February 2060

Chloe gathered her long, insulated leather trench coat tightly around her, the better to keep out the chill from what was a surprisingly cold winter. Fitting perhaps...almost as if the universe itself was still in mourning, barely six months after her mother's passing.

As hard as Joyce's death had been on the Price-Caulfield family, she couldn't help but feel for someone still in far greater pain: her stepfather.

Leaving footprints in the soft dusting of snow behind her, she steeled herself against the onrush of nostalgia and emotion that rose up to greet her as she caught sight of her childhood home. Granted, the actual physical house wasn't the same, but it was still the same land. Call it psychic imprint or what have you, but so many of her formative years were still bound up in this little lot.

She let herself in, pressing her thumb against the reader set into the door handle, the lock opening with a tiny click. Wiping her feet on the rug inside, she shrugged off her coat and hung it up on the rack immediately to her left.

"Hey." she called out softly. "It's me." Shrugging off her shoes, she made her way past the kitchen and into the living room-slash-dining area. Her heart ached as she appraised David: sitting in a chair, hunched over, his ninety-three year old frame gnarled with age. The gaunt, almost hollow aspect to his appearance was new; clearly he wasn't eating enough. His hands were folded together over the top of a walking cane: heavy, black lacquered ironwood capped with a carved crystal skull. It was a present, something Chloe gave him for his birthday when he turned eighty-five, because '...it's the sort of badass thing I know I'd want if I got to be that old.'

"Hmmm?" he groaned softly, blinking his eyes, as if rousing from a nap. "Oh. Chloe." he rasped, then coughed to clear his throat and lungs. "Hey."

"Hi." she breathed out. Glancing down, she couldn't help but notice the photo albums splayed out on the dining table. Pictures of his wedding to Joyce - which had long ago lost the sting they once inflicted upon her insufferable teenaged self - interspersed with what looked like a thousand-and-one images of the two of them with Rachel over the years. She took a seat next to him, leaning in to give him a close, one-armed hug.

"G-good to see you. Wasn't expecting you, though." he said.

With a wry smirk, she responded, "Geeze. Remember, I was coming to take you to breakfast today? People might think you were getting forgetful in your old age or something."

This prompted a slip of a sad smile, before he glanced down. "Not hungry."

"C'mon, Dad. I was gonna take us to the Two Whales. You know, now that I've gotten it declared a historic landmark, I get all my meals for free." She paused a beat. "Not that they were big into charging me in the past. But hey, what good is political power if it can't get you deliciously greasy food on demand?"

He took a heavy, struggling breath, and shook his head. "Not hungry." he repeated. "'sides, I don't think I could...not the Two Whales. Too many memories there."

Chloe bit down on her lips, agonizing as she observed how the once pig-headedly proud man lay defeated and broken-hearted. To think how much she hated him, once upon a time. How keenly she despised his presence, or rather, what it represented: her mother moving on from the loss of her first husband. Finding the strength to do what Chloe herself was unable to, until many years later.

But that was a long time ago. The circumstances of Arcadia Bay's destruction changed them both, allowed them to build bridges across chasms that otherwise seemed insurmountable. And while William Price may have been the one to raise her for those first, crucial fourteen years of her life, David Madsen, despite all odds, had more than won the right to be called 'father'; three violently shitty and confrontational years were more than made up by the almost half-century of friendship, even love they'd managed to cultivate together.

"Doesn't have to be Two Whales. We can go anywhere you want. Just...just name it."

With yet another labored breath, he answered, "Appreciate it, but, I just..." He trailed off, staring into the distance. And in that moment, Chloe felt a desperation tug at her heart. She needed to get through to him if she could. Otherwise, she saw herself having to make plans for yet another funeral before the winter was over.

She reached out and placed her hand on his, she spoke, low, kind, but firm, "I know it's tough, Big D. I'm not going to pretend that if I was in your place, and Max went before me, the urge to just crawl up into myself and shut the rest of the world out wouldn't be just...agonizing. To sit and wait for the end to come, so I could be with her again."

