AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Hi, all! GeneralIrritation, here.

What you are about to read is a sequel to a story I wrote called "Gun, With Occasional Hella." So if you haven't read that, then you're gonna be lost. Actually, for the best experience, play the game up to the last choice in Episode Five, turn the game off (don't even dignify that choice with a response), then read GWOH, then come here. I'll take care of you. I promise.

And to all you returning GWOH readers: Welcome back! Here, have some fluff.

Chapter 1: No-Shit Sherlock

December 13, 2013

Above the town of Arcadia Bay, in the ink-black Oregon sky, winter's first snow began to fall. It had been the beginnings of a warm winter, staggering in after a curiously warm autumn, but now the atmosphere of Arcadia Bay seemed to be righting itself.

In the closing hours of this Friday the thirteenth, the first flurries fell on a nearly abandoned street near the center of town, upon which only two souls tread. They were both teenage girls. The taller one with blue hair had her arm tightly around the shoulders of the smaller one with brown hair, though less in a show of affection, and more as a means of support.

Chloe Price and Max Caulfield had just finished attending their first (and, from the looks of things, final) party hosted by the Vortex Club. It was organized by Victoria Chase and her two drones (as Chloe called them) Courtney Wagner and Taylor Christensen, and was held at the Arcadia Bay YMCA, which Victoria had rented out personally with her own money after interim principal of Blackwell Academy of Arts & Sciences Michelle Grant had denied her request to use the Blackwell pool.

The Vortex Club had fallen on hard times since the previous October, when its de-facto leader, Nathan Prescott, had apparently snapped, attempting to shoot Chloe and succeeding in non-lethally shooting Max, which had put her in a coma for four days. From there, he was linked to a number of sexual assaults and one murder, that of Chloe's best friend Rachel Amber. The shooting of Max Caulfield had also brought to light Nathan's connection to Mark Jefferson, who appeared to be the mastermind behind a number of foul deeds in Arcadia Bay. Jefferson was awaiting trial, while Nathan in the midst of a protracted series of hearings determining his mental fitness to do the same.

And thus, the name of The Vortex Club was mud in the eyes of the students at Blackwell. Victoria, in an effort to keep the Vortex Club from destabilizing completely, had forgone the usual rigid dress code and invite list in favor of an open door policy.

The party was a disaster anyway. Only twenty-five people showed up, and of those twenty-five, only six felt up to dancing, but not for long. And even Courtney and Taylor had taken to giving Victoria the side-eye when they saw who she was chatting up in the corner.

"Warren," Max said as Chloe was holding her up on the way to Chloe's truck, which she had dubbed "The Beast." Max had decided to experiment with alcohol this evening, after she had seen how the rest of the partygoers were looking at her: with a mixture of admiration and pity. More than one person had asked her of she was alright, which had prompted the evening's foray into alcoholic beverages. It took four beers to reduce Max Caulfield to the mess she was now.

"What about Warren?" Chloe asked. She was genuinely amused, but still felt the oncoming dark cloud within her that she felt when she heard Max (or Rachel before her) talk about anyone in a somewhat intimate context that wasn't her.

"Warren," Max said, "and Victoria."

"Yeah," Chloe said. "It's weird, isn't it?"

"Warren's a nice guy," Max said as she staggered underneath Chloe's arm. "And she has him eating out of the palm of her cloven hoof."

"It sounds like you're pining over him," Chloe said, a little of the bitterness creeping into her voice. They had come to the corner of Fifth and Harrison, where Chloe had parked The Beast. Max shook off Chloe's arm gently and stood, swaying under the street light.

"I'm not pining over him."

"Didn't he want to go out with you though? To the point of blowing up your phone? I mean it's okay if you…"

Max interrupted her. "I'm not… he's my friend. I didn't want to get with him, but… It's just… It's nice to be wanted. Even if it's by someone that I don't want. And now that's gone… and I'm a little sadder than I thought I'd be… and I'm worried that I might be a shitty person because of that."

There was enough of the residual resentment within Chloe to consider saying that while it may not have made Max a bad person, it sure as hell made her a less-than-great one. But it was an urge she successfully fought.

"Max," Chloe said. "The world is… hella unpredictable. I don't blame you for taking whatever you can get."

