Southampton, Hampshire, United Kingdom, April 9, 1912

The Bargate was a medieval gatehouse in the city center of Southampton. It was constructed in Norman times as part of the Southampton town walls, and to be the main gateway to the city. Constructed of stone and flint, it bravely stood as a memento of the ancient times at the twilight of the Edwardian era.

Line by line the features of the north side of the gatehouse were transferred onto the page of a sketchbook as a charcoal pencil danced on the grainy surface. The hand holding the pencil belonged to Michael Caulfield. A wavy, slightly overgrown chestnut hair framed the freckled, clean-shaved face, with blue eyes focused on the building in front of him. His appearance, consisting of slightly worn wool suit, a flat cap and rugged shoes gave clearly away his working class background. A satchel hung from his shoulder.

Michael Caulfield was 23 years old, originating from the town of Killarney, located in County Kerry, Ireland. Youngest of the six siblings, he'd spent his whole life in his home town until now. His father was a fisherman, providing the bread to the family's table along with two of his older sisters, who were still living at home and working at the linen mills.

Michael had always been slightly different from his other siblings. He was a quiet observer and a dreamer. He had yet to find his calling, so he had drifted from an odd job to another. Already at young age, he'd come to learn that he had a gift for illustrating. He would spent all of his spare time sketching people, landscapes, buildings and items. While Michael loved drawing, he realized that it couldn't possible provide him a living.

Seeing little prospects staying in his home town, Michael had decided to follow the path of many of his countrymen and travel to America. He had managed to save enough money to travel to England. Once he had arrived in Southampton, he'd sought a job at the docks to save money for the crossing of the Atlantic. He had rented a small room near the docks, where he'd practically just gone to sleep. When he had not been working or sleeping, he had gone for long walks in the countryside and illustrated.

This would be his last day in Southampton, as tomorrow he would board the RMS Titanic, the brand new ocean liner of the White Star Line. He'd worked long hours for half a year to save the money for the ticket, which was now neatly folded in his wallet.

Michael made the last draws onto the sketchbook and looked at the illustration with a critical eye. He wasn't quite happy with how the perspective of the building had turned out. The gatehouse was bordered by other buildings, so there wasn't a background for reference. Well, ye need to keep practicing, laddie.

Michael closed his sketchpad and put it into the satchel with the charcoal pencil. He didn't move from his position but instead kept observing the people who went on with their errands. Michael made notice of a man in his late thirties, wearing a seaman's uniform and hat, who walked determinedly out of the pedestrian passageway in the gatehouse and made a sharp turn right to cross the street. The sailor had only taken a few steps, when a car horn honked loudly and the vehicle hit the man fervently, throwing him several feet forward on the ground.

"No!" Michael yelled and instinctively extended his right arm. What happened next, was beyond his wildest imagination. Everything around him slowed down and came to a momentary halt, before everything began to move backwards, including the sailor, who slowly rose from the ground like a ragdoll and flew back against the radiator of the car, making it back away from him. The sailor himself stepped backwards in a jerking motion towards the passageway.

Everything kept moving backwards, until a painful sensation lashed through Michael's head, making him crouch and close his eyes. When he opened them again, everything was back to normal. What in sweet Mary's name just happened? he asked himself. He looked at the main passageway but the sailor and car were nowhere to be seen. It was like the time itself had run backwards, he thought before he brushed the thought off with a chuckle. Must be me head playing tricks on me. That'll teach me to get a good night's sleep.

He was about to walk away, when he suddenly saw the same sailor appearing from the passageway. It can't be, he thought, when he noticed that the sailor was going to cross the street.

"Oi!" Michael shouted almost instinctively at the sailor, who stopped and turned to look at his direction. A second later, the car swept past him with less than a foot to spare. The sailor turned to look into the main passageway and then after the car. The expression on his face gave away the shock of realizing how close he had been to get hit by that vehicle.

Michael looked at this all in awe. Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, I just saved that man's life! I somehow turned back the time itself! He suddenly felt something running from his nose. He wiped it swiftly with the back of his palm and found it to be blood. He didn't have time to wonder about it, though, as the sailor was hastily pacing towards him.

-ooo-

Siobhán O'Shea sat alone at a table in a pub and spooned a small plate of soup. The broth was stale and bland but she didn't complain. She had just arrived from Belfast and tomorrow she would begin her journey across the Atlantic.

Siobhán was twenty years old. Her shoulder length hair was a shade of brown so dark that one could easily mistake it for being black. She was quite petite, standing only 5'5" tall. Her modest dark grey frock had a hint of green in it and the outfit was complimented by a hat that was rather small by late Edwardian standards of fashion.

