Chapter XX – Till the Dregs of the Storm Be Passed

She stepped inside the light.

There was a car on the side of the road, damp with the memory of a drowning.

But Chloe Price stood on solid ground.

It worked?

"Chloe?"

I'll never get tired of hearing her voice.

"Max?"

She was here, and then they were in each others' arms, and she was solid and real and alive. Chloe could feel the sting of tears in her eyes as they kissed, as all the memories of all the different Max's whirled in her head like a tornado.

There's only her now. Just Max.

"Max, are you…" she fumbled with her words. It still felt uncomfortable to talk about; the memory of the knife-pain of that frozen beach coming back to her in an echo. An ache. Max had lied to her, used her powers, built up a mind made of who knew how many others. A legion of Maxs, all desperate to find their Chloe.

"I remember them," she said, slowly, her eyes darting back and forth in memory, as if she was searching her own head for other guests. "But I only hear myself. I think I'm…I guess I'm one person again?"

"It's pretty fucking weird."

"Par for the course with us, wouldn't you say?"

Chloe smiled, laughing, and then Max began laughing too, both of them still holding onto each other like an anchor.

No one else could ever understand me. Seriously, no one living understands what it's like to have different memories in the same head. Except Max. My Max.

A few moments passed, each of them grappling with their own thoughts, each steadying themselves like soldiers at peace for the first time in years.

"No flood," Max said, turning around in circles slowly. "No storm."

Above them the sky swelled blue, like an ocean. A few birds cut past in a V-shape, their distant cries echoing down for miles. Some small animal shifted a few feet away, darted back into a hole. The air tasted wet and hot.

"And your powers?"

Max looked up at her, biting her lip. She reached forward a hand into the emptiness, held it there for a long time, then pulled it back. She shook her head, smiling, wordless.

They're gone.

Chloe threw her arm around Max, pulled her close. They craned their necks and stared up at the wide gulf of the sky. Somewhere in the distance a car rolled past, faint music blaring.

They were stranded on the side of the highway in the Nevada desert, a few weeks after their town – and everyone in it – was destroyed. They had no jobs, no degrees, no money, and now even their car had died, probably for good. Chloe could see their future rolling out into the distance, as empty and endless as the desert. No powers to fix their mistakes. No other worlds to jump into. No great beautiful being watching them, testing them, hoping for their victory.

Max must have been thinking the same thing. "It's just gonna be us from now on. No powers, no storms, no…no Rachel."

"Yeah. That's what we wanted, right?"

Max nodded, her hair brushing against Chloe's chin. "It's just so…normal, now. I mean, compared to everything. No more jumping through realities. Just life, going forward."

"It's kinda scary."

"Hella scary."

Max turned to her, kissing her cheek as she leaned in closer. "I think we'll be alright. I…I know what I want now. I know who I am." She squeezed her hand. "Who you are."

Who am I?

Somewhere, there was a beach, and a whale falling from the sky. Somewhere, a host of Chloe Prices looked up at her and smiled.

That night they called a tow truck to carry off Chloe's long-suffering car. The driver whistled low when he got a look at it, and asked them how they'd managed to get it this far.

"It probably should've died a long time ago," he said. Chloe and Max shared a knowing look.

Chloe rested a hand on her old junker as it was raised up onto the truck. "Thanks, pal. Got me through a whole lot of shit. Guess I knew you'd always find your way back to a junkyard in the end."

Max put a hand on her shoulder. "It was a good car."

"The best car."

The driver dropped them off at a nearby motel, gave them a time and number to go pick it up if it was salvageable. Chloe tipped him a few of her precious dollars, and checked them in. Once they'd flopped onto the bed and washed their faces, Max ordered a pizza and the two ate dinner in the room, not speaking much, lost in thought. The room's clock ticked. Outside, cars zoomed across the highway.

What are we gonna do now?

They were back at the place they'd started from, though they'd been through a whole lot more in the meantime. She wasn't worried about Max leaving her, not after everything they'd gone through, but she was still left with that gaping question of what to do next. No powers, no money, precious few friends and family. Max could probably get into college, but for her…

Max nestled closer on the bed, leaning her head against Chloe as the motel TV droned on through some old action movie.

