A/N – This is quickly become one of my favorites that I've written. I know some of you are concerned about it being a 'happy' ending. I promise, it won't end badly. Since I haven't written out the ending yet, I can't guarantee a 100% happy ending, but happy nonetheless. Thanks for sticking with me this far!

X

Chapter 6

Hiccup woke up to a grayed ceiling. He blinked several times before it become clear; he'd crossed time. Again.

For a while, he laid there, still, afraid that if he moved, he might shake the crossing's effects. He sat up. Nothing changed. The Hofferson's decorations patterned the walls and the old paint, crown molding, and paintings made the house look like an exhibit instead of a house. It might have been cozy under different circumstances.

Hiccup slung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the hardwood floor. He walked into the hall and toward the stairs.

Something in the house felt different, sadder, somehow. Grayer, somehow.

Thunder struck, and Hiccup jumped. Outside, a storm boiled. Halfway down the stairs, the rain began to strike the windows. It rained harder with each step he took to the first floor.

He heard voices below the storm. He found the Hofferson family in the living room, or the sitting room, as they would have called it.

The Hofferson brothers were standing in the kitchen in their Union Army uniforms. Hiccup recognized them from the historical documents.

Names…he knew their names, too…Randal and Jacob. Randal married Ingrid; he'd been Astrid's father. Randal's son, Astrid's older brother, Willie, stood beside his mother.

Willie would leave and join the army without his father's permission, but not for another year.

Mrs. Hofferson, Ingrid, held onto the hand of a young blonde girl, Astrid, he assumed, who would not have been older than six.

Hiccup watched Randal Hofferson set his hands on his son's shoulders. He spoke; the words low and garbled as if the volume was turned too low. Willie nodded and held his chin out. Randal held his hand out, shook his son's hand, and then pulled him into an embrace. Jacob laughed, but then hugged Willie, too.

Randal kissed his wife on the lips and his daughter on the forehead. He ruffled Astrid's hair. Jacob hugged both Ingrid and Astrid, and then the two men walk down the hallway in which Hiccup stood. He held his ground and shuttered as the two men walked right through him, as if he was made of air.

Even in his ghost hunting, he'd never experienced something as unsettling. At least not in the same way. It felt as though he'd walked through a dense fog bank, cold and grim.

Hiccup opened his eyes; Ingrid, Willie, and Astrid moved to watch the two men leave. Astrid pointed after her father with a little finger. A crease formed between her smooth brows. Her face scrunched up in innocent confusion.

Ingrid bent down, laughing, although her humor did not conceal her worry. She said something to Astrid in the same low-volume way. Astrid shook her finger and her head, and pointed adamantly.

Ingrid's gaze followed her daughter's finger. She frowned.

That was when Hiccup realized that Ingrid and Astrid were not looking at the same thing. Ingrid, as Willie, looked passed him. Astrid looked at him. Directly at him.

Ingrid stood. Willie spoke, gesturing to his sister, and frowned. Ingrid shushed him with a hand. Astrid gripped her mother's skirt with one hand and held her pointed finger at Hiccup. Her frown deepened. Her blue eyes bore into his.

Something gripped his chest, something he'd never felt before.

Astrid could see him. She saw him. Why couldn't her mother? Why not her brother? Was it because he'd made contact with her ghost? But…how could a meeting nearly one hundred and fifty years in the future impact the past? Of course, he'd traveled back in time for no apparent reason.

When ghosts were concerned, science, logic, and reason no longer mattered.

Hiccup blinked, and suddenly the three Hoffersons vanished from his kitchen. It became his kitchen once more.

"Hiccup?" Fishlegs asked warily. He stood by the table, eyes wide and staring at Hiccup.

"Yeah?" Hiccup asked. He still felt frozen.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, why?"

"Just now…" Fishlegs said, pointing at Hiccup. He motioned toward the doorway. "You walked in here like you were in a daze or sleepwalking; it was weird. I kept trying to talk to you but you weren't listening. Could you hear me?"

Hiccup felt the nervous worry bubble in his throat. Had he started to lose his mind? He said, "No, I couldn't."

"What happened?" Fishlegs asked. "Was it a seizure? I've read about those. It's like you're in a daze. Some kind of fit where your brain is working but it's not talking to your body properly."

"No, I don't think so," Hiccup said. He leaned against the countertop. "That's not it."

"Hiccup?" Fishlegs said cautiously.

"Fishlegs, if I tell you something, promise me you won't say a word to anyone. Not Heather, not the internet, not even to you journal. No one."

Fishlegs's curiosity turned grave. He nodded, and said, "Okay. I promise. Not a soul will hear it from me. Alive or not."