Siobhán's father was a riveter at Harland and Wolff. Douglas O'Shea had been one of the many men laying rivets onto the hull of the majestic ocean liner that his daughter would be tomorrow boarding. Her older brother Donal had gone to America a few years earlier and he had gathered enough money to pay for his sister's trip.

The brunette finished her broth and looked around. The pub was filled with men who had finished their work shift. There was one man who wasn't quite in his element sitting at the bar counter with a half-empty pint of ale. He seemed like he was delved into his own thoughts but Siobhán could see his eyes scanning his surroundings imperceptibly. His auricles were ever so slightly twitching as a sign that he was paying attention to the discussions going on around him. He noticed suddenly that the young woman was glancing at him, so she turned to face her, let out a warm smile and nodded, making Siobhán turn her own face sheepishly away. She could feel her cheeks and ears turn red.

Siobhán stood up and returned the plate on the counter and left the pub. She was facing the dilemma of finding a place to sleep for the night. The pub keeper had told that there were a few accommodations for lonely women nearby. She walked hopefully into the darkening evening.

-ooo-

Michael took a sip from his pint. The sweet, malty taste of ale wasn't to his liking as he preferred the robust and bitter taste of stout. The seaman, whose life he had saved had insisted of buying him a drink as a gesture of gratitude and ale had been his choice of drink. He had turned out to be a Scot, even though one could hardly hear it from his speech. It had turned out that he was one of the officers of the Titanic and having heard that Michael would be onboard, he had insisted on buying him dinner at the ship's restaurant.

After buying Michael another pint, the sailor had excused himself and left the young man alone with the beverage. He stared at the foamy surface of his drink, trying to comprehend what had happened by the gatehouse.

I somehow managed to turn back the flow of time itself and save that man's life, he thought as looked at his right hand. Is this the God's or the Devil's work? He slowly extended his hand and focused. Almost instantaneously, everything around him slowed to a halt and started going backwards. Michael relaxed and the world returned to normal motion. He focused again and everything went backwards again. He let go and everything was normal again. He kept repeating this wondrous play almost in a trance-like state for a few moments, before he realized what he was doing and snapped out of it. I am meddling with things that aren't meant for mere mortals, he thought, staring his hand in shock. I don't know, if this is a gift or curse but I reckon I shouldn't be using it lightly.

Michael shook the thought off and concentrated in observing what was going on around him. He kept his head stationary but let his eyes roam around the pub, while paying attention to the chattering in his proximity. From the corner of his eye, he could see a young woman staring at him. He turned to face her and let out a warm smile. Realizing that she had been caught, she turned away bashfully. Michael let his glance rest on the woman for a few moments to notice how adorable she looked, when she was blushing.

The young man pretended to turn his attention back to his half empty pint but he kept observing the dark haired woman from the corner of his eye. He saw her standing up and returning her plate before walking out of the pub. He also made notice of the two wormy men that were looking at her furtively and leaving the pub right after her. If Michael had learned anything by this age, it was to trust his instincts and his instincts were telling him to get up and make sure that no harm would come to the young woman from those men. He stood up and walked out of the pub to see the them to turn around the corner.

-ooo-

Siobhán stood behind a wooden door. This was the third place, where she tried to find shelter from. The first two had had no vacancy. Apparently, the departure of the Titanic had filled all the possible accommodations with would-be passengers.

The brunette knocked on the door. At first, nothing happened, but a moment later she could hear steps coming towards the door. The door opened slightly and an elderly woman peeked out through the opening.

"What you be wantin'?" the woman asked crankily.

"Sorry to bother you, Ma'am, but I'm in need of a shelter for the night," Siobhán explained. "I was told that you might have a spare room."

"I 'ave a room, an' it's vacant," the old woman grunted, before she furrowed. "You Irish?"

"Yes, Ma'am, from Belfast," Siobhán answered.

"I rent for no Irish!" the woman snapped, before she slam the door shut.

"Please, I beg you, let me in! I have nowhere else to go!" the young woman pleaded, banging the door to no avail.

"Go hifreann leat!" Siobhán cursed with a last, determined bang and turned on her heels. That was my last resort. What am I going to do now?

"Now there's a pretty lady all by 'erself," the brunette heard someone say with a vicious tone. She turned to face two vile looking men.

"We can keep ya warm tonight, if you'll be good to us," the other one said, sneering.

"P-please, leave me alone," Siobhán whispered horrified.

"Sure, we'll leave ya alone," the first man said, "after we've had a bit of fun with ya."

Siobhán took a few steps backwards, only to find herself cornered. She stared in horror as the two man came closer.

