on his face as he drops to his knees next to them and, to everyone’s surprise, wraps them in his arms. Lucy wraps her own arm around his shoulders, too. She feels Garcia, frozen in shock, slowly move to pat Wyatt on the back. Flynn and Wyatt aren’t usually on the same page, and even less physically affectionate, but they seem to be equal parts relieved and embarrassed to be relieved in this situation.

“Look, I know you needed your alone time, but I’ve been getting really worried. I’m sorry if I interrupted…you know…”

Garcia rolls his eyes and pulls Lucy into his lap so as to make room for Wyatt to sit. “We’re slowly contracting hypothermia after just having survived one of the most horrible disasters in recent history, in the hold of an over-crowded early 20th-century steam ship. But yeah, we were humping like bunnies.” Lucy hits him in the chest at that, and he takes it with a wry chuckle. Even Wyatt manages to chuckle at that.

Wyatt settles in next to them, wrapping himself tightly in his own blanket and produces another he managed to snag. He drapes it over the three of them, and the huddle together for warmth, settling in for the gruelling three days yet to come. Ridiculous, Lucy feels a sense of calm. The three of them are together, and Rufus is waiting for them three days from now, as they’ll arrive. They’re going to be fine.

The three of them stumble off the RMS Carpathia in the early hours of the evening on 18 April 1912. Their clothes are stiff from the cold, still slightly damp, and all of them must look ridiculous. It doesn’t stop a lone figure from barrelling towards them and wrapping the three of them in a bone crushing hug. A huge wave of relief washes over Lucy, and fresh tears threaten to spill over. With one hand tightly holding on to Garcia’s, she wraps her other arm around Rufus’ shoulders. Rufus buries his face in her shoulder, and she feels more than hears his sob. “Thank God, thank God, you guys made it,” he mutters.

Garcia wraps him in a gigantic hug, too, the first time Lucy sees true affection between the pair of them. “I was worried you hadn’t made it to the Lifeboat,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

“How long has it been for you,” Wyatt asks, giving Rufus another hug of his own.

Rufus laughs a little maniacally. “Only a couple of minutes. I went back, had to change clothes, because I was soaked to the skin. Had to wade through waist deep ice water to get to…” He clocks their soaked and dirty clothes, realises they’ve been through worse, and stops talking. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. I changed clothes and jumped straight here.” He takes a step back, looks at them all with tears in his eyes. “You all look like crap, you know.”

And despite everything they’ve just been through, despite all of them being colder than they’ve ever been in their entire life, they burst into laughter. The euphoria of having the Team back together, of being alive, finally settling in, as Flynn, Lucy and Wyatt realise that they’re safe and going home, to functional plumbing and hot water. They hug again and Lucy lets tears fall, and she’s laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because they’ve made it and her boys are safe.

“Let’s go home,” Rufus says at last, and he links one arm with Lucy’s and wraps another around Wyatt’s shoulder. Garcia moves naturally to Lucy’s other side and slides his hand into hers. They hold each other tight as Rufus leads them towards the Lifeboat. Garcia helps all of them in before climbing in himself, and Rufus prepares to take off while the other three strap themselves in. From across each other, Lucy and Garcia take each other’s hands again, holding on tight, reluctant to even let go for a second. When Rufus turns around to check if everyone is secure, his eyes land on their hands and he raises an eyebrow. “That’s new…”

“Rufus, can we do this when we’re clean, warm and dry, please?” Garcia interrupts, and Rufus turns back with a nod. Lucy locks eyes with Garcia and gives him a soft smile. He squeezes her hand and at that moment Rufus flips the switch. The Lifeboat rocks and spins and then disappears. They materialize a second later, landing roughly, and with a high whine.

“Yeah, she did not like that. Three jumps without a charge is pushing it. But we made it. Let’s go get you guys warm and dry.”

The door opens and they pile out, dazed, confused, a little seasick. “Showers,” Wyatt grunts, as he hugs them tightly once more and then moves immediately towards the company showers.

“No offense, guys, but I gotta get to Jiya. She’ll be worried sick.” Rufus hugs them once more and then hurries off, leaving Lucy and Garcia alone in the landing bay. She moves closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He presses his lips to her forehead, then looks down at her. Lucy asks before she can stop herself.

“Garcia, do you – do you want to come home with me?”

He rears back, stunned, and Lucy has to giggle. They kiss like the world is ending, don’t let go of each other for three full days, and the man is still surprised she might not want to leave his side now. “Lucy,” he says, voice raw with emotion, “Are you – are you sure – ?”

“Yes. Yes.” Lucy is more than sure, and is absolutely done with pretending like she doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with him, like he isn’t the reason she gets up in the morning sometimes. She’s done waiting, and when Lucy Preston sets her mind to something, she usually gets it. “If you don’t want to, of course, then you don’t have to, but – ”

“No,” Flynn says, half to himself and then louder, “No. I want to.” He breaks out into a grin and leans down to kiss her. She kisses him back fiercely, determinedly, and the kiss is full of promise, of possibility.

“Come on then,” she whispers, takes his hand, and leads him to the company garage. He follows eagerly, and they can’t help but stop a few times to make-out like teenagers against several walls. They make it back to her home slightly more dishevelled than they left MCI. And then suddenly he’s nervous, and she has to take him by the hand and lead him up the stairs and into her shower. They undress each other as the water heats up, but there’s not heat behind it. They’re gentle, kind and the warm water nearly causes them to drop to their knees with satisfaction. They help each other wash all the muck and rime off, as they slowly remember what it’s like to not feel cold anymore. Lucy fetches them towels and they dry each other off, without any meaning behind it other than taking care of each other. After they’ve both wrapped themselves in towels, Lucy takes his hand and looks up at him with bright, clear eyes. “Should we – do you want to – ”

Garcia takes her face in his hands and silences her with a heated, searing kiss that sends tingles all the way up her spine. “Yes,” he whispers. With a sly smile, she starts walking backwards, taking his hand once more to lead him towards her bedroom. Garcia follows, gripping her hand tightly. When they enter her bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls her into him, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and closing the door with his foot. He presses her back against it and captures her mouth in another searing kiss. “Lucy…” he whispers, as he moves his hand down to unwrap her towel. She lets him, feels his fingers brush the side of her breast and the top of her thigh. It’s thrilling, and they’ve waited far too long. She allows the towel to fall away, and he takes a sharp breath. They’ve seen each other naked in the shower, but this is different, the air between them is charged and the promise of what’s to come pours out of every kiss.

“Take me to bed, Garcia,” Lucy whispers, as she starts frantically pulling at his own towel. He grins, kisses her hungrily, then turns around to move over to the bed.

“Yes, m’lady.”

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