February 3, 2015
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

It all happens so fast.

I kept holding out hope that the wheels of bureaucracy would grind to some unexpected but not totally surprising halt, or that the request paperwork would just get lost in the system somewhere and eventually forgotten.

Instead, this seems to have been the one time when the universe decided everything should go smoothly and according to plan.

Doctor Morris had gotten the process started the day after Chloe had brought it up. I kind of suspect he and Chloe already had the paperwork ready to go and were just waiting until she'd had a chance to tell me. I try not to dwell on that possibility, though. It makes me feel like I was never a factor in her decision. Like talking to me was just another formality to be observed in the process.

Morris and one of his colleagues both wrote and submitted reports confirming the state of Chloe's condition, and he'd arranged for a psychiatrist from King County Mental Health Services to come in and verify her mental competence. She'd even listened patiently while a state-mandated councilor had stressed all of her other options, including palliative and hospice care.

Apparently, Chloe needs to be in enough pain that killing her is the best option, but not so much pain that she might not be thinking straight. Makes total sense, right?

After that, it was only a week before she made her official verbal request. She didn't even hesitate.

The mandated fifteen-day waiting period that had followed her first request had been torture. The entire time, I'd forced myself to put on a brave face and spent every hour of every day biting back the urge to try and talk Chloe out of it. I'd wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. To convince her she needed to hold on and keep fighting.

Then the waiting period came to an end, the final written request was submitted almost as soon as it did, and suddenly we were in the last forty-eight hours.

Even then, I kept harassing Doctor Morris with the same pleading questions. Were we totally sure that Chloe's condition was terminal? Couldn't there have been a mistake? Was there any treatment left to try, no matter how experimental or unorthodox? Anything at all?

And every time I did, despite his busy schedule, he'd listen patiently and answer each question in turn before confirming the horrible truth.

My poor, beloved Chloe was going to die. It was only a matter of time.

I don't know how, but the night before the final deadline Chloe somehow convinced me to go home and try to get some sleep. As if I could. Instead, all I'm able to do is lay there, staring at the bedroom ceiling, and it's two in the morning when I give up on even doing that.

I dress as silently as I can and creep down the stairs, intending to call a taxi to pick me up at the end of the street. I even plan on leaving a note for my parents, but when I walk into the kitchen I'm startled to find Dad already there, calmly nursing a cup of coffee like he's been waiting for me the whole time.

Maybe he has.

"Hey, sweetheart. Can't sleep?"

I shake my head silently.

"Me, either. And honestly, I figured you'd be down here sooner or later." Finishing his coffee, he places the empty mug in the sink and picks his car keys up off the counter. "C'mon. I'll drive you."

The streets of Seattle are practically empty and the ride to the hospital is a quick one. Unlike every other time Dad's given me a ride there, he doesn't make small talk or offer to stop for bagels. He just glances at me every now and then, a sad expression on his face, wordlessly offering his support.

I'm just as silent, and even manage to hold on to my composure right up until we get to the hospital entrance. I come to a slow stop, glaring at the building I've walked into countless times. I know that it's ridiculous to hate this place; it's just a building. It's not alive or aware of what I'm going through, and even if it were, this still wouldn't be its fault. That doesn't stop the anger that's coiling like a restless snake inside me, threatening to burst out.

"Max?" Dad's voice is careful; hesitant. He's come to a stop a few steps ahead of me and looks like he can't decide whether or not to come back. "Are yo-"

My enraged scream surprises me, cuts his question in half, and echoes between the hospital buildings as I unleash the most savage kick I can manage on a nearby garbage can. My most savage kick still isn't very savage, though. The can teeters for a second before tipping over unimpressively, just a few loose pieces of trash spilling out onto the grass.

"It's not fair!" I scream. "It's not fucking fair! Why is this happening?!"

Dad doesn't shush me, despite the hour, or try to offer any comforting words. He knows me better than that. He just waits patiently until I'm calm enough to go inside, then walks with me to the elevator. On the way, I silently reflect on the fact that someone standing outside the cancer center at nearly three AM and screaming about life's unfair cruelty apparently doesn't even warrant a call to campus security.

I stab at the elevator button without even looking, glare spitefully at the inside of the brushed metal doors as the car rises steadily, and soon we step out into a floor that I could probably navigate with my eyes closed. I don't recognize the first nurse I see, which is unusual. Whether or not I get along with them, I still know every nurse on this floor at least by their face, if not their name. She looks like she's about to try and get in my way, and I'm silently daring her to spout some shit about 'proper visiting hours' when an older woman in pink scrubs (Elaine, I'm pretty sure. Transferred from the ICU back in September) stops her. The two of them share a brief whispered conversation, then both women look at me sadly and wave me by.