"You heard the lady, she isn't interested in your company!" A stern voice said behind them. The two thugs turned into the direction of the voice to see a young man standing behind them.

"Run along now, Paddy! This ain't none of ya business," the other thug snarled.

"What if I make it my business?" the man smirked.

"Don't say we didn't warn ya," the thug answered. "Keep an eye on the harlot while I teach this weed a lesson," he said to his companion and pulled a knife.

Siobhán would never be able to describe exactly what happened. It was like the young man could predict the assailant's every move as he managed to yield every poke easily and counterattack with quick jabs to his head and solar. It was almost like he had been dancing around the thug, making swift steps from one side to another. A sharp hook to the jaw made the thug fall limp to the ground.

The brunette had watched the brawl so entranced that she didn't see the other assailant to come closer before it was too late. He wrapped his arms around her and put his knife on her throat.

"One move and I'll slash 'er throat, I swear to God!" he yelled, seeming to have lost most of his bravado.

What happened next was beyond belief. At one moment, the young man was standing almost ten feet away from them, the next he was right next to them, delivering a point-blank hit to the other thug's nose, making him fall unconscious on his back.

Only now Siobhán recognized her savior to be the young man from the pub. She was still gasping her breath in shock.

"Are you all right, Miss?" he asked.

"I-, I-, yes, yes I am," the brunette stammered.

"I saw those fellas leaving after you, so I thought I'd follow them in case they'd try something," the young man explained.

"I'm glad you did," Siobhan said. "I'm forever in your debt, Mr…"

"Caulfield, Michael Caulfield, Miss…"

"Siobhán O'Shea."

"Ah, áthas orm bualadh leat."

"Is pléisiúr go léir mianach."

"Well, I reckon we should excuse ourselves before these two gentlemen come to," Michael said. "You have any place to go?"

"No, I've been desperately trying to find a place to stay for tonight," Siobhán explained. "Tomorrow I'll be boarding the Titanic."

"Oh, I'll be leaving on the Titanic as well," the young man said delightedly. "If you feel comfortable enough sharing a room with me, I have a room rented nearby. I can sleep on the floor."

"Well, how could I say no, after what you did for me," the brunette said. "I'll accept your offer Mr. Caulfield."

"Please, call me Michael."

"Only, if you call me Siobhán."

"Deal." Michael offered his arm.

Siobhán wrapped her arm around his and they walked away from the alley.

-ooo-

Siobhán was in ice cold water, surrounded by tens, maybe hundreds of people. It was dark. Everyone was struggling to stay afloat. The air was filled with desperate pleas for help. Some were pressing others under the surface in their frantic attempts to survive. The brunette looked up to see the enormous silhouette of an ocean liner's stern protruding in a steep angle towards the sky.

Siobhán looked around her and after a few seconds, she made out what she was looking for. Michael Caulfield was floundering a few yards away from her.

"Mich-," she started shouting and waving but the attempt pulled her down, making her swallow seawater in her lungs. She coughed fiercely to get the water out of her lungs and concentrated on staying afloat. Siobhán realized that she couldn't get the young man's attention by shouting. She'd have to swim to him. She took determined strokes towards the young man, trying to avoid the desperately floundering people in between them.

Siobhán had almost reached him, when a loud crack and a horrified murmur caught her attention. The hull of the ship had cracked and the stern was rapidly falling on them. Just seconds before the enormous object fell on them, she could make out the name of the vessel: 'TITANIC'.

"Gaaahhhh!" Siobhán jerked awake violently. Cold sweat was running down her forehead, when she tried to catch her breath. She looked around to get her bearings. It took her few moments to get adjusted to the darkness and to remember that she was in the room and in the bed of the man that had saved her last night. Her savior was curled under a blanket on the floor. He appeared not to have been disturbed by her abrupt awakening.

Siobhán wiped her forehead, before crossing her arms to stop the shivering. This wasn't just an ordinary nightmare, she thought. Ever since her early teens, she had been seeing dreams of things that would happen in the near future. They had not occurred often but still enough so that she could tell the difference. Another shiver ran down her spine, when she made the inevitable conclusion: Somewhere along the way, the unsinkable ship will sink and take us with her.

The brunette began to contemplate her options. Her first thought was to wake up Michael and tell him about her vision but she abandoned that idea soon, as she doubted that he would believe her. She could just opt herself out on some pretext, but if there was one person she wanted to save from this horrible fate, it was the man that had saved her. She was left with only one option.

Siobhán stood up slowly and sneaked to the nearby table, on top of which was a wash basin and a porcelain water jug. She took the pitcher in her hand and tiptoed to the sleeping man. I'm so sorry about this, Michael, but you'll thank me later, she thought as she smashed the water jug into his head.

