Author Notes:
Sorry this was delayed so long. I had almost finished it then got traumatised by the game's canon endings. I've largely said my piece on that in my alternate ending fic though, and won't dwell on it here. Also, I've had to delay the Victoria/Chloe scuffle I talked about at the end of the last part. Please consider leaving comments/reviews.
Victoria Chase shook in abject horror as photography class ended. She took deep breaths and tried to steady her hands. Victoria had just witnessed a horrific event: a shooting, perpetrated by one of her oldest friends, Nathan Prescott. Some lack of composure was understandable. But it wasn't just the shooting that had terrified Victoria. No, the other object of her terror, all five foot five of her, presently sat in the back-row of class nursing some sort of headache. Max Fucking Caulfield!
Victoria stared blankly in Max's general direction, mind too busy trying to understand what just happened to really care what it was seeing. Max had witnessed the shooting alongside Victoria. Max had then stuck out her hand, violated conventionally accepted science, and rewound time like an old cassette tape, to the point that the shooting hadn't happened. The faintest sneer displaced Victoria's look of horror for an instant. Max just had to be all retro-hipster, even when developing god-like powers.
The relief Victoria felt from that moment of levity was brief. Max, the girl some would suggest Victoria had been tormenting ever since she transferred into Blackwell Academy, apparently had superpowers. She decided she didn't like the time-line, so she changed it, erased the event in question with the flick of a hand. What if Max decided she didn't like Victoria? Victoria flushed as she imagined herself literally evaporating, obliterated with a flick from one of Max's perfect little wrists for some trivial offense; perhaps accidentally walking in on Max enjoying her selfie with a trashy book borrowed from Alyssa.
Victoria tried to steady her breathing. Max had only reversed a couple of minutes of time and seemed to pay for it with a migraine. There was no evidence she could do anything more substantive. Still, that was more than enough to dispose of someone in a more conventional fashion. Knowing exactly where and when someone was going to be, a suitably deranged or motivated person could engineer a "terrible accident". Drop a paint can on her head or something. Images of Max wearing that psychotic face from earlier in class were bouncing around Victoria's head. Max had only started glaring like that after she and Taylor had indulged some playful banter with Kate, so Max's anger had to be in response to that, right? What other reason could she have for suddenly flipping her shit mid-class? Then there was that ad hock lecture from the equally sage and attractive Mark Jefferson:
"…people aren't always how they appear at first glance... their true natures are sometimes very different from how the present themselves and act around others. That terrifying display by Max is a near-perfect illustration of this."
Even Mark Jefferson agreed with her that Max had looked psychotic! And Taylor had gone one worse and labelled her a postal worker. Victoria intimately understood how much a person's true nature could differ from external appearances; most of the Vortex would have a fit if they knew she was about to complete her collection of "Generic Animu Agent Bluberry" merchandise (the last shipment of collectables was due any day now). But if Victoria was a geek in wolf's clothing, could Max be the reverse?
Victoria realised her options were incredibly limited: Reporting the waif in the back row for having the power to violate causality had two probable outcomes. It would either result in Victoria's ridicule, or being assigned new, padded accommodations and hideously unfashionable tops with excessively long sleeves. No one would believe her. And the alternative, directly attacking someone that possessed time powers, seemed all but suicidal. For probably the first time in her life, Victoria had no plan, no clue what to do.
Eventually, Victoria came to another realisation: someone was snapping their fingers an inch away from her face while simultaneously grasping her by the shoulder and shaking her body.
"God Victoria, I know you have this… Thing with Calf-field, but I've never seen it affect you this badly before."
It was Taylor. All at once, Victoria became cognisant of her surroundings. There were only four people left in the classroom: herself, Taylor, Kate, and Max the apparent Demigod. Oh yeah, and Mark, so five people. Funny, that was the first time Victoria had forgotten about Mr Jefferson. Well, as attractive as he was, a photography teacher just didn't have much on a human TARDIS (which ironically may or may not be about to exterminate her). Victoria tried to get herself back in order; to resume thinking the way she trained herself to think long ago. There was a way to take control of every situation, and every situation was an opportunity for her. But when she stared across the class at Max, who at that moment was sharing a very sincere conversation with Kate; cool, calculating Victoria was nowhere to be found. Instead there was only angry Victoria, a thin pathetic shell of rage behind which hid a meek closeted geek. She stood up, knowing she must look like a beaten dog, barking as loudly as possible but one step away from turning tail and cowering in the corner. She flooded her mind flooded with hateful thoughts, in a desperate attempt to drown out the screams of terror echoing inside her and take some control of the situation.
