Maxine in the dark room. Maxine in the dark room. Maxine in the dark room...

Oh how the mighty have fallen. In the space of a week she's discovered her ability to wield time and use it for whatever she wants. She's saved lives. She's helped people. She's condemned people. She's killed people. William is dead. Rachel is dead. Chloe is dead.

And here lies she, Maxine Caulfield with the power to bend the will of time – upon the cold hard tiles of the Dark Room. Tied up. Helpless. Trapped.

Victoria was with her. And then she wasn't. Max wasn't there either at one point. But now she's back and everything is so much worse than it started. Victoria, Nathan? Both dead. Probably. Just like the rest of them. David was here too and his deaths are etched so clearly into her minds eye. Over and over and over again.

She can't remember if he ever even came to find her in this one. He might have. He could still be alive, they all could. Alive or dead. Dead or alive. Dead and alive. Its all the same now. Everybody is and isn't all at the same time.

Time.

Time. Time is the real killer here.

"Oh Max...you're so beautiful right now. I really wish you could see yourself. Shivering. Sweating. Nonsense spilling from between your soft. Pink. Lips." there's a pause and the sound of a camera shutter echoing throughout the room, "If only you could just. Lie. Still." every word is emphasized with more clicks of a camera shutter.

It takes every single ounce of strength she can draw from inside of her, but Max forces her eyes open and spits the words at her captor, "Fuck. You."

Mr Jefferson's (Please, call me Mark) rich laughter rumbles through the room and sends goosebumps across her skin. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Max can hear him circling around her like a predator circling his prey, "My sweet Maxine, such harsh language. I know about your feelings for me Max, I thought you'd be happier finding out they were returned."

The lump in her throat grows with his words. No. Nonono. Her feelings were that of respect. Of admiration for the man who'd once been her hero. And here he was, twisting them into something dark and dirty.

"You don't care about me. There are no feelings Jefferson." the name left a bad taste in her mouth.

Footsteps halt and the sheet beneath her shifts and pulls slightly as his weight lowers to her height. Slowly a hand slides over her hip, fingers trailing feather light over the sliver of exposed flesh there. Palm flattening out, he follows the curve of her waist to her swell of her breast and ignores the violent tremors wracking her prone form, "Oh but there are Max. What I feel for you is so much more than you could have imagined."

Letting the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, out, Max swallows hard. The dryness created by being unconscious and drugged makes her throat feel like sandpaper as it moves against itself. The pads of unseen fingers pause over the pulse point in her throat, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat as it races, "I-if you-if you really c-cared about me. Why don't you let m-me go?" she curses at her inability to not show the fear that is consuming her.

The fingers against her neck suddenly press in harder, pain spreading out from beneath them as she struggles futilely. And then the pressure is gone and Jefferson's face appears in her line of vision. Brows drawn together, faux concern and disappointment marring his features as he reaches out towards Max, "But then I won't have you. You're special Max, you're so much more than the other's I brought down here. Rachel...Kate...Victoria. They're all gone – dead, for a reason. They weren't you." he watches as her face contorts in grief and her chest pulses with each aborted sob, "Don't cry Max, nothing is going to happen to you here. You're safe. I could never kill you."

It's lies, it's all lies. If he's done it once he'll do it again. And again, and again.

Because he is twisted and evil.

All she needs-All she needs is a photo.

"Can I see your photos?" she breathes out, "Please?"

She doesn't want to see them. If it was possible, she would give anything not to see what he has done to her. But what she wants and what she needs to survive are two very different things. So if that means she has to look at her own face, slack and vacant in drug induced slumber so be it.

Jefferson is watching her so carefully. Warm, soft palms cups her jaw as his fingers sweep over her cheeks delicately, "I was hoping you'd ask me that Max. I knew you were the one to appreciate all I've done." the hands are gone and she sees him stand and stroll away from her to the table.

He stands at the surface, picking his way through photo after photo. Selecting which ones to show to anybody is an important process. Finally he nods decisively, his choices made as he turns to bring them to her. The light glints over his glasses, obscuring his eyes but there's no mistaking the way his lips curve up in the corners, "As somebody so taken with their own appearance as you are Miss Selfie, I think you'll enjoy what I've done for you."

They're horrific. The second her gaze lands on her own face Max has to swallow down the wave of panic and bile that rises up from within her. Tears begin to cloud her vision as she forces herself to look at what's been placed in front of her.

Max placed and posed and shot from every angle. It's the single most violating thing she's ever experienced, but what's worse is the first word that flashes unbidden through her mind. Beautiful. And isn't that a kick in the teeth.

Because for as awful and sick as he is, Jefferson is good at what he does. And he's right. She looks beautiful, almost otherworldly in the glow of light in the Dark Room.

"What do you think Max?" his voice jolts her back into the present. Or the past. It could be either she wouldn't know yet.

Forcing a trembling smile in his direction she nods, "Th-they're gorgeous Mr Jefferson. Really, they're amazing." it isn't a lie.

He crouches once more and whisks the photographs away. In her shock at seeing them, Max forgot what she'd needed them for and now they're gone. Fuck. FUCK.

"Please Max, I must insist...call me Mark. After all we share a bond that's...innappropriate for a teacher and student, and we are equals here. Well. To a point."

And all at once it becomes clear what is going to happen. Two paths once fuzzy and shrouded in shadows, become crystal clear as a summer's day.

Go along with him.

Or

Fight him.

Any other time. All other times, and it would have been the second option.

But god she is just so tired. Her bones ache, her heart aches. Everything aches with emptiness leaving her feeling so hollow. William. Rachel. David. Victoria. Nathan. Kate. Chloe...names that have been accumulating and sitting in the back of her mind. Their deaths weighing down on her mind, body and soul.

She is so tired.

"Of course...Mark." she feels him reach beneath her and scoop her up into a chair.

He leans down until he is face to face with her. She can taste the mint on his breath as it curls around her lips, her nose. At this angle she can see every hair, every hint of a freckle. She can see herself in his glasses. He smiles sweetly and tilts his head ever so slightly, "You and me Max. It's you and me now, forever."

Forever.