June 26, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

It's almost noon by the time I hear movement upstairs, and several more minutes before Max comes shuffling into the kitchen, looking like she tried to drink an entire bar last night.

"Morning sunshine," I say. She kind of squints in response. I'm not sure if she's trying to glare or if the room is just too bright. "Back among the living, I see."

"Says you," she murmurs, dropping into a chair. "That guest bed is really comfy, by the way."

"I'm aware."

"Why didn't you never tell me you had a guest room?"

Because it isn't a guest room. It's my room, and I didn't particularly feel like sharing. This house is my space, and I'm pretty protective of it – even the parts I don't use.

The first place I stayed after Arcadia Bay was the downtown penthouse. The same one our family always stayed when we were in Seattle. My room there had been comfortable and familiar and exactly what I'd needed while I was trying to come to terms with losing Mom and Dad.

I was there for three whole weeks before the first official notice of dispute was received by our lawyers. Some Hong Kong billionaire Dad had partnered with for some real estate ventures was claiming partial ownership of a dozen Seattle properties; including the one I was living in.

I'd wanted to fight him for it, but my parents' lawyers had convinced me that the easiest way to make him go away would be to sell the properties and split the proceeds. Aunt Jessica – my parent's chief business partner and Mom's oldest friend – had disagreed. She'd said it'd be pouring blood in the water, and we'd have every asshole my Dad ever did business with crawling out of the woodwork looking for their payday.

Guess who ended up being right?

After the penthouse was sold, Aunt Jessica took me in without the slightest hesitation. I finished high school living in her townhouse's small guest room. It was a nice enough place, but I spent almost all of my time there alone. She was traveling all over the world, brokering deals and establishing new partnerships, trying to keep the business afloat. And no matter how much I tried to think otherwise, it never felt like home and I never got over the feeling that I was imposing. Once I got my acceptance letter from UW (along with a dozen other universities I turned down, because I hadn't wanted to leave Seattle) I told her I needed my own space and that I'd be moving into the dorms early.

And that was when she suggested the Montlake house.

Mom bought it years before the storm, and it was a private property completely apart from any of our other business holdings. She'd made it our away-from-it-all home. A place we could live without all the glitz and glamor. Where we could go for walks and wave to our neighbors and just be the Chase family every now and then. Believe it or not, it'd been really great to not be the rich girl every once in a while.

I'd assumed it'd been sold along with the other Seattle properties, and threw a bit of a tantrum over the fact that she hadn't told me about it earlier. That's when she'd confess how worried she'd been about me, and how she'd been afraid of leaving me alone. I probably would've been offended by that if I hadn't come so perilously close to committing suicide only a couple of months earlier. If she'd had any idea about that, she wouldn't have let me out of her sight. But she didn't know, so I managed to convince her to let me move in here last summer, a few weeks before classes started.

It'd been a little more challenging that I'd expected, and I hadn't even looked at the main bedroom for nearly two months. As much as it helped to be surrounded by things that reminded me of Mom and Dad, that was I line I didn't feel ready to cross. It wasn't until the first anniversary of Arcadia Bay came and went that I finally accepted my parents' death. I'd moved into the main bedroom the next day.

The night Max spent on my couch, after a mix of exhaustion and misery put her out cold, had actually been the first time I hadn't slept here alone. She's stayed over three other times since, and each time I considered letting her use my old room. Every time I went to make the offer, though, a little voice would remind me that letting her sleep there meant it wasn't really my room anymore. And that meant that the room I slept in wasn't really Mom and Dad's room anymore.

It was stupid, but I just couldn't force myself to let go. At least, not until last night, when I knew Max needed a real night's sleep. That's when it stopped being about me. I wasn't going to leave Max hanging, because apparently we're friends now.

"No idea." I respond offhandedly, sliding a plate across the table with a few pieces of dry toast. "Here. If you can keep this down, I'll make you some eggs."

"Thanks." She picks up a piece and nibbles on the corner. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"How long was I asleep?"

