The overlook is a nice spot. It's quiet, apart from the salt-tinged breeze rustling the leaves and the occasional cry of a swooping gull, and the air is still warm enough that they end up laying back across the hood and windshield of the truck. Chloe smokes with one arm tucked behind her head, and Max lies next to her and breathes quietly while she watches the sky change colors as the sun sinks lower.
"Can we stay here for a while? And just... I dunno. I kinda want the world to stop turning."
"Sure, Max."
Chloe still doesn't know what the fuck she's gonna do to help make any of this better. She understands the want to just sort of duck out; to not think, not react and just experience for a little while. Hell, she's been doing the same thing pretty much since the second Max tore up that picture so she at least kinda gets it, but that doesn't make her mind stop whirling; doesn't remove the fact that she dearly wants to fix this, even when she knows that she can't.
Heading for Seattle is the only even faintly viable option she's come up with so far, because Seattle has Max's parents and Chloe knows that Max probably needs someone to be her rock now. And that she herself isn't enough no matter how much she wants to be, because reasonable, shoulder-to-lean-on type adulting is most assuredly not a part of her skill set.
She used to be proud of that. Now she just looks at herself from a week ago and wonders how she could have been such a fucking idiot and not noticed.
But yeah. Seattle, once Max wants to start driving again. Seattle, and the Caulfields, and then... then she's going to figure out what to do with herself. Find some way to become the kind of friend that Max deserves – the kind that's actually earned being saved at the cost of who knows how many others - because this sure as shit ain't it.
She thinks about Rachel a lot, in all that peaceful silence. It's exhausting but not anywhere near as bad as it was, and she has at least had a day or so to work her way through the memories; to get through the last four stages of grief, after spending about half a year stuck in the first one. She isn't done, of course; not by a long shot, but Rachel? Rachel is dead, and there really isn't any way for her to deny that anymore.
Rachel loved Frank is another truth she doesn't see much point in hiding from; not here, and certainly not now. It's painful and not just a little embarrassing to realize how much she read into things when it clearly wasn't there, but on the other hand, it... it also kinda helps. A little. It means that she wasn't betraying her almost every time she looked at Max over the past week and – knowing Rachel – that she would have been happy for her.
Goodbye, Angel, she thinks, with her eyes aimed at the peak of the heavens where the sky is just barely starting to darken. Sweet dreams. And if you had anything at all to do with Max coming back? Thank you.
If what she thinks and where she looks when she thinks it is perfectly timed with the appearance of the first star of the night? Yeah, Chloe decides to chalk that up to coincidence. Time magic is one thing, and there isn't really room in her head for anything else right now.
"Hey." She realizes that Max's eyes has slipped shut when she turns her head. It isn't the first time she's noticed how much she likes the way the sun highlights the gentle dips and bumps of her features but it still catches her off-guard, and she pushes down how flustered she suddenly feels by reaching out to ruffle Max's hair. "Come on, you dork. No snoozing on my watch."
"I am on your truck, and you don't even have a watch," is the response, with the dark head turning and a single, blue eye popping open to regard her. "And I wasn't sleeping."
"Sure." Chloe doesn't retract her hand because Max doesn't nudge it away, but she does stop ruffling the soft, chocolate-colored hair and just... catches it on her fingers instead. "Just checking the insides of your eyelids for cracks, right?"
"Right." There's an eyeroll that really should be patented, and then Chloe's halfway through pulling back her hand when Max reaches for it, but she doesn't push it away. Instead, fingers curl around her own, and Max pulls their joined hands down to rest on her belly and closes her eyes again. "Actually, I was thinking."
"Yeah?" The windshield is hard and kinda cold against the back of her head, but she's so preoccupied by the sensation of warm, slim fingers twining with her own that she barely even notices. "Penny for 'em?"
"Hm." Max's lips twitch into a half-smile, and now there are two hands playing with Chloe's own, just like in the truck earlier. Gentle, almost faint touches over the inside of her palm and the bases of her fingers, and that's actually surprisingly distracting. "Lemme see the penny first."
