The Unbearable Heaviness of Being.

"…O Zarathustra, who you are and must become...how could this great destiny not be your greatest danger and sickness too?"

Friedrich Nietzsche - Zarathustra

C.C.

"Shh, Chloe, just go back to sleep." Her voice is soft and endless and warm and Chloe blearily blinks underneath the gentle weight of it, stretching, wondering how long she's been in catatonic state when she has half a forest of work to do. Maybe she stretches, but doesn't go far. Not with fingers so idly brushing through her hair, lulling her back into darkness like a lazy cat. She vaguely remembers having crawled into her wife's-still getting used to that, a year later-lap sometime around 5 pm and it looks like she hasn't left it, since.

"Wha' time is it?" It's barely a grumble and, after a few distracted seconds at her laptop, Max leans down to brush lips over her forehead, fingers still soothing circles against strands of blonde. Maybe their whole apartment is covered in polaroids, but most jobs are digital, these days, and Chloe has no doubt what Max is doing on that laptop. Editing lives to look perfect-priceless-or whatever the hell else they want.

"Just go back to sleep." Max repeats.

"B'...papers." She argues, because of the forest. There's a stack a mile or five high of papers on their nightstand she has to go through, eyes already closing.

"I already went through them for you." Max says simply and when Chloe looks up, the photographer's smirking a little.

Chloe just keeps staring.

"Max, you don't know anything about the second law of thermodynamics."

"Exactly." Blue eyes flick back down, "So if they couldn't explain it, I put it in the stack that says Makes no sense. Sticky note and everything." She shrugs, smile spreading at a sleepy laugh beneath her. "I didn't grade them, or anything, and man, I know you think I'm bad, but some of those kids in your class really don't know anything about science mumbo jumbo. And one of them definitely has a thing for you."

"How'd you get that from an essay?" She turns further into Max's lap, body only sagging further underneath fingers.

"It was covered in cologne."

"Classy. Must've been Ian, that guy does have the hots for me." Her smile spreads a little against the familiar denim of jeans because she's pretty sure she can hear Max roll her eyes. Her wife-yep, definitely never getting over that-won't hear shit about her not being good at her tentative position, so the usual self degrading sarcastic comments are out the window, replaced with quips about not sleeping with her students, instead (Chloe, obviously, still takes the eye rolls where she can get them). "You seriously sorted my essays by suckage for me?"

"You've been getting all of zero sleep, lately, so I did the bare bones in the marriage contract." Max shrugs, going back to her laptop and Chloe rolls over in her lap to watch the way blue hues play hide and seek on a concentrating face-watches the way Max's lips barely part and her tongue pokes out on the edge of her lips-and she knows, just knows, that they've both been getting zero sleep, lately. And she doesn't look away.

Her mom had pulled her aside at their joint bachelorette party over a year ago (like Chloe was going to miss the opportunity to watch Max turn red while shoving singles down g strings like a laughing hot tomato) and curled fingers around her wrist and Chloe can still remember the way she smiled.

It's the small moments, her mom had said then, both of their eyes watching a half-drunk Max so thoughtlessly smooth out the wrinkles out of her fiancee's coat across a dusty, smoke-filled bar. Joyce's eyes were kind of soft and sad and Chloe had swallowed and looked down at her shoes before looking up at Max and something about the way her mom's voice grated like gravel-like a cigarette being stamped out by her heel-haunted her.

It's the small moments that will stick with you, Chloe. They always stick with you.

"I really love you."

Max pauses, again, and looks down at her with that soft smile and kind, tired eyes, and hues of blue lighting up her cheeks like the glass of lights hanging on a Christmas tree, "You better," shifting so that Chloe can rest a little better in her lap-she knows that's why she moves, just knows it-so she shifts and she settles, and she forgets all about the shit-load of work left she has to do.

Because it's the small things that will stick with her.

"Go back to sleep, Chlo."

Always.

Smiling and content, she does.

M.P.

A lamp. A scream-not hers-a bullet.

Dark hair. Dark eyes.

Max tells him where the scissors are and tries to focus-tries to breathe-and she can barely rewind, anymore. It's not the drugs.

Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.

She stumbles out of the chair and strong hands curl around the necklace. It breaks-snaps off-and she whimpers as she curls around it on the floor, holding it delicately in her palm. She tries to rewind. To fix it. But she can't fix this, either.

It takes a lifetime, blood dripping from her nose onto the floor, and Jefferson's standing over her when she fixes it. When the ring tightens a noose around her neck, finger thoughtlessly pushing through it, the smallest hint of relief in her chest.

"Wh-how did you get over-"

Max pulls out the picture from her pocket, always tucked just in case, and stains it with red.

C.C

For once Max is actually doing a shoot in the city somewhere Chloe can walk without having to jumpstart her car a dozen times and she's leaning against a tree, hands shoved in the pockets of her blazer as she watches her.