Oh God. Oh God, take me first, when it's time. Please don't let me outlive her...

"And I know damn well that saying something fucking obvious like 'This isn't what Mom would want for you', and 'She'd grab that stick out of your hands and start beating you over the head with it if she saw you right now' won't work for you. So let me be totally unfair here and cut right to the one thing I think might."

She did her best to ignore the fact that this time, even a cutting remark failed to elicit as much as a frown from him. She went through the motions of acting like it had, holding up a couple fingers as she said, "Yeah, I know, 'Fuck you, Chloe.' But just give me a second here..."

She rose, briskly walked over to her coat, and removed a thin plastic plate from it. Walked back and took her seat again. Placing the plate down on the table, she tapped both corners at once; in response, a holographic image rose up from the surface: a picture of a fetus, with animated vitals displayed off to the sides.

David blinked, his eyes focusing intently on what was before him. "...what?" He paused, ran a tongue over his dry lips, and rose up a few inches. "Chloe?" he asked, turning his head to her expectantly.

She smiled, grateful for the tears in her eyes, all the better to drive the point home. "Yeah. I wasn't gonna show you this until after we ate, but it's clear you needed to see it now. Obviously, it's an ultrasound. Rachel's ultrasound." She sniffled, and added, "Mom didn't get a chance to see this. She won't be around when her great-grandkid is born. But you...you still have the opportunity. But not at the rate you're going."

At this, she finally reached up, wiping away the tears. "So if nothing else? Figure out what you're gonna tell her, if you get the chance she didn't, but you didn't fight for it. That you just went out quietly...before you got to meet Rachel's son or daughter." She leaned back, and crossed her arms over her chest. "If Heaven's got a couch, you're probably looking at sleeping on it, for like the next thousand years or something."

She waited patiently for a response. He glared at her first, and she laughed inside; he wasn't angry with her, not really, but he did like to play up that fiery temper of his. If he was putting any effort into it now, then there was still hope. But then his face turned thoughtful, as he appraised the hologramatic ultrasound again.

After another minute, he pushed himself up on his cane, rising to his feet; unsteady at first, but with increasing confidence, waving off Chloe's attempts to help.

"I suppose your Mother would fucking hate it if we never ate at the diner again. She did love the place. Maybe...just a short stack of pancakes."

"G-great. Yeah! That sounds good." Chloe said before swallowing hard.

"And I suppose a side of bacon. Can't have pancakes without that."

"Yeah. Whatever you want. Anything." She rose up, taking his arm as she started to move towards the door.

"Coffee, too. That automatic machine you got me can't make a cup worth shit. Problem with the world today, no one wants to do anything on their own anymore. I'd make some, 'cept for the fucking arthritis."

Chloe tried not to laugh, as they made their way out of the house.

Six months later, Kamala Joyce Price-Caulfield was born.

David passed away not long after, but he died knowing full well he could tell his wife what their great-granddaughter looked like.

January 2063

With a satisfied sigh, Chloe glanced into the mirror, appraising herself while keeping a watchful eye on the movers as they cleaned out her Congressional office.

Damn. Twenty years, you really pick up a lot of crap. I thought I left the Mayor's office a mess, but that was nothing compared to this.

Twenty years of Federal service. Fifteen years - or was it more? - as the Mayor of Arcadia Bay. Not to mention those initial years as Alderman.

"Well, Chloe Price. This was your life. The professional part of it, at any rate."

She declined to run for re-election last year; Max was already retired from teaching at Blackwell, and making constant noises about when Chloe would follow her lead. God knows, she certainly felt the same sort of career calcification that marked the last few years as Arcadia Bay's chief executive.

It was definitely time. The DNC was still a little sore at her, owing to the fact that they lost her seat to the opposition party, but that was their problem, not hers.

