Notes: Hannah and Max are from the episode 'Sleeping Dogs Lie', and this is what might have happened to them.

Out the Other Side

by Ijemanja

She tried to leave Max every day, but it never seemed to work out.

She didn't want to need Max, but she did and it was easy , at first, to just let Max take care of her. But she told herself it was just for now. She didn't love her girlfriend any more, and that wasn't going to change just because she was grateful Max had saved her life.

She could leave whenever she wanted to. Relationships ended all the time, they didn't last forever - people broke up, they changed, or somebody died. And it wasn't as if she would necessarily have a problem hurting someone like that. When it was over, it was over - there was no point dragging it out, pretending things were okay.

And they weren't okay. Hannah wasn't okay, she'd almost died and Max was there like she'd always been. It was just easier to pretend, for now.

*

"It's so weird," Max said, when Hannah finally got out of the hospital and they were back home, in their bed for the first time. "There's a part of me inside you."

Max wanted to hold her and all Hannah wanted to do was I sleep /I but she was being so gentle about it Hannah didn't know how to protest.

"Those creepy couples who wear vials of each other's blood around their necks," she said, fingers brushing the edge of the dressing sill covering half of Hannah's abdomen, "They've got nothing on us."

"Some people get matching tattoos," Hannah said, looking up at the ceiling as Max's head came to rest in the crook of her neck, "Some get matching scars."

Except that Max's body was recovering, her liver would be like new some day, like nothing had happened. Hannah was looking at post-transplant protocol for months, drugs and more drugs for the rest of her life. Her body was never going to be the same.

*

"It's not fair," she told a friend, one who knew she'd been going to break up with Max, back before she went and caught the plague.

"You can't just say 'thanks for the liver, but I'm out of here'," Margie reasoned.

"I know. But it's not fair. I didn't ask for this, and she was the one who got the dog in the first place."

"I always thought lesbians were supposed to be cat people, anyway," Margie said, making a joke, and Hannah knew she was uncomfortable talking about it so she changed the subject.

That wasn't fair, either. Margie had been Hannah's friend before she even met Max, and now Margie was looking at her like she was a bad person, like she owed something to Max when none of this was her fault.

Max was back at work already and when she got home that night Hannah told her about Margie's cat people thing. Leaving out the part where she blamed Max for giving her a plague-ridden pet and trapping her in a boring, loveless relationship forever.

"We could get a cat - a nice, normal one," Max teased. "No fleas."

"Maybe. One change at a time," Hannah said, her hand going to her mid-section as if it hurt.

"Whatever you want," Max said quickly. Her eyes followed the movement of Hannah's hand, and god, Hannah thought, I really am a bitch.

*

Love isn't the same as want or need. Max had been so careful tiptoeing around her, saying things like 'you've been through so much' and 'you need to give yourself time to heal'. Hannah has to make the first move like the night they met all those years ago in Jess Gordan's dorm room. They talked for two hours sitting in the corridor before Jess poked her head round the doorway and told them to get a room. Max had never kissed a girl before but she caught on fast, just as she did now.

This time they were on the sofa watching Grey's Anatomy and Hannah had her tongue down Max's throat before the credits rolled. Max laughed as she pulled away to reach for the remote.

"Time for bed," she said as she clicked the TV off. She stroked Hannah's hair back with that same gentle affection Hannah once would have thought she'd never grow tired of. And she kissed Max again because what was there to say?

*

"They just sprung it on me, and it's not like they don't know about what we're going through but the only other person near prepared for it would be Joanna, but she can't fly. Apparently being six months pregnant trumps having a sick girlfriend at home."

Max's voice was like background noise for a while, the knife on the chopping board providing a steady counterpoint but suddenly it hit her what Max was saying.

"You're going away? When?"

"Weren't you listening? Next week, my flight's Tuesday morning and I'll get back Friday night."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"You'll be okay, it's just a few days - you're doing so much better now." Max's calm, rational tone was annoying, and then it turned teasing and that was worse. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were going to miss me."

"I'll cry myself to sleep every night." She knew exactly how petulant she sounded but Max just laughed a little and turned to stir the sauce.

She was thinking of having to drive herself to the hospital on Wednesday for her weekly round of tests and how Max was the one who took her blood pressure every night. Max brought her fresh juice every morning to swallow her first handful of pills for the day, and sat rubbing her back when they made her gag. And then she thought of being left by herself for days.

Being moody was one thing but she felt close to throwing a full-blown tantrum and it struck her suddenly how things had changed. Because she'd survived the black freaking death and had been running on half a borrowed liver for six weeks and she wasn't supposed to care that Max was abandoning her.

Max wasn't what she wanted anymore. But it wasn't guilt making her this clingy, so...

"Are you done with that lettuce?" Max asked.

"I'm leaving you," she said. Except she didn't. Didn't say anything, in fact, just stepped aside and let Max take her place at the sink.

Then she wrapped an arm around Max's waist and rested her chin on her shoulder, and watched as she washed a handful of cherry tomatoes.

She wasn't going anywhere.