I can still feel the snake writhing in my gut and, for a moment, I'm too afraid to go into Chloe's room. I don't want my final hours with the love of my life to be ruined by spite. Then I gently push the door open, my eyes fall on the sleeping figure inside, and the anger drains right out of me. All it leaves behind is a dull and hollow feeling that's so much more familiar than it has any right to be.

Chloe's always been a little pale and, back before all of this, I'd been jealous of her creamy smooth complexion. Now she's lost nearly all color; she looks practically translucent, whiter than the sheets she's laying on. Her skin is drawn tight over her bones, giving her a hauntingly skeletal look. I realize, with no small amount of horror, that she could almost be mistaken for a corpse. It's only the occasional flick of her tongue against her chapped lips, the subtle twitch of her eyes beneath her eyelids, and the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest that prove otherwise.

I don't realize I'm still standing in the doorway until I feel Dad's hand come to rest on my shoulder. "She...she looks like she's...like she's already..."

"I know, honey."

There's something Dad knows that I don't, but only because I couldn't bear to know myself. He'd asked Doctor Morris for it and has been holding on to it until I was ready.

I'm not ready – I'll never, ever be ready – but the question escapes my lips anyway. "When...when does...?"

I don't finish asking, but I don't have to. He knew this was coming. "Doctor Morris said that the 48-hour waiting period for the prescription is up at eight am." He looks at Chloe and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "After that, it's up to her."

It feels like the air has been sucked right out of my lungs. My knees buckle and I almost fall before Dad catches me and guides me to the chair next to Chloe's bed. I want to wake her up, to hear her voice and convince myself that she's going to recover, but a part of me is afraid that she'll somehow crumble into dust if I even touch her. Instead, I just settle into the chair (which all but has my name on it by now) to wait for her.

"Is there anything I can..." Dad trails off before he can finish the question.

"No," I answer flatly. "I'm fine here."

He nods once, leaving me to my vigil. The sounds of the hospital floor fade into the distance as I sit quietly, and it isn't long before I feel sleep starting to pull at me. I fight back, playing tug-of-war with my own consciousness. Every few minutes my head will start to dip forward, then my entire body jerks as I force myself to stay awake. Every time, I bolt upright and look around the room, secretly hoping that this has all been one big nightmare. There's nothing I want more than to wake up at home and see Chloe smirking down at me, ready to tease me for falling asleep in a chair instead of coming up to bed.

Then I'll look at the bed beside me, be forced to accept reality, and the cycle starts all over again.

As the hours pass, the floor grows quiet. There's only a handful of staff that works the early morning hours in the oncology ward, and the other patients were either asleep or too weak to make much noise. At some point, one of the nurses leans into the room and dims the lights. Then, as I'm silently counting each of Chloe's shallow breaths, I finally doze off.

I get some sleep, but I definitely don't get any rest; I keep getting thrown from one vivid and confusing dream to the next. In one, I'm sitting on a beach with Kate, drinking tea and watching an eclipse over the water. In another, I'm cowering in the Two Whales diner, surrounded by hauntingly familiar faces as the storm descends on us.

The worst is finding myself back in the Dark Room. But this time it's Chloe that's tied to that godforsaken chair while Jefferson takes his pictures, and there isn't a thing I can do to save her.

It's the faint sound of rustling sheets that finally jerks me awake, and rather than looking around the room for the source my gaze goes immediately to the bed. Chloe is struggling to lift her eyelids, and her once crystal-blue eyes are cloudy as they slowly focus on me.

"Hey, beautiful," she whispers with a soft smile, her voice only slightly muffled by her oxygen mask. "You're here."

"Of course I am." Rising from the chair, I ignore the uncomfortable series of pops in my back and move to sit on the bed. "Where else would I be?"

"Look at you." The frown on Chloe's face makes me wonder how tired I look. "Have you been sleeping?"

"I'm fine, Chloe."

"Max, you need to..." She's briefly overwhelmed by a wet, hacking cough. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"You're one to talk," I glance at Chloe's hand and try not to think about how frail it looks.

She sighs and her smile turns weary. "Do I look as shitty as I feel? Don't bullshit me, Caulfield."

"You look beautiful."

Chloe lets out a soft chuff of laughter. "Still a crap liar."

The regret in that moment, the remorse, threatens to overwhelm me. For a moment, I'm sure that I'm going to be sick. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I...I should have done more."

"Hey, you cut that out." Chloe shakes her head. "This isn't your fault, Max. I'm the dumb bitch who started smoking to piss off her mom."

