Most days, Will managed to ignore the fact he was in a giant time bubble.
Some days, he just couldn't.
Because it really wasn't giant. In reality, it was only so many kilometers in diameter, and he could only walk so far before he ran into a wall of kinetic energy that threatened to rip his molecules apart. He was in a goddamn fishbowl; except that his goldfish was swimming too fast for any human or satellite to see.
It was enough to drive him nuts, if he thought too much about it.
So on those days he just couldn't ignore the fact that he hadn't seen a single new face in weeks, and when he got so anxious that if one of them so much as looked at him twice he was ready to rip their heads off, he pulled back.
He ceased interacting, and instead, simply watched. He observed. Focused on something else.
Anything else.
Usually, it was Magnus who bore the brunt of his attention. He never knew if she caught on to his changes in mood, when his efforts to be helpful and productive shifted to sessions of him simply staring.
If she did, she never let on. She simply carried on with her work, single-mindedly striving to break free of the bubble. Ostensibly, their goal was to save the planet from being torn apart, but he wasn't one to lie to himself.
He just wanted to go home.
But regardless of whether she noticed him, Magnus' focus gave him free rein to notice things that actual interaction might have distracted him from. Like the way Magnus looked perpetually exhausted: pale skin, drawn features, and dark circles she could no longer hide beneath carefully applied makeup all belied her trouble sleeping.
Or the way that seeing her barefaced made her seem infinitely more approachable. Even in light of her near obsession with solving the riddle of the dilation field, she seemed more open than she ever had in the Sanctuary. In the absence of modern convenience, she became the every woman, beautiful and natural in her own skin.
But in the growing span of months they remained trapped, she barely rested. Every day she sequestered herself in the bunker, analyzing data or tinkering with what remained of old electronics that hadn't been used in years. Ravi had taken to spending more time with his wife Anna than in the lab, when Magnus failed to make immediate headway.
His focus had long since shifted to making the most of life, whereas Magnus refused to lose sight of the fact that there were only three weeks real-time until the planet was destroyed. She kept working, and when she wasn't in the lab she was in the village, doing what she could to contribute.
More than once, Will wished there was no global crisis. Without the threat of planetary destruction, then they would just be two people stuck in a time bubble on a sort of enforced vacation. Then, maybe, she would be able to relax.
She hadn't been to Capri since he'd come onboard, but he suspected that maybe she was due. Just the past two years alone would have put anyone else over the edge, and while at times Magnus seemed superhuman, he could tell that it had taken its toll.
Being stuck in a quaint little French village with no pressing concerns might have done her some good.
Plus, only a few hours would have passed in the real time—she wouldn't even have to give up a long weekend for it. In Will's opinion, it would have been a win-win situation.
But then again, he had a hard time seeing her sit back to let Kate and Declan come to their rescue. He knew it wasn't a matter of her not trusting them to solve the problem, but… she had some control issues, to say the least.
She called it 'keeping busy'— he called it a mild neurosis.
Today, though, as he stared at her fiddling the guts of a toaster, he didn't see her exhaustion, or the stress that pinched her features. Today, he noticed something new.
"I like that shirt on you."
He spoke without thinking, and it was a long moment before Magnus registered the words. When they did, her brow furrowed, and her hands stilled their tinkering as she turned to regard him with an arched brow.
When he failed to elaborate, or offer anything else to supplement his blurt, she turned her attention back to the toaster thermostat.
"And what prompted that, pray tell?" she queried with a light smirk playing on her lips.
He considered coming back with a smart quip, one that might earn him a full-blown grin, but ultimately thought better of it. It was an honest question—he'd never commented on her wardrobe before, inside the dome or out. In the end, he shrugged.
The shirt in question was nothing special. Donated, dyed a checkered forest green, with cuffs rolled up past her elbows to reveal the long-sleeved black tee underneath… It was battered and well-worn—and completely out of character.
Who would have thought a woman from the 19th century would be able to pull off flannel?
"I don't know," he replied, brushing off his sudden bashfulness. "I guess… it's been a while since I've seen you wear actual color."
Her movements paused ever so briefly. She hadn't expected his answer, but she couldn't dispute it.
If he was hard-pressed, he'd have to say that the last time she wore her typical rich colors had been before Ashley's death. Now, she wore black more often than not—and when it wasn't black it was a color so pale it was almost gray, or a navy so dark it might as well be black.
