Summary: Max, Chloe, and Rachel reach the end of their journey in LA, but their lives together are just beginning.

Author's Note: "Amber" by koethekothe lyrics used with permission.

Author's Note: I started this fic three days after Love is Strange was released because I absolutely fell in love with the Rachel and Max depicted in the game. It has been three years since then, and Love is Strange has continued to inspire me and my writing. When I got started writing fan fiction, I was only really into making edgy stories that ended tragically because I couldn't imagine them ending any other way, and this was my first serious attempt at not only making a happy ending, but a happy story. A story where these kids find some peace. And while I'm hardly the only person who has written this by now, I hope I helped give you that as well.

This is the final chapter of Gold Can Stay, but it's not the end for Max, Rachel, and Chloe - not this time. I've written other Love is Strange stories about them since and likely will in the future. If you'd like to see more Kate Marsh and Dana ward in particular, I might recommend checking out Operation: Wardmarsh and "Merry Christmas from the Price Residence", set in the future of this same story. Life is Strange may not really hold my heart anymore, but many of Blackwell's students continue to be my favorite characters of all time, and I'm not likely to stop writing anytime soon.

Please enjoy the epilogue, and if you'd ever like to talk to me about this story or Love is Strange, you can find me on Tumblr as meditatemoremedicateless, on Ao3 as DevinTowerwood, or just leave a review.

It's been a pleasure.

My first time seeing L.A. is . . . not impressive.

We arrive about half an hour before rush hour, but even so, there is traffic into and throughout the city. We drive by an untold number of small businesses and chains until the whole city sort of blurs together. It was like this for me in Seattle too, at first, but without a place to get settled, the feeling never quite fades. The plan is to sleep parked near the beach somewhere tonight, so the three of us agree to eat something and make our way to Santa Monica Pier.

The Pier has all sorts of stuff - a small amusement park and an arcade, for starters - but we don't have much time before closing. Around sunset, Rachel grabs my hand and waves at Chloe, dragging me along swiftly to the Ferris Wheel.

It is sunset by the time the ride starts, and Rachel wastes no time taking my hand and resting her head against my shoulder.

"Tired?"

She nods, nuzzling me. "All this driving's got me wiped. If there's one thing Arcadia Bay's got up on LA it's got to be the time spent cooking in a pickup truck waiting for the car ahead of you to move ten feet."

I let go of her hand so I can wrap my arm around her instead.

"Yeah, you're right. That's the only thing Arcadia Bay's got going for it."

"Yep," Rachel replies, nodding even more emphatically. "Only thing."

I stroke her hair and she leans on me even more, like a cat pressing against my leg.

I ask her, "So, what's it like being back in LA? Is your strength returning? Do you like Fallout Boy again?"

"1) Yes and 2) I never stopped."

She sits up straight, though still so close to me I can keep my arm around her. We're at the height of the wheel and her face turns wistful.

She says, "It's like . . . watching a movie trailer. Being back here on an adventure is more fun than it will really be when I move here, I know that. It's going to be really hard, even with a job to get me started. But all the same, I can't help but be excited to return. To be back home."

Even though I've never lived in L.A., I know what she means. Home is waiting for us here - both the new and different, and the intimately familiar. It's the future.

"I can't wait for a holiday to come and visit you," I say, squeezing her shoulder.

Rachel laughs, warm and sweet. "I haven't even left yet!" she giggles, waving it off. After a beat, though, she says, "By the way, I'm going to get a queen-sized bed, so when you do visit, we can sleep together comfortably. I'm looking forward to more motel-style comfort instead of fighting you for my covers."

I dodge the taunt with an, "Aww, you're sweet," and kiss her cheek. She turns to me for another kiss, long and gentle, and her giggling softens to silence.

A minute later, our foreheads resting together, I say softly, "Be my girlfriend." I had planned to ask, and ask all cute like 'Can I be your girlfriend,' but in the moment I just want to have her, to know that she's choosing me like I'm choosing her.

"Okay," she whispers back, and the instant I see her crack a smile, I kiss her again.

