Hi everyone! It's been forever, hasn't it? I cannot even begin to describe to you all how bad I feel for not updating in a long, long time. I truly haven't had the chance to write anything - I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I wrote a story. On the bright side! I got accepted into college, I'm graduating high school in June, and I'm doing extremely well in school as of now! Which, is why I've been gone for a while. School and applying to colleges have taken up a lot of my time and I am truly sorry for that.

Hopefully this chapter is good and whoever is still reading this, I do hope you enjoy! :)

Maxton5evah - I didn't forget about your request. And, I must say, I love your prompt! I'm actually in the middle of writing up the chapter, so you could except to read that shorty! This idea just popped into my head while I was in school and I began to write while your prompt was already in the middle of being written on my computer. But! Just know that I loved your idea and I'll surely be continuing on working on that! :D

So, what did you guys think of The Following's new season? ;) I am disappointed about Max and Mike not being together... But that show is certainly something else... I just love it so much, haha.

Anyways, onward to the story! Please comment/review and let me know what you think of it. I'd greatly appreciate it and surely look forward to reading your thoughts/opinions/feedback, etc. Thank you!

And, of course, thank you for reading!

WARNING: This is a spoiler to season three if you haven't seen it. And yes, in this chapter, Max and Mike are still together.

I OWN NOTHING; I DO NOT OWN THE FOLLOWING.

"Guilt"

. . .

A content sigh escapes her lips as her mind drifts deeper into the peaceful land of dreams. A small smile rests on her lips as she lightly stirs in her bed, her head snuggling further into her pillow. Subconsciously, her hand curls around her blanket, pulling it further up her body until it reaches her chin. She seems to be deep within her dreams, no sighs of her near waking up, considering it is still the early hours before the sun has chosen to rise itself.

Vaguely, her subconscious could hear a voice calling her name, sounding almost desperate. A voice sounding so familiar to her ears, but her brain unable to register who the voice belongs to. She attempts to slide her heavy eyes open, to reveal her crystal blue eyes, but it's as if the dreams are restraining her from waking up. The voice grows louder now, practically yelling out to her, and this time she pries her light sapphire eyes. While her eyes are heavy and would prefer to remain closed, her lids listen to her request and open, officially bringing her back to the land of the living.

She moves only her eyes at first, allowing her vision to adjust to the darkness of her bedroom. She blinks several times before finally turning her head to the side, expecting to see her partner beside her, but only finding it empty. Her eyebrows furrow together as confusion waves over her body, her mind immediately spinning with ideas of where he could have gone in the middle of the night.

She sits up in bed and runs her hand through her tousled hair. Her eyes threaten to close once more, daring to pull her back to her peaceful, carefree, dreams. Her eyelids slowly begin to shut and then - bang!

Her eyes immediately fly open, her instincts kicking in without hesitation as panic surges through her entire body. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the anxiety eating and devouring her insides, and she could feel her blood flow come to a sudden halt. Quickly, she jumps out of bed, her bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floor as she grabs her gun hidden underneath her pillow.

Holding her breath, her gun aimed, she makes her way slowly begins to make her way through the hall and towards the living room. She squints her eyes, attempting to focus her vision better through the path of darkness of her long hallway. Right when she is halfway down the hall, she could hear his voice again, calling her name. The voice… the same she heard through her dreams. The familiar deep voice that whispers her name, sounding desperate and pained.

She knows the voice.

Her mind draws blank for several moments before it finally clicks and she could feel her stomach immediately tighten at the thought.

Mike.

He wasn't in bed beside her when she woke up. He wasn't anywhere to be found. She knows that voice though and it's definitely his, without a doubt in her mind. He was and still is calling her name, sounding worse by the passing moments. He's hurt. He's in trouble. He's calling her. He needs her. Where is he?

Her pace quickens, her mind thinking of nothing else besides for her missing boyfriend. She rushes down the hall until she reaches her living room, where she comes to an immediate stop. She freezes, her whole being going numb. While the panic and fear corrupt her body, it surges through her blood, practically causing her heart to thunder widely in her chest. Her lungs are squeezing, her breaths coming out in short gasps.

She could no longer feel her death-grip on her gun in her hand; the heavy weight of the weapon gone. She could feel the salty tears fall from her eyes and spill down her cheeks in an instant. Her mouth opens and clothes several times with no voices coming out. The voice she heard, which belonged to Mike, are growing quieter as another voice echoes throughout the room. She knows the new voice.

The voice belongs to the man she failed to save.

She feels her body suddenly drenched in something wet, soaking her body and clothing. Her body begins to shiver as her eyes refuse to tear away from the small, metal box, placed on the coffee table in her living room. The metal box that will forever be embedded into her mind, invading her vision time to time with terrifying flashbacks. The metal box that changed so many times and changed so many people - hurt so many people.

