Chapter Text
It is not unusual for Nick to be at Elliot Augustine's house when Elliot isn't there.
Granted, he's usually inside the house. The key has moved, though, he's sitting on the front patio, bags in hand, waiting for someone to appear and let him in.
He expects he won't be alone soon. It seems there's always someone running in to make some wild, time travel related announcement. The thought of it makes his stomach churn, but a good natured smile comes easy to his face and he can't help but laugh to himself.
He tends not to think about it too hard. The time traveling. If he does, he'll get in his head about it, he start thinking about possibilities. What ifs. He's wrapped up in it, but not really, an outsider affected by it but not one to participate. Not knowingly, anyway. It seems everyone else is so deeply invested. It's half of why he expects someone to come along soon.
He sniffs at the thought, pulls out his wallet and starts flipping it back and forth. He has to stop thinking about it.
Rustling from the fields catches his attention and he turns, expecting, hoping, it's Elliot to let him inside. It isn't. For a brief moment, he thinks it's Kat.
But the hair is too long, too curly, the skin is darker, a warm summer color. And the face…
The woman stops short the moment she sees him, her eyes going wide in surprise. Her lips part, a perfect little oh, and she whispers, "Nick."
Perfectly still, he must be dreaming. Or it's a mirage. Or it's… or it really is Alice.
"Oh my god," she whispers, just short of awe, "you look so young."
He blinks at her and then rushes to his feet. She's not moving , her hands clenched into tight fists at her side as she watches him. She looks startled, so taken aback; what is she here for then, that the pond brought her here, if he's not an expected part of that?
She looks his age again.
"Alice," he says, brows furrowing as he takes her in.
She's dripping wet, fresh from the pond. Her clothes aren't dissimilar to Kat's, but fit more snug than the other woman preferred. She's tense, coiled tight as if she's going to spring in the opposite direction, A deer in the headlights, ready to start but frozen.
"Elliot isn't home, if that's who you're here for," Nick says cautiously, eyes darting right toward the house. He looks back at her.
She frowns, says too quickly, "I'm not here for anyone."
"Something then, inside?" Nick gestures to the door. "The key got moved."
Alice seems to suddenly shake herself of her surprise. She relaxes, taut shoulders dropping and fists unclenching as she steps toward him. She lifts her chin slightly. Now that she's closer, in the sunlight, he can see smile lines around her eyes, in her forehead. Lines around her lips and cheeks.
"It's not under the fake rock?" she asks him. "When am I?"
"Twenty-twenty-four," he says. "Is that when you expected to be?"
"Twenty-twenty-four," she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut. "Damn. No. It's not when I expected to be." She turns her head away.
"Well the pond brought you here," he says, stepping forward. He can't tear his eyes off her. He feels seventeen again, and somehow still forty-two. "For a reason, right? It takes you places for a reason?"
She opens her eyes, but her head is still turned toward the Augustine house. She doesn't meet his eyes, doesn't turn to look at him. He wants her to look at him. It makes him feel guilty, like all that dealing with the reality of the situation had been for nothing. God, Kat and Elliot would hate him.
He might hate himself, now suddenly, because he'd really washed his hands of the whole thing. He thought so, anyway.
"Yes," she says slowly, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes give him a once over. "That's true. Why are you here?"
"Huh?" The question takes him aback. "I'm in the right time."
A smile flickers at her lips, her brows quirk up. He gets the sensation that he's being made fun of, that he doesn't get something. Her eyes sparkle, filled with mirth.
"Yes, Nick. I meant why are you at Elliot's right now."
He blinks. "Why am… I… oh! Oh, god. Yeah." He swipes at his face, his cheeks are warm. "Hoping to crash here. I'm moving back." He frowns. "Do I move back?"
She shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest. She looks like seventeen year old Alice, but not—she looks like how he imagined she would, back when he thought she was just living in the states. Back when he thought they could be something. He'd searched for her, for something like her for years, and he'd imagined.
He feels, briefly, almost, vindicated.
"You know I can't tell you anything," she says. "Or, I shouldn't,"
"Right. Ah." He glances around. He has to keep her here, this Alice. Just for a little bit longer. His heart pounds at the thought of losing just another moment with her. Something that had been possible, then impossible, and then really well and truly impossible.
Wrong, even. It had been easy to write it off, forget about it, grow up. Realize that she never would exist for him in a way that mattered. He'd meant what he said when he'd told her she deserved someone in her time, but he suddenly wants to be selfish.
"Do you—" he blurts out. He shakes his head. "Can you stay?"
"Here for a reason, right?" She shakes her head. "The pond brought me here to do something."
She looks him up and down again, then quickly looks away. Then her eyes land on him again, pinning him there even as she closes the distance between them. She's an arms reach away, so close that he could just reach out and touch her. She looks cold, damp, but everything about Alice is warm and sun and fire and he wants to reach out and rest his hands in the coals.
They haven't been the same age since 1999. It's a strange, churning feeling that twists his stomach and crawls up his throat. Back then it had been uncomplicatedly complicated, when he thought the distance between them was measured in kilometers and cut by a border.
He knows the truth now, that it was time. He swallows, tries not to remember the desperation he'd felt when he'd learned it all. A moment of failure. Something he'd never admit to.
And then she reaches up to touch his face. He almost jerks back on instinct, but her hand barely hesitates before he feels her fingers brush against the skin on his cheeks. Soft, delicate, as if he's something that might break under her. He stands utterly still, almost unable to breathe.
"Hi, Nick," she whispers, smiling up at him. She's not gotten any taller. He doesn't so much as tower over her than merely stand above her, looking down.
Without much thought, his hand rises to clench her elbow. He wraps his hand around it, rubs at the skin on her arm with his thumb. His lower lip trembles.
She smiles at him, warm and hesitant. "We haven't been like this in…"
"A while." His throat is hoarse with emotion.
Her hand cups his cheek, thumb resting on the tender skin under his eye. He closes his eyes, turns his head in toward the warm palm of her hand still damp from the pond. His breath hitches in his throat. Her fingers curl under his ear.
And then suddenly her hand is gone, and the space in front of him filled with her is empty. His eyes fly open to find her pulling away, a stricken look on her face.
"I'm sorry," she says, eyes widening with horror. "I'm so sorry, Nick, I shouldn't have done that."
He jerks forward. "Alice, wait—"
"I can't do this do you again," she whispers, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry."
She turns and runs, booking it toward the field. Before he's moved, she's already disappeared around the corner of the house.
Despite his best efforts, it takes more than a few seconds to jerk his body into action. He takes off after her, knees protesting as he forces them up and into motion. He hits the treeline and loses sight of her shadow in the woods. He knows the way to the pond, sure, but he knows he won't make it there in time.
And he can't follow, either way.
He comes to a stop, bowing over and heaving in big gulps of air that burn his lungs. He stares into the woods, an ache in his chest not from running but from something worse.
When he finally catches his breath enough to stand up, he staggers back to the Augustine house. He sits down on the patio in a heap. He stares at the grass.
Alice. His Alice.
But not. Never.
He puts his head in his hands.