No matter how many times Max talks about it, she never really saw the beauty in photography unless Max was taking the pictures, but man can her wife make it look like art. Not just the pictures, but the act of taking them. She moves like a dancer, sometimes, the way she tilts the camera just a little up to catch a hint of light bathing the slope of a nose; she dips like an artist's brush as she paints the snapshot of space between two models; she soothes catharsis like a singer the way she makes them laugh in order to catch the hint of a smile with the quick flick of a finger.

It's not rare that Chloe gets to watch Max watch or people-it's not rare that Chloe gets to watch Max take pictures-but it is rare that she gets to see her in her element at actual work.

It's pretty fucking awesome.

Eventually it's a 'wrap'-people actually really do say that in the business, go fucking figure, Max wasn't just always being a nerd-and Max looks a little surprised when she catches sight of Chloe out of the sight of her eye. It's not until ten minutes later, helping pack Max up as the brunette waves goodbye to one of the models, that she catches the sun glinting off a ring hanging around her neck.

Max follows her gaze-sees her quirking eyebrow-but doesn't move to put it on her finger and Chloe tries to swallow down her immediate reaction of...something because hers has never left her hand for a second.

"What, worried people will see it so that you can't hit on all the hot lady models?" Chloe, however, isn't about to let it slide.

"No, you dork." Max actually has the gall to roll her eyes. Chloe no longer wants to take them where she can get them. "I…" She sighs and steps closer, voice quieter, "I just want it close, okay?" It's a serious, quiet statement, and Max must be able to tell Chloe's still a little annoyed because she immediately follows up with: "Always. No matter what time I'm in-even if I jump or I accidentally jump, or...or whatever-I want it right here. I'm not taking it off for a second."

"Wouldn't that work on your finger?" Chloe gives her a still-skeptical look.

"Not when I have to take it off to take pictures because it might catch the sunlight. Or do the dishes. Because, you know. I'm the only one that does them."

"Whatever you say, Max." The blonde grumbles, not quite buying it.

"Look, I…" She catches the lapel of a dark jacket and tugs her back close, "I know I haven't been...all here, lately." Max looks away like she's ashamed or scared or both and Chloe's fingers gently tuck up her chin. "I know I've been getting headaches and everything feels so...far away. Sometimes I...sometimes I wake up, Chlo, and I can't remember when I am." It's barely a whisper and Chloe almost doesn't hear it over the constantly moving city, the world shifting and changing and always, always going around them. Past them. Chloe steps closer, swallowing the lump and the fear in her throat and Max finally meets her eyes, because it's the most Max has admitted. The most fear she's confirmed. "It's the only thing that feels real, sometimes. That I can hold onto and-and-"

-and now Chloe feels like an ass for being annoyed.

"Well if that's the case," Chloe cuts her off, because she doesn't want Max to look like this. She doesn't want Max to look so lost and scared. "I guess you could just tell all the hot lady models to shove it because you're taken."

"Not that they're interested." It's relief, clear as day, that she's let it go. "You know, like, ever. But if they were, I would."

"Not interested? Have they seen your ass?"

"Chloe." Max laughs and there it is-that beautiful sound that makes her eyes light up.

"I'm just saying," Chloe gives it a squeeze for good measure, the soft noise that leaves Max's lips worth it as she tugs her close, their bodies molding in the middle of a crowded street, lost to the universe and everything in it. Moving. Moving. It seems poignant, somehow, to know that everything-all of time-is on the same line, and that they're right here, together. Moving forward, together. "They don't know what they're missing."

"I could always rewind and find out." Max quips and it's Chloe's turn to punch her shoulder because there isn't a hint of a straying bone in the brunette's body and they both know it. "Lucky for you, I've got a thing for teaching assistants."

"Well you better upgrade it to full-blown professor status, soon." Teeth tug at a red lip, eyebrows nervously raising in a twitch that she knows Max immediately spots, because the girl is freakishly intuitive. She couldn't hide a shit stain or a rainbow from Max if she tried-Max, whose smile is slow and spreading, eyes light.

"What?"

"I guess I did alright with those classes last semester, because I start next Fa-" Chloe doesn't even get to finish because Max practically squeals and throws her arms around her neck, kissing her without a care in the world.

The ring around Max's neck glints in the sunlight.

M.P

The room is bright and dark eyes are concerned and this time Max doesn't nearly knock over the endtable when she opens her eyes and focuses. The white light dances off the shadows of Kate's face like the most beautiful kind of contrasts and Max wishes she could take a thousand pictures of the slope of her smile, just because she knows after this she'll never see it again.

She knows, after this, she'll never see any of this, again.

"Max, are you okay?" Kate gently asks, shifting her hospital chair closer. "We were just talking about the book and you-"

"Honestly, Kate?" Max asks and she doesn't have to reach up to her neck to feel the ring hanging there, reassuring her. Not anymore. Not anymore, because she's here. She's finally here.

And she remembers. Not everything, but Chloe, breath gasping against her palm, clinging to her shoulders.

Go bac-

"Not even close."