The kissing continues for a long time, my self-consciousness gradually fading away to press kisses to her neck and collarbone. Once we finally pull away to take a breather, I feel the need to blurt out, "Just so, um, you know - I've always wanted to have sex on a Ferris wheel. Not this one specifically, but, um -"

My sentence quickly mutates into meaningless mumbling as Rachel's hand slides from my knee along the inside of my thigh. That draws out a smirk on her face, and she leans close to me like she's going to start kissing my neck. I'm steeling myself against turning into just a puddle of a person when she whispers, strangely husky, "Oh yeah?" right against my ear.

I'm still racing to figure out how to deal with very suddenly wanting to have sex on this Ferris Wheel when the ride stops with us half-way down. The ride is over. It's time to get off go.

Rachel kisses my cheek and leans back as if we were just casually avoiding the ride. "I'll have to bring you back here sometime then, huh?"

I don't think I manage a coherent response before it's time to get off the ride.

We spend most of the next day at a tattoo parlor. Even though I promised Rachel that this is what I wanted to do to celebrate, I hadn't been all that into tattoos until I moved back to Arcadia Bay. Plus, it hasn't even been a month since it became legal for me to get a tattoo!

Despite all of that, I'm the first one to decide on a design I like. I'd been sketching out different deer over the past week, but after I do a few tweaks, I show it to the artist and she assures me it'll be easy enough to do.

I barely bleed, which I take to be a good sign, even if it hurts like hell. I get a small doe on my right shoulder blade, looking up at three stars in the sky. If Chloe and Rachel get why I added the stars, at least they don't say anything about it. Even I think it's a little cheesy.

Chloe's much faster about making up a design than Rachel, and she's in right after me. She shows three designs to the artist, but after mulling it over (and being egged on by Rachel), she decides to get all three design on her forearm - a raven, a blue jay, and a butterfly. She insists she has a good reason for each of them but refuses to explain to anyone 'who isn't her wife' so Rachel and I are just left googling them to get an idea.

Typical of Chloe, the designs are interwoven and complex, so she only gets the outline done, but even that takes long enough that Rachel is finally able to get an idea of what she wants.

Rachel had a bunch of different designs to start with, but once things got narrowed down to animal themes, she started getting creative. She didn't show us the final design (that she pulled off the internet) and insisted we'd just have to find out once it was taking shape.

I don't know why, but I kind of assumed Rachel would be stoic when getting her tattoo - the dragon wrapped around her calf was so large, I figured she must just be immune to the needle. But as it turns out, she's actually a baby about it. A few minutes after they start work on her shoulder, though, she asks me to sit next to her and hold her hand so she'll stay still. She practically crushes my hand over the next hour, but I can't say I mind being relied on for something like this. For a first date as girlfriends . . . it's pretty nice.

Chloe and I take guesses every few minutes at what the design is as soon as we see it has a wing, but since we both wouldn't stop guessing 'Sphinx' we totally missed the griffin until the head was complete.

We emerge that evening from the parlor looking like we got the shit beat out of us and with so little money I need to text my Mom to make sure we'll have food on the trip back to Arcadia Bay, but it's worth it.

I run into Victoria for the first time the day after we arrive home in the shower room before classes start. She spits toothpaste out in the sink and wipes her mouth the second she sees me, and I brace myself for whatever stinging witticism she has ready for me.

She just says, "You burn really bad, Caulfield."

That's . . . fair. I shrug. "I wasn't really born with the sun in mind, I guess."

I'm not really used to seeing her this early, before all the makeup and styled hair. She looks gaunt, but softer. Almost approachable. Almost.

"How was your trip?"

I smile as best I can this early in the morning, scratching the back of my head. I should have brought my bracelets so I'd have something to fidget with during a conversation.

"It was a great time, I think. I got a lot of really great photos and, I mean, it was my first time in California for anything but a stop in LAX. It's beautiful down there."

She shrugs. "If you like the semi-desert, I guess." If it's meant to be cutting, she doesn't put the usual amount of work into making it sound harsh. So much of her usual spite looks drained away - that, or I'm just really off-guard seeing her without makeup.

I'm waiting to go into the shower and she's waiting to leave, but neither of us actually moves to end the conversation. Instead, we stand there in awkward silence for a moment.

Finally, she says, "I actually . . . saw some of what you posted on Instagram. They were, in fact, great shots. Even the candid ones," she rolls her eyes on the word 'candid', but I think she just means 'pictures of Rachel.'

"Thanks," I reply, smile coming a little easier this time. "Have you heard back about your submission to that gallery?"