I don't have to figure it all out right away.

She wished she could ask someone for advice. It felt like just yesterday that she was at home, going to Blackwell with Max, and she could just come home to ask her parents for advice. A jagged pain shot through her at the thought.

They're not here anymore. Not in this reality. You don't have any family left.

Well...maybe...

Later that night, with Max holding her hand, she called David.

The next day, he rented a car and met them at their motel. When they opened the door, he was already crying, his eyes sunken, his shoulders slumped. Chloe surprised both herself and David by hugging him. He held on for a long time, as Max ushered them in and locked the door.

After they both fumbled through something resembling a greeting, Max and Chloe sat down on the bed and David pulled up the desk chair and began to tell them what happened. They'd had hoped that the destruction wasn't total, that of course it couldn't have wiped everything out, but David's reports were grim. He'd managed to find his way into the bunker to save Victoria Chase and arrest Jefferson, but no one else in the town proper had made it.

"Chloe, I've been through a lot of hells in my life, but that was the worst. We could hear that something bad was happening out there, something apocalyptic, so we had to buckle down and wait in that…evil place. Ms. Chase was scared out of her mind, kept asking me what was going on, and I had no clue what to tell her. And Jefferson…I'd managed to incapacitate him and restrain him, but eventually he woke up. I had to sit through the storm that…" he paused, took a deep breath, continued, his voice only a little shaky. "Destroyed my town and my wife, while a scared girl sobbed and an evil man stared me in the face and smiled."

Chloe shifted on the bed. She'd seen him dead, once. Buried him in the junkyard, watched as she shoveled dirt onto his face. He wasn't smiling then. That would have to be enough.

Beside her, Max spoke up. "Why didn't you kill him?"

David looked surprised. "I wanted to, Max, believe me. I still want to, every day, especially knowing what he did to Rachel…but I'm not a soldier anymore. I don't want to kill another human being. Even if it's someone like Jefferson." He took a long sip of water. "Besides, death would be too easy for that sonuvabitch."

Death didn't claim Mark Jefferson in this reality. Instead, he found himself at South Fork Forest Camp prison in Tillamook, doing manual labor in the forests of Oregon. Maybe he could put the rest of his life to good use, trying to reclaim some of the forests whose destruction he'd survived.

Same as me.

"Where are you staying?" asked Max, to cut through the silence.

"Friend on the force was outta town during…it. We're at his folks'."

"What are you gonna do?" asked Chloe.

That's always the question, isn't it? Never used to think about it.

David shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Chloe. I don't know. I thought I'd already gone through my worst days, started a new life. I…I don't know how to do it again." He wiped his eyes with his arm, then looked at her. "What'll you two do? Have you seen Max's family yet?"

Max looked away. "No, not yet. I called them," she added when she saw David's face, "and said I was alright." She drifted off, her eyes distant, so Chloe cut in.

"We'll go see them soon. Rest a bit, I think."

David looked at them for long time, until it became uncomfortable and Chloe looked away. She knew he was trying to understand why they wouldn't have gone to Seattle, why Max wouldn't be scrambling to get to safety and family and home. That's all David wanted now.

It's all I wanted. Mom…

Eventually, all three of them collapsed into silence. What more could they say to each other? After several more minutes, David gave a loud, obviously intentional sigh, the kind adult men often did to signal that they were about to leave.

"Well, I guess I'd better leave you to it. Do whatever you need to do. God knows we all need some…time to process." He pushed himself out of the chair and put on his jacket. Max sat on her chair, hands tucked under her arms, watching him leave in silence.

"Yeah," Chloe said.

David took another long look at them, almost shaking his head in confusion, before coughing into his hand and turning to leave.

"David, wait."

He stiffened, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

That's the first time you've called him that. At least without being forced to by…

She didn't believe in an afterlife. Here, in this reality, her mom was gone. But her mom was still alive, somewhere else. She hoped that if she'd been there to see this, she would've smiled.

