A/N:
This is darker than the last two. Fair warning, Max's nightmare gets relatively fucked up - NonCon Drug Use Warning. It's kind of a rollercoaster really.
Max begins to see Jefferson after a while.
First she sees him in her nightmares - ones that leave her sweating, screaming as she wakes up in the night, dragging Chloe up with her. Then she sees him around the house. He whispers things, incomprehensible at first, eventually forming words, then sentences, then entire conversations with Max.
Chloe witnesses her speaking to herself once. She raises an eyebrow and approaches her. "Max?" she asks, soft and quiet; tired.
When she whirls around to look at Chloe, she's crying and she's scared and vulnerable. She springs forward and wraps her frame around her girlfriend, crying into her chest. She tries to form words, but all that comes out is pure babble.
All Chloe can do is sigh and tell her it'll get better and that's she's okay and that nobody will hurt her. She's not sure what else to do. Max's psychiatrist doesn't help. Max's meds don't help.
What can Chloe hope to do that neither of those things can't?
"It'll be okay," she whispers and kisses the side of her head. Arcadia is all but a memory in her head by now, but Max doesn't forget. She doesn't allow Chloe to forget.
Max gives her a meek nod and squeezes her tighter.
This becomes a routine for them.
It becomes almost unbearable when Mark Jefferson bleeds into her everyday life. She now sees him waiting for her at her bus stop, on her bus, at work. She sees him waiting outside the mechanic workshop that Chloe works at - leaning against a brick wall, flashing his creepy-yet-perfect smile at her as she approaches.
Max becomes better at ignoring him. That pisses him off.
"Hey," Chloe says when she crosses the street and pulls Max into a kiss after work. "W'sup?"
"Nothing," Max replies and dismisses her usual query. "Take out, or…?"
Chloe shrugs. "I can cook, or we can just grab Chinese."
She thinks. Max leans against her as they walk. She hears him behind them. "I think we can just grab take out today."
Mark Jefferson screams, he shouts, he does everything to try and grab her attention.
Max ignores him. It takes effort, however.
You thought you get rid of me forever, bitch?
Max is living a nightmare and she can't wake up. She screams, shouts, whispers, wails. She begs for him to stop. When that doesn't work, she instead uses a slew of colourful language to try and piss him off. That worked, once.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Jefferson is taking photographs. He frames her up against the backdrop, taking the knee, lying on the floor, standing tall above her.
You're such a perfect subject, Maxine. So innocent, fragile. Naive.
Max shakes her head at his poisonous words. She refuses to listen. She thrashes around in her seat, pulling her arms, straining her wrists against the restraints. She refuses to allow Jefferson to take her photos.
Stop moving, bitch!
He's demanding. He hits her, hisses at her, spits at her.
Max doesn't break, she refuses to break. This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare and she can wake up.
You've outdone your use.
She watches as he puts the camera down, grabs the syringe and the bottle. She squints to try and make out the name, it's hard but she manages: Hydroxybutyric acid.
She tries to remember where she heard that before. Blackwell, maybe? As she thinks, he approaches but she ignores him; she knows it's a nightmare, whatever that is can't hurt her.
Mark Jefferson injects her with GHB, he overdoses her, he watches as she slips out of consciousness and the life leaves her eyes.
Max's world goes dark as she's overdosed, suffering the same fate as Rachel Amber.
"MAX!"
Max wakes up. She's in her bed, sweating and out of breath. Her tanktop has visible wet patches, her arms are covered in goosebumps. She blinks her eyes, checks her neck. She's alive.
It was a nightmare.
"Max, what the fuck?" Chloe asks as she wraps her arms around Max and pulls her in. She's spent the last 5 minutes trying to wake her up after she'd started screaming in her sleep.
"I'm alive," she whispers. "I'm alive, Chloe."
Chloe opens her mouth to ask a question but stops. She shuts her mouth, closes her eyes and nods. She noses up in her hair and rocks them gently.
Max hopes that's the last of that.
Chloe visits Max at work one day.
