#hope y ou're happy mads

[phoenixfeatherquill]

Chaos Theory

AN: I guess I’m writing Timeless fic now.  Sigh.  My take on what may have happened when she spent the night with Flynn.

“You’re attracted to chaos.” 

 Lucy’s eyes narrowed. The vodka burned as she swallowed slowly, enjoying the exquisite pain. A year ago, the drink would’ve made her eyes sting and her throat close, but nowadays…since her sister’s disappearance…since Wyatt’s wife returned from the dead…she was growing accustomed to the pain. 

Flynn watched her, perhaps expecting an angry retort. She did not give him that satisfaction, merely asked, “How do you figure?” 

He opened his mouth to respond and she quickly interjected, “You better not quote from that damn journal.” 

Flynn chuckled. His glass of vodka was still half-full, an unacceptable imbalance. She frowned and leaned over to pour him more. He watched her actions in utter fascination and she avoided staring directly into his eyes. She used to hate those awful, penetrating green eyes. Snake eyes. Hypnotic, intense, disturbing. She already didn’t like that he knew so much about her from the journal, it was even more disconcerting that his unsettling snake eyes seemed to read her expressions just as well. 

“From the beginning,” Flynn’s hands tapped the glass musingly. “Wyatt had only one thing on his mind when he discovered the time machine. His wife. He was desperate to get her back. Would stop at nothing. And who could blame him?” 

It struck Lucy that Flynn and Wyatt had a great deal more in common than Wyatt liked to admit. Flynn, however, seemed perfectly comfortable with their parallels. 

“He told me he wanted to move on,” Lucy murmured, pouring herself another glass. She flinched at Flynn’s snort. 

“You knew there would be no moving on,” Flynn pointed out. “You were attracted to his chaos. The unattainable burden, the longing for something that could never truly be yours. You like the chaos, Lucy. Even when it cuts you down.” 

“I don’t buy it,” Lucy informed him. “I’ve spent my life trying to have control. Why would I be attracted to something I couldn’t control?” 

He took a thoughtful sip of vodka and they sat in silence for a moment. They’d be running low on drinks in a moment. She ought to wander off to the rec room to get more…perhaps she could send Flynn. If she heard Wyatt and Jessica through the walls again, she wasn’t sure how she’d react. 

“Where there is control,” Flynn spoke suddenly. “There is no passion. And you…crave passion, despite all the neat little ordered boxes you��ve placed around you.” 

Lucy didn’t entirely know how to respond to this. She took another gulp of vodka and mulled over his words. 

“Anyway,” Flynn said smoothly, readjusting himself on his chair. “Even if Jessica hadn’t returned—I doubt you and Wyatt would have lasted.” 

Lucy choked. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” 

“He is too predictable. You would’ve gotten bored.” 

“And who would’ve been better for me?” Alcohol buzzed through her veins and she spoke the forbidden word. “You?” 

The sudden silence was deafening. She could feel the heat in her cheeks but she determinedly stared his snake eyes down, refusing to give an inch. She absolutely hated how she couldn’t read his expression, particularly when he seemed so good at reading hers. 

Flynn took his time to answer. He finished his drink and slowly set his glass down. 

“Hardly,” He said finally. “I would be terrible for you.” 

The tense silence broke and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “You’re the one who said I was attracted to chaos. You’re the most chaotic person I know.” 

He smirked. “I didn’t deny an attraction. I simply said I would be a terrible man to be with.” 

“I never said I was attracted to you!” Lucy found herself at her feet. The room was spinning slightly and she wobbled as she stomped towards her. He half-rose, as though expecting her to fall over herself. 

“I didn’t come here for—whatever you think I came here for. I just came to drink, okay? So knock it off!” 

The amusement in his eyes was infuriating. “Knock what off?” 

“Acting like you know so much!” Lucy resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a child. “I’m not the Lucy in the journal! You have no idea who or what I’m attracted to and you don’t get to pick who I’m with!” 

“I know you’re not,” He said gently. “I apologize for offending you. You’ve had a hard night. I shouldn’t tease.” 