"You don't have to…I mean…I know we aren't exactly friends. We both have a lot of shit to unpack. With everything."

She felt tears on her cheeks, and Max's fingers sliding into her hand.

"But…could we…you know…"

David turned around, his face taut. He swallowed. He looked like he was trying to speak, but didn't know what to say.

This was her step-douche. He was a misogynist at best, a raging asshole, a blundering soldier with shitty politics and shitty emotional range. He'd made her life hell for a long time.

And he saved Max.

And he loved her mom. That might be enough to keep something lasting, right? That might be enough.

Fuck it.

"Stay in touch. You don't have to…to disappear. We have to…we have to help each other remember her."

David Madsen smiled through his tears.

"I'd like that, Chloe."

She laughed. "And, well…we need a ride."

A few days later, David came back to drive them to Seattle, and to the Caulfields. It was surreal, seeing Max's parents again in a reality where they didn't spend so many years together. These versions of the Caulfields didn't really know who she was anymore, hadn't experienced Chloe and Max coming out to them a few years ago. All they knew was that their daughter had narrowly escaped the worst natural disaster any of them had heard about, their former home had been obliterated, and her old childhood friend had driven her out of the storm and back to them.

After they'd finished holding onto Max and crying, Ryan and Vanessa turned towards her, pulling her into the embrace too.

"Thank you, Chloe. We don't…we don't know how to say thank you enough. If you need anything, we'll always be here for you two."

All she could do was withstand their hugs and their gratitude and their sympathy, and say "thanks." It felt like such an empty word, like it wasn't strong enough to bear everything she wanted it to.

David stayed for dinner, and the five of them ordered Max's favorite takeout Thai and sat in the dining room. Ryan talked the most, trying to keep things light and casual, asking about how the drive was, checking in on them, telling recent family stories, while Vanessa burst into tears every few minutes. Max was crying too, all while Chloe and David sat awkwardly in silence. The Caulfields didn't know how to grapple with their grief, and so they kept their attention on their daughter.

The two of them stayed with the Caulfields for almost three months. Max didn't even attempt to get into a college, but no one tried to make her. They'd set both of them up with grief counselors, but they'd proven themselves well-meaning but pretty useless. They couldn't talk about what had really happened, and eventually the doctors gave up trying to uncover the truth behind their obvious evasions. Still, they had each other. Maybe it wasn't enough, but it was necessary.

She did get Christmas with the Caulfields after all, though this time it was in Seattle, and instead of her parents, David showed up. It was an awkward time, and did more to stir up her own twisted feelings of guilt and sadness than anything, but the food was good, and they were safe and cared for, and she could see that something of a life might be built from these pieces. One day.

Time moved forward, the only direction it ever would again.

They didn't stay in any place for too long. In the tail end of winter, as the snows began to melt and the hint of something new glimmered under wet earth, they made their exit from Seattle. After a tearful goodbye (and several loud arguments over the last few weeks), they'd piled into Chloe's new (used) car with a few suitcases of clothes, Max's modest inheritance, a new (used) laptop Max had gotten for Christmas, and a new kit of car repair tools for Chloe. It had been nice to spend the time they'd gotten in the protective arms of a family, with nothing to do but rest and recover, but they both new they couldn't solve their own regrets or answer that question of "what next" without leaving. It was the road trip she'd always dreamed of, and this time, there'd be no settling in L.A. Not permanently at least. First up was Portland.

She could remember the other realities she'd lived; the perfect world in Blackwell with Max, her time in L.A. with Rachel, and all the strange pathways she'd jumped to while trying to escape the storm. They'd pulled apart the timelines, so at least these ones they'd made before would be free from the storm, even if Rachel Amber, lost somewhere outside of time, would make even new worlds that would be under threat.