Next time, run a better candidate, guys. Don't assume you can put any idiot in there, just because I kept the seat warm the past two decades...

"Sorry, Congresswoman! Did you say something?" Her soon-to-be ex-page asked, as he supervised the movers.

"What? Oh. Yeah. But just to myself. Happens when you get to be my age, Jefferson. Mind's the first thing to go to shit, you know?" She laughed once, and turned sideways towards him.

Jefferson Tyler - Chloe couldn't believe his incredibly unfortunate first name, always doing her best not to hold it personally against him - had only been her assistant for the past year and a half, but Sandeep hand-picked him personally, giving the promising young man up from his own Senatorial staff after he and Rachel moved away to New York.

Of course, now my son-in-law's getting him back. So all's well that ends well.

"Ma'am, please!" Jefferson spoke with mock exasperation, in his light Southern drawl. "You are not old. Although Lord knows you're getting out when the gettin' is good. You should be enjoying the next fifty years of your life."

"Fifty, huh?" Chloe chuckled.

"Oh, easy! I was reading the other day, about this woman? In Japan? Hundred and thirty-three. Oldest confirmed living woman in the world. She can still talk about her memories of World War Two...now can you believe that?"

Chloe took a moment, to consider what that must be like. Almost twice her own age now. All of the things she'd already seen, and everything that lay before her in the years to come: Rachel's career as an award-winning animated showrunner, put however temporarily on hold to take care of her daughter. Sandeep following, however obliquely, in Chloe's footsteps, launching a political career as a State Senator from New York. And now, she'd have more time for Max, and more time for the both of them to see their granddaughter, because certainly being separated by an entire country was not the impediment it used to be sixty years ago; the GAHA Hyperloop, which started in Alaska, passed through the Continental US, across the Atlantic Ocean, and terminating all the way in Amsterdam saw to that.

This wasn't the end. This was just a stop on the way. Life promised her a fair share of good years to come. Chloe wasn't sure she wanted to see a hundred and thirty of them in total, but what the hell? As long as her wife was at her side, she could live forever.

She smiled, and then leaned in to give her former assistant a hug. "Thank you, Jeff. Believe you've managed to actually make me feel young, for the first time in twenty years. That just earned you a fucking awesome letter of recommendation, pardon my French."

"Well thank you, Ma'am!" he exclaimed, not missing a beat. "I'll give my best to your son and daughter, next week. You please do the same to your wife, of course. Thank her for the cookies, my boys loved them."

"Good! Good...uh. Tell Rachel and Sandi I figure we'll see them soon enough...swear, if we couldn't see them every month, Max'd make me pack up and move to New York. Me! I can't handle the winters there, ugh. Anyhow, it's a wonder that woman of mine stopped after just one child, the way she dotes on Kamala."
Chloe came to a halt, realizing she was rambling. Took one look around her office, now almost empty, and then looked back to the other man.

"Have a good life, okay Jeff? Whatever you end up doing with it. I'm sure it's going to be great."

He gave her another warm smile, and nodded. "You too, Ma'am. Thank you again, for your service."

She raised a dismissive hand and turned away, walking out of the office. "Guh! I was only a politician, kiddo. What did I really do? Except keep The Machine from eating people up and spitting out the damn seeds, and make sure that it actually did right by them."

And with that, she departed.

If she never saw the inside of the Capital Building again, it'd be too soon.

Max was waiting outside for her, having returned from a shopping trip in downtown DC. Chloe slowed, gathering her wife up in her arms and kissing her firmly, before taking her hand, and playfully twirling her about.

"Che! What's all that for?" she asked.

"Ooooh...just. Happy to see you, as always. Another happy ending to another chapter."

"Wowser. You're in a good mood." Max said, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning against her as they walked towards the automated taxi stand.

"Hell, why not? Why shouldn't I be. I'm sixty-eight years young. Soon to be sixty-nine, you know. Eh? Eh?"