Chloe unlocked the passenger door on The Beast and opened it for Max, but Max just… stood there.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah, Max?"

Max looked up at her, and she could see that Max's eyes were glassy. That could have been the alcohol, but given her own experience in the field as of late, Chloe was convinced they were tears.

"I love you," Max said. "I love everything about you… Have I told you that?"

There was nothing rhetorical about the question. Max was honestly asking whether or not she had told Chloe that. But more than this, Chloe could detect that these were not the words of a drunken woman, although the words of one buoyed by the courage that drunkenness provides. Chloe could see that Max was in the eye of an alcohol storm: a serene center surrounded by slurring and staggering. So focused was Chloe on divining Max's intent that the weight of her statement just now hit her.

Huh?

"I mean," Max said, "I know we're friends, and I know me saying this is weird, and I know that if you take it the way I really mean it then you're gonna get, like, really scared and try to play it off and talk your way out of it, but… I want to be with you. You're wonderful. And life shits on you. And I want to be with you because you make me happy, and then… then life can shit on both of us… or… or something. I want to make sense right now, and I'm not doing that, and… and…"

Chloe blinked a few times. "Max, I, uh…"

She didn't know what to say. The fact that Max was coming toward her confused matters, and that she was now putting her lips on her own banished all thought completely.

The ghostly after-image of the words "She's my friend" faded the longer the kiss went on, and Chloe closed her eyes and luxuriated in Max's warmth on this cold December night. Chloe had been so wrung out by life for most of the year that she didn't know how much she missed physical human contact until it was being supplied by her drunk best friend, complicating matters in an already complicated life.

But the kiss ended, as all unexpectedly good things must. Max pulled away and looked at the pavement, swaying back and forth as she did so.

"Say something," Max said. "Anything."

Chloe thought that trying to reassure Max would make things more awkward than they already were, so… jokes it was.

"You taste like Bud Light Lime-A-Rita."

Max looked at her and smiled.

"You drank Bud Light Lime-A-Rita, Max. Like a peasant."

Max laughed. Tragedy averted.

"You ready to go back?" Chloe asked.

"I'm ready," Max said. "I'm… I'm… I'm ready for the mop-shit, shaka-brah…"

Mop-Shit?

"Did you mean 'mosh-pit?'"

Max smiled some more. "You're cool," she said. "You get it."

Chloe drove Max back to the Blackwell girls' dorm and walked her up to her room, taking off Max's shoes for her and even tucking her fully-clothed body into bed before turning off the light and leaving for home.

She crept up the darkened stairs to her room, mindful of the sleeping Joyce and Step-Douche (who had agreed to let her go to the party after prolonged negotiations) in the next room.

Chloe sat at her desk, lit a bowl, and stared out the window.

How does one proceed in a world where your best friend kisses you in a drunken stupor? How much of that kiss was owed to that drunken stupor?

And how screwed were you if you liked it?

Chloe was not so blinded by friendship that she couldn't concede Max's status as a very pretty girl, and the fact that she was a fantastic human being was not up for debate. Even as she was recovering from her coma, even as she was negotiating gallery showings for her work after the media got hold of the story of the brave young photographer who took a bullet for her friend, Max still helped Chloe through her grief for Rachel. She still was. She was never more than a phone call away, and even defied her parents' wishes by staying at Blackwell after she got out of the hospital, if only for Chloe's sake.

Did she love Max Caulfield? Yes.

Did she love Max Caulfield the way Max Caulfield seemed to love her? That was still a question mark.

But was Max Caulfield worthy of being loved in that way? Well, all signs seemed to point to yes.

By the time she had decided that she would adopt a wait-and-see approach, the sun had already come up. She went downstairs, said hello to Joyce and, in a display of magnanimity so unlike Chloe that it gave Joyce pause, offered to give her a ride to work at the Two Whales Diner in exchange for some food to go.

Armed with two Styrofoam containers of greasy diner food, two bottles of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen that she had taken from the kitchen, Chloe made her way back to Blackwell. She softly knocked on Max's door, making sure not to exacerbate what must be a raging headache.

Max opened the door. She was still wearing her clothes from last night. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were bloodshot. Chloe couldn't help but smile at this. It was like looking at a kitten trying not to fall asleep.