The other memories helped, but they didn't stop the grief. In this reality, the only thing that would exist for them again, Arcadia Bay and most of the people in it were gone. The sharpest wounds of regret had mostly faded to moments of tender sadness, but they never vanished. In dreams, they'd come back to her, and she'd wake up in tears, screaming into her pillow. Max started smoking weed with her regularly. She had her own nightmares, and Chloe would hold her as she shook in the dark. Some nights they shut out the rest of the world, drank too much, and talked about realities forever out of reach. Other times she'd come home to see Max on the balcony, staring out the window. She'd come up to take her in her arms, and Max would put up a hand to keep her away.

It was the price Max had paid to have Chloe back. Even if the mere fact of being given that choice was itself a terrible curse, even if she'd had no real other way, even if Arcadia Bay lived in a million other realities, even if Max found a way to keep on going, there were some regrets that Chloe couldn't help her wipe out. Some things seep into you, stain you forever. Even if you'd do them again.

Chloe stopped cutting her hair, maybe because she hoped it would bring her closer to the Chloe in the perfect reality, the one where her and Max had gotten to be together and in love and whole. The blue dye began to fade, turning into a kind of yellow-green. She had had enough of blue for a long time.

She'd also had the tattoo sleeve on her right arm blacked out, covered up entirely. Whenever people asked her about it, which some people did despite it being pretty socially dicey to ask about people's tattoo origins, she'd just say: "it reminds me not to forget."

She had trouble putting into words exactly what she meant, but Max understood. She'd seen the hardened blood pooling around her arm, back in that strange place in their dreams when they'd found each other. It was a way of remembering what they'd lost, but also to remind them that everything they'd experienced was real. It may have been in memories of realities that no longer existed, or that existed in some other space they could never reach, or in some twisted version of their own dreams, trapped somewhere outside of time, but it was real. They'd saved each other and everyone, and they'd doomed each other and everyone.

Max took the opposite approach, and ended up getting her own tattoo to remember everything by. A blue butterfly on her wrist, of course.

"It's what started all of this," she'd said.

"Still though, that's what you want to remember?"

"I think it was you, somehow. Your spirit."

Chloe shrugged. "I always thought I'd be something cooler, like a hawk or a mountain lion."

"And that's why you're a butterfly."

Portland, then down to Los Angeles for a time, then a brief stop in San Francisco. Chloe called up Steph, who was at Stanford and had greeted her with a quick hug and a quiet nod. They spent the night with her at her dorm, and even played a game of D&D with her girlfriend, Riley. They called Mikey together, asked him how he was doing at school in Denver. It was still surreal, remembering their different friendships across time, realizing that for these versions of them, Chloe hadn't done much to stay in touch over the years. She'd have to try to make it up now.

One day while Steph was in class, they'd headed out into the city. Max took her to an art gallery where her own picture had hung in some lost timeline. Right now it was a temporary exhibit about family, and the walls were covered in everything from straightforward portraits, to collages of diary entries and photographs, to avant-garde sculptures stapled into the walls.

"You'll be up here eventually," she'd told her, as Max stared with barely-concealed sadness at all the photographs and exhibits, none of which were hers. Max hadn't believed her, but she was right, in the end. It would just take a few more years.

From there they headed east, settling down in big cities and small communities, staying for weeks or months, taking odd jobs and meeting new people. Chloe surprised herself with her own talkativeness, and eventually they'd amassed a widespread network of punks and hippies, art students and reporters, musicians and activists, all who'd offer a couch or a place to stay or a dinner if they needed it. Even Max, who seemed to become even more quiet than she'd used to be, found herself getting drawn into long conversations if they were about art.

Chloe took random gigs working at venues, using her knowledge from the timeline in L.A., and sometimes, when they stayed a city for longer than usual, would find work as a mechanic. She learned quickly, and managed to keep her new car in good enough shape for its many voyages across the country. They'd pieced together something of a life, though it wasn't anything like they'd imagined when they were younger. Some nights they barely saw each other, as Chloe had to work late and Max woke up early. Some days she went without thinking about time travel or alternate realities or anything other than the work she had to do.

Still, every Christmas, they made their way back to Seattle to see Max's family. It was clear that they didn't entirely approve of their daughter's new nomad lifestyle, but they never said anything, never tried to stop them. Perhaps they were good enough parents to know that this was what she needed, what she wanted. Max's life didn't have to look like anything they valued; only that it was a life, and that Max needed something like it to function.