Max rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Y'know? Sixty-nine?" Chloe repeated.

"Yes, God! I know, Chloe. Sixty-eight going on twelve, apparently." Max leaned in and kissed her again, all the same. "So when you're not making crude sexual jokes, what are you going to do first?"

"Huh. Dunno." Chloe reached up, touching her now silver locks. "I'm old enough now, I could get away with dying my hair blue. They say the classics always come back into fashion."

October 2069

"Oh, God! Oh no! Ack!"

Max laughed as Chloe popped the cork from the champagne; she'd underestimated how much pressure built up inside the bottle, and as soon as she put some effort into opening it, the stopper flew out, over the railing and down many hundreds of feet to the ground below.

"If anyone asks, don't mention I used to be a Congresswoman." Chloe peered over the ledge, down at ground. "Might have just sparked a diplomatic incident."

The two of them were in France, celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They'd dreamed of this moment for such a long time, and put in the reservations years in advance for a table at the open air restaurant near the top of the Eiffel Nouveau, the massive structure that replaced the original after it's destruction in a terrorist attack thirty-five years earlier.

"Oh sweetie, I'm sure this happens all the time. I mean, how could it not? Besides, we'll just tell them we're Americans. And they'll roll their eyes and go 'Oh. Of course.'. Pat us on the head and laugh behind our backs."

"Hey! We're...we're not that bad." Chloe protested. "We've gotten a lot nicer over the years, as a people. I mean, we're practically Canadian now." She grabbed two flutes and filled them both up with champagne, before returning the bottle to the ice bucket next to the table. Handing a glass over to her wife, she added, "Kinda. Sorta. A little."

"Yeah. If you ignore the people at the back of the tour bus today, whining about how they couldn't get a decent hamburger, and Europeans still didn't speak enough English, despite the fact that everyone's got such good translator technology now." Max countered.

"Okay, so those people sucked. But we're awesome. So that evens everything out." With an elevated tone of voice, she announced, "Let the good people of Paris know that at least two Americans out there are fantastic and love France!" With a mischievous grin, Chloe then asked, "So what the hell are we drinking to tonight, lover? I forget."

Max laughed, shaking her head, and murmuring, "Oh my God, Che, you are such an asshole sometimes."

"Yeah, but I'm your asshole." She took her wife's hand across the table, and then clinked the flutes together. "Here's to fifty years...yeah, I guess they've been okay." Winking playfully, she took a sip, and said. "I definitely got the much better end of the deal than you did."

Retirement turned out to be absolutely marvelous for both of them. Free of the fetters of their careers, and with their child fully moved out and attending to a family of her own, Chloe and Max had the time to fall in love with each other all over again. They'd spent the last five years traveling the world, and looking forward to more of the same in the years to come. Paris was to be the start of a whirlwind 'second honeymoon' tour across Europe and Asia, culminating in a fancy Pacific cruise to Japan.

But tonight? Tonight was all about celebrating a day that happened lifetimes ago, when they were both so young in body and mind, as well as spirit.

Chloe had the steak: real, actual beef, from a real, actual cow, not the vat grown "ecologically-friendly" chunks of protein most people were forced to be content with. They said you couldn't tell the difference, but make no doubt...

...I can so tell the difference.

And it came with french fries - sorry, pomme frites - cooked in lard. For all she knew, lard from the same damn cow of which she was now eating. That was definitely the best part of her night.

And the cheese. And the wine.

And Max. Her angel. Her inspiration. Happily enjoying the pasta dish she'd ordered, having gone vegetarian long ago.

The two of them turned as one, staring out over the city stretched out before them, sparkling lights spider-webbing towards the horizon. They continued to hold hands. And give each other knowing looks.

"This night couldn't be any better, sweetie. I wish I could..." Max started.

"Don't say it..." Chloe interrupted, a thin smile on her lips. She'd been married to the same woman long enough to know what was coming.