"I-I…I've been having these dreams, I think," Hiccup said, using his hands to demonstrate what he couldn't explain. "I think it's one of those trans-time crossings. I'll suddenly be back in time, when the Hoffersons were still living here. I just watched the two bothers leave for the war."

Fishlegs was speechless. His mouth gapped and his eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline. After a long moment, he fumbled backward and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Fishlegs?"

"Do you realize how big this is?" Fishlegs asked. "No one has reported one of these experiences in decades. No one's been able to prove these things even happen. But…if you talk about them…Hiccup, there'll be no doubt that these experiences are real."

"There'll be a lot of doubt," Hiccup said. "But I don't want to tell anyone about it. Not yet. Plenty of people already think I'm out of my mind as it is. I'd rather not give them any more ammo."

"Right," Fishlegs said. He whistled a nervous tune, and then clapped his hands together. "So, like I was saying while you were…elsewhere, I was thinking of going into town for some dinner preparations."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe some chicken or steak, some mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. You don't have much in the way of food."

Hiccup shrugged, and said, "Isn't mint chocolate chip Heather's favorite?"

Fishlegs blushed, and said a pitcher higher, "I-it might be."

Hiccup laughed. "Sounds good. You two are the foodies. Surprise me."

"Great, I've, uh, already called Heather to let her know. She knows you know, so it's cool," Fishlegs said, anticipation showing; he couldn't stop smiling. He took steps to the door. "Okay, so, I'll be back before dinner."

Fishlegs went out the front, and Hiccup stood in the kitchen. He hadn't realized it, but he'd broken out in a cold sweat. It lingered on his skin and sent a chill to his bones. He warmed up a day-old cup of coffee before making a new pot. He stood in the kitchen, sipping the old coffee, while the aroma of the new pot filled the kitchen.

Astrid had seen him. What did that mean?

Hiccup tidied up the house, although it didn't really need it. He didn't have much clutter. Most of his cleaning involved dusting and dishes, neither one did he particularly hate. They were mindless tasks, and he could get plenty of thinking time in while he did them.

Hiccup walked into the main hall, toward the kitchen, and stopped cold by the foot of the stairs. At the top, he saw her.

Astrid stood on the second floor, leaning against the railing. She seemed to be looking out of the stained-glass window above the front door. He could see her more clearly; she still looked gray-white and transparent, but he could see the shape of her dress and her arms. He could see where the dress came to her pale neck, and where the sleeves ended on her wrists. He could see the buttons on the front of it, from her waist to her neck. He could see the small ruffle at her neck.

Astrid blinked; her eyes shifted downward to where he stood, and another chill, stronger than the other, ran up and down his spine. Her eyes did not look blue. They appeared solid white and gray, darker than the rest of her.

"Astrid?" Hiccup asked.

She straightened up, poised herself like a lady in a portrait. She started toward the stairs. Hiccup watched her descend the stairs, one at a time, ghostly hand on the rail. Her legs moved within her dress, although she appeared to glide.

He'd never seen anything so terrifying and beautiful. How was he supposed to put that into written words? How was he supposed to convey the wonder he felt at the sight of her?

She came to a stop a few feet from him. She held her hands in front of her, like a lady. Her hair was not done up, but braided over her shoulder.

The image of her that he'd had…she'd looked much like her ghost.

Six-year-old-Astrid's eyes poked the front of his mind.

"I can see you," he said.

She put a ghostly hand against her chest. Her lips appeared to move, although no sound came out.

"Yes, you," Hiccup said, not entirely sure if that had been her question. "I can see you. Not the clearest, but I can see you. You've braided your hair."

He motioned to her hair, and both of her hands reached up to grab hold of her braid. She smiled.

Hiccup didn't mention the trans-time crossing. For some reason, it didn't feel right. It felt like something from a time-traveling novel; he might mess up the future or the past or something, and make it so that he'd never been born. He'd rather avoid that problem entirely.

Instead, Hiccup spent the rest of his time cleaning talking with Astrid. She followed him from room to room, listening as he told her about Fishlegs and Heather, his books, and his past attempts to push his two friends together.

"It's obvious they're crazy about each other," Hiccup was saying as he washed the rest of the dishes. Astrid sat at the table. "But neither one is willing to make the first move. I know, it's one of those nervous things that could mess up everything, but if they don't try, they'll never know. And Fishlegs is always telling me to not let good things pass me by.

"Hopefully, I can give them enough alone time for them to remember why they like each other. They haven't seen each other in person a lot lately, with Heather and her editor's job and Fishlegs busy with the tech side of things. They're both so busy they're missing each other."

Hiccup stacked the last clean dish into the dish drainer.

Astrid had leaned forward on the table, chin in her hands.

Hiccup sighed, and spied his cleaned house. Well, their house, relatively. He said, "Thanks for listening, Astrid. I appreciate it."