The vomit ushers up her throat, threatening to spill as clasps her hands over her mouth. When the palm of her shaking hands cover her mouth, she feels the wetness touch her skin. With her eyebrows torn together and forcing her eyes to tear away from the box, she cautiously looks down at her hands. Her hands painted red.

Her mouth released a blood curdling scream as she looks down, her whole body soaked in a crimson liquid. She takes a step back, only leaving her to slip on the liquid and fall in the pool of blood suddenly surrounding her. She can't breathe. The voice grows louder and louder until it's the only thing left she could hear - the voice blocking out her own sound of screams.

She first stares at the blood staining her clothes before turning her attention to see the thin trail of red leading up to the metal box resting on her marble table. She squeezes her eyes shut, wishing for this nightmare to disappear and leave her alone, but when she reopens her eyes, her nightmare only worsens.

FBI Special Agent Jeffrey Clarke's body lies in front of her, his body stained in red, as his limbs fold neatly on top of one another. His body folded enough together to fit in the metal box. His open, but lifeless, eyes stare straight at her, his voice whispering "help me" repeatedly in her ears.

She couldn't move, couldn't move her eyes away, couldn't do a damn thing. Only stare back at the dead man she failed.

She has blood on her hands that could never wash away.

"Max!" Mike's voice brings her awake, pulling her finally out of her nightmare. Her eyes snap open with her blue hues swirling with panic. Her body flings itself up into a sitting position as her breathing comes out in pained gasps. Her trembling hands reach out to grasp Mike's arm in a near death grip. Her eyes frantically search around, her eyes widen with a certain fear he doesn't think he has ever seen before.

"Max," He repeats, his concern blues staring into hers, "Max, you're okay. It was just a -"

"No," She interrupts, her heart rate increasing along with her gasps of air, "no, it wasn't just a dream, Mike." Still using one hand to hold onto his arm, she uses her free hand to run through her messy brown locks. Meanwhile, her gaze falls to the tousled sheets, which are partly wrapped around her. "I… It… It was so real."

"It was a nightmare, Max. Whatever it was, you're safe now, okay? I promise." He whispers, cupping her cheek with the palm of his hand while he uses his other hand to rest on her exposed knee that escaped from beneath the covers.

"But it wasn't, Mike. I…" She closes her eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath before continuing, "I can't stop thinking about it. About him."

He knows exactly who she is talking about because he hasn't been able to get Agent Clarke out of his head either. And he's sure Ryan is going through the same thing as them. The guilt consuming them until they find it difficult to breathe. They failed Clarke - their to solely to blame for his death. They could have confessed to the world their sins, but they chose not to. They chose to risk Clarke's life and he paid the price of their mistakes - of their selfishness and pride.

"I know." He mumbles, now glaring at the wall behind Max's head. Hatred for Mark Gray and his followers pumping through his veins; the desire for revenge giving him the strength to wake up every morning and climb out of bed. "All I think about is him. The same for Ryan. Max -"

"We should have confessed." She stops him, not wanting to hear lies from her boyfriend. She knows he'll say it isn't her fault and he and Ryan will take all the blame, but she does't want to hear it. It's her fault just as much as theirs. "Maybe… maybe he would still be alive today. He would still be with his wife and have his job. He would have his life."

"Or, maybe, they would have killed him anyways." Mike counters, his eyebrows drawing together, "You don't think Mark would have had us confess only to kill Clarke regardless? Us confessing does nothing except give him satisfaction. We need to stop him, not confess to something we shouldn't be sorry for!"

Max shakes her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek, "And how many more people does he kill in the process? What in the hell stops him from killing someone else close to us? He's crazy and he wants the three of us to suffer, Mike! Clarke's dead! He's - he's - Mike…" Her voice breaks and Mike immediately pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.

He whispers soothing, comforting words in her ear, occasionally pressing light kisses on the top of her head. He keeps his arms wrapped securely around her trembling body, never letting go. He will never let go. He will never allow her to lose herself in this grief or guilt.

Mike shuts his eyes and rests his cheek against the crown of her head. He listens to her soft cries where her tears soak his shirt and he only holds her tighter. They'll get through this. The three of them got through Joe Carroll and his endless followers - they could get through this. Together.

She doesn't feel an ounce of guilt for killing Luke Gray. She doesn't care or feel guilty for not being able to stop Mike from killing Lily Gray. They both deserved to die. Every follower Ryan killed deserved death. She doesn't feel guilty for putting all her energy and dedicating her life to stop these cults.

But this? She feels guilt. She feels beyond remorse and the guilt burns inside of her, burning holes throughout her body. The guilt of failing Clarke will forever be with her. Every night from this moment on her nightmares will remind her of her deepest regret. It will never disappear. The aching pain she feels right now will always be there, reminding her of her failure to save a friend. Her guilt will live the rest its life with her, always plaguing her thoughts and dreams.

She has blood on her hands that could never wash away.