He wasn't an idiot—he could put two and two together.
She was still mourning. For all the masks she wore for the benefit of others, her clothes were still as dark as her grief.
"I suppose I haven't felt very colorful this past year," she said softly, confirming his suspicions.
He nodded his understanding. "Yeah, I figured as much."
An awkward silence followed, as he lost his drive to drag some kind of personal revelation from her. She continued working on the gadget, but her shoulders remained tight.
Clearly, she expected him to push.
He didn't, though, and it must have unnerved her.
"I still see her," she confessed softly, breaking the tense silence with a low murmur.
Will didn't say anything; he just let her continue. Or not, if she didn't want to.
But she did. "Out of the corner of my eye, I see flashes of her, but then a moment later she's gone again."
"That's not unusual," he told her. It'd been the same for him after his mom died. "Your subconscious is trying—"
"I understand the psychology of it, Will," she bit out sharply. But a moment later she softened, her features blanching when she realized how terse she'd been. She took a careful, deep breath. "It doesn't make it any easier."
"No… it doesn't."
"And at times I hear her voice in my head; making some wisecrack about whichever bureaucrat I'm dealing with, or about our latest 'ghoul'. Even here, in this place…"
Hearing her utter a word from Ashley's irreverent vocabulary sparked more than one memory, and Will's guts twisted with remembrance.
"You're imagining what she'd do if she were trapped here too."
Magnus nodded. "I'm sure she would've snapped even sooner than you did," she said, her right eye winking in his direction, even as his own cheeks flushed at how he'd almost panicked just a few days ago at the thought of dying here. "She'd complain, stalk the perimeter endlessly like a caged tiger until she worked herself into a fury… at least, until she noticed our neighbor Claude down the lane."
Her lips twisted into a smirk, and Will bit back an answering grin. Claude was the classic tall, dark, and handsome, and according to Josie, was the heartthrob of many a village girl.
Ashley would have eaten him alive.
"But the worst of it," she continued, her mirth fading, "is that it may never end."
Will blinked, sensing the sudden shift in tone. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Will, that you put it rather astutely the other day—I may live forever. Especially here, in this damned dilation field. Short of falling off a bloody roof, there'll no death from physical injury waiting for me. I rarely get ill as it is, and I will never be old enough to fall victim to the dark time."
Will didn't say anything, unable to speak through his shock and his own trepidation about the impending three years' night. A moment later she continued without prompting.
"So what does that mean for me? That I spend eternity here, seeing glimpses of my daughter until the end of time, never able to join her?" She quieted suddenly, as though surprised by what she'd let slip.
Will stood frozen, stunned. "Magnus…"
Blue eyes closed, and she took a deep, steadying breath. "You speak of death like it's a curse, Will. But it isn't." Her eyes opened once more, and she met his gaze squarely. "It means that one way or another, you will leave this village."
And she might not. She might actually live to see the end of the world.
"Magnus, I—"
"I don't want platitudes," she interrupted impatiently. "I want you to understand that I have as much at stake here as you do. Perhaps even more."
Her gaze didn't falter for a second, and Will saw a deep, heartfelt honesty spark in her gaze.
"I have no desire to remain trapped here without you, Will," she said softly. For a moment, her hand covered his. "I may have accepted that I will inevitably see you age, but it will not happen this way. I won't let it."
She smiled thinly. "We will make it out of this."
This might be the worst threat they've faced so far, and it may seem impossibly hopeless from where they stood. But even so—he believed her.
God, he believed her.
Maybe because he needed to. Maybe because they'd survived hopeless situations before. But most importantly, there was the fact that she had not lied to him. Not ever.
The knot in his stomach loosened, responding to the assuredness in her voice. But his unease persisted.
The concern remained, but not for himself this time. For her.
"Is that what you're really hoping for?" he asked. "That one day you'll be killed in the line of duty?"
She looked away, but didn't refute it. Her jaw set stubbornly, and he could see she didn't expect him to understand.
"I'm not suicidal, Will," she told him. "My fate may have been chosen without realizing the consequences, but it was a choice I made regardless. I made the vow to embrace whatever the Source Blood had in store for us, and I will bear its burden until I can no longer do so."
Will's relief was fleeting.
"But when death does come for me—if it ever does—I won't fight it."
For a long moment, Will didn't say anything. Apprehension had an icy grip on his chest, even as his ears pounded with anger. Fear for her life and her state of mind mingled with fury at the realization that she regarded her life so dismissively.
