ANA

Max arrived three days later, just as the snow began to fall soft and thick, blanketing the trees and fields in silence and peace.

"Ana?" he whispered.

She turned away from the window. He stood in the doorway, staring at her with a blank, wide-eyed expression on his handsome face.

"Hi, Max," she said.

"I thought you were dead," he said. His voice was hoarse. He hadn't shaved in days.

Ana shrugged. She had thought she was dead, too, at first. But the hope that Emory had given her had lit something deep inside of Ana, a small, weak flame that cast a faint, flickering light in the yawning darkness of her soul.

Now, she wasn't entirely dead anymore. She was talking to her doctors and nurses, and Emory came by every day to check on her. Their growing friendship was something of a surprise that no one had expected; neither women had many friends to begin with, and neither of them had any family.

Well, Emory had a little brother, but she didn't like to talk about him.

"I looked everywhere for you." Max scrubbed his hands over his face, tousling his dark hair. "I called everyone; I called Mary, down in Florida, I called Marcus at the hospital, I even called some of your old foster families. No one knew where you were. No one had seen or heard from you."

"It's okay, Max," she said gently. "I just got lost."

"A little…" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You fucking disappeared, Dasvidanya. They found your car at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I… I thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead." His voice broke, faded to a whisper. "Jesus Christ, Ana. I thought I killed you."

Ana stood from the bed and walked over to him. He stood like a statue, riveted in place by the door. His jaw was clenched, and the muscles in his shoulders screamed with tension.

Ana lifted her hand and touched his face, and allowed herself to wonder what it would have been like if she'd fallen in love with him, instead of Jason. She might have gone back to New York. She might have gotten married, settled down, adopted a few kids...

But she didn't love Max the way she loved Jason. She did love Max, though. She could see that, now, just as she could easily see the wall of lies she had built around her mind to protect herself from that realization.

Yes, she loved Max, but it was a different kind of love, a friendship that had lasted so long that the roots and branches of it had grown, expanded, and wrapped around both of them, weaving their lives together in an organic bond that had allowed more give and flexibility in the places where they didn't quite fit together properly.

Max had been... easy.

The way she loved Jason wasn't easy. It was fire burning through her blood, ice sliding down her spine, pleasure that made her toes curl and pain that broke her heart. Ana and Jason fit together perfectly, but with that connection, with that spark, they created heat. Fire. Conflict. Alike in some ways and different in others.

Loving Jason was not easy, but it was fucking beautiful.

"It's all over the news," Max said. "They're saying you were kidnapped... tortured..." His voice was ragged, and as his gaze took in the thick bandages on her wrists, the bruises on her arms, the gaunt lines of her face, his eyes were utterly bleak. "I was so mad at you. I was so fucking mad at you for leaving, Ana. And you were… all this time… you were…" His voice broke into a sob. "I'm so sorry, Ana. I am so, so sorry…"

She held him while he cried, while the pain and the guilt slowly bled out of him. She held him, just as Jason had held her. It was all she could do. She owed him this much. She owed him forgiveness. So she whispered to him that everything was going to be okay, that it wasn't his fault, that she was alive, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, and she was safe, and then, when the words were said, she just held him and waited.

When he was calm again, she led him over to the little bench by the window and sat down with him. She felt his warmth next to her, and could only think of Jason wrapping his strong arms around her as he use his body heat to ward off the biting chill of the mine. She caught a whiff of Max's aftershave, and could only remember the smell of Jason's skin, of woodsmoke and soap and sweat and male.

She sat with Max, but she wasn't really there with him. A part of her would always be with Jason, no matter where he was.

They stayed like that for a long time, as the sounds of the hospital echoed in the hallway behind them, and the monitoring equipment beeped at constant, quiet intervals, and the Weather Channel droned its forecast on the little TV in the corner. They sat together and looked out on the stark, wintry landscape, the gentle swell of the mountains in the distance, the heavy blanket of snow on the ground, the gray clouds above.

"I'm proud of you, you know," he said softly. "I know you don't care - you've never really cared what other people think - but I'm really proud of you. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Ana. You're a survivor." He trailed off, and dropped his gaze, idly fidgeting with his class ring. "All this time… all this time, I thought maybe I could fix you." He shook his head and shot her a wry, sad smile. "And then you went and found the strength to fix yourself."

Ana smiled. It was a shadow of her former smile, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

She laid her hand on his, and in a calm, gentle voice, she said, "I'm not coming back with you, Max."

He didn't respond. For a while, he didn't move at all.

And then he laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

"I know," he murmured. "I don't really blame you."

"Would you mind packing my stuff and shipping it to me?"

Max sent her a bewildered look.

"Of course." He sounded slightly offended that she had asked. "Anything you need."

Ana's grip tightened on his hand.

"Thank you for understanding," she said softly.

Max's lips twitched.

"Oh, before I forget," he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, flat, rectangular package wrapped in red and gold paper. "I figured most of your stuff got ruined in the fire, so… Merry Christmas. Sorry I'm late."

Ana carefully unfolded the wrapping paper and brushed her fingertips over the soft, supple black cover of a Moleskin notebook.

And then she laughed. It was a quiet, sudden thing, more surprise than joy, really. But there was definitely something else to it, something warm. Something good. It chased away a little bit of the darkness inside her.

"Thank you, Max," she said.

"Welcome," he said with a lopsided smile. "Try not to lose that one, okay?"

Ana wrapped her arms around the little notebook and held it against her chest.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice quiet and determined, "I won't."

They were quiet for a while, watching the snow fall.

"Ana," he said, hesitant, "I know it's none of my business, but… what are your plans? Where will you go?"

Ana sighed. Her wrists itched under the thick bandages. She idly picked at the fraying edge of a piece of medical tape. It wasn't that she was hesitant to tell him, she just wasn't really sure how to explain it.

She hadn't been sleeping much lately, and once she'd managed to convince the doctors to remove her restraints, she'd spent the past few nights pacing the room and talking to herself. And, while talking to herself, she had come to a decision.

Did she love Jason?

Yes.

Did she think he was still alive?

Yes.

Was she angry?

Yes.

She was actually... really fucking angry. No use denying it. Now that she was pretty sure she wasn't dead, she recognized that anger as it burned deep in her stomach. She was furious with Jason for abandoning her, even knowing why he'd done it.

Had that anger influenced her decision?

Probably. No use lying to herself about it.

But at least she was aware of it, just as she was still aware of the aching emptiness in her chest, and the sadness that haunted her at all times.

But the anger didn't rule her. Nor did the sadness, or the loneliness, or the betrayal.

The only emotion that ruled her now was hope.

Hope that she would be whole again, one day; that she would be happy again.

That she would live again.

But before she could do that, she had to work on a few things.

Forgiveness would come. She knew it like she knew that the sun would rise in the east and set in the west. She knew it like she knew that she loved Jason, deep in her bones. In her very soul.

But it was not something she could give. Not now. Not yet. She needed time.

She lifted her gaze from the little black notebook in her lap and stared out at the bleak, gray mountains beyond.

"Georgia," she said quietly. "I'm going back to Georgia."