"Not yet," she says, shaking her head. Then, settling her stare on me, "But don't get too comfortable. Even if I don't make this one, there will be another. I'm going to come out on top once all is said and done this year."

Even if she's trying to be intimidating, the whole thing feels a little too shonen for me to be cowed. "We'll see about that," I reply.

Satisfaction coats her face, and she finally grabs her shower caddy and goes to leave. Just as she reaches the door, she gives a little back-handed wave and says, "Mazel tov, by the way," and is gone before I can say anything back.

There are many firsts on Tuesday, December 24, when Rachel and I sneak off before a Christmas party with her dad and buddies from his band. It's a crisp, cold afternoon, sunset already fast approaching before it's even hit 5pm, and I hope I'll at least have a few minutes of light for photos by the time we reach the light house.

Rachel pauses when we reach the top of the path, and she drops my hand as I pull away.

"How . . . how did that get here?" She asks, pointing at the lighthouse door where my guitar case sits.

"Trickery," I offer, and she follows me cautiously.

"I thought we were here to take photos," Rachel says, eyes narrows with suspicion, arms crossed over her body. She takes a seat on one of the rocks surrounding the fire pit, and I sit across from her, pulling my guitar from the case.

"Oh, we are. I just didn't say what of."

"What of, then?" Rachel asks, even more suspicious now.

"You. But I have something for you first."

"What is it?" she asks, edging into playful hostility. "Some sort of . . . romantic trick? A sneak attack? 'Hey there Delilah?'"

"Close, and don't think I didn't consider playing that song. But no. I, uh. I wrote something for you."

Rachel's face drops into sudden horror. "You didn't."

"I did."

"Max," she whines, "that's way too good of a gift. I'll - I don't know, cry or something."

"Babe," I begin. It works like a charm, leaving her doe-eyed, if still grumpy. "Please let me play my song for you."

She pouts, pulling her legs up close to her torso so she can rest her hands and head on her knees. "Fine."

She looks nervous, and it makes me want to kiss her, but I can't give in yet. Rachel's so beautiful and sweet that it's hard to ignore, but at the very least, I can channel my frustration at not touching her this very instant into playing.

I strum the keys and tune the guitar one last time, and then begin.

Ashes to the ground
Fall the wrong way round
World upside down
I know I know

Home a distant time
Smoke ore clearer skies
Everybody lies
I know I know

In every way you do
More than I could say you knew
And life is so strange it's true
But so are you

She sits eerily still, eyes trained on me. There's no smile or anything like I expected, but soon she buries her face into her legs with her eyes closed. I don't know what to make of that, but I keep playing.

I will play the game
I will take the blame
I will break the same
I know I know

In every way you do
More than I could say you knew
And life is so strange it's true
But so are you

Ashes to the ground
Fall the wrong way round
I will let you down
I know I know

In every pause you knew
Take my breath away, you do
And life is so strange it's true
But so are you

It's not until the song is over that I can finally hear what I was missing. Softly, softly Rachel cries, and as soon as I hear it, I drop the guitar along the side of a rock. She looks up as I approach, wiping the tears off her face.

"Baby - baby what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Rachel looks up at me, taking a few seconds while she struggles for words. After a second, she forfeits even that, and reaches up, cupping my face with her hands, pulling me down into a kiss.

"I - I told you I'd cry, dammit." She sniffles as we rest our heads together.

A feeling of awe fills my chest, warm and radiant. Not as energetic as electricity, but just as intense. Something new.

"I love you," she whispers.

It's the first time. And not for a second do I doubt it.

It's the first time, and I'm shaking. The cold wind from the light house makes a good excuse, but just the process of peeling off my clothes in front of her is what really makes me tremble. I haven't been topless in front of someone since I was a child, and the feeling of Rachel's hands on my sides are something totally new. She strokes my back while we kiss until the shivering stops, although it comes back in bursts every time she finds a sensitive spot on my skin with her hands or mouth.

That feeling of wonder refuses to leave, and I'm enveloped in it. I've never had what I'd call a 'religious experience,' but if I were to imagine a feeling of holiness, it would be this.

I don't know how many times I say 'I love you,' but it's too many to count.