"That's my fault, though." I hate how bitter I sound. "You never would've started if I hadn't left you."

"Max, that wasn't..."

"I know." I don't want to go down that old road again. Not today. "They told me that...that in the morning you..." Try as I might, I can't quite keep my voice steady. "That you get to decide when."

"Yeah." Chloe offers a weak nod. "Hey, do you have your journal with you?"

"Um, I think so?" I reach down to rummage through the messenger bag I barely remember picking up as I left the house. I lost my old journal with everything else I'd taken with me to Blackwell, and after the two of us had left the ruined town behind, Chloe had tried to pull me out of my semi-catatonic state by buying me a thick spiral notebook from a gas station not far outside Arcadia Bay.

I barely remember her giving it to me; it sort of feels like it's always been there.

I find it tucked between my ratty old wool scarf and the Surface tablet my parents had given me for Christmas, along with a card that none-too-subtly reminded me to register for my spring semester classes. "Got it."

"Would you..." Chloe smiles, a little shyly. "Could you read me something from it? Something about us?"

It's a surprising request, but I don't think I could deny her anything she asked for today. "Oh. Y-yeah, sure."

Flipping through the pages, I'm still trying to pick an entry when Chloe's eyes light up. "Ooh...go back. Is that from right after Thanksgiving? Read that one."

"What?" I instinctively pull the journal close to my chest. "No!"

"Yes."

"Chloe," I hiss, feeling my cheeks grow warm. "I am not reading this one out loud. Someone might hear."

"Pleeeeease?" she pleads softly, and my resolve crumbles in an instant.

"Fine. But it's getting the suitable-for-all-audiences treatment." Lowering the book back into my lap, I begin softly reading aloud. "I never would have thought Chloe could be such a romantic. She took me out to dinner tonight and then we went for a walk down by the waterfront. We actually got to go up in that giant ferris wheel on Pier 57. The whole thing is already covered in Christmas lights and there was a huge line up, but she must have bribed someone because we walked right to the front of the line."

Chloe's eyes still have a little twinkle left in them, but she admits nothing.

"The view was amazing, and when we got to the top she..." I pause, blinking back tears. "...she kissed me and told me she loves me more than she's ever loved anyone in her whole life."

"Still do," Chloe whispers, weakly squeezing my hand and bringing the smile back to my face.

"Mom and dad were still out when we got home, so Chloe led us upstairs and we...uh..." I stumble, my blush deepening as I skip over the next three paragraphs. "It was all so amazing, and I've never felt so close to her."

"Damn right," she laughs softly. "I hella rocked your world, Caulfield."

"Yeah, babe. Yeah, you did."

"Still can't believe we were together for, like, a whole month and managed to keep things PG," Chloe muses, rolling her eyes lightly as she settles a little deeper into the blankets. "Read me another one."

"Okay. Let's see..." I flip through the pages, then one catches my eye and I grin. "We watched the New Year's Eve celebration in Times Square on TV tonight, and right at midnight Chloe made some joke about balls dropping. I didn't hear it all, but Mom looked super shocked and Dad laughed so hard that champagne came out his nose." I lower the journal, chuckling. "I remember that. It was so funny."

"Right? Your mom teased him about it for, like, a week." Chloe laughs a little louder, then lets out a pained whimper and subtly presses her self-medicate button. The machine beside her bed chirps softly, then emits a nearly inaudible hiss as it administers a shot of morphine. A moment later, the tension bleeds out of her features and she relaxes again.

"You okay?" I don't care how pointless the question is.

"M'fine. Keep going."

I hesitate for a second, then look back at the journal. "Oh, jeez..."

"What?"

"Remember this one?" I tap the page. "I finally had my first tattoo session today. I flinched a little when the needle first touched my skin and a girl getting tattooed in the next chair over called me a wuss. Chloe told her to shut her mouth and go back to worrying about how to explain her new tramp stamp to her mom. Both artists laughed and the girl stormed out with her tattoo half-finished. Chloe Price, you're my hero!"

"Hey, that bitch had it coming. No one messes with my honey."

"Oh, that reminds me of another one." I rapidly flip through the pages until I find the entry I'm looking for. "Last night was Chloe's twentieth birthday pub crawl spectacular. We went all over Vancouver with a bunch of other people from the hostel and everyone had a great time – especially her. She looks so carefree and every time I see her smile I think I fall in love with her a little more." I look up to give Chloe a playful glare. "But as much as I love her, if she doesn't stop telling people I'm her 'hot teenage honey' I'm gonna make her sleep in the guest room."