As for Chloe, David was her only real family left, besides Max. They kept in touch every week or so; they'd tell him about the new place they were living, about what Max's latest art project was, about how Chloe was getting along. After the Supreme Court decision in 2015, they eventually told him about their own relationship. Unlike her parents, he hadn't had a clue, but he seemed happy for them, even if he rarely mentioned it and turned red whenever the topic was brought up.

He'd tell them about his own journeys, about how he'd pulled himself out a drunken stupor and gotten sober, about how he'd flirted with religion but ultimately found it wasn't right for him. Eventually, in some strange twist of fate, he told them how he'd found his way to some small commune out in the desert. They'd welcomed him, despite his background.

"We're all running from something," they'd told him. "Sometimes, we need to find somewhere safe to heal."

David found healing in his little community of Away; Chloe and Max tried to find it on the road. And often, they found it, curled up together on a cheap couch, watching a movie and catching each other's eyes every now and then, as if they'd vanish if they looked away. The rest of the world careened around her, but Max made sense, kept her from the darkness, helped her put the pieces of herself together into something she admired.

They still held hands as much as they could. One night, Max drifted off early, her hand still in Chloe's. Chloe looked at, breathing softly, her mouth open in a ridiculous snore, and remembered a night lit by twin blue lights dancing between them. What if it happened again? What caused it the first time?

And maybe they could've taken each other along back before.

She fell asleep, dreaming of her parents, somewhere else, dancing in the kitchen on their anniversary. Christmas music played in the background, and Max leaned against her, shaking a snow globe and laughing. Ryan and Vanessa whirled in, carrying presents and trays of food. Steph and Riley popped open a bottle of wine, as David carved up a turkey. Somehow, she knew it was a dream, knew that it wasn't real, but it felt so intense, so overwhelming positive and good. This life was out there for some other Chloe.

"I hope you love it," she said in the dream. The others smiled as if she said something normal.

"I do," came the voice of another Chloe beside her. Rachel stood behind this Chloe, grinning at her, looking radiant and happy and alive.

She woke up in tears, smiling.

Five years after the storm, people started to rebuild. David had left his newfound desert home after a few years, after they'd gone through their own difficulties, and had turned his attention to the only other thing he knew. The five of them – Chloe, Max, David, Victoria, and Jefferson - were the only ones to survive the storm itself, but there were other people from Arcadia Bay who weren't in the town when it was destroyed. They'd sat on their grief for years too, hoping it would coalesce into something physical. But five years of a wasteland was too long. The Arcadia Bay Restoration Project, financed by none other than Kristine Prescott, who'd inherited the wealth of her family, broke ground on October 11th, 2018.

Chloe and Max were there, arm in arm, as David Madsen stuck a shovel in the earth while rain poured around them. The scattered families of Arcadia Bay clapped as the lights of cameras flashed. Chloe clapped along with them, even if part of it felt hollow. How could it ever be enough? Maybe something new would grow here, like a forest after a wildfire, but it couldn't ever be Arcadia Bay, not as they knew it.

But something would remember. She let her gaze drift on past David, past the construction site and the machines, past the crowds, out into the mist of that cold autumn day. The debris had been cleared out already, and the once beautiful forests of her home were gone. But the bay was still there, water flowing in and out. Deer would find their way back into the wreckage. Ravens would fly over, hoping one day there would be something to land on. Maybe there'd even be fields of butterflies.

David found them after the ceremony, and Max and her parents broke off to talk to Victoria Chase, who was enjoying the limelight despite the circumstances. She gave him a quick hug.

"You did good, kid," she said, grinning.

David shook his head, trying not to smile in turn. "I don't know. I keep thinking...maybe we should all just move on, not try to keep bringing back the old things we loved."

"This is moving on. New Arcadia Bay won't be the same thing. It's...it's doing something good. You're doing something good."

He nodded slowly, as if he was hoping she'd convince him. "Is it still gonna be a no from you two? Not interested in moving here?"