C.P

Turns out they make it through the 'puppy dog newlyweds' phase everyone keeps warning both of them about, and they're still fine. They're still going strong just like her old busted down baby parked down the street. They're still them, and they never really listened to anyone else, before, anyways.

The world still feels heavy and unbearable, sometimes, but every morning she wakes up and Max is lying right next to her, one leg so thoughtlessly draped over her knees and she feels like it's not all a horrible fuck-hole, despite the papers and Vanessa and bills, and maybe that's what marriage really is. Helping each other through each other's shit.

And how shit and time both fly.

"It would've been Rachel's birthday, today." Chloe murmurs, thumb running along the material of a bracelet she never got rid of and Max looks at her like she knows-because she always fucking knows-and all Max does is sit on the edge of her chair and kiss her brow and hold her hand. They don't talk-they don't have to-and when Chloe tugs her to bed, Max wraps around her like the warmest kind of big spoon, their rings interlocking when their fingers tangle.

"I love you." Max whispers, kissing the shell of her ear, and Chloe falls asleep on her like they're watching a movie, their fingers not once breaking apart, even when her free hand traces the lining of initials buried under rocks of a city she never loved on a heart.

And it all unravels more and more, no matter how much stronger they come together-like wet, fraying knots being tugged on both ends.

A month later, Max stares out of the window until Chloe shakes her, and then she stares some more. She stares until Chloe cups her cheeks and panics and falls to her knees begging her, and then Max snaps back like the hammer of a gun, eyes blank shells, hand immediately snapping up between them like she's catching bullets and rewinding time, trembling.

"...Chloe?" She asks and cries and Chloe shakily pulls her into her arms, burying lips and false assurances against her temple. "I thought-I thought-"

"I'm here. It's okay, I'm right-"

"I'm so tired." Max whispers in her ear and Chloe doesn't understand why the sentence pierces through her lungs like a knife. Because Max always tells her she's fine. Max always lies and smiles and she remembers what the brunette sounded like years ago-

I kill everyone I love-

And she never should've quit smoking, Chloe selfishly thinks, because it's not Max that's watching Chloe slip through her fingers, it's Chloe watching Max. Because Vanessa is getting worse and worse and Max is getting worse and worse and Chloe tries to unravel the secrets of time like she has a life to save, for once, because some horrible, sinking feeling in her chest tells her that she does.

Because, three months later, for the first time, it happens twice in one night. Her copy of Zarathustra is knocked over on the edge of the bed, splayed open, as Chloe carries Max to the bed and she thinks, for one split-second (stupid peaceful fucking split-second) moment, that the brunette just finally fell asleep until she catches the sight of unseeing, open eyes. And Max is gone.

Max, for this moment in time, is gone.

Max goes somewhere Chloe can't reach her, can't grab her and pull her back because her right hand doesn't fucking do that like Max's does, and Chloe shakes her and shakes her.

She shakes her and shakes her and shakes her.

She shakes her until it's her own fingers that are shaking, because there's no response.

"Max." She begs, but her wife doesn't jerk. Doesn't stir. Doesn't gently shove her shoulder or cup her cheek or kiss the edge of her jaw. "Max." Doesn't blink. Doesn't laugh. Doesn't cry. "I'm losing you." Chloe breathes, searching blue eyes, finally voicing it, chest clogged with tears and breath she can't release. Clogged with a lifetime of memories she can't move on from. And those empty, unseeing blue eyes don't blink. "I'm losing you and I can't do anything about it. This isn't fucking fair."

Desperate fingers cup cheeks like she's trying to keep Max here while she can.

"I'm watching you fucking slip away Max, and how's that for fair, huh? That you made me think the whole happy ending thing was real, and you're just-you keep leaving me and you-you're going to-unless I do something...unless I-Max, I can't-"

Hospital. She should take her to a hospital like a normal fucking-

"Chloe?" It's faint and confused, blue eyes blinking away glass and confusion, slowly focusing back on the pained features above her. Her hands raise up to curve around fingers about a cheek. And there she is. There's Max. There's fucking Super Max, back from the future or the past or...somewhere. "Where are-what's wrong?"

Chloe laughs, breathless and broken through the tears falling down from red-rimmed eyes, water splattering on Max's pale cheeks like the brunette's blood stained their hardwood floors and the open pages of a book when she carried her to the bed. Like how the rain stained Max's cheeks with a tornado not even a mile away.

"Chloe, what's wrong?" Max repeats, tugging her down, obviously not even aware of the past whole fucking hour, her fingers curling into tense shoulders, one hand moving up to cup the back of her head. Legs wrap around her waist and the warmth Chloe feels against her cheek smells like Max and blood smearing from a nose against her skin. Max tries to hold her and she can't do it tight enough. "Ch-"

Instead of answering, Chloe gathers Max up in her arms and holds her so close to her chest that she might compress diamonds out of their lungs. She might bury herself here in Max's neck and she can't stop crying.