"...wind it back and forth in time forever. But I mean it this time." Max laughed. A distant look crept into her eyes, and in a quieter voice, she asked. "Do you ever wonder why sometimes, Chloe? Why us? What happened...after?"

Caught off guard by the sudden somber change in her wife's attitude, Chloe didn't answer immediately. Lifting a bit of steak up to her mouth and chewing slowly, she considered what the best thing she could say was, and settled on a simple, "How do you mean, babe?"

"It's just...fifty-six years ago...I saw...we saw something that should have forever changed our perception about reality. And the universe, and maybe even God...you know...just...everything! I saw reality fall apart around me from pushing it too hard. I saw a storm that I created - I think? - bear down as a consequence. And after that moment? Nothing. Nothing at all. I mean..." She bowed her head, sighing heavily. "I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say."

Chloe put down her utensils, and held onto Max's hand with both of her own. "Whatever it is, it sounds important. Take all the time you need."

Max smiled, visibly relaxing. "Just, strange. Don't you think? Our life is strange, in how normal it's been. For one week, we touched the divine. And then nothing. I mean, don't get me wrong Chloe, it's been an amazing life. Incredible. We've had our ups and our downs over the decades, but I still come away feeling like it's been all-too-charmed, and maybe even a bit...mundane?"

Chloe pondered. She had to admit that it was an issue that she used to wonder about herself. Why her, why Max? Why any of it?

"It's kind of like, for a few days, you found a unicorn. Touched it, rode it. Changed our lives, and now you're left wondering why the hell we've never seen another one since?"

Max nodded. "Something like that, I guess."

"Wow. Didn't know it was still weighing on you."

"I didn't realize either, until this opportunity for reflection came up." Max replied, before taking a long pull of her champagne.

Chloe felt her shoulders slump. Possessed of the notion that she should somehow have a good answer for this, but not coming up with one, she decided to shoot for honesty. "I haven't a fucking clue, love. To be honest, I haven't wanted to look too close. Like maybe it's a dream, and if I stare too long, or wonder too hard, I'll wake up. Maybe this is what happens to some people, who say they had a religious experience, and then go mad? They spend the rest of their lives wondering why lightning didn't strike twice? I just...I really don't know." She smirked, adding, "You know, unless I'm actually about to die, back in Arcadia Bay, on the bathroom floor, bleeding out..."

"Chloe!" Max snapped. "Oh God...don't...don't even joke about that!"

Sheepishly, she winced. "Sorry. Yeah, that was probably a bit macabre. Although if this is a dream, at least I have an amazing and sexy subconscious." She tossed off a wink, but saw that Max wasn't having it.

"I'm sorry, Max. I just don't know what to say. For a moment, the Universe opened your eyes and said 'Boo'. And then closed them again. I can't even begin to imagine what that's like, what it's been like all this time for you. But - ah - you know what? You're a stronger woman than I've ever been. I think that's the reason why, more than anything else. Because, Space Magic Power Source figured it could choose you, for whatever purpose, and then put you back on the shelf. And you could go back to living, and not go crazy. I know if it had been me, I'd be nuts. I mean damn, I brushed up next to it, and I still...I only deal with it by not thinking of it. So how healthy is that?"

Max shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin our evening with heavy talk."

"You've ruined precisely zip. I didn't appreciate this was still something that was still on your mind, after all this time. So whenever you need to talk about it, for whatever reason...well, you know, that's why I'm still here."

It took a few minutes, but they managed to put the evening back on track. The initial glow might have dimmed, but there was dessert, and then dancing under the stars. There was enough beauty and mystery in the universe of the mundane variety to keep them occupied.

The rest of the vacation was absolutely lovely. But there were occasions, deep into the night, where Chloe would wake up, stare out at the moon, and wonder.

Am I alive? Is this all real? Or is this just the dying fantasy of some nineteen-year old girl, as the embers of her life flicker into nothingness?

