A/N: This piece is dedicated to my cousin who passed away this summer. Rest in peace, cous. You were gone too soon.
Max sits with Kate against a tree as the sun bathes its golden light onto the campus quad. Max stares into the sea of people rushing in and out, in and out, people who are wrapped up in their individual lives, their individual universes, ignorant of the sacrifice Max has made, of the sacrifice she has made to save them all.
Not that Max can blame them. They have done nothing wrong. They are simply people, simple people, simply simple people who could not have known and will never know of the phenomena that transpired in a forsaken timeline. That weight is for Max, hers alone, for her to bear alone. Alone. Max is so alone, even with Kate beside her, even with Kate smiling beside her, with her face so soft and her smile so sweet and her eyes so bright and full of life.
Not like Chloe. Chloe is dead. Chloe is dead. Chloe is dead and buried six feet into the ground beneath a mound of soil, topped off with a grassy surface and her name etched into a stone monument. Eyes faded, skin faded, casket sealed and shut to never experience the warmth and glow of the sun ever again. Never again. Never life. Only death.
Kate says something, something something something, something about tea. Or an essay? Max just nods and feigns a smile and continues to gaze aimlessly at the passerbys, with their happy, carefree faces. What is happiness, again? Max isn't sure she knows anymore. She envies her peers. They are young on the outside, young on the inside. Max is young on the outside. But on the inside? Old old old. Maybe she's old on the outside too.
And then Max sees Chloe standing in the distance, a punk rock goddess, one hand on her hip and a cigarette in the other, the wind rustling the strands of blue hair that aren't tucked beneath her dark beanie. Ripped jeans. White tank top, black skull print. Black boots. Necklace, three bullets. Tattoos on her right arm that glimmer against the sun. Chloe looks off into the distance and takes a drag of her cigarette. She notices Max. She grins.
It's Chloe. It's her. It has to be.
Max stands up, mouth ajar, eyes wide, hands shaking. Kate says something but it goes through her goes through her goes through her, like most things do nowadays. Max starts walking towards Chloe, who is still grinning, still standing, her hair still swaying with the breeze.
And before Max can even call out Chloe's name, Chloe vanishes. Just like that. Max reminds herself that Chloe is gone and that it couldn't have been her standing right there. Max must have imagined it. It couldn't have been her. Chloe is not alive. Chloe is dead. Chloe does not live.
Max returns to the tree where Kate is sitting. Kate says something but Max doesn't listen.
Chloe is gone. Chloe is gone. Chloe is gone.
Warren is nice. Warren is sweet. Warren means well. Warren has good intentions. Warren has the best intentions, Max would like to think. He knows she needs her space and he gives it to her and he does it wholeheartedly and without question. Max doesn't know if he's only doing it to appease her or if it's out of sympathy or pity. Maybe he genuinely cares about what she wants. Good intentions. Surely he has good intentions.
This is why when Warren asks her to meet him in the parking lot for a small reunion, Max can't deny. It has been days she has spoken to Warren. Or maybe weeks. Max can't remember. Minutes, days, weeks. It goes by so gradually and yet so rapidly all at once, like one simultaneous lapse in time that lasts forever but is over in an instant.
"Max," Warren says as he leans against the hood of his car. He steps forward to embrace her but Max does not reciprocate. "It feels like it's been ages since we've hung out like this."
"I know," Max says as she tugs at the arm of her sleeve. "I'm sorry. I'm not really myself right now. I'm not sure if I know who I am anymore."
"That's okay, Max," Warren says. He tries to put his arm around her shoulder but she pulls away. Warren stares at Max with gentle eyes and places a tender hand on her arm. "You know I'm here for you. If you wanna talk, or not, I'm here. You don't have to go through this alone."
You don't get it, Max wants to say. He doesn't understand the trauma that she's experienced and the nightmares she has to live with and the guilt of letting Chloe die that she has to carry with her throughout all eternity. She can't tell him about it, either, even if she wants to. He would just feel sorry for her, because they all feel sorry for her, because everyone who has ever crossed paths with Max Caulfield always feels sorry for her.
No, this is something that Max can only go through alone. No one else would understand the agony of reversing time again and again for the one you love, just so she can live, only to have her taken away by the prying hands of fate in spite of all you do. Because no matter what, it isn't enough. It isn't enough to save her. No matter what, it ends in failure. Failure. Max is a failure. Yes, truly no one could understand this torture.
No one except Chloe. Chloe would understand.
"That's very sweet of you to say," Max finally says. She stares off into the clouds, not once meeting his eye. "But being alone is something I need right now. I'm sure you understand. I'll come around eventually, Warren. I just need more time." That last sentence leaves her with a lingering, bitter taste. More time. Ha.
And then suddenly it's no longer Warren leaning beside her, but Chloe. Chloe and her vibrant smile, Chloe and her gorgeous face, Chloe and her lovely hair, Chloe and her soft lips and her beautiful eyes and her delicate curves and her perfect everything.
"Ouch, Max," Chloe says. "Don't be so hard on Warren! I know the poor guy can be a little overbearing, but he's hella worried about you." She gives Max a warm smile. "I'm worried about you too. I'm right here, Max. With you. Always."