"Hi, welcome to LA Coffee Palace, what can I get you?" Max asks in a monotone voice, inputting numbers into the register. She doesn't look up from below her cap, doesn't see Chloe.
"I'd like one Max Caulfield, please," Chloe says and grins like an idiot.
Max looks up and her jaw drops. She closes her eyes, shakes her head and manages a dorky smile. "Hi!" she exclaims.
Things have been getting better. Max has stopped suffering from almost regular nightmares, something she attributes to both her new psychiatrist and Chloe. Though she still sees them, the figures, the dead. Again though, they're not as common.
All in all, she believes that she's recovering.
"What's up?" Chloe asks as she leans forward, giving a glance to her right and left before leaning the rest of the way and kissing Max. "Busy?"
Max nods sadly. "Yeah," she mumbles and rubs the back of her sore neck. "Just an hour or two and I'm free though."
"Sweet. Hit me up with something, I'll wait around for you," Chloe says and leans back. She watches as Max goes about her business.
"Here," Max hands over a coffee as she speaks, "something for you. Little bit sweet, not too bitter."
"Perfect," Chloe replies and leans over the counter again, stealing a quick kiss. "See you soon."
Max flashes a brief smile as she watches Chloe walk out of the café and sit outside in the sunlight. When the next customer approaches, she has to be stirred awake by her on-duty manager. She apologises and gets back to work.
The hours pass in a blink of an eye. Whenever Max has some time for herself, she heads outside and talks to Chloe a bit before having the dive back into the café to serve customers. Max admits to herself that this is probably the best day she's had at work yet.
When her shift is finally over, she quickly makes her way into the locker room to drop off her work clothes and grab her stuff. She sorts through her locker, picking up and shoving items into her bag. When she picks up her hoodie, she nearly shrieks as a seemingly random digital camera glares back at her.
Snap.
She shuts her eyes as the flash blinds her.
Think you got rid of me, Maxine?
She shudders and spins around, back slamming against her locker as she sees the figure of Mark Jefferson standing there, that demonic grin spreading over his face.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Max can't fucking take this.
Max screams, she shakes her head, falls to the floor, she cries and whimpers. Her mind echoes the constant snapping of his camera, his words bounce around inside her skull. Her entire body shakes.
Week-after-week he'd hounded her in her dreams, in her home, outside. Now after everything had been looking up, after all the healing she'd done, after finallyhoping it was over… he was back.
She didn't register the slew of other voices around her as she rocked backwards and forwards. She only focused on his voice.
Useless whore. I don't need you anymore.
Max tries to violently shake off the two hands that wrap around her, confident that it's him trying to drug her, overdose her again. She's sure that it's real this time, that it isn't a nightmare anymore - that this time she'll die.
"Shh, shh, shh."
When the familiar voice begins to whisper closely to her ear, she scrambles forward and wraps her arms around their body. She sobs into their shoulder, grasps at their back.
"I j-just wanna go h-home," she murmurs through her tears, hopeful that it'll be coherent enough. "I d-don't want to see h-him anymore, I d-don't-"
Chloe nods and kisses the side of her head. Her eyes glance up at the few employees gathered around, especially Maxine's manager. She nods again. "I know Maxie," she whispers back. "I know."
They spend a few minutes tangled together, rocking backwards and forwards. Chloe manages to calm down Max by the end, lifting her up from the ground and pulling her closer into a proper hug.
Audrey, Max's manager, gives her paid leave for the week. She tells her to get better. A few of her work colleagues, mostly students around her age, do the same. They're not sure why she had a breakdown.
Chloe does. She leads them out of the café, across the road to her parked truck. She helps her inside, secures her in a seatbelt and kisses her forehead.
Then, after a heavy sigh, she kicks the truck forward and makes way for Max's psychiatrists. Maybe she'll help.
Nearly a week later Max is snoring, limbs and body splayed over Chloe on their couch. She's drooling slightly, though Chloe forgives her for that; she simply smiles and watches her sleep easy for the first time in months.
Chloe can't help but brush her hair aside slightly and lean forward to press a kiss against her forehead. She's happy that Max has finally caught a break. Her psychiatrist told her to confront her fear - namely of cameras - and asked her to start taking pictures again.