He took several deep breaths, keeping himself calm, rational, and objective. Finally, he spoke.
"I'm not going to pretend to know what's best for you here," he began slowly. "I'm not going to judge you for missing Ashley, or for wanting to see her again. And I'm sure as hell not going to try to understand what it's like to have lived as long as you have."
He leaned forward, bracing his hands flat against the worktable. She looked up at him, startled and a little wary, and he held her gaze firmly, unwilling to give an inch.
"But I will tell you that you've done more for this planet than anyone else alive. That the good you do is changing the world even as we speak. And I will tell you that as honored as I am that you chose me to be your protégée, it doesn't mean shit if you're only bringing me in to help you feel better about giving up."
Her cheeks flushed, but whether it was guilt or anger, Will couldn't tell. He didn't care. He pushed away from the table, ready to storm out, but then he turned back, rounding on her with an intensity that surprised both of them.
"And you know what?" he continued. "You have died. Not counting that, you've come terrifyingly close a dozen different times, and that's only since I came to the Sanctuary. And I can tell you first-hand that it's not as easy as you seem to think it is! Easy for you, maybe, but for the rest of us, it's absolute hell! Jesus, Magnus…"
His hand raked over his face, banishing away images of sinking submarines and brain-burrowing beetles. Of blood and tears and loss.
"Was our recent execution not enough for you?" he asked, more gently this time. "We did die, Magnus. All of us. It's a testament to how crazy our lives are that we barely thought twice about it."
He regarded her with a keen eye. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, studiously avoiding his gaze. Subdued. Dark.
"You thought twice about it, didn't you?" he asked.
She didn't respond. Didn't move.
"God, Magnus…"
"What do you want me to say, Will?" she countered, her eyes closing.
"That you're not not happy that Ranna revived us would be a good start!"
She turned on him then, feeding off his own rising temper. "And lie? I have never expected anything less than the truth from you, Will! I'd like to think that you had the nerve to hear the same from me!"
Will bit back the retort that threatened to slide off his tongue. He wanted to grip her by the shoulders and shake the sense back into her, but instead rocked back on his heels, buying himself both time and space to calm his temper. He silently counted to ten, reminding himself that he couldn't afford to start a fight this big with her. Not here.
Not now.
Magnus took up the conversation with a dangerously even tone. The fight she'd shown a moment ago had cooled, leaving her eyes an icy gray.
"Yes, we died in Praxis. Yes, it wasn't the first time, and no, it probably won't be the last." Magnus looked down at her hands, which grasped her small screwdriver with a white-knuckled grip. "But this was the first time I was ready for it—maybe even welcomed it."
Will's voice caught in his throat, his eyes burning.
"Yes, Ranna revived me—and there is a part of me that will never forgive her for that."
Her voice broke, suddenly thick. She refused to meet his gaze now, and from the way she was blinking too often, she was fighting back the same tears he was. A thick tension gripped the lab, and Will found it suddenly difficult to breathe past the vise on his lungs.
But it didn't matter—he wouldn't know what to say even if he could find his voice.
He wasn't really surprised. For all his expertise, for all his skills as a profiler and therapist, Helen Magnus had the knack of rendering him speechless down to an art form. He supposed 160 years gave her a bit of an edge on him.
160 years… So much life, in a single woman.
But was it too much life? Was her desire to die just that—a desire to die? Or was it a desire to simply stop living? He'd never considered there to be a distinction between the two before now, but he did now. And now he felt it was achingly important.
Equally vital, he needed to know if these thoughts were due to depression as a result of Ashley's death, or if they were really a sentiment of having seen too much. Lived too long.
Either way, he hoped that he'd be able to help her.
He was startled from his puzzling when Magnus' hands shoved against the table, abandoning her forgotten project to surge to her feet. Her movements were stilted, and he tried not to notice how her fingers shook.
"Anna needs help with lunch," she murmured, brushing past him with a bump of the shoulder. For a brief moment, his senses filled with the scent of her—of raw, handmade soap… and lemons, somehow.
He shoved the observation to the back of his mind. She was moving fast; he was going to lose her if he didn't do something.
"Magnus…"
She didn't stop. She didn't turn. He wasn't even sure she'd heard him— but somehow, he knew she had. But his only answer was the sound of the café door slamming shut, capping off a conversation he never thought he'd have.
One they might never speak of again.