Max leaps into Chloe's arms and buries her face into the nook of Chloe's shoulder, eyes puffy, cheeks wet, breathing staggered, tears violently pouring down as her entire body trembles. Chloe tightly envelops Max with both arms as Max continues to weep. Max's chest aches and aches and aches as her sobs echo throughout the parking lot and as snot drips from her nose in a less than graceful fashion. Her head is pounding; her heart is pounding; everything around her is being broken down and built up and broken down again.
When Max finally decides to look up, she is stunned to find herself not in Chloe's arms, but Warren's. His face is solemn and his breath is slow and his eyes reflect deep concern. Warren looks confused and Max feels confused, but she allows them to have this moment in spite of all the confusion. He doesn't know what just happened and Max isn't too sure of it herself.
"I'm sorry about all this," she says quietly. "I'm sorry about your shirt, too."
Warren bends his neck and sees the dark stain on the side of his shirt. "This?" he says, offering a subtle smile. "It's nothing. Don't apologize, Max. You're going through a lot, more than I can imagine."
Warren continues to hug her, and Max lets him. For an infinitesimal moment, for one brief, single moment, Max doesn't feel so alone. And then that moment is gone. Poof. Gone, like Chloe.
Max doesn't know why Victoria Chase wants to meet her at the Two Whales Diner. In this timeline, this timeline this timeline this timeline, Victoria doesn't even know Max that well. In one timeline they were at least "not enemies," in another, they were even friends. But in this timeline, every malicious statement, every petty revenge, every narcissistic and superficial facade maintained in pseudo-confidence has never existed, along with the minor progressions at some semblance of a friendship. To this Victoria Chase, Max Caulfield is just the egocentric selfie hipster whore who has yet to sway Victoria's perception of her one way or the other. To this Victoria Chase, Max Caulfield is the best friend of the person whom her best friend had killed. And if this Victoria Chase is more akin to her erased counterpart, it is certainly unusual that she make the first move at a peace pact.
When Max enters the Two Whales Diner, the scent of strong coffee and cooked eggs and sizzling bacon hits her, just as a pang of sorrow hits her when she sees Victoria Chase sitting in Max and Chloe's booth, in Chloe's seat. Victoria has a glass of orange juice in her right hand while a menu blocks her face, pretending not to notice Max as she sits down across the table. Max glances at her own menu in front of her and pushes it aside.
Joyce approaches the table with a coffee pot and an empty mug.. "Max, honey," Joyce says. She pours black coffee into the mug and slides it towards Max. "It's good to see you. I don't think I've seen you since, well…"
"I know," Max says, not letting Joyce finish. "I'm sorry I haven't visited yet. I've been… adjusting."
Joyce nods, a frown upon her lips, her eyes reflecting sadness and emptiness and all the things that Max herself has felt since the death of Chloe. "Don't apologize, sweetheart," she says. "I know this must be hard on you. It's hard on all of us. We all cope in our own ways, and I know you'll come visit when you feel like you're ready. You're welcome to stop by anytime, Max."
"Thank you, Joyce," Max says. "I will, soon. I promise."
Joyce takes out a pen and pad. "What would you two young ladies like to eat?"
Victoria puts down her menu and turns to face Joyce. "I would like the Belgian waffles."
"Bacon and eggs for me," Max says. "No one makes them like you do."
There is a small smile that nudges at Joyce's lips, but it is only there for a second before it fades, just as all temporary moments of happiness fade within the midst of grief. "Coming right up, you two," Joyce says as she jots down their orders. She collects their menus and walks away, heading back behind the counter.
A long silence passes between Max and Victoria. Max places all of her energy into adding sugar and coffee creamer to her mug, not once glancing up at Victoria while she stirs her coffee, watching it swirl and blend into a lighter shade. Watching her coffee mix and mix and mix is soothing and tranquil and therapeutic. Victoria doesn't say anything and Max doesn't either. It's difficult for Max to find the energy to engage in conversation, especially since she and this Victoria aren't exactly on speaking terms.
Max's eyes wander across the table before flitting upwards and meeting Victoria's gaze. Except when Max finally gains the strength to cease evading conversation, her eyes do not meet the piercing, brown eyes of Victoria Chase, but the vivacious, blue eyes of Chloe Price. Chloe, who is grinning her cocky, lopsided grin that is the mark of a true hell-raising and thrill-seeking adventurer, the mark of a pirate at heart. Chloe, who is leaning back against the booth, arms sprawled, shoulders covered in her black, leather jacket, kicking her feet up against the table. Chloe, with a flair for rebellious nonchalance only she can manage, with a look that can only scream Chloe Chloe Chloe.
"Maxi-Pad!" Chloe exclaims. She puts her feet down and leans forward, reaching for Max's hands and interlocking their fingers. "Stop by the house sometime! It's gettin' lonely there. I think Mom would really appreciate it."
"I can't," Max chokes out, a lump in her throat. "I don't want to see your room empty. I don't think I can handle it without you in it."
"What's the matter, hippie?" Chloe asks, smirking. "Can't handle a little blast from the past? C'mon, Max. Now you know how I felt whenever I looked at our old photos while you were off in Seattle." She picks up Max's hand and places a gentle kiss on it. Chloe's face softens. "I'm always with you, Max. You won't be in that room alone. I promise."
