March 2112
William gave a wearied chuckle as he watched his in-laws, Bjork and Magnus, coo and fuss over the twins. He leaned on his arm against the glass, just outside of the 'Neonatal Visitation Suite', a brightly colored and warmly inviting room that clashed in stark contrast to the bone white, antiseptic hallways of the Reykjavik Landspítali. Though his newborn children were barely twelve hours old, he was more than happy to step aside and allow the rest of his family to have as much time as they could stand. With his grandparents, mothers, aunt and cousins on their way via hyperloop - not to mention the rest of his wife's relations - he was glad to let them get their fill of the newest arrivals.
Maggie and I'll be stuck with the kids on our own, soon enough.
The past six years had been gloriously uneventful - at least with regards to supernatural occurrences and mind-bending time paradoxes. Though his psychometric abilities never left him, William soon learned how to gain greater control over them; he no longer feared picking up any random item with his bare hands and being flooded with unwanted memories and emotions, nor was his sense of self always overwhelmed whenever he 'read' an object.
He spent the rest of his academic career fastidiously applying himself to his chosen field of study. While he could now pick up any number of hidden secrets and unknown facts about a historical text or item,he still required the skills needed to build his case and write his papers in a believable, mundane fashion as well.
Funny, how the line between being called either a delusional charlatan or a respected antiquarian is a easy as surviving the peer-review process.
He spent an extra year and a half at DIAS to take an accelerated curriculum for his Master's degree, and by the time he finally graduated, the world was his oyster: all the big institutions came calling, desperate to add him to their prestigious rosters: The New York Natural History Museum, the Pompidou Centre, the Rijksmuseum, just to name a few.
It was hard turning them down; saying no to the British Museum in London was especially difficult But there was a part of him that couldn't help but feel like he was cheating; his powers allowed him to 'know where to look', thereby avoiding years of painstaking research down potential dead ends. Of course, he worked hard to get where he was, but he never felt like he honestly earned his accolades.
Thus, he thanked them all politely and told them he would keep in touch before taking a position at the National Museum of Iceland. Naturally, he was excited at the prospect of helping to unearth Viking folklore; his dissertation on early Icelandic settlements was hailed as surprisingly fresh and insightful, although there was some minor controversy as to how William backed up some of his findings, with his harshest critics accusing him of 'blind, dumb luck'.
But more than that, he was eager to be close to Magda, even though she made it clear she was willing to move anywhere in the world to further his career, modern transportation technology having made the idea of intercontinental commutes feasible. However Reykjavik - indeed, the whole of Iceland itself - had charmed and fascinated him since the first day he set eyes upon it. There was something so peaceful, so intoxicatingly calm about the countryside; like the Universe had selected the best pieces of six or seven countries, then stitched them all together into one island the size of Maine. Even the forests of Arcadia Bay felt like an overwhelming cacophony of noise and activity compared to the sprawling basalt fields of the Snaefellsnes or the stark, black sand coasts of the Westfjords.
What started with a simple visit and coffee date turned into much more than William bargained for. He quickly realized that his initial impressions of Magda Bjorksdottir - as a smart but otherwise flighty and somewhat superficial girl - were woefully incorrect. Instead, he found a passionate, clear-sighted young woman with a gift for photography, along with all of the self-doubt and struggles to live up to expectations that so many other artists suffered from.
It was barely a week before he realized how much she reminded him of his great-grandmother: her fresh-faced innocence coupled with a strong, almost blunt demeanor, her kindness, the way she never managed to truly define herself or her self-image until late into her teenage years. He never would have noticed or even appreciated any of that before his remarkable winter break in Arcadia Bay.
By the end of sophomore year, they were inseparable. By junior year, they were engaged, and then married immediately after she graduated. In all that time, however, he never found the nerve to confess his secret, to let her all the way in with regards to the truth of his existence.
But he swore she suspected….something. He once, not long after they started dating, impressed Magda's mother by quickly discerning some facts about her background based on 'careful study' of a few personal items; it was meant to look like a Holmesian display of deductive logic, clandestinely fueled by his psychometrics, but an hour later, Magda pulled him aside.
"You're a strange man, William Price. There is something...unique about you, I think? Unusual. More than natural."