She smiled, and he knew she'd say you're welcome if she could.

X

Dinner with Heather went great; they talked about ghosts, the Hofferson house, and a few other projects in the paranormal book world that Heather had gotten her hands on. She'd found a paranormal romance writer from Louisiana who wrote with a 'Cajun twist,' as she called it.

"How does one write with a Cajun twist?" Hiccup asked.

"It's kind of like…" Heather chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. "It's like she's sprinkling red pepper flakes in her words. It's spicy, but not too spicy that all you're getting is heat. There's plenty of flavor. Don't worry, Hiccup, I'm sending an advance reader's copy to you for a blurb."

"I'll be sure to find a nice spice to flavor it with," Hiccup said. "How do you feel about rosemary?"

Heather laughed. She sat closer to Fishlegs than she did to Hiccup, which suited him fine.

Fishlegs changed the subject; Hiccup let his thoughts drift away. He sipped his wine as they talked. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Astrid had looked at him that morning, during his…experience in to the past. He had no other word than 'experience.'

Astrid had look at him, he didn't doubt it. She could see him, and yet her mother couldn't. Her bother couldn't. Her father and her uncle had walked through him without a glint of recognition that a strange man stood in their way.

He knew, somehow, that it had everything to do with Astrid's ghost. He'd somehow become a ghost to her, although he knew any explanation as to why or how would never be found. Those types of answers didn't rely on science.

Heather let out a girlish giggle; her face had gone a light shade of pink. The conversation between her and Fishlegs had hit a snag, it seemed.

Hiccup cleared his throat, and said, "I've got to visit the bathroom. I'll be back."

Standing, he took his wine with him, a subtle indicator that meant he would be longer than the standard bathroom-time. No one objected, and so he trotted up the stairs. at the top, he took a sip of the wine. He went straight into his bedroom, and into the master bath.

He set the wine down on the counter top and stared into the mirror. He looked tired. He felt tired, too. Distracted. Scatter-brained. Weak-kneed. He couldn't stop thinking about Astrid's look. None of it made sense. He'd been in plenty of haunted houses, met plenty of lingering spirits, and experienced all manner of paranormal activity, and yet he'd never had such a thing as a trans-time crossing. Not once.

What made this time any different?

He washed his face in cold water and finished the wine in a few gulps. He washed the glass out in the sink and set it on the counter.

Hiccup meandered back into the bedroom and into the hallway. His plan was to visit the balcony and get some fresh air, but something stopped him before he got there.

Astrid's bedroom door stood open.

Had it been open?

Then he realized; somewhere between his bedroom and the hallway, he'd left his own time.

Astrid, maybe seven or eight, sat at her vanity. Her long blonde hair streamed over her shoulders as she ran a comb through it. She hummed; he thought he could hear a gentle sound of a young girl's voice, but it also sounded strangely like static, or rain. Was it still raining?

Astrid looked up into the mirror. Her blue eyes shifted suddenly.

Hiccup couldn't move. He saw himself in her mirror. He met her gaze, and he watched the color drain from her face.

Astrid dropped her comb and spun sharply on her stool. Her face twisted with determination and fearlessness. Again, their eyes met, but as soon as they did, the crossing ended.

For a moment, Hiccup was unsure of his location. Then, realization came. He was lying on the floor, across the threshold into Astrid's bedroom. He saw the legs of the vanity stool underneath the bed.

Had he fallen? When? He didn't remember.

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His body felt like it had gone through the taffy puller. He sat back on his feet.

Astrid appeared. Her ghost knelt in front of him, worry painted across her ghostly face. Her entire being seemed to glow as if made of shimmering smoke.

Her eyes. They were no longer pure white; within the pale cloudiness, he could see rings of color. They were not the vibrant blue of her living eyes, but the subtle change stirred a fear inside of him.

"I see you," Hiccup said to her. "I can see you better now."

The worry eased on her face, but did not leave.

"Why is that?"

She shook her head.

Hiccup stood on shaky legs. He used the doorway to balance, and then lumbered into the hallway.

Astrid followed him into his bedroom. She walked past him and patted his bed. Hiccup obliged. Maybe a nap would do him some good.

He laid down in his clothes and pushed off his shoes. He laid down across the blankets.

A cold hand against his forehead made him jump. Astrid leaned over him, hand against his skin. Against her touch, he felt how hot his skin had become.

Was this the reason no one spoke about trans-time crossings? It felt like he was slowing going insane. Maybe he was. He could have gotten some mild possession in all those ghost hunting adventures. It was possible his brain couldn't function properly or distinguish between reality and not, and he'd started hallucinating.

Astrid sat on the bedside. Her presence brought nothing of distrust or malice. Within her watchful presence, he felt asleep quickly.