Max looks into Chloe's warm eyes and gazes at Chloe's warm smile and soaks in Chloe's warm touch. She takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says. "I'll go."
"Awesome," Chloe says, smiling. "Thank you, Max. You've made me so happy."
Using her sleeve, Max wipes away the tears on her face. In an instant, in the blink of an eye, the lovely face of Chloe no longer stares across from her, but is instead replaced with Victoria's stupefied expression. Max remains fixated on Victoria, matching her stupefication.
"Here are your Belgian waffles," Joyce interrupts, breaking the silence. She holds two plates of food in her hands and places them onto the table. "And here are your bacon and eggs. Is there anything else I can get you two?"
Max looks at Victoria and Victoria looks at Max and Joyce looks at Max and Victoria as they gaze at each other in awe. Victoria blinks and snaps out of her trance, turning her attention to Joyce. "No thank you," she says.
It takes a few seconds before Max forces herself to look at Joyce. "I'm fine, Joyce," Max says. "Thank you."
"Alright," Joyce tells them. "You ladies let me know if you need anything." She turns around and heads back towards the counter. Before she is out of range, Max calls out to her.
"Joyce?"
Joyce pivots, facing Max. "Yes, honey?"
"I want to come by the house later today," Max tells her. "Is that okay?"
"Of course it is, Max," Joyce replies, a genuine smile forming on her face. "That'd be wonderful." Her eyes light up in such a subtle, yet touching way, in a way that Max knows hasn't appeared for awhile. Seeing that expression on Joyce's face and in her eyes and that smile on her lips causes a lightness to settle into Max's chest.
When Joyce leaves, Max is left with Victoria, who is eyeing her plate of Belgian waffles and jabbing it with her fork, not putting in the energy to devour it anytime soon. Max notices Victoria catching glimpses of her every now and then; Victoria attempts to mask her efforts, but fails, and their eyes lock for fleeting moments at every opportunity.
Rolling her eyes and placing her fork down, Victoria finally speaks, "Listen, Max. I know we aren't exactly friends, but…" She chews on that thought. "Look, I don't know what happened back there. You said some strange things and I don't know. You looked really out of it."
Victoria sighs, her face indicative of remorse. "I have no idea what you're going through. I asked you to come here because I want you to know that I'm sorry about all this. Nathan…" She pauses. "Nathan's my best friend. He's fucked up, mentally, but he's not a killer. Believe me, Max. I know he's truly sorry about what happened. And I know that doesn't make it right, but…"
Victoria grabs her glass of orange juice and takes a sip. "I want you to know that you can talk to me, if you want," she says. "I know we're not friends, but we can agree that we both lost our best friends that day." Another pause. "I guess what I'm saying is, maybe we can use this shitty situation to at least not be at each other's throats all the damn time."
Max watches Victoria pick up her fork and knife and cut a slice of waffle. This time, Victoria concentrates on eating, not once looking up at Max as she had prior. Max looks at her bacon and takes a strip, biting a crispy piece off and savoring the juicy flavor as she crunches it up. It's odd, eating breakfast with Victoria Chase, the high and mighty Victoria Chase, the Victoria Chase who would most likely prefer professionally cooked omelettes in the morning by a personal chef. The mere notion that Max is sharing a simple meal at a simple diner with pampered princess Victoria Chase is rather entertaining. So entertaining, in fact, that Max cannot help but give a slight chuckle.
"What's so funny?" Victoria asks with a sideways glance.
"I'm eating breakfast with you," Max says.
It takes a moment for that thought to sink into Victoria. When it does, Victoria snickers. "God, I know. Look at us."
"Hey, Victoria?"
Victoria looks up from her food. "Yes, Max?"
"Let's talk sometime."
For the entire time that Max is in that booth with Victoria Chase, eating her bacon and eggs while Victoria consumes her waffles, for that brief period of time that they share together, something they would not have shared if circumstances were different, if fate was different, for that one breakfast on that one weekday morning in that booth with Victoria Chase, Max isn't so miserable.
44 Cedar Avenue.
In this timeline, it will be Max's first time visiting the Price household, the Madsen household, since returning to Arcadia Bay. It's funny—but it's not funny—how in one timeline Max stood in front of the door, seeing William alive and healthy and Chloe paralyzed and on the brink of death, while in this timeline, Max stands in front of the door expecting to see Joyce married to David, knowing Chloe doesn't live here anymore. Chloe doesn't live. Chloe is not alive. When that door opens, Max knows knows knows it won't be Chloe who opens the door.
She breathes in. She breathes out. She knocks.
It's David on the other side of the door. He gives Max a solemn nod. "Welcome, Max," David says. "Joyce is in the living room."
"Thank you, Mr. Madsen," Max says as she walks inside and closes the door behind her. It feels surreal entering this house in this timeline.
"Come right in, Max," Joyce calls out in the distance.