"Oh, that's just because I don't have a biological dad. I'm toto organique, otherwise" he teased. She gave him a knowing smile, but never pressed the issue again, apparently content to let him come around and tell her whatever he had to say in his own time.
Much as it had been with his great-grandparents, the years after his experience in Arcadia Bay were blissfully mundane. Were it not for the fact that his powers remained - a curious hanger-on, whose sole purpose seemed to be little more than reminding him of what happened, and what he'd done - he could almost convince himself the entire experience in the attic had been a fever dream. The journal itself now rested inside a hermetically sealed box, locked in a metal chest, which itself was stored in a high-security safety deposit vault in the orbital branch of the Bank of Zurich, located on board Asgard station - tethered to the far end of the Bifrost space elevator. It wasn't cheap, but his grandmother happily paid the yearly fee for him.
He meant to go and visit the damn thing on occasion, simply check in and make sure it was still there. But over the years, he discovered the most curious ability to keep making excuses to put it off, and thus had never laid eyes upon it since its initial internment.
"Parnaani said it was almost- what - forty, fifty years? Before she saw it one last time?" he told himself. "If it's still got places to go and things to do, being locked up in low orbit is hardly going to interfere."
Part of him was ashamed that the chief reason he ignored it because he was afraid that somehow, not doing so could lead to him losing all that he had; a gorgeous and adoring wife, whom he loved as much as she - for reasons he could never discern - loved him. A family he was close with, a profession he enjoyed and found fulfilment in, and a country of residence that absolutely enchanted him.
Could anyone blame him for not wanting to take unnecessary risks?
It wasn't like he could ever actually forget; a few stray thoughts that occasionally bled from a book he picked up, or a coat he brushed across would always remind him, if nothing else.
William thought to get a bite to eat from the cafeteria, when one of the doors slid back, and his wife walked out, her crimson locks pulled back into a ponytail; she still looked flushed and peaked from her recent labor, but stood straight, carrying herself as much strength as she could muster.
"Sæta!" he chided warmly, walking over to take her by the arm. "You oughta be resting right now. The kids are fine, and...I was just about to get some food. You want something?"
Magda smirked, reaching up to give his cheek a couple of pats that bordered on gentle slaps, and replied, "I just spent the last twenty-three hours pushing out babies, ástin mín. I don't feel like staying another second in bed."
To William, that seemed precisely like a reason for staying in bed for as long as possible, but he knew better than to argue with his wife; she knew how to be formidable when her mind was set.
She wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him along towards the observation window. She waved tiredly to her parents, and then leaned in to William's side.
He stroked her hip and murmured, "Wow. I still can't believe it. We made a couple of kids. Like...miniature human beings! It's really incredible."
She snorted, looked up at him, and said, "I made them. All you did was provide an evening's pleasurable entertainment, and some messy genetic blueprints." She laughed mischievously, and then pulled his face down for a kiss on the mouth before adding, "But there's no other man in the world whose messy genes I wanted to carry."
"Oooooh. Sex-ay and scientific! I knew there was a reason I married you." He glanced over at his in-laws, who were now rocking both infants to sleep, before turning back to his wife, and said, "I do believe the nurses were after me, about ten minutes ago. Reminding us that we still need to give them their names for the birth certificates and lineage registry. Sooooo….we might want to finally figure that out."
Magda gave an impish grin and said, "I was thinking about that. I have an idea….but I have to whisper it to you." She she glanced down, grinning nervously at the floor
"What? Whisper? Why?"
"Because I'm feeling shy. I'm afraid you'll think it's silly."
William blinked. "Shy?! Holy Mother Goddess...babe. What happened to the Furious Valkyrie who just single-handedly grew and then pushed out two live human beings from her hoo-ha?"
Magda wrinkled up her nose in a winsome frown. She reached up, placed a hand on top of his head, and then tilted it down so that his eyes met hers. "And if you ever want to pass through the gates to my Valhalla ever again, husband, you'll behave."
He laughed through his nose, dutifully tilting his head to listen to the two names gently whispered against his ear. It wasn't anything he expected.
"That's...wow. I mean, I understand part of it, your grandfather was named Max, right? But Max and Chloe? I suppose it works for fraternal twins, sure. I'm just…" He struggled to put his confusion into words.