"Chloe," Max thoughtlessly soothes, her voice cracking-you cry, I cry, Jack-and Chloe fucking bawls into her neck.

She gets it, now. She gets why Max always checks for her pulse and always jumps when cars backfire and always tries to catch sight of her in the corner of mirrors. She gets why Max looked so wrecked when they first met and why she still looks so wrecked, now, and why her heart feels like it's tearing.

"Max." Chloe begs even though she knows Max doesn't understand-but some Max might, "Please. Please."

They haven't been apart for almost a decade, not a single fucking night, and she doesn't know why she feels like she's running out of time.

M.P

"Can I tell you something crazy?" Eyes close.

"You? Anytime, Max. Anything. No crazy talk here." Kate immediately replies and Max's knuckles are white she grips the chair so hard. They match the decor of the too-bright hospital and the glint of the sunlight off of Kate's hair and she's so nauseous she can barely breathe. "Um...in the psych ward." It's barely a mumbled, sheepish kind of shrug added to the end and Max is thankful for it.

Thankful for Kate.

"I'm stuck in this...this giant loop, Kate. This giant, messed up loop, and I can't stop it." Max explains, tired as she sinks in the chair, blinking back exhaustion and moisture. "I...I had this...dream," She settles on, "Where I watched my best friend get shot and no matter what I did, or no matter how I tried, I couldn't save her. Eventually, when I realized I could, I found out that I had to let a lot of people die in order to save her. A lot of...really important, good people."

Like Kate. Like Kate.

Kate, who shifts and agrees and doesn't know, "Oh. That sounds like...a really bad dream, Max."

"It's a really, really bad dream. That I can't-" Fingers run over her temple and she doesn't even hear her get up-doesn't even notice she's close until fingers brush the blood out from underneath her nose. Mumbling as she thoughtlessly finishes, eyes fluttering open to see caring hazel close and kind, "...wake up from. It's like I...had a dream that I woke up from the nightmare but I can't remember all of it. I remember losing her, too, and I remember that I have to get back to her. I remember she told me to get back to her, but I don't-I can't-" Her voice trembles and her head sears and she's so tired. "I don't know how to get out."

"I...I know that feeling pretty well, Max." Kate shifts a little, then, uncomfortable. Max can see it in the way her shoulders slump and her fingers curl together like nervous knots in the tissue she's using to wipe blood from under her nose. "I know what it's like to be stuck somewhere and you...you feel like no one cares or like there's no way out and...there always is. You taught me that, yesterday."

Max swallows, shakily, and looks away.

"God…" Kate shakes her head and lifts back up the stained tissue, gently wiping away red, "God asked Abraham for a sacrifice-for the greatest sacrifice, for the person who was dearest and most...precious to his heart-so he tied his son Isaac to the altar. He faltered and strayed but ultimately decided to do it-to prove his faith to God-and right before he killed him, God told him that it was enough. It was just the...the spiritual sacrifice of his son that God wanted. He wanted Abraham to let his son go." Kate tells her, ripping off a nearby bit of napkin to finish wiping away the blood. "I...I know you didn't ask, and I'm not trying to preach or anything, but you actually reminded me of that on top of the building, yesterday. Most people think that God was being cruel, asking Abraham to give up his son, but I...always thought it was different. I always thought it was God reminding Abraham that he wasn't like the other Gods people worshipped-that he would never ask him to truly do it." Kate shakes her head, setting the napkin on the table, hands tenting on bent knees on the floor, looking up at Max with bright eyes from a white, nearly translucent floor, "That he could let go of all of his worldly struggles. All of the things in the world aren't important and sometimes, in order to remember what's important, what's really there, you have to let it go." Kate sums up. "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will-"

"Give you rest." Max quietly finishes for her, sharing a soft smile at Kate's surprised, wide one.

"You still remember."

"Yeah. I could never forget."

It doesn't feel like yesterday, because it wasn't, but Max still remembers. She'll always remember.

"You can't rest until you let go. No one can. Maybe you're not really stuck, Max, you just need to let go and realize the only one keeping you from going forward is you. You'll find whatever-whoever-you're looking for, if you stop looking for it and realize it's right there. God-whatever you believe-it's right there."

This time Max doesn't cry. This time Max just moves down to sit on the floor with Kate and squeezes her hand.

"You're a...really, really good person, Kate." Max tells her and Kate smiles. "I'm really glad you didn't jump." She tells her, again. She'll tell her everytime she can, but Max has a feeling this will be the last.

"Thanks, Max." She hugs her. "Me, too."

And Max, holding Kate tightly against her chest, nose burying in her neck in a whispered breath of a murmur against her shoulder, with Chloe across a sea of hospital white that she can't cross, clings to Kate-to this-for only a moment…

Only a moment.

And then lets go.

C.C.