The weeks after Rachel leaves are the loneliest I've had since I moved to Seattle, and Chloe is right there with me. We try to keep up our regular hang-outs, and when that fails, we try reverting to old habits. After about an hour of doodling on scraps of paper (and Chloe's bedroom floor) with songs autoplaying from her computer, a familiar track comes on. She sighs seconds into the song and rolls onto her back, and I follow suit a moment after.

"Rachel's alarm?"

She nods, "Yeah," patting at her vest pocket for a second. "God that makes me want a cigarette."

"Out?" I ask, reaching up towards the ceiling. The bracelet Rachel made for me isn't as brilliant in the dark of Chloe's room, but it's still pretty.

Rachel lifts her hand up as well. She's wearing a blue and white bracelet I feel like I haven't seen in a long time, or like I've only seen it in old photographs.

"I'm trying to quit, actually."

"Oh, for real?" I roll on my side, and Chloe drops her hand back onto her chest.

"Yeah. I mean, that stuff will kill ya, you know."

I place my hand on top of hers, more than a little happy and very lonely. "Proud of you."

Chloe doesn't respond; all she does is close her eyes and smile, waiting for the song to finish playing.

Anon asked: if youre cis why are you talking about trans issues on the internet. these arent about you. stop being a transphobe and shut the fuck up.

Every part of that makes my blood boil, and I'm not entirely sure why. I just know to the core of my being that they're wrong, even though I've expressed similar sentiments before. I don't particularly care what cis people have to say about trans issues online. But I've thought about this so much, I know it's not just something I made up on the spot. Is that what's really pissing me off, or is it . . .

noirangel: look, I get that you have good intentions behind being mean to me on Tumblr, but I'm going to need you to stop. I provided sources where I could, and drew from the experiences of trans people I know, including myself, wherever I couldn't. I'm not shutting up because these are my real, lived experiences, as well as those of people around me, and I don't appreciate this shit in my ask box just because you want me to be quiet.
Please fuck off.

Holy shit. I said it. I really said it.

I'm not sure what to do next. I just typed it out online - can I just leave it like that? Does saying it one time make it true? How do I really know I'm trans?

This deteriorates quickly while I rapidly refresh my blog, waiting to see if there's any reaction to what I said. The first response I get is just a like, but even that feels like a breath of fresh air. The first person to see this, at least, didn't reject me. That's something. But there's someone I'm a little more concerned about than random people on the internet.

Max: hey hon, i've got kind of a weird question.
Max: do you think you would still be interested in me even if I weren't a girl?

I expect a lengthy pause, maybe lots of suspicious questions.

Instead, Rachel responds after about thirty seconds with:

Rachel: yeah babe lol
Rachel: ur hot and i love you
Rachel: why?

God. God, I love her.

Max: haha I was just wondering.
Max: I love you too ^^

I drop my phone onto my chest and let out a sigh of relief. That's not quite coming out just yet, but the security for one day is all I need right now.

Our first fight wasn't something I expected at all - I hadn't even realized at first we were having it. It clicked right around,

Me: Do you seriously think I'm cheating on you? Chloe and I are your best friends Rachel, we wouldn't just choose to blow everything up just because you're living away.

Rachel: I know, and I'm not saying that. And it's not like I think you would have chose to do anything, but things happen, you know? Maybe just one time when she was drunk or - or something.

Me: But we seriously didn't.

Rachel: I - o-okay. Fine. If you say so.

Me: Rachel.

Rachel: What, Max?

Me: Look, I get where you're coming from, but I'm seriously capable of making choices around these things. I don't just fall into romantic or sexual situations by pure accident - it doesn't really work for me that way. And if I thought something were going to happen between me and Chloe, I'd talk to you about it. Because I seriously, really wouldn't want to blow up our relationship because my relationship with Chloe has been changing.

Rachel: Has it?

Me: What?

Rachel: . . . been changing.

Me: Oh my god! No! Because I made conscious decisions against it. Please trust me.

Rachel:

Rachel: . . . you're right

Me: Hon, are you crying?

Rachel: Um . . . yeah, sorry, a little. It just, um.

Rachel: Sorry. I just realized none of this shit is about you, exactly. I'm expecting a lot of my own mistakes out of you and that's - that's not fair.

Me: What do you mean?

Rachel: I don't think I've ever been very . . . uh . . . forthcoming with you about what my and Chloe's relationship was like before you came back to Arcadia Bay.