"I bring hangover cure," Chloe said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. Max took the food from her, placed it on the bed, and gave Chloe a limp hug. After producing the water and the ibuprofen, Max went to her stereo and turned on her soothing acoustic indie shit. The two girls sat on her bed and ate in an amiable silence.

"Did I do anything embarrassing last night?" Max asked after she had swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Now we get to the interesting part, Chloe thought.

"You told me you loved me, you told me you wanted to be with me, and then you kissed me." Chloe made sure to smile as she said this, ready to josh her hungover friend if she showed any sign of chagrin, but it was also a way to conceal how curious about this whole situation Chloe actually was.

But Max just nodded, and went for more eggs.

"Nothing to say to that?" Chloe asked.

Max looked at Chloe, the light from the window hitting her blue bloodshot eyes just so.

"I asked if I did anything embarrassing," Max said, and left it at that.

Chloe could only stare at her.

February 28, 2019

A blast from a bygone era rolled up to the Dayton Arms apartment building in downtown Seattle. It was a 1981 A-11 Checker Cab, long since decommissioned, its crème and green paint job almost entirely subsumed by rust. Its engine sounded like a smoker's lungs, and when it shut off, the sputtering and coughing fit the automobile underwent only drew even further comparison.

From its driver's side emerged Chloe Price, a chocolate brown fedora resting back on her head and a bang of blonde hair with blue tips coming from underneath. She made sure the back of her long brown trench coat didn't get caught before she slammed the creaky door of the ancient taxi.

Down the steps of the small, deceptively expensive apartment building came Max Caulfield, nervously scratching the back of her head, where her medium brown tresses had been until two days prior. Max had gotten a pixie cut, and while Max had developed a habit of checking the mirror, trying to reconcile her new appearance with the appearance she had been used to, Chloe's reaction to the new do had been… more than favorable.

Max's hand dropped from her head. "What the hell is that?"

Grinning broadly, Chloe handed Max a manila envelope. Max opened it and looked at the document inside.

Applying for and obtaining any manner of state government license is a long and costly affair, and one of the most reliable ways of bringing haste to the process was having connections who could speed things up. The previous November had begun with Chloe solely associating with drug dealers, burnouts, and sundry other seedy characters in the underground of Arcadia Bay, Oregon. After Chloe had solved three murders and a kidnapping, and had broken up two separate drug rings, Chloe's connections now consisted of Arcadia Bay's police chief (who wanted to save face after widespread corruption had been revealed within the ABPD) and Arcadia Bay's mayor (who wanted to publicly deny any knowledge of wrongdoing). They were more than happy to pull the strings and lower the hoops that stood in Chloe's way of obtaining the license that would provide state sanction as a private investigator.

The license that Max was holding in her hand now.

"Congratulations," Max said.

Chloe bowed.

Max smiled. "You still haven't told me what that is."

Chloe looked at the cab. "It's a cab. I got it at a junkyard."

"I can see that," Max said. "Why did you buy a cab at a junkyard.?"

"Well, I'm not gonna drive it around like this," Chloe said. "I'm gonna restore it. New paint-job, tires, wiring. New engine, too. It's gonna be expensive, but with all the Denise Leonard money I still have, I can more than afford it."

"I thought you were going to get an office with the Denise Leonard money."

"This is my office," Chloe said. "Clients email me with their case, I give them an address. I pick them up, we talk it over, and I drop them back off. Plus if someone tries to weasel out of paying me, I can speed up and drive like a crazy person until they do."

Max nodded. "Why an old cab, though?"

Chloe looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Because it's cool!"

Max laughed, but it was half-hearted. There is an unspoken telepathy between people who love each other, and Chloe could tell something was bothering Max.

"Come in," Max said. "I need to talk to you about something."

Chloe and Max held hands as the elevator took them up to the fourth floor of the Dayton Arms. Once they were in apartment 416, Chloe kicked off her boots and hung her hat and coat on the rack, revealing a thrift store bought t-shirt with the logo of something called Lucha Underground emblazoned on its front, and her hair, which had gotten longer and shaggier and was done in a loose, short ponytail. Chloe called it "The Edward Kenway." Max, picking on her, called it "The Guybrush Threepwood."

Max picked up a printed-out email from the coffee table and handed it to Chloe.