She glanced at his clock. 2:37AM. What was that sitcom that said nothing good happened after 2AM? She couldn’t remember, the vodka was making everything hazy. She knew her night would be patchy and disjointed in the morning, like an unfinished puzzle. The knowledge of this, however, made her feel particularly reckless. 

Lucy took a step—backwards or forwards, she wasn’t particularly sure. But she tripped, naturally, and immediately Flynn was up like a shot, steadying her. He led her to his bed and sat her down carefully. 

“Shall I return you to your room?” He asked and she tried not to look into his snake eyes. Too glittering, too enchanting, she was losing all sense of self… 

“No.” 

The certainty in her voice gave him pause. He seemed a little startled at this turn of events. 

She scooted over a little. “Sit.” 

His eyes flicked over towards the rumpled bedsheets. “Perhaps I should…” 

“Sit,” Lucy commanded. “Two shots left in this bottle.” She waved it tantalizingly. 

Flynn sat gingerly, giving her a wide berth. But she was past the point of caring. She poured him a glass and swigged the remainder. 

 “One more drink,” She told him and pointed at his glass. 

 “And then you’ll go to bed?” 

Lucy nodded. She felt as though she were floating like a ghost, like she was watching herself do vodka shots with the man who shot Lincoln. Amusingly enough, the terrorist seemed both amused and uncomfortable with how the night was turning out. 

Still, he finished off his last drink obediently. Lucy stood up from the bed to take his glass. 

“What are you doing?” Flynn complained. “You said you’d go to bed.” 

“I am,” Lucy said with great dignity. “Clean up first. I will not be accused of trashing your room.” 

She promptly tripped on an empty bottle and fell backwards into Flynn. She expected him to shove her off his lap, but instead, he froze. 

Lucy looked up at him curiously. She caught his gaze and wondered how long he would allow her to remain on his lap. 

“You’re drunk,” He said very softly. “I’ve never seen you drunk.” 

She poked his chin. “I’ve never seen you drunk.” 

“You have. But not yet.” 

Stupid, stupid, time loop. She scowled and poked his chin again. “Do you want me to get off you?” 

He hesitated. Interesting. A wave of recklessness that only vodka could supply swept over Lucy. She traced the outline of his chin and watched with interest as his green eyes darkened a shade. This was the first time she thought she could read his expression. 

“Yes,” Flynn said finally, though he made no move to extricate her from his lap. 

“Took too long to answer. Now I’m comfortable.” 

He exhaled noisily and she smirked. There seemed to be an intense conflict of interests warring across his features and she rather wanted to know how it would play out. 

“Lucy,” Flynn growled. “Do not—do not tempt me.” 

At that, she pulled down his collar and kissed him. 

You’re attracted to chaos. His words rang through her mind as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She had shocked him and it pleased her. He thought he knew everything about her, didn’t he? But he hadn’t seen this coming. 

His lips remained firmly closed. It was a little like kissing a statue. Undeterred, she kissed him again, gently massaging his lower lip with her tongue. This seemed to break whatever resolve he had and he finally gave way, allowing her to explore the taste of him. Smoke and vodka, something sweet…like cinnamon. 

He pulled her closer to him and she moved in harmony, until she was straddling him. His fingers twitched against her back and she threaded her fingers through his dark hair, marveling a little at its softness. She liked the way he growled a bit when she kissed him and she tugged impatiently as his sweater, slipping her hands underneath. 

“No, no, no.” He broke away from her and to her delight he was flushed and his green eyes almost looked black. “No. Go to sleep, Lucy. I’ll take you back to your room.” 

“I don’t want to go back to my room.” The idea of her cold, lonely bunker was intolerable. 

“Fine. You can sleep here.” 

He lifted her up like a child and lay her down gently. Exhaustion was overcoming desire now, and she allowed him to tuck her in and only mumbled a little in displeasure. 

“Go to sleep,” His voice was raspy. 

She sighed impatiently. 

“Not like this, Lucy. Not with you intoxicated. Go to sleep.” 

Lucy wondered if she’d remember this adventure in the morning. It was her last thought before she fell asleep.