Chloe soon realized that either way, it didn't make much difference. Going back to not thinking about it seemed like the best course of action. It was working out splendidly so far.

December 2074

"Baby, I'm home."

Closing the door behind her, and removing her coat, Chloe made her way towards the kitchen; she could already smell the lunch Max was preparing.

"Mmmm. French onion soup?" she asked.

Max glanced over her shoulder and smiled, "You know it. Seemed like a good day for it. Chilly. Not too bad I hope? Certainly not if you've gone out walking?"

"Oh, it's cold enough. Not that it ever gets bitter, not like it used to in the old days. But it seems like I feel it more. Probably just old bones aching."

She and Max had settled into a pleasant, if predictable routine in their golden years. There was still travel of course, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep up with the pace; even accounting for all of the remarkable advancement that the past sixty years bore witness to, old age and its attendant symptoms were yet to be conquered. It was a lot of early to bed, early to rise. Social calls and hosted visits with an slowly diminishing coterie of friends and loved ones.

But they kept busy in their own ways. Max was taking up horticulture, going as far as having a greenhouse added to their property. Chloe was keeping in shape with her daily walks around town. She would be the first to cop to a small thrill when people waved to her, called out her name, still called her "Congresswoman." or even "Mayor", those old enough to remember.

For all of the hatred, the bitter invective she once held for Arcadia Bay, she was now inescapably part of its weft and weave. A piece of the background, a comforting expectation. Folks anticipated seeing her eating breakfast every Wednesday at the Two Whales, with the predictability of the sun rising or the tide rolling in. More than once, when she attempted to change her routine, she'd received at least one concerned phone call asking about her and her health.

"So how was the city council meeting?" Max inquired.

"Hmm? Oh, good, good. You know me, someone has to remind those damn kids how it's done. That a lot of people sweated and bled and died so they can enjoy what they've got today. All of the heavy lifting that was undertaken so that the worst they need to worry about now is zoning regulations or how to adjust property taxes. I know most of the public participation in these meetings is done online now, but someone has to show up in the flesh. Someone has to remind the people in town that Old Lady Chloe remembers how it used to be. That she still has their backs, and their best interests at heart."

Max snorted before dissolving into outright laughter. "You make your tenure as mayor sound like the epic saga of a warrior-queen. Seem to remember a lot of your term was spent worrying about zoning regulations too."

"Ha ha. Hey, that's not bad. I should get to my drawing table after lunch and illustrate something. Now that the hotshot doctor I've been seeing managed to clear up the arthritis in my hands. I should do something like one of those old Heavy Metal covers. Or you know, like the old Conan comic books or something. God. Do they even have comic books anymore? Or did kids get too cool for that sort of thing?"

"Oh, according to Kamala, 'pulp-wood manga' is suddenly the hip thing again. Except she just has her home replicator print it on demand for her. It's...retro, I guess? I suppose even when you have holographic, interactive animation to contend with, people still gravitate back to what simply works." With that, Max placed the two steaming bowls of soup before them.

Chloe gently cut through the cheese and breading floating at the top, and chuckled. "Sure. Why not. We used to play old Nintendo games." She paused, long enough to take a bite. "Oh boy, there's a blast from the past. Nintendo. They still around anymore?"

Max leaned in, kissing the top of her head, before sitting down to start on her own bowl. "I'm sure I have no idea whatsoever."

"Well, thank God for grandkids, we can just have them tell us what's in style the next time they visit."

"Oh Chloe, don't embarrass them. Nothing's more embarrassing than old people trying to be cool."

"What! No way. I'm the coolest eighty-year old in the country! Kamala told me so herself."

"No, she told you that when she was five, dear. Believe me, now that's she's - oh geeze let me see - fourteen? I think? Just trust me when I say you're absolutely not. She loves you, but...you're not cool." Max mused, taking another mouthful of soup.

"...damn you for being right." Chloe sighed. "Well, we had a good run, at any rate."