"Look at you Max Caulfield, puffed up like some knight in shining armour trying to rescue that hypocritical whore Kate. Get a clue, that's no Maiden you're saving, and there's more than enough video evidence to prove that. You're no hero either, if you're planning on retaliating against a normal person with superpowers you seem to have just pulled out of your-."
But Victoria's chain of hatred was effortlessly shattered when both Max and Kate looked up at her simultaneously, and Max smiled and gave Victoria a little wave with her right hand; her time controlling hand! Victoria's face went pale. She stumbled backward and nearly doubled over in shock, just managing to lower herself back into her chair. Taylor sighed, apparently mistaking Victoria's abject terror for some other emotion.
"God. Why don't you just drag her into the bathroom or something, and do *whatever* you need to do in private. If you keep this up, someone's going to notice that cares more about the Vortex club's rep than you; or worse, wants to kick you off the top of the vortex club's totem so they can move up a peg. I need to meet Courtney and exchange class notes, so maybe we should meet up later outside the girl's dorm?" Taylor didn't wait for a reply; Victoria was always a bit embarrassing after photography class, so she always left as soon as possible. It's just that it wasn't usually this bad, and usually more focused on Jefferson than Max.
There were a great many things Victoria might have normally said, in response to what she considered Taylor's complete misinterpretation of the situation. Most of them were concise enough to be written in under five letters. Yet she couldn't manage to get anything out. Her heart was thumping in her chest too quickly, sounding closer to a mechanical engine than a human organ; her breaths short and rapid; the image of Max's delicate little hand, the most powerful thing on the planet , stretching out toward her was etched in the back of her mind. Finally Victoria looked down at her self: she was still here; there had been no erasure from existence. No acme anvils or equally cleaver traps had descended from the heavens either. She was on the verge of relaxing when another possibility occurred to her: Max might have somehow tampered with her mind. By modifying her past experiences, Max could conceivably change her personality. Victoria was filled with another moment of abject horror, as she imagined herself transformed into the female version of that disgusting boy Warren. She had witnessed him follow Max around campus with almost stalker-like obsession, and heard Max express consternation to Kate and Dana that he'd spammed her phone with dozens of text messages. She breathed a slight sigh of relief after confirming she still wore impeccable cashmere as opposed to two filthy tee-shirts. "You're fine, Victoria Chase, just carry on as normal," She told herself, "get up, go see Mark Jefferson and hand in your winning everyday heroes entry".
But as soon as Victoria stood up, she found a strange feeling gripping her; she was definitely not fine, something was fundamentally not right, but she couldn't quite figure out what. All at once, her face turned cool, and her vision began to tunnel toward nothingness, not unlike what happened to an old valve-based TV when you shut the power off. The last two things she realised were that her legs no longer supported her weight, and that the hard corner of her desk was very rapidly approaching her head. If Victoria were still able to speak, she might have laughed at the irony of it all. She was fainting, all because of her hysterical panic over Max and her time powers. She'd overstressed her system with fear, and quickly standing up had proven to be the straw that broke her back, or more accurately her head, since in a stroke of incredibly bad luck her head was falling directly into her own school desk' sharp corner. Max didn't need to use her powers to do her in. Just the casual wave of her hand, and the fear it induced had been sufficient. Victoria had always prided herself as being able to manipulate and control her fellow students, but Max had just given her a final master class in manipulation.
A few seconds later, Victoria's consciousness began to return to her. Evidently, her head was still intact: something must have gotten in front of her and prevented her from falling. Feeling returned, and she could feel the thing that saved her; it was clutching her wonderfully tightly and keeping her propped up. It was smaller than her, and smelt rather nice, in a shower soap and budget-brand deodorant sort of way. In fact Victoria might not have minded staying like this for a while. The idea of slumming it with something less than French perfume was strangely appealing to her at that moment. Victoria might have labelled her subsequent thoughts a little dirty, but then realised how silly it was to apply such a label when discussing something that smelled of soap. Then Victoria's consciousness completely returned to her, her thoughts switched from lurid to lucid, her vision returned, and she realised what, or more correctly whom, this budget-soap scented saviour was. Max Caulfield.