"About fifteen hours."

"Really?" She looks up at the clock on the wall. "Don't you have work?"

"I called in sick."

"You won't get in trouble?"

"Max, I own the place," I remind her, laughing. "Who am I going to get in trouble with?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Besides, I wanted to make sure that my idiot time travelling friend hadn't hurt herself. That's worth playing hooky."

She gives me a watery smile. "Thanks, Victoria."

"Don't mention it. Now, care to explain what last night was all about? I assume that was a spectacularly failed rewind?"

She shakes her head, wincing a little at the motion. "Successful, actually. Well, successful-ish. I rewound three days."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Practice. I worked up to it. Two hours until it didn't hurt anymore. Then three. Then six." She takes another bite of toast, chewing slowly. "Including rests, I think I went through the next two days about eleven times." She laughs softly. "I watched so much Netflix."

Hm. That's kind of unsettling.

"Then on Thursday night I just went for it. Started rewinding and held on until I couldn't anymore." She frowns. "I hoped I'd make it further, but after the first twelve hours things got a little...blurry. I couldn't see what was going on around me anymore. There was just this rush of light and colors, then suddenly I was back."

"I'm not so sure about the suddenly part," I jump in. "Something happened with your shirt. You got some blood on it when your nose first started bleeding, but it was gone by the time we got to the bathroom to get you cleaned up. Like there was a delay before your clothes changed."

"You sure it wasn't just your imagination?"

"Definitely. But that's not the really interesting part." I point to the zit on her lip. "That didn't appear right away, either."

She brushes her fingers over it. "It didn't?"

"Nope." I shake my head. "It's possible your clothes aren't the only thing playing catch-up."

"That's...uh...I'm not sure what to think about that."

"Look, we don't know if it's something to worry about or not, but at least we know to keep an eye out for it in the future. Right now, you just need to sit there and try not to hurt yourself while I make you a real breakfast."

[4 July 2015]

Max: You'll be here around three, right?

Victoria: Be where at three?

Max: My place.

Victoria: Why would I do that?

Max: Crap! I'm so sorry! I told you then I went back past it but forgot that I hadn't re-invited you again!

Victoria: Are you having a stroke?

Max: Sorry! I invited you to come over to my place today. The families on my block do a whole thing for the Fourth of July. I remembered to tell my parents you were coming and even asked Dad to pick up some of that fancy root beer you like but I actually forgot to invite you again.

Max: I feel so dumb. (-_-)

Victoria: Really?

Max: Yeah, of course.

Victoria: I guess I'll see you at three then.

Max: Yay! :D

July 4, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

"You really didn't have to drive me home."

"Whatever you say, ya big lush."

"I had two drinks! I feel fine!"

"And you weigh, what? Eight pounds? Ten? I'm surprised you're not dead from alcohol poisoning."

"I weigh more than you, you skinny bitch!"

"Yikes, somebody's a mean drunk."

I bite back my response, turning back to the car window and silently watching the darkened streets of my neighborhood pass by. This is completely ridiculous. I had two drinks. Two! And they weren't even close together! Max's dad had said it was fine to have a beer with my hamburger on the Fourth of July (and let me just say, that guy knows how to grill a burger) and I accepted a single margarita from her mom an hour and a half later. At no point did I even feel the slightest bit buzzed, but that didn't stop Max's parents from insisting that she drive me home at the end of the night.

It's a fifteen-minute drive from Ridgecrest to Montlake, and somehow Max has made it feel like an eternity.

"We're here," she says as she parks my car in front of my house, like I wouldn't know where I was. "You okay? Need any help to the door?"

"Bite me, Caulfield."

"You're not my type, Chase."

"Whatever. I can make it to the door just fine, considering I'm not drunk!"

"I know," she says, getting out of the car. "And that's what I told my parents, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. And it's a holiday weekend. There're cops everywhere, and they didn't want you risking a DUI." She raises a hand before I can remind her, again, that I'm stone sober. "You're a minor. You wouldn't even have to be over the limit to get in trouble."