Rachel: We, um . . . so. We were dating, I guess. We never made it super clear, but it was definitely a romantic thing.

Rachel: I loved her.

Me: I know.

Rachel: Did Chloe tell you?

Me: No. Do you remember that night in the motel in San Francisco, right before we started dating?

Rachel: No? Wait, yeah. Shit. Did you hear us talking?

Me: Yep.

Rachel: Well, fuck.

Rachel: Well, yeah. We were together. But we weren't very good at it. I know Chloe blames herself a lot for how it all fell apart, but if we're being honest, I think I was sabotaging it from the start. Chloe loved me so much and it really scared me - like I wasn't worthy of it or I'd mess it all up. Or something. So I made . . . sure of it. And I cheated on her. A lot. And I'd tell myself it was accidental, or that we weren't officially together so it didn't really count, and, just, stupid stuff like that.

Me: That's . . . pretty messed up, sweetie. But I think I get it.

Rachel: Yeah . . . you remember Frank?

Me: Your ex?

Rachel: Yeah. I started seeing him while Chloe and I were still together. She never actually figured out who I was with, but once she realized I'd cheated on her, she blew up. And things were a total mess for a while, until I stopped seeing Frank and put things back together. And that's . . . right around when you moved back. And . . . we just never really talked out everything that happened.

Me: That . . . makes my first year back make a lot more sense.

Rachel: Yeah.

Me: And to be clear, I think you really messed up.

Rachel: I know.

Me: But I know Chloe doesn't hate you for it, and I don't hate you for it. But I know she's confused and hurt, still. She loves you.

Rachel: I know.

Me: I love you, too.

Rachel: I love you, too, hon. And . . . I. I miss you.

Me: I miss you, too.

Rachel: I miss Chloe too. Not just right now but . . . these past two years. Ever since you came back, it's felt like she's had eyes only for you, and I've been stupid jealous. It made being friends with you complicated, in the beginning. For a lot of reasons.

Me: I can definitely understand that. I'm not mad. We found our own rhythm - eventually.

Rachel: Ha! Just in time, too.

Rachel: Please don't tell Chloe that I miss her. I want to work things out, but it's still too . . .

Rachel: I'm still not ready.

Me: I won't say anything, I swear.

Rachel: You swear?

Me: I swear! I just said so.

Rachel: Okay. I love you. I'm sorry I dragged you down into all of my feelings like this. You're not me.

Me: I love you too. And you're not who you used to be either, Rachel.

Me: Let's . . . in the future, when something like this comes up, let's just talk, okay? I know things between the three of us are complicated, but I think we can make it work. I super believe in us.

Rachel: We're star-crossed, huh?

Me: Totally, actually bound by celestial forces.

Rachel: Even if we weren't, I'd still choose you, you know.

Me: You sap. I love you.

Rachel: I love you, too.

Our graduation is out on the football field across from the main school buildings, with about 100 chairs set out for students and faculty while families sit on the bleachers. It's uncomfortably hot, and most of the students are actively shading themselves with their mortarboard if they think they can get away from it.

Principal Wells clears his throat and says, "And now, we'll be hearing from our Salutatorian, Kate Marsh."

Kate graduates as our Salutatorian thanks to her taking 1 less AP class than Warren, and her speech is the one I'm really interested in hearing. Not that Warren's wasn't good exactly, it's just that he had me look it over a half-dozen times because "you're good at English" even though I scraped by the minimum GPA for college acceptance. Kate has been guarding the content of her speech carefully for months, but knowing her, she probably outlined its entire structure and theme months ahead of time before submitting a totally different speech a few weeks ago.

Kate walks slowly up to the podium, although she and the other students giving speeches are seated only a few paces back from it. She takes a few seconds to look at the paper with her speech, looks up at the audience, takes a deep breath, and smiles.

"I'd first like to say thank you - thank you to Blackwell Academy's staff and faculty, for the exceptional education and facilities you provided to us as students; thank you to my classmates for making this school the most challenging and rewarding year of my life; thank you to my family for supporting me this year and every year until now; and thank you to my friends for making Blackwell my home away from home.