"What, you don't trust me?" Chloe scoffs, and feels her hand twitch when there's a lingering line traced over the inside of her middle finger. "Max, I'm wounded."
"Not if I can help it," is the quiet answer, and Chloe wants to bite her own tongue off because those hands are trembling now and the strain around Max's closed eyes is way more visible then it was before she opened her big mouth.
She doesn't really think about it; just yanks her hand free and uses it to pull Max over instead, until there are fingers clenching in the side of her tank and strained breathing against the top of her chest, and Max is shaking everywhere while Chloe presses her hand against her back until she can feel her heart racing. "Shit, Max; I didn't mean to- fuck." She presses her face into the dark hair that smells like rain and apples, and Max's body is warm against her own and feels way too small and thin for everything she's had to go through in the span of five days; most of which Chloe's sure she can't even imagine. "I'm sorry."
"No." The answer is muffled, but firm, and then Max's sigh sends goosebumps all the way up the side of her neck. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." Slowly, her fingers relax their death-grip in the fabric by the side of Chloe's waist. "My storm, remember?"
"Dude." Chloe pulls back enough that she can make out at least part of Max's face; enough that she can see a smatter of freckles and the faint shadow Max's eyelashes casts on her cheek. "You had nothing but shitty options. Don't kick yourself."
"I can't kick the universe," comes the wry mutter. "My legs aren't long enough."
"Well, mine are longer." Chloe gives her a squeeze. "Just tell me where to aim."
She's not sure if that's the right thing to say, and Max pulling tighter against her and burying her face in Chloe's neck doesn't really give a whole lot of clues because that could fall on both sides of the scale. But she said it so all she can really do is hope, and she does that while letting her head fall back against the windshield again and taking a drag.
It'd be nice to have some kind of hint for figuring out how to get all that invisible weight off of her best friend's shoulders. Even flash cards would do, because all she has to go on is language – spoken or body – and she's never been anywhere near an expert in either of those. At least Max is someone she's comfortable touching since physical closeness seems to help, though Chloe's pretty sure – as she exhales and watches the smoke drift into the air over their heads – that she'd be hugging the hell out of Max right now even if touching anyone else made her skin crawl.
"Sorry." Max is sighing and sniffling all at once; lifting herself onto one elbow and rubbing a hand over her face. "You're being unbelievably chill and I just climb all over you and go to pieces."
"Quit it." Chloe gives the back of her hoodie a yank, though not hard enough to actually pull her away. "I'd be freaking more if you weren't tripping out."
"Chloe, you aren't freaking at all."
"That's only 'cause I'm pretty much drowning in denial right now." It's clear that the straightforward answer catches Max off guard. "I just-" She sighs. "Look, we're gonna have to deal with everything when we get to Seattle, yeah? So until then, I'm going to enjoy the drive and pretend it's just you and me hanging out because we can." Max's eyes are wide and aching, and Chloe finds a smile and flicks the remainder of her cigarette into the distance. "The world's gonna catch up soon enough, Super Max. But until it does, I'd prefer to focus on the good stuff. I'm gonna need the buffer, anyway."
There's a long moment where Max is simply watching her; silent and contemplative and looking very much like she's trying to figure whether or not she should argue, and Chloe just waits until she eventually sighs and settles back down.
"That's fair," Max decides, and settles an arm across her again while Chloe reclaims her loose hold around her friend's shoulders. "I'm probably going to need a buffer, too."
And that seems to be that, because they stay there while the sun sinks and the shadows lengthen, and talk about everything other than what they left and where they're going. She manages to make Max laugh several times, which- Jesus, her face is gonna split in half if she keeps grinning this much. They don't even separate physically, so the feeling of Max's warmth against her side and the pleasant weight of her head on Chloe's shoulder doesn't move, and that's... that's nice. Just- lazy and peaceful and warm and really, really nice.