"That we did, Che. That we did."

October 2084

Chloe kept devoted vigil at the side of the bed, holding Max's hand, the way she'd done for the past six hours, desperately afraid to let go. She sat with perfect stillness, note daring to move, or hardly breathe, focusing intently on her wife of sixty-five years. There wouldn't be a sixty-sixth, as agonizing a reality as that was to confront. Her precious angel, her savior, the light and life and love of her existence was dying.

It wouldn't be long now. Medical technology made so many incredible advancements over the years, but immortality was not yet the purview of her generation. As it was, both of them dodged bullets that would have probably killed them years sooner, had they been living in the previous century; Max experienced her own breast cancer scare, caught early and treated to the point of full remission using custom tailored genetic therapy. And Chloe's current liver and pancreas weren't the 'factory originals', replaced with cloned implants three years earlier.

Congestive heart failure was the culprit; technically Max could have it replaced, but it was unlikely she'd survive the operation. So she didn't try. She accepted her fate, gathered up her family as close to her as possible and said her goodbyes.

The last few days were the worst. At the beginning of the week, Chloe was convinced Max fell into a final coma, only to have her make a remarkable recovery when suddenly she got up to use the bathroom and ask for a bowl of ice cream. And as tempting as it was to hold on to hope this time, she couldn't help but know, deep in her gut, that this was the last night the two of them would ever have together in this life.

Chloe said goodbye more times than she could count, or stand. Left to wonder in stark terror which "I love you" would be the last. Or what happened in those terrible seconds, minutes, and weeks in which Max was a memory, and Chloe was somehow expected to carry on.

She thought back to the days that nearly destroyed her step-father, almost twenty five years ago. That was the first time her thoughts fully turned to what the imminent reality would be like. She understood now, down to the very fiber of her being, why he nearly gave up. How even the imminent arrival of Rachel's first child was only able to spur a few more months of existence from his ancient bones. But they were happier months at least, and Chloe could now appreciate the reserves of strength he must have been able to draw upon.

Even then, Chloe knew this was the last thing she wanted; for Max to pass before her.

I'm not as strong as you. I never was. Anything I had, I borrowed from you.

Part of her clung to the thought that perhaps they'd go together. Max would die, and then so would she, right on the spot. In the morning, they'd find her body slumped over her wife's, two old souls still holding hands.

I can't do this, baby. I can't...I don't even know how to go on without you. Please don't go...please don't...

Max's eyes fluttered open. shining and unfocused. She squeezed her hand, and then turned to face her, looking more through than towards.

"Chloe." she whispered, in such a soft, tender voice.

"H-hi, baby." she croaked in return. Her heart leapt and sank all at once. One more chance to talk. One more chance to lose her forever.

"Mmmm. Was asleep. I had...had a dream." Max began. "About that night."

"Oh? Which one? Been a lot of them."

But Chloe already knew which. It was obvious to her.

"When we watched Arcadia Bay die. The one old. When I wasn't able to...do. What you asked. When." Max swallowed with difficulty, trembling, smiling sadly as she struggled to continue. "Won't be long now, sweetie. I can feel it. Won't be...have to. Tell you something. Did I tell you already?" She paused, as if searching the hazy corners of her mind before continuing. "That night. I had the picture. The one that was going to send me back. Stop myself from saving you."

"That...that's right." Chloe spoke soothingly, rubbing tender circles over the other woman's arm and palm. "There's nothing more to say about it. Just rest now."

"Wait. No. Won't have another chance. Please." Again, Max swallowed. "Just needed you to know." She closed her eyes, focusing, as if willing herself to hang on, to struggle against the inevitable end. "Couldn't go through with it, Che. Couldn't lose you."

Leaning in, Chloe said, "You didn't have to. Remember? You lost the picture. Wind took it away."