"Says who?"

"Says my mom, the former state prosecutor."

"...oh."

She laughs. "You mind if I wait for my Uber inside?"

"I should make you wait on the lawn," I grumble, unlocking the door.

"Oh, don't be like tha-"

"Like what?" I turn around, but she's nowhere to be seen. "Max?"

Glancing around, I can't see anything she could be hiding behind, and the entire lawn is illuminated by the streetlights. That means a rewind, but if that's the case than who knows where she is? Pulling out my phone, I'm about to press her speed dial when I hear a muffled thump from inside.

Letting myself in, the first thing I see is a lamp lying on the living room carpet, thankfully unbroken. The second thing is Max, sprawled out on my couch and not looking especially sober.

"Hi, Victoria," she giggles, making no move to get up. At least she took her shoes off.

"Hey." I return the lamp to the table. "Rewind, I'm guessing?"

"Yep." Max answers, popping her lips on the 'p'.

"How far?"

She waves lazily into the air. "Oh, you know."

"Not really. Are you feeling alright?"

"Mhm. I'm great."

"Yeah? Because you kinda look like you're wasted."

"M'not wasted." She looks up with drooping eyes and gives me a crooked smile. "I'm perky."

The hell she is. "The hell y-"

I'm halfway through my sentence when the shorts and t-shirt she's wearing all day instantly change into jeans and a light hoodie; it's so fast I would've missed it by blinking.

I knew it.

I knew I hadn't been seeing things before.

"Max, your clothes."

"M'not taking them off."

"What? That's no-"

"Perrrrrrr-kee!" She shouts, interrupting me again. "S'funny word."

Cautiously walking over, I reach out and press my hand to her forehead. She doesn't have a fever, and she's definitely not breathing as hard as she was last time. She seems more or less fine, except for the fact that she's acting like she's high as a kite. "Seriously, what the hell happened to you?"

"I'll tell you but I'm just gonna take a little nap first." She yawns, her eyes start drooping as she slouches down some more. Her head lolls to the side and she's out before I can argue.

I briefly contemplate leaving her here and going to bed, except I don't know what's wrong. And because there is definitely something wrong with her, I don't know if it's safe to leave her on her own. The thought of waking up tomorrow to find her...nope. Not going down that road.

I send her mom a quick message, letting her know that Max is staying the night, then throw a blanket over the idiot passed out on my couch. Sitting down next to her, I start looking through my phone for something entertaining enough to keep me awake.

"You're gonna owe me for this one, Max."

"Ugh..."

By the time Little Miss Perky comes to, the sun is up, and I've just poured myself my fifth cup of coffee. I ended up abandoning my seat on the couch around three in the morning, afraid I was going to fall asleep, and I've spent the last three and a half hours in a hard backed chair I brought from the kitchen.

"Well, look who's finally awake."

"Victoria?" She cracks one eye open, looking around the room. "Did I fall asleep on your couch?"

"I wouldn't say fell asleep so much as passed out."

"Oh." She rubs her eyes tiredly. "What's today?"

"It's Sunday. It's actually been Sunday for about eight hours, but you slept through that."

"Alright. I get it." She reluctantly opens her other eye, sitting up with a groan. "I meant, what's the date?"

"The fifth," I answer, surprised. Then, just in case, "Of July."

"Oh, wow. A lot farther than I expected." When I gesture impatiently, she adds. "I started on the twenty-seventh."

I do some quick mental math. "You came back three weeks?"

Max nods tiredly. "Looks like."

"How?!"

She hesitates and I already know I'm not going to like her answer. "Drugs."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Drugs," she repeats. "Painkillers, actually."

"We're not talking about Tylenol, are we?"

"No."

"Then what did you..." Then it hits me. She said that she was 'perky'. "Please tell me you didn't take Percocet."

"I...uh..."

"Where the fuck did you get Percocet from?" I ask, somewhat calmly, trying not to be pissed that Max is apparently abusing opiates now.

"From you, actually."