Max makes her way to the living room and sees Joyce, sitting at the table and thumbing through an old photo album. Joyce looks up and acknowledges Max with a brief smile before turning her attention back to the photo album, her face weary. Max pulls up a chair next to her and scoots close, silently observing the memories as Joyce moves through the pages one by one, wordlessly.
"Oh would you look at that," Joyce suddenly says wistfully. "Chloe's ninth birthday. The two of you would just run around like wild animals." Joyce laughs lightly. "She looks so happy and carefree and…"
"Alive," Max finishes, her heart sinking. Max stares at the photo longingly, trying to place herself in better times, trying to place herself in happier times, trying to place herself in a time where Chloe is still alive. "I remember that day. Chloe and I were having a water gun shootout. We got so soaked afterwards."
Joyce shakes her head, a small smile on her face. "And Chloe was wearing a white shirt that day." Joyce sighs. "Where does the time go? I wish I could just hop into each of these photos. I want to travel back to those memories and relive them, just once more. Just to see her alive one last time."
Max's heart skips a beat. She takes a deep breath. "I want that too."
Joyce continues to flip through the photo album, commenting on certain photos that stick out to her and strike an emotional chord. On one hand, it is touching to go through these photos, these memories, these experiences, and to celebrate the life that Chloe had lived, however short. On the other hand, sifting through these captured moments in time just reminds Max at the loss of life, the loss of Chloe, a person she loved and still loves and who had lived but does not any longer. It is nostalgic to honor the life that was by keeping her memory, but it is so heartbreaking to remember. It is so painful to remember. Because Chloe does not live, there can never be new memories. Because Chloe does not live, there is a lifetime of memories to be had that will never be experienced.
It's not fair. Chloe shouldn't have died so young. She had a full life to live and it had been taken away and it can never be returned; it can never be replaced. Chloe cannot be replaced. Chloe is irreplaceable.
"It's too bad Chloe didn't get the chance to see you before she passed away," Joyce says softly. She closes the photo album after reaching the last page. "She really missed you, Max."
Max can feel an invisible weight slowly crushing her insides. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. In this timeline, the Chloe that died on the bathroom floor had last seen Max in 2008, the same year William had died, the same year Max had packed her bags and left without saying word, never to contact this Chloe again. This Chloe died knowing that she had lost her father, believing that her best friend had abandoned her, and hoping that her angel would be found alive and safe. This Chloe died alone, thinking that the world did not love her, thinking that no one would stay with her for very long before leaving, just like everyone else.
"I regret it so much," Max chokes out. "I wish I wrote to her or called her. I wish I did something to let her know that I cared. I still care about her, so much. The last time I talked to her was five years ago. Five years. And I was in Arcadia Bay for over a month without contacting her. I'm such a shitty friend."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Max," Joyce tells Max. "You couldn't have known this would happen." Joyce closes her eyes and leans back in her chair. "It's so difficult to lose someone you love, especially when it's so sudden. You blame yourself just as much, if not more, than the person who caused this. You regret not doing this or that, you wonder if things could've gone differently if you had done something else, and you wish you had more time. Losing William and losing Chloe…"
Joyce exhales slowly, tears streaming down her face. She looks at Max with tired eyes. "We all think we have more time. That's why we take people for granted. That's why we forget to cherish the time that we do have with them. But we don't know if the last time we see someone is going to be the last time we will ever see them." Joyce wraps an arm around Max and pulls her close. Max sobs quietly and Joyce rubs her back firmly. "A small time spent together can go a long way, and you and Chloe made so many memories together. You may not have had the chance to tell her, but she died knowing that you loved her. And she loved you too."
It stings to hear those words from Joyce, yet it is soothing at the same time. Max lets the warm tears drip drip drip down her face and immerses herself in both sadness and comfort. Joyce continues to embrace Max, and Max embraces Joyce. "Chloe knows you loved her," Max tells Joyce. "And Chloe loved you too, even if she didn't always show it."
Joyce smiles. Max smiles too. "I needed that, Max," Joyce says. "Thank you."
"I would like to see Chloe's room, if that's okay," Max says after regaining her composure. She wipes away her tears as Joyce wipes away her own.
Joyce nods. "Of course you can, honey," she says. "I haven't touched anything of hers. I don't have the heart to pack it all away. Not yet. I'll take you up there."
"Thank you, Joyce."
Max follows Joyce upstairs. Joyce waits by the door but doesn't open it. They exchange quiet nods before Joyce heads back downstairs. Max's hand reaches for the doorknob, anxious and trembling. Open the door. Open the door. Open the door. What is she so afraid of? She isn't afraid that the room will be empty. No. It's that Max doesn't want to face reality. It's heartbreak. Heartbreak is what she's afraid of. Heartbreak at seeing the mark that Chloe left in that room, in Arcadia Bay, in Max's heart. A mark that will never be erased, but will always remind Max of the person who stole her heart and then broke it. Max sighs. This is karma, karma for abandoning Chloe, because now Chloe has abandoned her. Permanently.
Max opens the door. She closes it behind her, hearing it click. The room is brimming with Chloe's things, with Chloe's style, but it is devoid of Chloe herself. Joyce had not lied: everything is still in place as Chloe had left it. From loose papers to her old suitcase to her giant American flag, it's all there and it's all scattered. Max crawls into Chloe's bed and lies underneath the covers, staring at the ceiling and soaking in every piece of Chloe imprinted in this room. She rolls on her side and looks at the empty space of bed where Chloe should be. Max closes her eyes. Strangely, Max does not feel sad. She is at peace. She is home. It's all so bittersweet.