"We have to take you to the fucking doctor, Ma-"

"Chloe, no." Max is shaking her head, packing up their weekend bag to do the monthly tour of Seattle. From the looks of the messages on Max's phone, their last tour. The farewell tour. And Chloe can see how stressed she is-can see how the years are taking their toll on a small frame like meat hanging on a butcher's hook for centuries-but Chloe doesn't care about Vanessa. She doesn't care about Max's parents or their jobs or the end of the world, she cares about the woman standing in front of her.

She cares about the fact that Max is so pale that she's practically fluorescent-she cares about the fact that Max hasn't been able to eat in a week-she cares about the fact that half the time their eyes meet, Chloe isn't even sure Max is there. She has stacks of equations and proofs that are nearly solved in her office-she has lines painted in red on her walls and lines stained in red on their floors-and a theory of repeat that won't do them any good-and Chloe swears to God, if Max says she's fine one more-

"I'm f-."

"For fuck's-" Chloe's voice booms through their small apartment and she can see shoulders tighten across the room, Max weakly shoving another set of clothes into a bag. "Stop. Stop trying to pull that shit."

"Chloe." Hands push up into dark hair before she turns around, wrist pushing underneath her nose, taking blood with it and Chloe still holds onto the anger because it's the only thing she's got. The only defense-the only sense of reason-she has left.

"You're not fine!" It feels like a hotel room a lifetime before when a plate shatters against their floor. "You're killing yourself!"

"I'm not-"

"You're killing yourself! Would you just let me take you to a fucking-"

"And what?" Max's voice challenges her right back, smaller than their small apartment with her small shoulders and the small way her fingers tremble. Small Max against the big bad fucking world. But Max shouldn't look like this, because Max-her fingers aren't small. Max's hands are deceiving because she holds the power of gods in the scratch of her nails. She builds armies in the wrinkles of her skin and can burn the world with her callouses. Max raises her deceiving, great hand and says stop and the world listens, because Chloe's world is wrapped up in the pale skin stretching over knuckles and she's fucking furious.

Because Max will stop the world for everyone but herself.

"-what do you want me to do, Chloe? My mom's dying."

"Your mom's been dying for years!" Chloe wants to break another plate, but moves around their couch, instead. The look on Max's face makes her breath painfully catch in a bull's snarl out of her nostrils, "Fuck-shit, yeah, okay, not how I meant it to sound, but you know what I mean. You're-"

And she pauses, then. Because she can't say it.

"What, dying?" Max snaps, hand slamming the lid of a bag a little too hard, the duffle spilling onto the ground, but Chloe could care less. Since that duffle's going to the hospital, and her chest is so tight at the thought of Max having anything to do with-no.

Not if they get to the hospital. Not if she can stop it.

"We don't know what you are, since you won't go to the hospital." She says, instead.

"And, what, we're going to explain that I'm an ex time-traveler that went through a pre-college phase-" Max kicks the bag, but it isn't out of anger, and it's while she tries to pick it up that Chloe comes up behind her. "Who might be going back in time, or might just be pulling a Courtney Love-who knows?-that wakes up sometimes and has no idea where she is? That she blanks out for hours at a time? That she doesn't remember things anymore? That she's pretty sure she's just going crazy-"

"Max." Chloe's teeth grit.

"That'll go over just great. Oh, no, doctor, I know I went back in time because my wife's not dead and my hometown was destroyed, like, ten years ago, and I used to get these wicked nose bleeds then, so either time's unraveling or my brain's fucked-"

"Max." Chloe's hand reaches up to cup her shoulder, whirling Max around because she's still furious but she can hear the crack in a familiar voice. And sure enough, there's the tears. Here isn't Super Max.

Here's her Max.

Max who is small, sometimes, and can fit against her chest like she was molded to be there.

"So why don't you just go ahead and lock me in the psych ward while my mom dies because my wife can't wait a fucking weekend to-"

"Max." Chloe whispers, because the blood is still there, right underneath Max's nose, finger raising up to wipe it away, jaw set and eyes desperate. "You have to go to the doctor."

"My mom-" And Max's eyes shift a little, then. There's something quiet and understanding behind seas of blue and Chloe remembers their first week on their honeymoon-looking at the seas like dumbasses who thought they could master them.

Maybe Chloe thought she understood Max's eyes until this moment.

"We both know what they'll say. Maybe we'll…woah..." Max whispers, voice cracking, and her body loses its weight at the knees. Chloe bends down to catch her before she can hit the wood, arms wrapping around a familiar waist as they slide to the floor. Red stains ivory and Max is still here. She can see it in her eyes as Max's body sags against her. She tucks her wife back against her and Max lets her. Max just lays back against Chloe like she's a sack of bricks, eyes blinking to try to focus on the ceiling, and they're both sprawled out on wood in a pile of clothes underneath a mural of polaroids and a backdrop of a golden hour of smeared red on a wall.

"You're not fine, Max." It's quiet in their apartment that suddenly feels too large, arms tenting over a stomach.