So Max did that. It was hard at first, but Chloe managed to beg her boss for an unpaid week off to stay with her girlfriend throughout her process. Her presence helped. Max broke down twice in the early stages, but it became easier. Finally she managed to take pictures without the constant voice in the back of her head.
No more Snap, Snap, Snap or Maxine being whispered into her ear when she looked at a camera.
Now their coffee table was covered in polaroids, ranging from selfies to pictures of Chloe, of their neighbours, candid shots of strangers or landscape pictures. Max burned through at least a dozen packs of film in a few days alone.
But her thirst for pictures was back. Mentally, she gave Jefferson the big middle finger and managed to shut him out. She confronted the fear that she associated with him. It felt good. She was at ease for the first time in forever.
Her psychiatrist told her to go back to Arcadia Bay. She told her that closure would be good for her, told her to see the rebuilding efforts put in by the state and federal government. Good as new, she said. Max was staunchly against it. She couldn't go back. Not yet.
All in due time, however. Her psychiatrist understood, and reinforced the need to face her fears.
"Hey," Max slurs and wipes at the corner of her mouth as she finally wakes up. She yawns and stretches one arm out, looking up at Chloe.
"Hey to you, sleepyhead." Chloe smiles and knocks their foreheads together. "Sweet dreams?"
Max genuinely smiles and nods. "Better."
"You've totally drooled all over me, gross," Chloe whispers and laughs.
"Shut up!" Max answers and jabs her fingers into Chloe's ribs, causing the girl to laugh harder and jolt to the side.
Chloe flips her over and begins her own attack, jabbing and brushing fingers over her sides, giggling and laughing like she was 14-years old again and they were just two teen girls messing around during a sleepover.
By the end, they're both out of breath and lying back down on the couch again. Max nuzzles herself into the nook of Chloe's neck as she in turn pulls her closer and stares at the ceiling.
"We should start a polaroid wall," Max murmurs as she traces her fingers over Chloe's collarbone. "Fill it with good memories."
Chloe smiles. "I like that idea," she admits - not just to make Max feel better but because she genuinely likes that idea. "I really do."
"Mhm," Max hums in reply. She giggles as a thought comes to the forefront of her mind. "We could do it above the bed, I'd have easy access and I'd be able to put your nudes up there."
Chloe splutters and glares at Max. "My nudes?"
Max giggles again. "I have… a few…"
"You've been taking pics of me butt naked?" Chloe exclaims. She doesn't remember Max taking pictures of her butt naked. Sneaky lil' devil, she thinks.
"Yesss…"
Chloe stares at her for a few seconds and then laughs. "Okay, fine - you can hang them up too," she mumbles and shakes her head. "But I get to take pictures of you butt naked too."
Max opens her eyes wide and flaps her mouth open a few times. She thinks it over and admits that it'd only be fair. "Sure."
"I also get to hang them up there too."
"Uhm. Sure."
Chloe grins and flips them over, causing Max to yelp in surprise. "Good. You can explain to our guests why we have polaroids of each other butt naked plastered above our bed."
Max groans and drops her head on Chloe's shoulder, she listens to her laugh as she can't help but let out a chuckle of her own at the idea.
Max was still suffering. She still had depression, the guilt was still there. She still saw the figures of the dead. But recently she managed to finally catch a break. She needed it, she really did.
She's not sure what she'd have done otherwise.
Though she's sure that this isn't permanent. She's sure that in the future things will be bad again. She's sure that this is just one step on the road to recovery from her fucked up state.
But that's what she hopes. She hopes that no matter how hard the going gets, things will get better, no matter how far down the road that might be. Things will be better and she'll still have Chloe at her side.
Max hopes, but that hope is enough for her.
A/N:
Little bit of fluff at the end there, to cushion y'all. There's gonna be one more darker instance in the future, but from there on its a path of recovery.
I wanted to update this series again before I dived back into updating my others, so yeah. I plan... 2-3 more dark/hurt-y one-shots before things start looking up and getting hella fluffy.
- :) WinTTY