Victoria looked down at the waif-like form still clutching desperately to her, and realised almost at once that there were tears spilling out of Max's eyes. She cursed herself at her own stupidity. Victoria had assumed Max thought in a vicious amoral fashion. That just because Max might have felt incredibly angry, and had a full-proof means to express that anger without being caught, she'd use it. That probably said some rather unflattering things about her rather than Max. No, Max fancied herself the quiet little hero, and her competition entry was proof of that. She must have been so terrified on seeing Victoria fall, that she'd actually been reduced to tears. Whatever the case, Victoria now had conclusive proof that Max didn't want her hurt. If she did, she'd have just stood there on the other side of the class watching Victoria fall while crying "oh lord, the humanity!" No, this had all been a horrible accident brought about by Victoria's own hysteria. And Max had saved her from one of the most ignoble ends imaginable: having the coroner declare "table" as her official cause of death.
Something else rather belatedly occurred to Victoria. The sight of her saviour, Max Caulfield, physically supporting her while consciousness returned, might be misconstrued by a suitably crude and unintelligent individual. She glared across the class at the whore. There was nothing but concerned relief in her face.
"Well, Kate was watching along with Max at the moment I began to faint, and she probably recognised the symptoms preceding syncope from her first aid course." Victoria's reasoned. She would have been entirely happy with that answer, but a little voice inside her head seemed to insist on an addendum: "You know, the one they make everyone that waste all their free time helping the elderly do."
Victoria replayed her last couple of thoughts in her mind and couldn't help but feel ashamed for some reason. Perhaps she should back off any more "friendly jests" with Kate, at least for the immediate future. It wasn't good Karma. Especially now there was someone with actual god powers around who might decide to start enforcing said Karma. In spite of how benevolent "Goddess Maxine" seemed to be, it seemed unwise to continue antagonising the friend of someone with powers to control the space-time continuum. Now, since Kate wasn't a problem, she'd better check the other two people in the room.
She glanced at Mr Jefferson's desk, who seemed busy with some menial paperwork, apparently oblivious to the entire scene. No problem there, though it was a little upsetting that he wasn't distraught at missing her usual after-class visit.
She then glanced toward the door, where Taylor stood wide-eyed, a hand covering her mouth. Apparently she hadn't quite left the classroom when Victoria fainted. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Victoria tried to reason about the situation. Taylor was, for some reason, completely loyal to Victoria; she didn't hand out the "number one slave" position easily. Taylor wouldn't blab about something she'd mistakenly believed she'd seen to just anyone. The only problem was, she would blab to someone about it. It was hardcoded in her nature to gossip. And the most likely audience would be Victoria's "number two slave", Courtney Wagner, whom Taylor was on her way to meet and believed loyal as well. But Victoria knew differently: Courtney Wagner had ambitions beyond her station.
"Victoria, can you stand?"
The soft voice of Max Caulfield made Victoria table any further consideration of Vortex Club politics for a later date.
"Victoria, I'm glad you're head isn't… leaking, but I really need to get back to the girl's bathroom."
Victoria's mind was spinning. Right, priorities. That Blue Demon's life was in danger, and Nathan's freedom as well, for that matter. She doubted any lawyer could get him off a murder charge, if it was found he'd shot an unarmed girl, inside a girl's bathroom, in a school where even carrying a gun was expressly prohibited. Minor social scandals would have to wait.
"I'm going with you."
"Victoria, you just fainted, nearly cracked your head against the table. Well, actually did crack your head against the table. It was awful, except that I…"
Victoria saw the trickle of smeared blood on Max's hands, the look of sadness in her watery eyes, and understood. Max had actually seen her fall, seen the result. Got her hands bloody cradling her and checking for vital signs, then decided to reverse time to save her. Victoria found herself automatically withdrawing a tissue from her pocket to dab Max's cheeks dry of the tears. Along the way she observed, with a surprising amount of disinterest, that Max had probably messed up her Cashmere sweater too; transporting Victoria's own blood back in time on her hands, and accidentally spreading it on to the sides of her shirt as she grabbed her. Normally desecrating the Cashmere was a capital offence, but since it was done in the course of saving her life, and Max was apparently the ultimate power in the universe, Victoria felt some discretion was warranted. At least it was a dark coloured sweater, so it wouldn't be so obvious.