Max's hand gently raises up to trace the line of Chloe's jaw, her brows knitting, and Chloe knows what she's asking her. Chloe knows she's telling Max to choose herself. To let her mom go when Chloe couldn't do the same, years ago, and made Max make the choice for her. Knows she's telling her to be a stronger person than she's ever been, herself.

Max ran back into a town to save everything in Chloe's life. But Chloe?

Chloe doesn't know what to do but to beg Max to save herself.

"I know." Max admits, those swimming blue eyes closing, and she's still crying. Chloe's crying, too, though, catching the hand tracing her cheek and kissing a finger where a ring should be.

"I love you." It breaks in the air between them, breaks against those deceivingly small fingers, and Max opens her eyes, then, face crumpling.

"I know." A beat, Max squeezing her hand.

There's the longest moment of silence in their lives.

"Ma-"

"I'll make an appointment for Friday." It's a nearly resigned breath from Max's lips.

"God, thank you, finally. Was that so hard? And you call me a stubborn ass."

"You are a total stubborn ass."

"Takes one to know one, donkey." Chloe leans down and kisses her and she's glad Max doesn't call her on the fact that they're both still crying, promising against her lips, "We'll still catch the flight to Seattle Saturday."

"You promise?" Her eyes are nearly begging and irrevocably guilty in a way that makes Chloe's mouth dry, not sure why it tastes like salt on her tongue when she immediately responds.

"Promise. Bet on my life, Price."

They never do.

M.P.

"Max?" Her voice is familiar and Max stumbles into it, hand lowering, eyes blinking to focus on a confused pair of blues. There's two circles of light from a polaroid Warren-Warren-just took, her old friend drunkenly stumbling down the path, solo cup held up in his hand like a general's sword. Warren, she remembers. The party.

God, her head-

Nausea. Unsettling, quaking earth, cheering and laughter and music-

Warren.

Warren, who went on to become a teacher at a local high school and still sent her messages over Facebook every blue moon. Warren, who never grew out of his knack for cheesy ties and was at their wedding and awkwardly shuffled around Victoria like they were still in high school.

Warren and…

Max's head slowly turns around to face her. Blue and blue and blue with swirls of red on her arm and in tear-soaked eyes and-Chloe.

Chloe's hand lowers from her head the same time Max's does, looking a little confused and tired, fingers pressing against temples like her head is searing, and an immediate look of understanding crosses Max's features, stepping forward to gently curve fingers around wrists, catching sight of a ring glinting underneath double-moons.

The ring, for once, isn't hers.

"Chloe." She whispers in her ear. Oh, Chloe.

"Max? My head...it feels, it feels like I-"

"I know." And, man, she does. Her headache's never left. "We'll make it."

"What? What do you mean we'll-ah, shitfuckballs my head feels like-where-where are w-"

"Plan B." Max supplies, for once, hand raising from a wrist to cup a cheek, her own shoulders sagging.

"Plan-" Blue eyes widen and she looks so frightened that all Max can do is hold onto her.

Chloe doesn't remember. Not yet.

I'll go backwards, I think, and you'll-

"You'll remember, soon. Just...just know it works. That you're right." Max thinks she was right, anyways. She'll find out, soon. "I think." She can feel it. Can feel all the weathered pieces of a picture creating a single polaroid. "I had to go back. You told me I had to go back and-"

Her head pounds and aches and she can barely focus.

And maybe next time they'll be better at planning this.

"Max, I-"

Blue eyes blink and the hint of recognition-of fear and panic and pain-is replaced with pure fury. With something young and memorable. Something that blinks at the feeling of hands cupping her cheeks and looks just as lost, for a second, before features tighten into steel.

It's a blink, and the ring's gone.

Max might laugh if all of it wasn't so seriously messed up. But she doesn't have time. She's never really had time. A storm is still coming. Chloe is still dying. The world is still tearing itself apart.

And Max has no guarantee she won't forget, again, too.

"Look, Chloe, I know you're pissed-and you've got a right to be-but right now, I need you to listen to me. I don't have long until I...I don't know. I don't know where I'm gonna wind up." At the end, she hopes. Or the start. "It wasn't Nathan-"

"What the hell are you talking about? Why are you-what's-"

But Chloe doesn't move Max's hands from her cheeks and Max wonders where she's fast-forwarded from. She's moved so much along this line of time that she isn't even sure if the line is on its head, anymore. She wonders what this Chloe has seen. What every Chloe has seen. She wonders which Chloe they've created and torn apart and ripped to shreds and she loves her so much she has to blink through the tears and swallow down the apology in her throat.

"I need you to trust me. Okay? Just tr-"

And then she hears two voices. There's two moons hanging in the sky and two Chloe's standing before her, in the same spot. Like she's rewound and gone forward at the same time, but only for a moment. Only for a breath. Two hands making two different gestures and...one Max.

One Max that moves a little backwards and looks at her hands while the other looks up and-

And what the fuck is wrong with her?

"Max?"

Her head feels like it's gliding on angel wings, soaring above an ocean of endless sunsets and the twinkling glisten of Chloe's sad smile.