Dear, Miss Caulfield.

Since our mutual lines of inquiry have been opened, our concerns have been taken to the Blackwell Board of Trustees, and their response has been unanimously positive.

For the upcoming 2019-2020 school year, Blackwell Academy will reinstate its defunct photography program on the lone and sole proviso that you, Maxine Caulfield, will take over teaching duties.

But time is of the essence, and preparations must be made. Your prompt response is of paramount importance.

I look forward to working with you, Miss Caulfield.

-Michelle Grant
Principal
Blackwell Academy of Arts and Sciences
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

Chloe lowered the email.

"This is, uh…"

Selfish!

"…sudden."

"This is the earliest I could come to you with this with something concrete," Max said. "I haven't said yes yet. I want your blessing."

"And if I don't give it?"

"Then I don't go."

Chloe looked into Max's pleading eyes. The past six years were larded with things Chloe never thought she'd see or live through, but none of them were as surreal or unlikely as being the voice of reason for Max Caulfield.

"Don't you need a degree to be a teacher?" Chloe asked.

"Not at a private school," Max said. "Mark Jefferson didn't have a teaching degree."

"Yeah, Max, that's a hell of a reference to give."

Max sighed, and walked up to Chloe.

"Chloe, Blackwell stopped offering photography classes the semester after Nathan shot me. They didn't want the program associated with him or Jefferson, and having one of his victims teach the class is the only way to remove some of the stigma. It was the best student photography program in America. When I was a kid, I dreamed about going to Blackwell. And now? Now Kate Bradford is donating more money to the school then the Prescotts ever did. I'm more famous than Mark Jefferson ever was. I think I can do some good there. Blackwell gave me a lot."

"It gave you a bullet and a four day coma."

"It gave me you."

Chloe had to hand it to Max. She knew when to hit the killswitch. But still…

"Max, I'm trying to start a business, here."

"You can be a private eye in Arcadia Bay. The town's growing, and so's the number of potential clients."

"I'm not licensed in Oregon," Chloe said. "I just got licensed in Washington State."

"If Mayor Newman and Chief Tate can get you licensed here, they can get you licensed there. And even if they can't, no one would say anything. The mayor gave you the key to the city, for crying out loud. You're famous in Arcadia Bay."

All these things were true, but Chloe was still perusing her list of reservations.

"How would this even work, though?" Chloe asked. "We'll have two apartments? One here and one in Arcadia Bay? That's a lot of money."

Max shook her head. "Free room and board. You know that little house near the girls' dorm? The one the principal usually lives in? It's been empty since they fired Wells six years ago. They're giving it to me. To us. They've even offered to furnish it, and as someone who has to be dragged kicking and screaming through an Ikea, I thought that might appeal to you."

Chloe was impressed by how well Max had covered her bases, but there was still one grave doubt. She had often embellished her hatred for Arcadia Bay, but even if her opinion of the town were higher, that didn't change one irrefutable fact.

I'm happy here.

Not only that, but living in Seattle with Max was the happiest she had been since before her father died. Maybe it was the happiest she had ever been. It might not have had anything to do with how far away they were from the town that seemed to delight in kicking the shit out of her on a daily basis… but maybe it did.

And yet she looked at Max, who had her doe-eyes in full effect. Since that October Monday almost six years prior, she had been so kind to Chloe. So loving. So infinitely fucking patient. And going back to the Bay seemed to mean a lot to her. Five years before, Chloe had walked out on Max due to grave doubts about herself, and didn't see her again for another three. And no matter how long they'd be together, no matter how happy they could conceivably be, Chloe would still feel like she had to pay for that.

Now who's being selfish?

Chloe sighed. "I want the same kind of chair that that's in the principal's office. Y'know, the really cushy one?"

"Thank you!" Max said. She beamed, did an excited little hop, and kissed Chloe. This kiss slowly dissolved into a warm hug.

Chloe's mouth was near Max's ear… A perfect time to whisper song lyrics.

"I've got it baaaad, got it baaaad, got it baaaad…"

Max rolled her eyes. "Oh God, Chloe, really?"

Chloe looked at Max with a glint in her eye and a maniac's grin.

"I'm hot for teacher!"

Chloe grabbed two handfuls of Max's ass and kissed her on the nose.