"Max, I'm feeling better now. It was just the shock of it all: the shooting, and then the… time thing." Victoria's eyes shifted their focus to Max's right shoulder involuntarily, and traced their way down the contour of her arm. She cursed inwardly at herself for failing to suppress a shudder. "But I couldn't live with myself if I let a shooting happen, and thought I could do something about it. Lead the way."
The unlikely alliance were just leaving the class room when another soft, yet commanding voice stopped them dead in their tracks.
"Girls, a moment!"
Victoria's ears pricked at the sound of her favourite voice in the world. Under normal circumstances, she'd be thrilled to hear Mark Jefferson calling her over. Right now, she was kind of on a deadline.
"I'd never let two of photography's future stars forget handing in their photos."
"Here it is" Max began, once again handing the photo to Mr Jefferson. "Though I'll admit I'm not that confident. I feel like such a loser displaying my work publically."
Victoria couldn't help herself. Max seemed to be repeating her part verbatim, but the idea of impressing Mr Jefferson by pre-empting him with his own lines was too appealing to pass up. Plus acting like less of a bitch might help improve her standing with the resident hipster-cum-timelord, and Mr Jefferson as well.
"Even John Lennon felt like a loser half the time Max, so there may be just a sliver of hope for you yet." Victoria said, in all things considered, a surprisingly sweet and sincere tone.
"That's very true Victoria, and I'm glad to see you and Max are behaving in a more cordial fashion. I hope you don't give Max too big a head though. After all, the other half the time, John Lennon thought he was God almighty."
Jefferson's reply made Victoria's face blanch, and she found that her eyes were, yet again, drawn to Max's hand. If only Mr Jefferson knew how appropriate that quote really was. She resolved to never offer up a quote in future, unless she knew the full context.
The remainder of the conversation with Jefferson went largely as it had before. Jefferson volunteered his two "star pupils" of them to work together for extra credit, and gave them a lecture no doubt based upon his own life experience. A brief eternity later, both girls were out of the class and charging down the school corridors toward the toilets. Midway down the corridor, a thought crossed Victoria's mind and she seized her companion by the arm.
"Max, I'm sorry but I have to know. How long have you been able to-"
"To rewind time?" Max responded, resuming her walk towards the bathroom, and watching Victoria squirm with some amusement when she explicitly stated her power. "Only since I saw that girl being shot."
"Oh that's just typical of you isn't it. You cast yourself as a hero in your competition entry, and then decide to become an actual superhero to give it legitimacy."
Max paused a moment, uncertain. Was this an attempt by Victoria at friendly banter? It was still antagonistic as hell, but seemed too absurd to be taken seriously. Perhaps antagonism was literally Victoria's only means of self expression?
"Victoria, you know my photo's supposed to show that anyone, can have heroic moments. Even you. Though… If you want to be my sidekick instead, I might be amiable to some sort of arrangement."
"Hah. If anything I'd be the Batman to your Superman. More money, more intelligent and more popular."
"Careful Victoria, the whole superhero analogy thing make it sound like you just want us to publicly display our underwear. Plus you seem to be showing a little too much knowledge of comic characters for someone who portrays themselves as this cool as-."
"Don't you dare even try to question my public image, Max Caulfield." Victoria snapped automatically before backing off a little, the understanding that one of them possessed superpowers returning to the fore of her mind. "You should just be happy I've decided to help you save this girl."
However the truth was Max would have preferred it if Victoria hadn't volunteered herself to help. She really needed water from the bathroom wash basins, and not only to splash on her face this time. There was a certain message she'd found scrawled on her hand, in her own handwriting, and Max was now convinced that following its instructions was one of the worst thing's she'd ever done, the results so horrific that they'd literally reduced her to tears. She absolutely had to erase it off her arm without anyone seeing; especially Victoria. It said rather simply:
"Be sure to wave at Victoria when you're back in class."