Max blinks and sees the ring. Blinks and doesn't. Blinks and feels the world quiver and suddenly feels like she can't breathe. Like she's fading-like Marty McFly watching his parents never get together-like she's a speck of dust Chloe's breath has dispersed into thousands of atoms comprising one, quivering-legged girl with knocking knees.

"Max?"

She's on the ground and she has no idea when she got here, hand shakily raising up to her nose, trembling. Red.

"Max."

"We'll make it?" She whispers to the ground between them, chest tight and pounding and eyes a little unfocused. This is weird. This is different. She can't focus and...and the air feels heavy. The air feels different and thick. No, no, things aren't supposed to be coming apart. They're supposed to be coming together. She's coming apart. She's coming apar-

"We'll-"

Let go.

They're always supposed to come apart.

Let go.

Faint memories of a life she might be remembering in the back of her mind, hand raising up to ward off the pain. It's like a word on the edge of her tongue. Like a taste on the edge of her lips-cigarettes and gum and summertime and ink-and a scent lingering on her own skin.

Brows knit and the world shakes and she knows a tornado like the quake of God towering over Abraham is in the distance, just waiting, as Max looks up to take in the sight of Chloe, standing above her, two moons highlighting the dark brown sheen of a jacket still stained with dirt from a junkyard grave. And for a moment, the pain that's been pressing on the back of her temples for...for so long, is just...gone.

And everything feels clear.

"Max? What the hell?" Chloe kneels down in front of her and Max's hand raises, blood skimming along a lip like she's trailing lipstick along parted breath.

"Chloe."

Kate. Victoria. The storm. It's quiet, out here, but she can feel it. And there's just this...peace. A moment of quiet, before the huge fucking storm. Quiet like how Chloe's hair looked in front of her eyes before they left. Quiet like how her fingers skimmed along the edge of her neck. Quiet like how their bodies settled in the bed.

Eyelashes flutter.

"Shit, okay, we can do whatever you want, just-"

"We did it." It's a hint of a broken laugh, because she knows the worst is yet to come. "I remember." Because she remembers all of it, still. All of where she came from. She's herself. She's finally Maxine fucking Price and…

And she remembers. And she doesn't just remember, she is.

And just like that, her mind fills in the worst gap of them all.

"I'll lose you."

The world is quiet around them, the air still and peaceful and Max's eyes snap open in horror, chin trembling.

"I'll lose-"

And then the real pain comes.

C.C.

It's different, this time, Chloe can tell. She can tell the instant it happens.

They're in the middle of their apartment, the sunlight playing a nice game of stop & go with the blinds, the wind gentle and breeze calm. It doesn't matter how much money either of them make (not that Chloe makes much, but they're doing a lot better off than they used to be, lifetimes away, when they lived off of takeouts and truck rust) their air conditioners never seem to work. Or maybe that's just New York. It's always been New York.

That same ratty blanket is wrapped around them and Max has leaned back to take a selfie that Chloe naturally fills half of, arm snaking around her waist to hold her close, lips brushing over a shoulder. Even in the shittiest moments, they can do this-can find this sliver of peace-and it's just that. A sliver. A lifetime of slivers that make a whole.

She never really understands that, in this tick off the arrow of time, that this will be the last one.

Thursday.

There's barely a second after it's snapped where the world feels still-where Max feels deathly still-and then all of the air is sucked up out of the room and she feels her. She feels it. Max tenses like a quaking bungie cord strapped so thin it might snap.

"Chloe!" It rips out of Max's throat and she turns around. It's a frantic noise that Chloe hasn't heard in over half a decade, now. Because this is different than Max waking up from a nightmare. This is different than Max zoning out. This is-no.

No.

"Max?" Chloe's arm wraps around her, voice strangling because Max's eyes are wide-frantic-but determined and the blood underneath her nose looks like warpaint. "That kind of yell sounds a lot like old, freaking out you. Please tell me you didn't-"

"We have to leave." Max immediately says, scrambling to stand from the bed. "We have to leave right now."

"Woah, woah, Max-Max. Slow down. Hey, hey-" Chloe stumbles up behind her, trying to tug her back into her arms, swallowing down fear and worry and weak, pavlovian anger at the tears. "Try talking to me first."

"You have to trust me, Chloe." Max shakes her head. "I can't tell you, if I tell you, you-"

"That's a shit card to play, Price." Chloe frowns. And her heart feels like ice. Like it's frozen over and her breath is cold and her fingers are cold and Max- "...you did. You rewound. You-"

"I can't tell you. Don't ask me to tell yo-"

"No. No, you promised. We promised. No more fucking with time travel, Max. Not until I could-"

"We don't have time for this, Chloe." Max's voice is desperate-strangled-and warm fingers cup Chloe's cheeks, pulling her close until their foreheads slot. "We need to go."

"What happens? Max, you're moving a thousand miles per minute, here, and I-"

"Chloe, please." Her wife's voice cracks and breaks and suddenly her mouth is dry.