Max feels herself gradually drift away. Her breathing slows and soon she is in a deep slumber. A blink of an eye. All it takes is one blink. One blink, and she is asleep. Another blink, and she is awake, groggy from the unexpected nap. Her eyes struggle to open and her vision is hazy when they do. As her vision clears, the glowing face of Chloe gazes upon Max. Chloe's eyes are lit up like a million tiny stars glistening all at once. Chloe's smile is beaming, beaming like the rays of the sun and the radiance of the moon. And her lips. God, her lips. They are carved so perfectly onto her face, so delicate yet so inviting. Strands of blue hair fall against Chloe's face. Max reaches for them and tucks them behind Chloe's ear. Hand shaking, Max cups Chloe's cheek and begins to stroke her face. Holy hell. Her skin is so fucking smooth. Tears silently trickle down Max's face.
"Hey there, sleepyhead," Chloe says, her voice so light, so angelic.
"Chloe," is all Max can say.
"That's my name. Don't wear it out!" Chloe laughs, and Max can't help but smile and cry simultaneously. "What's with all the sadness? I thought you'd be happy to see me."
Max runs her fingers along Chloe's arm and places them against Chloe's waist. She pulls Chloe near, and Chloe's hand finds Max's lowerback. "I am happy to see you," Max says. "More than you can even imagine. I'm just feeling a lot of things right now, Chloe. I know that you're dead, but somehow you're here. Seeing you again feels so good but it hurts so much at the same time."
Chloe's eyes lower onto Max's lips. Her hand slides underneath Max's shirt. Max shivers. Chloe's touch is something else. It makes Max crazy. Chloe leans in and pulls Max towards her. She gives Max a long, firm kiss and slides her tongue inside Max's mouth. Chloe is the one to break the kiss. Max knows her cheeks are rosy and flushed and hot and hates that she is trembling and sweating. She hates hates hates that Chloe makes her feel this way, that Chloe does this to her emotions and her body, but Max loves it all the same.
"Sorry," Chloe says without a hint of regret. She's smirking. "I guess that just makes it more difficult for you to move on from me, huh?"
"But I don't want to move on from you," Max says, her throat dry. "I don't want to forget you, Chloe. You told me not to forget about you."
Chloe rolls her eyes, still smiling. "Duh, I know that," she says. "Moving on doesn't mean forgetting about me. It means not being so sad all the time. It also means not shutting everybody out." Chloe sighs, her expression and voice shifting into a somber tone. "I hate seeing you like this. You're bumming me out, dude."
"I'm trying," Max says. She sobs. "Chloe, I've made so much progress these last few days. But it's so hard to just move on from someone you love so quickly. You of all people should know that. I don't think I'll be able to move on for awhile. I just need…" Max swallows. "Time."
"You're right, Max," Chloe says, her face softening. "I'm sorry. God knows I never even got over my dad's death. You really have been opening up lately. That's really good. I'm so proud of you. Look, I just want you to continue being strong for me. And I want you to keep growing stronger, okay? Do you promise to keep being strong, Max Caulfield? For me?"
Max nods quietly. "I promise, Chloe."
Chloe kisses Max's forehead. Max begins to feel drowsy. "Rest easy, Max," Chloe says.
"No," Max protests as her vision obscures. "If I fall asleep, you'll be gone when I wake up."
"That's ridiculous," Chloe says, smiling gently. "I won't be gone. I'll be right with you. I'm always with you." As Max fights against the sleepiness, Chloe whispers in her ear. "Don't blink, Max. Or you just might miss me."
Max blinks. Another blink, another slumber. When she wakes up, the bed is empty except for her. Chloe is gone and Max is alone and all Max wants is for Chloe to kiss her forehead again. Max sighs, craving Chloe's touch and Chloe's voice and Chloe's smile. She reaches in her bag for her phone and checks the time. Max rubs her eyes. She's been in Chloe's room for nearly two hours. She hopes neither Joyce nor David is upset. Before Max can get up, her phone vibrates. It's a new text message. From Chloe. Max feels her heart flutter. She opens the text, hands trembling.
CHLOE: listen hippie i want you to meet me at the beach tomorrow at 4pm. don't be late
Max responds, fingers jittery as she presses them against the keyboard.
MAX: I'll be there.
Max stares at her phone for a few minutes, anticipating a reply. When it doesn't come, she gathers her things and returns Chloe's bed to its original state. Before heading out, Max flicks the lights off. She takes one last glimpse at Chloe's room, now only illuminated by moonlight filtering in through the window. Max then gently shuts the door behind her and descends down the staircase.
She peeks into the living room to find David sitting on the kitchen table alone. He seems deep in thought, lost, just like Max and just like Joyce. Max's grip tightens around her bag's strap as she slowly approaches. David cocks his head slightly to face Max. His face is stern—it usually is—but it is more so, especially for him. When he speaks, his voice soft but has an underlying rigidity.