"Maybe one day," she said, surprising herself. "Not yet though."

He nodded. "Whatever you need to do. I...I need to do this. For myself. And for everybody. But mostly for her."

She swallowed back tears. She was good at that now.

"I think she's proud of you."

David raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think you believed in heaven."

"No, I'm still a radical leftist heathen, but...I dunno, maybe there's some other reality where this didn't happen. Maybe she's alive there. And everybody else."

"Now that's a nice thought, Chloe. I'd like to believe that."

Later, she found Max staring at the memorial wall, one of the first few structures of the new town. She saw the names etched into the stone, so many of them, rising and falling like waves. She knew what Max was thinking, even now. That even if they were alive somewhere else, that even if she shouldn't have been force to make that decision - they died because of her.

That's not true, Max. They died for me.

She took a deep breath. She was alive, against all odds, against the wishes of fate itself. All of the names blurred before her.

Thank you. I'm sorry.

She stood next to Max, followed her gaze towards the names. Warren Graham.

"You know, there's probably a reality where you two got together," Chloe said.

Max laughed, then wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I think you're right. If you weren't there..."

Chloe raised an imaginary glass. It felt a little wrong, maybe, but from what she'd known of Warren, he'd probably have grinned at it. "To Warren and Max Graham, somewhen else, with all their little nerd babies."

Max burst into tears.

"Wait, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"It's okay," she said, letting out something that sounded halfway between a sob and a laugh, "it's okay. I just...I think you're right, and that's weird." She wiped her face again, then took a few deep breaths.

"Is this ever going to not hurt?" Max said, after another minute of silence.

Chloe felt the words forming on her tongue, then bit them back. She knew the answer.

"I don't think so. But that's the point, right?"

Max nodded, sniffing, then moved on towards the other names. Chloe knew the ones she'd go to. Kate. Dana. Alyssa. All the friends she'd made so quickly. Chloe let her look in silence as she moved away, letting her fingers trace the words Joyce Madsen along the way.

She raised an imaginary glass to Frank Bowers, and an imaginary joint to Justin. And then she was at the beginning of the wall.

Whatever was left of her body hadn't survived the storm. Officially, they knew she died earlier, that someone else was to blame other than a freak accident of nature. But Chloe and Max had pushed for her to be mentioned. And so there she was, right between James Amber and Rose Amber.

You're not dead. You're traveling through time with some other Chloe. Have you found a way to even further back? Seen any dinosaurs?

She looked around, wondering if maybe Rachel was watching her right now, through some gap in space and time.

I'll light something on fire for you. Rachel fucking Amber.

"God, I miss you," she said softly.

In the distance, the waves crashed on the shore. Again and again.

Chloe Price took a walk on the beach.

She pulled a joint from her pocket, rolling it between her fingers. She'd given up smoking cigarettes a couple years back, but if there was ever a time to get a little blazed, it was now. She inhaled, and blew out smoke slowly, letting it float over the coastline and fade above the water like mist.

It was October 11th, 2023, five years after the Restoration Project began, and ten years after the storm. Ten years after her and Max had walked out of a portal in time and lost their powers. She was twenty-nine, but felt a few years older than that. The faint memories of other lives still clung to her like wisps of fog. Like friendly ghosts.

To her left, small trees grew in neat rows, a far cry from the old, thick trees that had covered this area back before the storm. At first glance, the ocean to her right was the same as it always was. Dark waters, waves crashing ashore, the orange setting sun almost fallen behind the horizon. But then she noticed the jetties reaching out a regular intervals, long stone barriers keeping erosion at bay.

She kicked off her boots and socks, and dug her toes into the sand. It was cold, but the setting sun warmed them to a kind of bracing chill. She walked out onto the stone jetty, placing one foot before the other, enjoying the feeling of cold rock underneath her feet.

It felt like being a kid again, when every trip to the beach meant another story of pirates and adventure. Back then she could just enjoy a day by the ocean without other thoughts creeping in, without those little reminders that the rest of the world wouldn't wait for her. She'd been all too aware that the world kept going lately. Max would still sometimes wake up crying, but it was only about their own sins and memories about half the time. The other times she was worried about the future, about a world seemingly spinning closer and closer to disaster.