"Why did you rewind? Why did-how many times have you come back to right now?" She asks. "How many times have you-"

"You die." Max's voice is strangled.

"What?"

She'd really, really hoped they left all this dying stuff in Arcadia Bay and no matter how many times she hears Max say it, it always, always just...sucks.

"Tomorrow. It's like Arcadia fucking Bay all over again. I can't-I can't-"

"How do I-what? Shit, Max-"

Chloe finally lowers the hand from Max's nose to see that it's still coming. She's still bleeding. Max is still bleeding.

"I can't stop it. I can't-No matter what I do. I tell you, you die. I don't tell you, you die. We don't go anywhere near it, you die. So maybe if I get you...maybe if we go further this time. Maybe if we-" She's ripping away from her to grab a worn, tattered old journal from a box like she needs it. Like how Chloe used to watch David strap a gun to his hip. How many times has Max- "We have to go. Please, we have to go. Maybe we'll get out of the city, this time and you'll-you'll-" Max is crying so hard, raising her hand up in an obviously broken vow. Chloe catches her hand because the blood won't stop and she can't let her go back. Not like this.

She can't let her go back, period. Not knowing what she knows.

"Chloe." It's a snapped, broken argument, desperate and shaking and the blood is still coming. Max is a blood faucet and Chloe is going to die tomorrow and they're running out of time.

"Max, you're still bleeding. You're not okay. You're not-you have to take a break. I'll be fine, we just-"

"I won't remember. And you have to do everything you can. You have to stay alive. Please. We have to go-we have to-I won't-I have to save-" Before Max can finish the thought, her body pitches forward. She fucking passes out and Chloe's never called an ambulance so fast in her life.

And from there? From that messed up moment? Life cranks up into hyper-drive. it happens so fast. It all happens so fast. Carrying Max down to the street like a wounded angel. The ambulance. The hospital. Nurses and paramedics and two doors she can't push past.

Fast.

But not the waiting. She could care less about dying tomorrow when she's stuck in a waiting room with her hands clasped on her knees, eyes red and throat thick. A lifetime later, she's nearly knocking over the waiting room chair to meet the doctor and then.

Then is when Chloe feels like the world is ending, because she thought they had more time.

Fucking friday should've been years ago and it's so anticlimactic she wants to scream. She wants to shoot something. She wants to punch the doctor out and scream.

Fast.

The doctor tells her Max doesn't have long. That her head is so many kinds of fucked up and in the process of hemorrhaging that he's amazed Max is still here. And that's just it. That's all he has. No solutions. No suggestions. No medicine or cures or saving graces. Just you're fucked and we don't know why and Max just listens through all of it like she knew.

Like she knew all along, like it was just a matter of time, and Chloe hates her.

Chloe doesn't leave her side for a second, crying at her knees because what kind of world does this-

And when Max wakes up, her wife remembers nothing at all, because she never does, after she rewinds.

"Chloe?" She groggily asks, hand raising up to her temple. "God, did someone knock me out? My head feels-"

"Shh, Max. Save it, you need to rest." Chloe tangles their hands.

"Where are w-" Max's other hand raises up to her neck and finds the ring swaying like a protective dreamcatcher above her heart. Like she isn't remembering where she is, but when. It's a look Chloe recognizes, now. "Oh."

"Do you remember what you told me? Before you passed out?" Chloe gently prods and after a long moment, Max weakly shakes her head and the blonde thanks whatever the hell God there is up there fucking their lives up. Because small favors. "Do you remember what the doctor said?" Max tenses but, miraculously, nods.

"Yeah, I...I think I-wow." Her head falls back to the pillow. "Can we not go through the telling my parents this this, part? Not until..." Max's eyes close, and when she's quiet for long, Chloe wonders if Max knows this, too. If Max knows more about life than Chloe ever has.

Chloe doesn't answer. She just kisses her wrist. Her palm. The edge of her finger. Breathes her in like it might be the last time.

But instead of being angry, for once, instead of clinging to that wanting to punch and scream and shoot thing, Chloe gently tucks up Max's hand and kisses her knuckles until she feels the muscles relax, being here for her, instead. Because she's running out of time. They both are.

How fucking ironic.

How fucking...life. Science.

And at the end of it all, at the end of moving too fast and too slow and watching Max's chest rise and fall in a bed that isn't theirs, Chloe finds a sense of resolve and peace. A sense of calm before the storm-a sense of love in her fate. She looks like Max did, on top of that cliff years ago, ripping up a picture, and...understands.

She understands.

And she lets go.

The moment Max can move, Chloe moves to help her out of the bed and disconnect her, guiding her towards the college, and Max never asks why.

"It's not over. Is it." Is all Max says, sounding exhausted and barely standing. Chloe lifts Max up into her arms after wrapping her in a too-large jacket, carrying her bridal style like it's their honeymoon all over again and doesn't stop.

"It will be, soon."