-ooo-

Michael opened his eyes slowly. He was groggy and the back of his head was throbbing. He tried to move his hands, only to find that he couldn't. He looked around and saw that his hands were tied to the bedposts. He tugged the ropes to no avail. Just then the door to his room opened and Siobhán walked in.

"Oh, you're awake," she said.

"What is the meaning of this," Michael asked. "Untie me!"

"I'm sorry but I can't do that yet," Siobhán said nonchalantly.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked. "Untie me or we are going to miss the ship!"

"I promise you I will find a way to repay you the ticket price but I can't let you to embark that ship," the brunette said.

"Why?"

"I will explain you some day but now you just have to take my word for it."

Michael looked at the young woman in bewilderment. She's crazy! I got to get myself loose before the ship leaves! Maybe if I… He concentrated and felt how the time began to crawl backwards. He saw Siobhán backtrack out of the room and the door close but then he suddenly came to a halt as a slashing pain hit his head. Aggh! I can't go further back, he thought in agony. I'm going to have to talk my way out of this!

So he waited for Siobhán enter the room and tried another approach, and another, and another – until he came to realize that he couldn't make his way out of this by using his ability. Discouraged, he accepted his fate and lied on the bed, scowling at the young woman furiously until they heard the departing ship blowing its horn.

-ooo-

Arcadia Bay, OR, June 15, 2007

"Who are in this?" Chloe Price asked, holding an old sepia-toned photograph portraying a young couple.

"That's my great-great-grandfather Michael and my great-great-grandmother Siobhán," Maxine Caulfield said, lifting her head behind a photo album. They were sitting in the Caulfield family living room with stacks of photo albums surrounding them.

"So that's where you get your impossible-to-pronounce second name," the strawberry blonde grinned.

"Ugh, don't remind me!" the brunette sighed.

"So, spill the beans already," Chloe goaded. "What's their story?"

"They came to America in 1913," Max explained. "The legend has it that they were supposed to be on the Titanic, but on the day of the departure Siobhán had tied Michael on the bed and made them wait until the ship had departed."

"For cereal?"

"For cereal."

"Michael musta been hella pissed at her."

"Undoubtedly," Max confirmed. "Michael had told her that he never wanted to see her as long as he lived."

"What happened then?"

"The day after the news of the disaster had reached Britain, Michael had sought Siobhán out and proposed to her."

"Just like that?"

"That's what the story says," the brunette shrugged her shoulders. "They'd gotten married the following summer and made the trip across the Atlantic on the Mauretania half a year later. Two months after their arrival, my great-grandfather Conor was born."

"So was it ever found out why Shi-, Shi-, your great-great-grandmother had decided to tie Michael up?" Chloe asked.

"Not really," Max answered. "My nana told me once that Siobhán had a reputation of being a clairvoyant but that hasn't been confirmed."

"Well, I'm hella glad she did tie him up," the blonde remarked, knocking the smaller girl on the shoulder. "Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here with my BFF right now."

"Yeah, me too." The brunette smiled.

-ooo-

Southampton, Hampshire, United Kingdom, April 9, 1912

"I reckon I own you my life," the seaman said to Michael, shaking his hand. "Aye, if you wouldn't have yelled, I would've been run over by that car for sure."

"I-, I'm just glad I was able to do something," Michael stammered.

"I want to express my gratitude somehow," the seaman said.

"There's really no need…"

"Let me at least buy you a drink. In fact, I insist."

"Well, I can't say no to that, can I?"

"Indeed, you cannot, Mr…"

"Caulfield, Michael Caulfield."

"William Murdoch."

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of 'The Caulfield Family Chronicles', which will hopefully grow out to be a series of independent one-shots, telling the family history of Max. All the stories will be pre-canon and original characters with the game characters making guest appearances to give context. Each chapter will be an independent story, with loose ties to each other. They won't be in chronological order. The main idea is to take some historical event and tell what a Caulfield family member and certain time-altering powers may or may not have had been involved with it.

I've always been fascinated by the legend of the Titanic and this isn't the first time, I'm writing fan fiction related to the majestic ocean liner. Rest assured, the other story has nothing to do with the Cameron movie. Anyway, when I thought of the first chapter to this possible series, the Titanic disaster was the obvious choice. In case you're wondering William Murdoch's identity, he was the first officer of the Titanic crew and the officer in charge on that fateful night, when the ship hit the iceberg. I'll leave it up to you to decide, whether Michael's use of rewind or the fact that he saved Murdoch's life that made the iceberg hit the vessel.

Thank you for reading and please do review! I'd love to know if there are interest to more stories like this.