"I hope you're right," Prospera had said. But she hadn't believed them. She'd tried to give them some way to change their fates, to prove humanity was worth something, and she'd ended up giving up just because Chloe and Max and Rachel were too fucking stubborn to succeed or completely fail on their own.

Chloe wouldn't let herself get too caught up in the maelstrom of shit spinning everywhere else, even if Max still spent long nights swiping at her phone. But she wasn't free of everything, either. Money, as usual, was tight. She hadn't stolen anything, not since the powers were gone, but the temptation was always there. Her and Max were good, and they'd found ways to make enough without selling their souls, but they were still always on the move, afraid to set down roots, afraid – maybe – that a storm would come calling if they made any one place their home. She didn't even want to think about retirement, or what would happen if they got sick, or in a car crash.

She'd traded the horrors of time travel and a madman for the horrors of the world. She couldn't lie to herself and pretend she didn't sometimes regret it. But only sometimes. There was enough that was fucking incredible about this world, about this life, that the regret would slink away every time. She had Max, and David, and Steph and Riley and her friends. She was good at things, and felt comfortable in her own skin. She liked this Chloe Price, this one version of her who'd been born from the maelstrom of other Chloes, forged from memories and regrets and a lot of time travel. She took a deep breath and sighed.

Her thinking was interrupted by the familiar sound of a camera clicking behind her. Max Price crouched at the end of the jetty by the sand, bundled up in a pea coat and scarf, the setting sun glinting off the ring on her finger as she held her old camera. A small rectangular photo printed out, and she took it and shook it around without a second thought.

Chloe reached for the picture and Max handed it to her with practiced ease. She recognized herself, her hair long and dyed black with an undercut, wearing her black coat and red scarf, her feet bare and white in the fading orange light.

"Not bad," she said, passing it back.

"I'll call it, Captain Bluebeard In Cognito."

"It seems my wife still can't come up with good names. I'm cursed."

Max slipped her hands under Chloe's arm, nestled herself closer. They both looked out into the waters behind him, the sun slipping ever downwards, burning bright orange.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Max asked, her voice quiet.

"I don't know, I could do another hour."

"No, I mean, Arcadia Bay. Honestly, I never thought I'd be back. For longer than a couple nights at least. It feels a little wrong. Like I don't deserve to be here."

"None of us fucking deserve anything. Maybe you don't, but you're doing good here. That's got to be…maybe not enough, but something." She passed Max the joint, and she took it for a moment. "Let's see how your exhibit does. Help David and Marisa around the house. Maybe my garage'll take off."

Max nodded, her head underneath Chloe's chin. "I think it will. So we're here for a bit then?"

"Yeah. For a little while at least."

They said nothing for a while. Chloe let her mind go blank. It was just the bay, and Max next to her, and the gentle sound of waves and the autumn wind. Two hearts beating.

A splash came from the water.

Max's voice. "Don't move, this'll be perfect!"

Chloe didn't move. She never wanted to move again. Beside her, Max felt solid and warm and alive. She wouldn't always be. She could die in a car crash on their drive to David's house. Another storm could come and wreck everything. She could fade out of time, falling between cracks, and Chloe would be left adrift again.

But for now, she was here, and beside her, and despite everything, Arcadia Bay was starting to come back to life. The people who made it what had it been were gone, or almost all of them. But new life would come here. The fires of California, the floods and riots to come, she could taste it all in that evening air. Somewhere, Mark Jefferson still lived, the devil brought back to Earth. Nothing was certain. Nothing was perfect.

Except this moment. She could find her utopia here, just for a little while.

The camera clicked.

They'd hang that picture in their home, next to all the others Max had taken to document Arcadia Bay's slow, struggling steps at another life.

Max and Chloe, caught in the golden hour, sitting on the stone jetty and holding hands. The orange sun blazing in the background, illuminating the enormous fin of a whale, breaking through the dark waters.