"Thank you for coming, Max," David says. "I don't know what your relationship with Chloe was like, but you coming over here really meant a lot to Joyce. She seems a little better now. She's healing, as I'm sure you are, but I think you talking to her helped her a lot. That means a lot to me. And I know Chloe would've appreciated you stopping by as well. Why don't I give you a ride back to school? You shouldn't be walking back by yourself this late."
"Thank you, Mr. Madsen," Max says. "I'd really appreciate that. And being here helped me too."
"I'm glad to hear that," David says. "And you can just call me David."
"Thank you, David."
When Max returns to her dorm room, she collapses onto her bed and lies on her back and stares at her ceiling. Her mind flits to the text she received. It doesn't feel real. Nothing that has happened in these past few days has seemed real. It's like a dream, one where Max is lost and Chloe is taking her somewhere safe but Max can't seem to keep up with her. So Max continues to chase and chase and chase after Chloe, and Chloe continues to be beyond her reach. And when Chloe does happen to be in her grasp, she slips through her fingers.
Exhaustion takes over Max. She feels her eyes opening and closing more slowly with every blink. She knows she's falling asleep. Her eyes close and remain closed as she fades into a slumber. Max hopes Chloe will be there when her eyes open. Chloe is not.
It is torture as Max sits in class, impatiently tapping her foot on the ground as she waits for the final bell to ring. She is constantly eyeing the clock, watching the second hand tick tick tick away as the minutes seem to drag on to infinity. Ms. Grant drones on and on about something, and Max can hear Warren furiously scratching his pen against his notebook, scrambling to fit every last word on the page. Max can only click the mechanical pencil in her hand as her wrists lie motionless on the desk, not wanting to budge. She'll get the notes later. She simply cannot concentrate on anything except the time. Time.
When the bell finally rings and class is dismissed, Max darts out of the room, oblivious to Warren's calls that are muffled as a horde of students shuffle their way towards the exit. As she bolts out of the building and onto the sidewalks that lead away from campus, Max ignores the many text messages that she knows Warren is sending her. A tinge of guilt nags her, but she leaves it behind her, just as she leaves Blackwell behind her. Warren is a good guy and Max is not all there and she knows she'll respond later. Probably. Max doesn't always show it, but she's grateful for his patience. A shitty friend to Chloe and a shitty friend to Warren. The cycle doesn't end.
At the beach, Max kicks off her shoes and removes her socks and folds her jeans up to her knees. She stands on wet sand as the ocean's waves approach and recede, rising and falling, pushing and pulling in peaceful rhythms. Max can see Frank Bowers in the far distance, sitting on a lawn chair, his RV camped out while Pompidou runs back and forth along the shoreline. Max wonders if he had any beans this morning, and she smiles at the thought.
"I'm so happy you came," Max hears Chloe call out.
When Max turns around, her eyes widen. With her strawberry blonde hair and her olive infinity scarf and her beige sweater, the Chloe that should not have existed is presented in front of Max. She approaches in her wheelchair, her tracheostomy tube still taped to the base of her neck and her body still fixed onto the wheelchair with a belt. This Chloe smiles at Max with the same warmth that she had given her when she was alive. This Chloe, who bears nothing but love for Max and no resentment, all because of a Max that never existed decided to not be a shitty friend and actually keep in touch. This Chloe, whose affection for this Max is completely undeserved, whom Max indirectly caused her paralysis. This Chloe is not who Max had expected.
"Chloe?" Max asks, dumbfounded. "I wasn't expecting you… to be this way." She feels stupid for how tactlessly the words slip out of her mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"I know," Chloe says. "It's fine. I'm not the Chloe that you love."
"That's not true," Max says. "It doesn't matter what timeline you're from. Chloe, I love all of you, every version of you in every timeline that has ever existed. My love for you extends into every alternate universe, for every Chloe. You are the sum of all your parts. You'll always be Chloe to me, whether you're in a wheelchair or not."
Chloe closes her eyes and smiles, listening to the waves of the ocean as tears fall down her face. "Thank you, Max," she says. "That's all I needed to hear. And even though the Chloe in this timeline didn't get to experience that week with you as the other Chloe did, the Chloe in this timeline loves you all the same."
"How can you be so sure?" Max chokes out. "She didn't even get to see me before she died."
"You said it yourself," Chloe says. "I'm the sum of all my parts. I know this Chloe loves you because I am Chloe, and I love you, Max. We are all Chloe, and we all love you."
Max wants to cry, but she knows that if she does, Chloe could disappear. Max just stares at Chloe's lovely face as she bites back tears and ignores the lump forming in her throat. Chloe remains fixated on Max, gazing softly with glimmering sparks in her eyes, sparks like fireworks, sparks like flickering flames of a midnight campfire. Chloe smiles at Max with her soft lips, and then in the blink of an eye she is gone. Again. She vanished right before Max's eyes. Max sighs. It doesn't matter what she does. Chloe will always leave her eventually. Always.
When she returns to Blackwell, Max checks her messages from Warren. To her amazement, he has only sent one text.
To his amazement, she responds.
