Chapter Text
It's 1994, and Max is on an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
She always had a feeling she wasn't destined to stay in one place forever. At 13 she was dragged away from California, her home, to Hawkins, a town which didn’t welcome her and never wanted her. At 18 she was eager to leave, restless and tired of the town which yes, was the home of her friends but also the root of trauma, and grief, and the last physical reminder of the people she’s lost. So she left Hawkins for college in New York, a promising fresh start. But after four years of pretending like they hadn’t battled intergalactic monsters and saved the world as kids, like relationship drama and cramming for tests were their biggest battles, she could feel that restlessness trickling in again. And so, at 21, she packed a suitcase and bought a one way ticket to Paris, yearning for a change of pace.
Her only regret was Lucas, the boy was her best friend and favourite person. Her love for him was pure and strong, but he was destined to settle down in one place, and yearned for routine and calm, whereas Max needed to keep moving. When she told him her travel plans he was devastated, but of course, was understanding. His only demand was that she would phone him from every new country, his parting gift a laminated sheet of paper with his landline number.
And Max intended to keep that promise, truly, she did, but when she found a phone booth and dialed in the number she found she had nothing to say. It's not like she could just tell him “Oh hi, Lucas, yeah I’m great, actually I’m so much happier here in a foreign country alone than I ever was in New York with you”, because he would think it was his fault and it wasn’t. It was never his fault. Maybe if they’d met at a different time, in a different place, they could work it out, but this was their reality now.
But she knew he would worry, he always did, and so every new country, she sent a postcard of the local sights. They were always blank, with no message except for her name printed at the bottom. There was no way for her to know if these small reminders of her existence ever made it to Lucas, or for her to receive a reply. She could only hope that they made it.
Over the next several months, Max travelled through most of Europe, spending an extended amount of time in the Nordics. That was where she found a new sense of purpose. She had been walking down the high street before her eyes caught on a poster in the window of a travel agent. The words were all in Danish so it was indecipherable, but it was the image that caught her attention. Green rolling hills, small cottages dotted over the countryside, with the main attraction of the picture being two gently flowing waterfalls, a rainbow reflected over the water. She had a sudden feeling, a new feeling, that she had to go to this place. And after an awkward conversation in broken Danish, Max had successfully bought a ticket to this magical place, which just happened to be Iceland.
The journey wasn't exactly straightforward. She took a train to the port before boarding a ferry which took several days. She had hoped for a nice view, but all she ever saw out the porthole of her room was the ocean, stretching on endlessly. About three months into her extended vacation, Max had ditched her suitcase for a bulky backpack, and was eternally thankful, as she couldn’t imagine lugging a suitcase up the rocky footpath that led to the waterfalls.
When she arrived, the landscape wasn't exactly what she’d pictured. Although, it was entirely her own fault. Iceland can look like that enchanting picture she saw, green and lush, but only if you visit in the summer, and not October. The mountains were instead white and covered in a thick coat of snow, the air sharper than she’d imagined. But the waterfalls, they were even more magical in person. Something inside of her seemed to click when she arrived, a deep sense of calm settling in her soul.
Thankfully, the local village of Vinirfoss had a small bed and breakfast, so she could stay in this magical place for as long as she wanted. It was a strange feeling, wanting to stay, especially in somewhere so new. Although it all felt familiar somehow, like she’d visited here in a dream. The owner of the little hotel, Anna, recommended that if she wanted to hang around for a while, she should learn some of the language, and sent her to the library.
It was a cosy place, with dark wood panelling and low ceilings. She walked along the rows of shelves, looking for a dictionary or encyclopaedia or something remotely helpful, but unfortunately all of the titles and labels were in Icelandic. Of course. When she was in a country like France or Spain she could make educated guesses about most words, but Icelandic was completely foreign to her. She found a small desk hidden in the corner, a young woman with wavy brown hair and big, round glasses sat behind it, presumably the librarian.
She cleared her throat quietly, and caught the woman’s attention. “Uhm, Halló? I was wondering if you’d be able to-”
Max suddenly had no words because the young woman looked up, and her entire world titled on its axis. Because there was no mistaking who that face belonged to. It was El. El who had died, and who she mourned for years, who was her best friend, and is now somehow, miraculously, alive. In Iceland.
And before she could even form a sentence, the other girl had bolted out the door, leaving her alone.
It’s 1994, and Max is on an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and her best friend, who she watched die seven years ago, is somehow alive and well. So much for finding inner peace.