You can't remember a time when holding Chloe's hand didn't feel natural; your hand has always rested there as easily as it did around a camera lens.
When you were younger, Chloe took your hand to guide you, pulling you toward your couch-cum-pirate ship, your tree fort, your super-secret closet lair. You were usually hesitant, shy, sometimes afraid, but trusted the safety you felt with her palm pressed against your own. Chloe was always charging ahead, her feet pounding the grass a few steps ahead of yours, her eyes looking toward the next adventure. But her hand always found its way back to yours before she ran off, her fingers twining with yours as she threw you a smile over her shoulder, letting you know that she'd never leave you behind.
Once, she took your hand to lead you into the crashing ocean waves, not knowing the sharp, forgotten fish hook that lurked just beneath the sand. But it was that same hand that clutched tightly when you cried out in shock and pain, the same hand that cradled soothingly on the ride to the hospital, the same hand that gently slid into yours after the surgery when she sheepishly couldn't meet your eyes until you assured her all was well, the same hand that she kissed and lightly placed against your bandaged foot.
After you came back from Seattle and finally reunited with her, it took only a few hours before her had found its way back to yours again. You were at the lighthouse and blacked out, saw the tornado again, falling to the ground as Chloe snapped you back to reality. As you tried to explain, tried to make her listen, you grabbed her wrist and a second later felt your free hand slide into hers. You don't know who reached out first but it didn't matter at the time. All that mattered was that someone would believe you, that someone could tell you that you weren't crazy. And that person had to be Chloe. You knew that somehow it would all be okay if she believed you.
She was resistant at first, saying you must be high, until the snow started falling. Then she wanted to know everything.
You knew the stakes were higher now but part of you felt giddy, sharing secrets with Chloe again. It was different, telling her about something more serious than a crush or where you thought there might be pirate treasure, but it still felt right. And she believed you, just like you hoped, just like you knew she would.
The second time she took your hand came only a day later. You were trying to balance on the rails of the railroad tracks and both of you unconsciously reached out, holding each other up the same way you had when you were kids. Chloe was still mad at you and you were pretty sure she'd done it without thinking, but she didn't pull away. And when you laid down on the tracks, the words 'I believe in you, Max' slipped from her tongue just as easily as they had before you left.
Hearing those words, feeling her hand in yours again…it released a tightness in your chest that suddenly felt it had been there for ages. You had almost left her behind but Chloe had never given up on you.
And then you tried to save William. It changed Chloe, more than you ever could have imagined.
Walking down the beach with her, trying to grasp all that had happened, you wanted to take her hand more than anything. But you were afraid. She was still Chloe but she was…so different. No more blue hair, no more punk clothes.
But she was still Chloe. It only took a few minutes for you to see that.
Her rage was still there, too. Sometimes she was quiet, almost timid, but her rage still came through. It was still there, even if it stemmed from another kind of suffering entirely now. Chloe's rage was still there and so was she. She was still Chloe.
She was still Chloe but you left. You left her there, lying in her bed, the quick, shallow rasp of her breath halted by your hand. The same hand that didn't have the courage to take hers in your own.
You couldn't help this Chloe any longer, but your Chloe, beautiful, angry, blue-haired Chloe, still needed you. So you left.
Back with your Chloe, you suddenly found that you were leading. Not always, but sometimes your hand would slip into hers to pull her forward, to urge her to follow you. Somehow, it felt just as natural as letting Chloe lead. And Chloe let it happen, which surprised you at first. You can easily remember a time when Chloe would have insisted on leading, that she knew what was best. But she followed you eagerly and encouraged you every step of the way.
And you lead her to the Dark Room and Rachel. You lead her into pain and sorrow and anguish. You held her as she cried, apologies falling from your lips, while everything in you wished you could have lead her elsewhere, back to your pirate ship or to your treehouse in the woods.
After that, Chloe's anger took the lead. You had never followed her that way, with rage coming before anything else. Part of you was scared of where that would take you but this was Chloe. How could you not follow her anywhere? And you were angry, too, although you knew your ire was nothing compared to Chloe's pain.
The next time you held her hand was less than a day later but it felt longer than the five years you spent apart. You saw Chloe die again, spent time in Jefferson's dark room, and braved the storm to get the photo from Warren. But at the same time it felt like nothing. You would do anything to get back to her, to save her, and somehow, impossibly, you did. Through alternate realities, multiple timelines, and jumps through the past and future, you made it back to her. The sense of relief you felt when you finally hugged her again was like nothing you'd ever experienced before.
You explained everything, your words somehow penetrating her rage and bringing Chloe back to you. She believed you and let you take the lead again. You hoped that this time it would go better, that this time you could lead her to safety.
And you did.
But then Chloe asked you to make an impossible choice. For the second time, she asked you to let her life end.
You couldn't do it.
You ripped the photo in half, watching the pieces whip away in the wind.
With your heart hammering in your chest, the rain splattering your face, you turned to watch the tornado overtake Arcadia Bay, and wondered if you made the right choice.
Then Chloe stepped up beside you and took your hand, and you knew that you had.