Shaking her head with slow, difficult effort, Max gave a wet laugh and said, "Let it. I let it. Perfect excuse. Hah...I can't even remember now, if I really understood what I was doing at the time. Too long since that night. But I figured it out, later. My fault. You wanted me to do the right thing, and...and I couldn't. I loved you too much. Even then. You always said I'm so strong, but I wasn't. I couldn't go on living without you. And...and they all died, Chloe. Paid the price, for it. Because of me."

Chloe sat in silence, as she weighed the fullness of Max's deathbed confession in her mind. She always knew her wife carried such horrible survivor's guilt, enough to make her run away, stay away for years. But not once did she ever suspect that the events of that night were anything more than mere happenstance. A twist of fate. Something completely and utterly out of either of their control.

And yet...

Makes so much sense now. I can't believe the thought never crossed my mind.

But what difference did it make, in this late hour?

None. Whatsoever.

Chloe leaned in, bringing their faces close together, as she whispered. "Doesn't matter, Max. It doesn't change a damn thing." She struggled to keep her composure, tears filling up her eyes, quietly spilling over her cheeks. "We paid our dues. More than enough. That damn town...it was dying. Always said the storm was the best thing that ever happened to it. I mean it! More than ever. So...so you just...do you think you need my forgiveness? You..you have it, Max! I absolve you, a thousand times over!"

She kissed Max's face, over and over, desperate to make her last minutes of life joyous. "I love you, Max Caulfield. I have always loved you. You are amazing, and perfect! You gave me life, and purpose. And your love, and the most beautiful child! You are my angel! And I will always be your partner in...in..."

Chloe couldn't finish the words as Max's eyes fluttered close, and she sank back fully into the bed, her lips pulling up into a beatific smile of contentment and tranquility.

"Time." Max breathed out, before falling back into slumber.

Chloe counted exactly eighty-six breaths before they stopped.

Fell to her knees, trembling. a low, keening wail of despair building in the back of her throat.

"I'm...I'm ready, baby. Just...just call me. Just call me with you. Anytime. Anytime now. Just take me with you. Please..."

She bowed her head, body wracked with heartbroken sobs as she repeated, "Please. Please. Puh-lu-hee-heese!"

She threw her face on top of Max's chest, overcome with grief. She begged for it to be over. For her life to end. As ready to die now as she was on that night, a long, winding, beautiful infinity ago.

All through the night, she pleaded.

But the morning came, and she found herself stubbornly alive to greet it.

The first rays of the sunlight shone on Max's pallid face, and Chloe understood. At long last.

This was the price.

Paid now, in full.

A/N:

:~(

Oh man.

That hurt.

I think this is why it's taken me so long to write Grande Dame, after my initial burst of creative impulse. Those month long pauses. Because I knew this scene was coming. Because it was the very first scene I ever plotted out in my head, the impetus to write the whole damn story in the first place. Just one plot seed, an idea of Max giving Chloe a deathbed confession, born out of guilt.

This is the end of Max's story. But Chloe still has one last chapter left.

Anyhow, as I was writing this one, I was also sad for all the "missed opportunities" that I felt were out there. That I could have done more, done better. Brought back various characters. But I realized I could probably write hundreds of thousands of words if I let myself...and the hard truth is that this story has been dragging for a while. Really, the technical climax took place in chapter 11. Everything else has just been a lot of extended denouement. In some ways, writing Grande Dame has been more personally affecting than any of my other works.

So the last one may be a bit on the big side. I will probably have it done before the end of the month.

Have a good weekend.

[3/18/16]: Special Editor Credit goes to GrumpyCat42, who rightly called me out for not doing as tight as job as I should have on proof-reading. I really split a ton of infinitives and forgot to turn things into adverbs, just to name a few sins...sorry folks. I should have known better than to rush it. The only defense I can offer is that I really wasn't emotionally up for doing the multiple read throughs I normally employ, given how difficult it was emotionally for me to write the piece. Anyhow, they kindly pointed out a bunch of edits to me, about 95% of which I put into place, so big ups to them!