I would like to speak frankly about my high school career. When I say it was challenging and rewarding, I do not mean that just intellectually, or, as those of you who have been through high school might say, socially. I've suffered from depression for many years, most acutely since I entered high school. It wasn't that I was bullied or had exceptional struggles in my life; my brain just ticks a little differently than others. When I came to Blackwell Academy, I lost the familiar things that kept me standing, and even with the excellent instruction available to me here, I couldn't imagine getting through this school year. I guess you could say it was a dark time for me.

But there was light here, and it reached me. My teachers were a light - they treated me with kindness and dignity, and helped me continue my work even when there were days I couldn't make it out of bed. My friends were a light - they stood by me, listened to me, supported me, and loved me. My faith, which had never connected closely with my school life before I came here, was a light I shared with many people, some of whom had the same background as me, but most did not. All of these lights showed me the way forward, even when it was slow and stumbling."

Kate pauses, as her voice is shaking too much to speak coherently. She takes two deep breaths, and continues.

"The kindness I was shown as a student at Blackwell was the most meaningful thing I found here. It gave me hope. Hope not necessarily that I would get better - I do not know if I will ever simply 'get better' from depression - but hope in kindness's power to shine a light, to cast out the dark. To make the world better, even on the smallest scale.

I cannot guarantee that this is what we all found here - our senior years were nothing if not messy, complicated, and different. But I know that this light is precious, and that I will take it with me from this place. It will continue to guide me forward, and I hope that I can be a light for others through kindness and compassion. I want to help make a world where there is always a light there - that if you reach out, there will be happiness waiting for you. I won't be alone for trying. I know that, at least. And a few other things, as I did manage to do pretty OK in school by the end."

Victoria is sitting two seats down from me, and I think she's the only person who doesn't laugh at that. She's made-up, flawless, and sad. We never really became close, and right now, I regret that. I think it's easy to regret the things you did or could have done at the end of the year.

I wonder what Victoria regrets.

"This really has been the most rewarding year of my life, but I think the best one is still to come. Thank you."

Kate bows her head for a moment at the audience as the class and families erupt into applause, then walks away from the podium.

It's some time still until we all throw our hats in the air to conclude the ceremony, but no sooner has mine gone flying than I'm out of the row of chairs and running straight towards her.

"KATE!"

"MAX!"

She holds her arms open and just sinks the impact as I barrel into her, doing my best to crush her with a hug. Luckily for us both, my upper body strength is pretty pathetic.

"You're amazing!"

"No, you're amazing!" she yells right back even though we're 0 inches apart. "And thank you!"

"NO, THANK YOU! That was such a good speech and-"

She shakes her head. "No, come on, weren't you listening?" She drops her hands from around me and takes my hands. "Thank you. Seriously. I love you."

I beam, and squeeze her hands. "Am I your light?"

"Yeah," she answers without hesitation, and I blush.

"Oh, shit, um, I was teasing you, I thought you would say something witty and now I'm, uh-"

She's pleased, wiggling a little bit at my discomfort. "C'mon, say you love me back; I'm like, super anxious right now."

"I love you. You're the best." It feels so good to say that, but I'm doing my best to not fall in love with her at such an inopportune moment.

"Second best, but I think that's probably good enough," she says, pulling me back into a hug. "Stay in touch, okay? No getting so distracted with LA you forget about me."

"I could never, Kate Marsh."

It's some months later that I come home from class to find Chloe sitting on the couch at our new apartment, watching How It's Made with the volume about as low as it can go while still being audible.

"Hey Chloe," I greet her, dumping my backpack near the door.

She turns and waves, only mouthing a 'hello.' Curious, I walk over to find Rachel asleep on the couch with her head in Chloe's lap, curled up so she can fit.

"Oh, there's my beautiful girl," I croon, crouching down in front of them and stroking Rachel's hair. She stirs at the touch, but does not wake up.

"She fell asleep like an hour ago; I've been too scared to move her, like a cat," Chloe whispers.

"I understand."

A minute passes while I pet Rachel and Chloe idly strokes her arm with her thumb, and even though I'm exhausted from the day, I feel light.

"I'm so fucking happy." I sit cross-legged in front of the couch, no intentions of stopping what I'm doing anytime soon.

"Good day at class?"

I shake my head. "Mediocre day. But my life is . . . well. I kind of love it."

Chloe doesn't say anything, only closes her eyes and smiles. For a second, I think I see Rachel smiling, too, but she only nuzzles my hand before falling back asleep.