Magda blinked. "You don't like it?"
"Oh, no no, it's nothing like that. I mean, I'm actually really touched! I'm just...I guess curious?"
She threaded her fingers through his and softly spoke, "All those stories you and your grandmother told me about them. I always thought it was...hmm. Romantic, of course, but I love the fact that they were best friends, first and most of if they never became lovers, they would have always been like sisters. I want that spirit of love for our children, Will. I want them to grow up being best friends, as well as siblings."
He twitched his lips in thought as he listened. He had to admit, part of him still found it a little strange, but maybe it was a cultural thing.
Then again, she has a point. Yeah...why not…?
"Alright." he said, nodding in agreement. He cracked a soft smile, and added, "The more I think about it, the more I think they would have really liked it. Think it was toto on-top. Hell, my grandmother will be over the moon, that's for sure. Like she needed any more reason to adore you." He turned back to the window, and said, "I guess that just leaves the lineage names."
"That should be easy, yes?" Magda answered.
They knew she was pregnant with twins, but wanted to be surprised by what sex they turned out to be. They'd made the agreement that if they had boys, they'd go with matrilineal names; if girls, patrilineal. But they'd been so certain about having identical twins, it never once occurred to them that could end up with both a boy and a girl.
"So then. Max Magdasson?"
His wife nodded, and then squeezed his hand. Looking up at him with deep affection, she said, "Ja. And Chloe Williamsdottir."
That was when it hit him…
...it's like time's repeating itself.
Another William Price. Another Chloe...well, not Price per se, Icelandic names didn't work that way. But it was close enough as to make no difference. He tried to ignore the sudden icy stab that caught his breath in his chest for a few seconds.
But not too close, I hope!
He certainly didn't want to die in a tragic accident, didn't want to leave his daughter - nor his son - fatherless at a critical age. He tried to chase away the foreboding premonition of doom from his mind...because how silly was that? He was his own person, completely free and unfettered to chart his own course in life.
Right?
But wasn't that what he would have told himself before Arcadia Bay? Before finding the journal in the attic? Before confronting the possibility that he himself was merely one end of a self-fulfilling existential loop? And maybe he broke those chains, that predetermined course, the moment he accidentally interfered in the past, but if that was true, why did he still have his powers?
What was the Universe waiting for?
"Will...are you alright?" Magda asked with concern in her voice. "Gone totally pale."
He put up a wide smile he didn't feel and reassuringly said, "I'm fine...toto fine. Hell, I'm great! Look at this family we have, now! I'm just worn out, and it's catching up to me. I mean, I don't have your excuse…"
When Magda appeared mollified at the explanation and gave him a tight hug, he turned back and stared hard at the ghostly half-reflection of himself in the glass.
Fuck it. Doesn't matter what it means, or what I think it's supposed to mean. I'm not going to live my life jumping at shadows, wondering if today is the one where I'm going to die. I'll just move forward, day by day, and be the best father I can. Just like he was. And just like she was. William and Chloe. Together again. I think she'd be happy.
I think they'd both be happy, for all of this.
All he wanted was a quiet life. A happy, simple one. The universe had seen fit to provide as such thus far after Arcadia Bay, and for that he was eternally grateful.
But he never got over the sense of the sword constantly hanging over his head, bound by the thinnest of threads; condemned like Damocles to be surrounded by great fortune and comfort, but with near-certain doom close at hand at all times.
He did, however, learn how to ignore it.
Most of the time.
A/N: Ahh...that feels weird, publishing two things so close together like that. It's been months and months.
So a shortie, but something that will set the stage for the epilogue coming up, where William finds what may be answers to at least some of his questions, but is left with even more. I don't want to give too much of it away, except that there is going to be a significant twist surprise that I can pretty much guarantee no one is going to see coming. (Maybe).
Thanks as always to LonesomeBard for beta reading, and catching typos. Much obliged!
I have to admit, there is a part of me that kinda wants to do a quick one shot one day: "Chloe Williamsdottir, Scoundrel Space Pilot of The Future!". Because that would be kind of neat, a sci-fi themed space opera involving Max and Chloe's great-great-granddaughter. But eh...I get a lot of little ideas, but not so much on the follow through.
Have a great Labor Day Weekend, for those of you in the States.