"Oh my god, I remember that. You actually tried once, too," she laughs softly. "You caved after half an hour."

"Yeah, well... I wanted Chloe-cuddles."

The hours drift by as the two of us recount one memory after another, laughing together and barely noticing when the eastern sky begins to brighten. It isn't until a soft knock pierces our little bubble that we look up to see Doctor Morris standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Max. Good morning, Chloe."

I don't respond, but Chloe somehow musters up her old cocky grin. "What's up, Doc?"

He offers her a hesitant smile in return. "I'm genuinely sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know that everything is ready. You just need to let me know when you'd like to proceed."

"Right." Chloe nods, her grin slipping away as fast as it appeared. "Yeah."

"There's no rush," he hurries to add. "I've cleared my entire schedule, so you take just as long as you need."

"Nope." She shakes her head and I feel my stomach threaten to turn inside out. "No time like the present."

"Are...are you sure?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Doc," she insists, wincing as she shifts her weight. "Waiting won't change anything."

"Well, if that's what you want." He glances around the otherwise empty room. "There isn't anyone else you'd like to have here?"

"No. Just Max." Chloe turns to me. "I wrote some letters. For David and your parents and some others. They're in the drawer. You'll get them to the right people?"

"Of course I will." It's Chloe's last request. I'd walk to the ends of the earth and back if she asked me to. "You can count on me."

"I know I can," she says with an adoring smile I can barely endure. "Partners to the end, right?"

"Always," I whisper. Turning to Morris, I try to find the right words for one more question I've been too afraid to ask. "So...um...how does this...?"

He seems to understand, but glances to Chloe - who nods – before he responds. "I'll be administering three separate drugs; a sedative, a barbiturate, and a neuromuscular blocker."

"Oh." I've got no idea what that means, but it isn't especially comforting. "And h-how long will it...?

"About ten minutes," he says gently, then adds. "but the sedative will put her to sleep in about five."

Five minutes. The answer hits me like a kick in the stomach. This is my last five minutes with Chloe. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

"Max." It isn't until I feel Chloe's hand brush my cheek that I realize how heavily I'm breathing. Her skin feels almost brittle, as though she might crumble at any moment. "Please look at me, sweetheart."

"I..." I put my hand over hers and squeeze as tightly as I dare. "I'm scared."

"I know. It'll be okay. Just keep your eyes on me." Chloe looks away just long enough to give Morris a nod. Though I try so hard to keep my gaze fixed on Chloe, I can still see his movements from the corner of my eye. I only narrowly fight back the urge to scream as he silently administers the first injection.

"Thank you for coming back, Max. For finding me again. For being the best thing that ever happened to me."

I force the lump in my throat down and try to smile. "I'm not so great. A hottie like you probably could've done way better."

"Never." Chloe's eyes flash intensely, just for a second, and she shakes her head. "Not if I had a hundred years to look."

Wordlessly, I kiss the frail hand clasped in my own and barely hold back a shudder at how cold and lifeless it feels. For a moment, I imagine I can almost feel the dark, malignant thing inside her, devouring her piece by piece, and I'm suddenly filled with a blazing hatred like nothing I've ever known.

Hatred for everyone and everything in existence. For the disease that has been killing Chloe, and for the doctor who's killing her now. For whatever spirit or god or demon cursed me with the ability to go back in time, but not far enough to save her. For my own helplessness, for Chloe's stubbornness, and for the terrible and inescapable truth that allowing the love of my life to die on her own terms is the right thing to do.

Then, just as quickly as it flares, the hatred burns away. All it leaves behind is anguish and I let out a choked sob.

Chloe's gaze begins shifting in and out. "Shh...this isn't your fault, Max."

"I should have done more."

"Don't say that. You've made me so happy. I don't regret a second we had together."

"Neither do I, but..."

"But nothing lasts forever." Chloe whispers. Her voice is so small.

"I can't." I shake my head. "I..."

"Hey." With great effort, Chloe brings her eyes back into focus. "I love you, Max Caulfield."

"I love you, too, Chloe. Forever."

She gives me one final, sweet smile as her eyelids flutter closed.

I lay my head down on her chest, my tears soaking into the blanket as Chloe's hand comes to rest on my hair. As each breath comes a little more shallowly than the one before, the room seems to fall away and I can almost see Chloe standing in front of me, as beautiful as the day we'd been reunited. There's a wide, beaming smile on her face, even as the heart beneath my ear begins to weaken.

As it gives its last faltering beats and her hand falls away from my hair, I imagine I can see Chloe giving me that cheeky wink I've always loved.

Then the vision fades, her heart goes still, and there's nothing left to see.