"Then where did I get Percocet from?" The idea that I'd just give prescription drugs to Max is unnerving. "Oh god, tell me we didn't steal them!"

"No, nothing like that!" she rushes to reassure me. "It was a prescription! You were walking downtown and got hit by a bike messenger!"

Out of everything, that's the least surprising. I swear, those two-wheeled assholes are a goddamn menace. "How bad was it?"

"You broke your arm pretty badly. And a couple of ribs." She winces. "I wanted to rewind it as soon as you called me, but you'd already had your brilliant idea while you were in the ambulance. We talked about it and decided to wait until you'd been prescribed something for the pain. You'd be fixed up either way, and we'd know if using painkillers could help me go back further."

Time travelling under the influence. Shit, how concussed was I when I came up with that? It sounds like something Blackwell Victoria would've suggested. But then, Blackwell Victoria was the stupid, self-absorbed bitch who never came out of that bunker. "I'm not really sure how I feel about that."

"I wasn't sure either, but we'd pretty much hit a wall. We needed to try something new..." Max trails off, eyeing the steaming mug on the coffee table between us. "Could I...?"

Rolling my eyes, I slide the mug over to her.

"Thanks," she murmurs, taking a sip. Even though it's not loaded with her usual mess of cream and sugar, she still hums happily. "Anyway, you can't argue with the results. Three weeks is a pretty big improvement."

"I guess." Did we really consider what combining the drugs and her powers might do to her? Or how badly she might get hurt before the pain was actually enough to make her stop?

"I actually think I could have gone further, too, except I..." She frowns. "I didn't really feel like I was in control. It was like the steady point I was holding on to wasn't steady anymore. It kept bouncing around, like it was trying to throw me off, but I was too loopy to figure out why."

"No shit. You were high as a kite when you landed." The memory reminds me of her unexplained wardrobe change. "And remember that delayed change thing I saw before? It happened again, but it took longer this time. Almost a minute."

"Oh, yeah. Jump lag." She shrugs, as if I should have the slightest idea what that's supposed to mean. "It was probably closer to thirty seconds."

She's not surprised. She doesn't even seem particularly concerned. I'd been all excited about making a new discovery, but apparently it's already old news.

"Jump lag," I repeat, slowly. "You mind explaining how that works?"

To her credit, she looks confused for a second. "Oh, crap! I'm sorry! My brain's still all foggy and I did so many rewinds while you were testing it, I..." She cringes. "I sorta forgot that you don't know about it yet. I'm really sorry."

"Less apologizing. More explaining."

"Right. Okay." She gives herself a shake. "So, I managed to pull off a five-day rewind. It kicked my butt, but you noticed the delay again. You wanted to see if it was a constant thing, so I did a bunch of rewinding with a stopwatch and you eventually figured it out."

"I did?" So I don't get to enjoy my new discovery because I somehow managed to beat myself to the punch? I know it's not Max's fault, but I'm kinda annoyed about that.

"Yep. You worked it out as about one and a half seconds of lag for every day I rewind. Basically, the longer the rewind, the longer the delay." A perturbed look crosses her face. "I can't believe I'm using the word basically for stuff like this."

"Should we be worried about it? I mean, you're not going to suddenly turn inside out one day, are you?"

"You have a worryingly graphic imagination," she laughs. "But no, as far as we can tell it's a harmless side effect."

"Do we have any idea why it's happening?"

"The only decent theory you had was that photo jumps and rewinds are basically the same thing, except that with photos only my mind goes back while my body stays behind, kinda like an anchor." She shrugs. "So it's easier to send by mind over long distances, which leaves my body playing catch up."

That actually makes sense. I bet that's why rewinding is so taxing on her. It probably takes a lot more energy (or whatever you want to call it) to move a physical object instead of just whatever the hell her 'mind' is made of. "I came up with that?"

"Sure did!" Max grins. "All hail Victoria Chase, Queen of the Nerds!"

"As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm, if you ever call me that again it won't be time travel that turns you inside out."