So when Max – after they've both been cackling about something for a while – pokes her in the side and jokingly dares Chloe to kiss her, Chloe sobers and pulls back enough that she can get a good look at those eyes.
"You don't have to dare me," she says, after studying them for a few seconds and hoping that she's reading the look in them correctly. "You know that, right?"
"No," is the quiet response, with Max's breath hitching a little when Chloe's fingers slip through her hair. "I didn't know that."
And there's probably more she could have said after that. Something about baby steps and one day at a time because slow and steady wins the race and a thousand other old cliches, because she's always been ridiculously overprotective where Max is concerned and the past week has only made that skyrocket. But she doesn't, and since the reason is that they're kissing – all hesitant softness, slow breaths and a gentle sort of curious honesty that's so much better than any half-assed dare – Chloe decides to not worry about that for now.
She remembers, vaguely, catching snowflakes on her tongue as a kid, and thinks that this is probably what it would be like if she could do the same thing with sunlight. That's what it feels like, with Max's fingers slipping up along her arm to curl around her shoulder, with Max's breath in her mouth and the thud of her heartbeat steady and soothing under Chloe's palm where it presses against her back.
It feels like sunlight. But although Max is smiling against her mouth, it feels kind of shaky and her breathing is trembling a little too, so Chloe pulls back because no way in hell is she willing to risk messing this up.
"Hey." She watches Max's face carefully, though her eyes are closed and she seems to be concentrating on her breathing, so there aren't a lot of clues for Chloe to pick up even though they're still nose to nose. "What is it?"
Max does look at her when she speaks, at least, and that look is half-frightened and half-elated, and altogether a look that Chloe had privately resigned herself to never have aimed at her.
"I really didn't pick you for the sensitive-chat type, Chlo," she says, and Chloe gives the back of her head a light whap because she's a fucking dork.
"Communication is important," she returns without really thinking about it, and then she sort of... stops. And blinks, because did she seriously just say that? She must have, because Max is covering her mouth with one hand and looks mostly like she's really, really trying not to laugh.
"Not a word," Chloe warns her, and that's when Max loses the battle and cracks up.
"You're adorable," she manages once Chloe's face is probably redder than a cherry.
"Shut the fuck up, Caulfield." Her glare is impressive and she knows that, but all it causes this time is giggling, though Max does at least try to muffle it against her chest. "I'm hardcore and you know it." More giggles, and Chloe just sighs and lets the back of her head hit the windshield with a low thunk. "You are ruining my rep, short stuff; you know that?"
"Vertically challenged," is the immediate response, along with a light, reproving pinch to her waist. "And I'm not ruining anything. It's not my fault I'm so hot that you start channeling Dr. Phil after all of one liplock."
"Excuse you!" Chloe tickles her for that, because even when Max is actively trying to be arrogant, she just ends up looking all playful and self-satisfied and it's way cuter than anything should ever be, and if she doesn't do something, she knows that she's gonna end up staring at her with the most horribly dopey, breathless look on her face. So Max is laughing like it's going out of style (Chloe knows the spots; duh. She found them all by the time they were ten) and Chloe still has the most horribly dopey, breathless feeling somewhere in her chest.
She figures that it's alright, though. Max can only ever bring good things.
"I'm just really relieved that you don't hate me," Max mumbles later; long enough later, in fact, that Chloe has to take a few tics to figure out what the hell she's talking about.
When she does, it feels mostly like someone punched her full-force in the chest. "Hate you?"
"Chloe, your mom was down th-"
"Stop." She places her palm over Max's mouth, and shakes her head. "Just stop. You are my best friend. There is literally nothing you can say or do that will change that," she explains – or tries to – with her voice low and intent while she feels Max take a hard breath under her hand. "Ever. Okay?"
Max's only response is to bury her face in her shoulder and hold on for dear life, so Chloe pulls her closer and wishes - somewhat wistfully - that they had the ability to see themselves through each other's eyes.
It would probably be good for both of them.