Every Friday at the golden hour, right before sunset, Max goes up to the lighthouse by herself and sits on the bench that overlooks the horizon. As Max sits and listens and watches, Arcadia Bay is still. Gentle ripples in the water flow flow flow throughout the water as the sun illuminates both ocean and sky. This is the one place that soothes Max, to her own amazement. She has seen so much devastation here and has almost died here many times. It makes her happy to finally see the bay calm and not causing destruction. The cliffside is the last place where Max spent time with Chloe before she died. It holds a special place in Max's heart.
"It's beautiful."
Max glances over to find Chloe sitting next to her. Chloe smiles a perfect smile and gazes at the bay with her stunning eyes that shimmer with the sun. Her face is as radiant as the sun's light reflecting onto the water, beauty unmatched, a human beacon. Chloe is angelic light personified, her features amplified by the setting sun. She doesn't look at Max. Rather, Chloe takes a deep breath and rests her head on Max's shoulder. Max can feel herself ease up, absorbing the sensations of Chloe's touch and the sun's warmth. She wraps her arm around Chloe and strokes Chloe's soft skin.
"Hey Max?"
Max closes her eyes to focus on Chloe's voice and the sounds of the sea. "Yeah?"
"Do you regret not saving me?"
Max sighs. "Sometimes I do," she admits. "Sometimes I wonder what life would've been like if we let the tornado destroy this town and didn't look back. But then I remember all the people we saved. Joyce. David. Kate. Warren. Victoria. Children. Entire families. They are all good people who deserve a chance at life. They didn't deserve to die. But you didn't deserve to die either, Chloe. I feel like my powers betrayed me. They forced me to make a decision I didn't want to make. I couldn't save you, but at least I saved so many people. That's what I tell myself when I lie awake at night missing you. But the truth is, I lost myself the moment I lost you."
"That sucks ass," Chloe says. "It's shitty that you were given the power to save my life, only to have your powers thrown back in your face like that. But I'm really glad you got your powers. If you didn't, we wouldn't have had that amazing week together. I would've died right then and there. I wouldn't trade that time we spent together for anything." Chloe pauses. "I know a part of you died when I died, but you're still healing. That's normal. I know you'll recover, and I know you'll find your life again."
"I don't know…" Max says hesitantly.
Chloe stands up and faces Max and shoots her a concerned glare. She grabs Max's hands. "You will!" Chloe states firmly. "Just be patient with yourself and let others help you. You're hella awesome, Max! You totally got this. I believe in you."
Max offers a faint smile. "Thank you, Chloe," she says. "You're really helping me through this."
"I know," Chloe says smugly. She flashes a huge grin and spreads out her arms widely. "Now get over here and hug me, hippie."
Max stands up and plows herself into Chloe, enveloping her tightly. Max inhales Chloe's enticing scent as she buries her face in Chloe's neck, kissing her softly. Chloe shifts and presses her lips to Max's forehead, then to her nose, then to her lips. Max stares into Chloe's beautiful eyes, mesmerized. Chloe is the embodiment of love, of life, of all things sacred. Max could get lost in Chloe and her eyes and her everything until the end of time.
Chloe beams as she cups Max's face with one hand and squeezes Max's ass with the other. They both burst into laughter. Using the hand that's on Max's ass, Chloe brings Max closer. Max blushes deeply.
"You are so cute," Chloe says warmly. "I wish things could stay like this forever."
Max feels herself frown. "Why can't they?"
Chloe sighs, wistful. "Because there are other things out there for you," she says. "But I'll always be a part of you. Don't you ever doubt that, Max Caulfield. Not even for a second. You hear me?"
Max swallows, feeling heavy. "I hear you, Chloe."
Chloe leans in for another kiss. "Thank you."
And then she disappears, leaving Max alone on the cliffside with nothing but the rocks and the water, with a slight breeze and the cooling air, with a golden hour that has transitioned into its blue counterpart. Max sits back down on the bench, missing Chloe's head on her shoulder and missing her arm around Chloe's. She waits for another twenty minutes hoping Chloe will come back to her. When Chloe doesn't, Max takes a photo of the horizon and then walks away.
Max sits with Kate and Warren in the cafeteria as the sun's golden light filters in through the windows. Max gazes into the swarm of people coming and going, standing and sitting, eating and waiting, people who are concentrated on their own problems, their own narratives, oblivious to the internal battles of other people, ultimately focused on their own needs and desires above everyone else.
And that's okay. Max will be okay. Those people aren't doing anything wrong; they are merely trying to live their lives as people do. After all, the world that each person knows is the only world that they have. All they know is the reality before them which is constantly evolving, a synthesis of timelines, yet existing as a single one. For all Max knows, there could be other people with powers like hers, powers that have damaged their minds and spirits, but they too could be wearing a poker face while being simultaneously haunted by the consequences of their actions.
Just like Max. Max cannot change what she has done. Max cannot change that Chloe is dead. And although Chloe is dead, there is no suffering, no nightmares, no grief that Chloe has to endure any longer. Wherever William is, wherever Rachel is, that's where Chloe is too. Max can feel it. With death comes peace. Chloe is at peace. Chloe is at peace forever.
Kate asks Max if she would like to study with her later tonight. Max says yes. Warren asks Max if she wants to catch a drive-in movie with him later in the week. Max says she'll think about it. Warren insists that his asking of Max to the drive-in is by no means a date, and that he simply feels it will be good for her to be distracted every now and then. Max gives a light smile and says yes. Warren smiles and Kate smiles and now they are smiling, giving each other a tiny piece of joy.
And then Max sees her. Sitting against wall, eyes locked onto Max, arms crossed, legs bent, smile fixed even as students pass by in front of her. Watching Max closely but not too closely, grinning just enough but not too much, waiting patiently but with eagerness dancing in her eyes. Decked out in her ripped jeans, dark beanie, blue hair, black jacket. Wearing her classic white tank with the black skull print. Chloe. Beautiful Chloe. Wonderful Chloe. Sweet, precious Chloe.
Chloe beckons to Max.
"Excuse me," Max says to Kate and Warren. "I uh…" She ponders. "I have to use the bathroom."
Kate and Warren gape at Max for a few seconds. Kate then gives Max a small smile and a nod.
"Lunch ends in fifteen minutes," Kate says.
"Thanks," Max says, and she walks away.
Going where Chloe goes, trailing from behind with just the right amount of distance in between, Max follows as Chloe leads. A few paces away from the cafeteria, Max abruptly stops in her path. Chloe stands in front of the Blackwell girls' bathroom with one hand on the handle, door cracked open. She ushers Max to follow her in. Max takes a deep breath. Chloe cocks her head to one side and places a hand on her hip.
"Well?" Chloe says. "Come on! You even told your friends you were going here."
Max bites the bottom of her lip. "Everybody lies, no exceptions," she says weakly.
"That's very cute," Chloe says, sarcasm dripping off her tongue. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Seriously Max? I need to talk to you. Let's go."
Max sighs. "Alright."
It is empty inside the bathroom except for Max and Chloe. Entering for the first time in a long while, Max shivers at the austerity. It hasn't changed at all. The dark lighting is enough to give Max the chills, enough to reopen old wounds, enough to send her back in time. This bathroom is its own little prison and Max's personal hell. It's the perfect setting for tragedy and the pitiful location of Chloe's demise. Max has relived the nightmare in her dreams a countless number of times. Physically being back in this miserable place causes tension to build up in Max's chest. She can hear the gunshot. She can hear Chloe's body thumping onto the floor. Max's breaths shorten and quicken. Panic rises inside her.
Chloe notices this immediately and tightly embraces Max. "I'm here," she says, rubbing Max's back. Chloe continues to speak as she holds Max. "I know this isn't easy for you. I know that this shitty place holds even shittier memories. But I brought you here for a reason." Chloe releases her arms and instead places her hands on Max's shoulders, smiling softly. "I'm so proud of you, Max. I want to make a good memory with you here to help you get over the bad one. I want my last goodbye to be meaningful."
"Your last goodbye?" Max says quietly.
Chloe nods, sadness in her eyes. "Yes," she says. "I don't think you need me anymore."
"I do need you!" Max protests. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"Max," Chloe begins, "I think you have everything you need to properly begin healing. Before you were so closed off, but now, look at you! I'm so proud of you. You're really making progress. My work here is done. I think you've got this."
"You're leaving for good?" Max whispers. "This is it, then."
"It's not for good!" Chloe argues. "I'm always a part of you, Max. You can always find pieces of me wherever you go." Chloe clasps Max's hands and swings her arms side to side. "I will see you again someday. I know we will always remain best friends. I love you, Max."
Max doesn't fight the tears this time. "I love you, Chloe."
Chloe releases her grip on Max's hands and uses them to gently wipe Max's wet cheeks. Chloe wraps her arms around Max's neck and draws her in for one final, long kiss. Chloe's lips are as sweet as strawberries, sweet as cotton candy, sweet as the love Max has for Chloe and that Chloe has for her. When Chloe breaks the kiss, she plants several little kisses all over Max's face and grins as she does. Max can't help but grin too. Max feels light, lighter than feathers, lighter than air, lighter than she's ever felt in a really long time, probably her entire life. When Max looks into Chloe's eyes, she sees happiness. Max is happy for Chloe. Not because Chloe is dead, but because Chloe has found a way to be happy again.
"Take a picture of me!" Chloe says.
Max smiles and reaches for the camera in her bag. When she glances at the spot where Chloe is supposed to be, Chloe is not there. In her place is a single butterfly, the same one that has appeared over and over again at pivotal moments in Max's life. Its bright blue wings flutter gracefully as it travels towards Max, landing on the point of her shoulder. A strange sense of tranquility overcomes Max. She takes her camera and aims it at her face, the blue butterfly in the camera's line of sight. The corners of her mouth tug upwards, just barely, and Max takes the shot.
This time she won't shred the photo. Max will keep it, partly to remind herself that Chloe lives on within her memory, and partly to honor the memory that she and Chloe have just made. This new photo doesn't fill Max with sorrow. Instead, Max feels better. About Chloe. About her own life. About everything. Max will gain the strength to move on. Max will heal. Max will laugh. Max will smile. Max will learn to be happy again.
But it won't be the same.
Fin.