The camera shook in Max's white-knuckled grip as it printed out that damned photo of the butterfly. She had loved this picture, once. Been proud of it. Held it up as one of the few examples of her work which even her insecurities could not tear down. When Chloe had claimed it as a symbol of their reunion, she had been delighted. Somehow, her photo getting crumpled and creased in Chloe's back pocket as the punk sat on it felt even better then having it protected and admired in a gallery.

Now, it was an anchor holding her down. Dragging her back to one of the worst moments of a truly horrific week. She hated it, more than Nathan's gun or Jefferson's syringe. Those were terrible things this fucking world forced on her. This was the one she chose.

Without this fucking photo she and Chloe could have moved on. Would have had no choice but to move on. Now…...well, she had always wanted to be a hero. And she was about to save an entire town.

All she had to do was murder her partner.

Max bit her lip as Nathan entered the bathroom and began his entitled tirade. Any minute now Chloe would barge in and Max would have to listen as the most important person in her world died on the bathroom floor of a school she got expelled from, abandoned or betrayed by everyone she had ever loved.

Or maybe….

There was no chance, was there? Chloe had to die. But why would the universe itself be so out for one girls blood? That Final Destination shit just made….no sense. Was it her rewind or Chloe's survival that led to The Storm?

All she had were half assed guesses made by teenagers over an insanely short time frame. No real information. No facts. Could she justify taking this risk?

Chloe barged into the room, all snark and snarl. The world biggest puppy, barking so hard to convince the world her bite was just as bad. And Max knew she had already made her choice.

It was just a maybe. But she would take it. In a fucking heartbeat. Maybe was all she needed. She would dive into this loophole and not look back. Maybe Chloe did need to die. Maybe preventing that would doom the thousand odd souls of Arcadia Bay. But maybe not.

"You don't know who I am or who the fuck you're messing around with!"

Either way, Max wouldn't be around to deal with it. Was that selfishness? Cowardice? No, she was giving up enough. No way could Arcadia Bay demand more of her.

"Don't EVER tell me what to do. I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!"

Getting out her phone, Max opened the camera app and started recording before setting her bag down against the last stall, wedging her phone between it and the stall where the camera would have a perfect view. If she wasn't around, she had to make sure there was more evidence. Chloe was exactly the kind of witness juries found reasons to ignore.

"Nobody would ever even *miss* your punk ass, would they?"

Guess that's my cue.

"I would."

Max stepped out from her hiding spot with a purpose she never would have managed five days ago. Or five minutes ago, depending on perspective. Back straight and eyes blazing, she stood her ground as Nathan whirled to face her in shock.

"WhotheFUCK! C-caulfield? Shut the fuck up and….and shut the fuck up!"

"Max?"

Max's heart stilled. The terror in Chloe's voice had been replaced by wonder. And a thin, trembling note of hope. That alone made this worth it.

Don't worry, Chloe. You aren't dying here. Not again. Never again.

"Whothefuck said YOU could talk? Just be a good bitch and shut the fuck up." Nathan trembled as he backed up to one of the stalls, gun swinging back and forth between Max and Chloe. The punk's eyes narrowed as she noticed Nathan's distraction, the shock of Max's sudden appearance giving her anger a chance to return.

Max couldn't let Chloe try anything. Nathan was too unstable; one aggressive move and he would pull the trigger. Just like the last few times. The photographer slowly reached out her left hand, not to rewind this time but to beckon her former best friend to her side.

Chloe scowled, shaking her head and Max grimaced. Her Chloe, the Chloe she had just abandoned on a stormy cliffside, would have done as she requested. But the trust just wasn't there yet. Her gesture did clue Nathan in to what a more stable gunman would have realized far sooner; hostages are a lot easier to keep an eye on when they aren't on opposite sides of the room.

"Go, bitch! Stand together."

Chloe clenched her jaw stubbornly, remaining rooted to the spot. Max didn't even try to keep the quaver out of her voice. "Chloe, please. Do what he says."

Thankfully, that was enough to get Chloe to play along. Max took a few steps forward to ensure they would be in view of the camera as Chloe made her way to Max's side, where the other girl wasted no time in taking her hand and entwining their fingers before attempting to reason with her disturbed classmate.

"Nathan, please, put down the gun."

"DON'T tell me what to do! Don't fucking EVER tell me what to do! Why don't you whores get that IM in control here? I have all the power in the world, right here, right now." He stroked the gun, an obscene smile coming to his lips.

"You think I am just gonna…what, give that up?" He laughed. "People think they can just push and push and FUCKING PUSH. Enough…fucking too much. I am done being used and manipulated! Now I have the power!"

Nathan, you demented wretch. You have no fucking idea what power is. The cost it carries.

"You want to be free, Nathan? No one using you or pushing you around? Go. Just turn around and fucking leave. Walk out that door and leave Arcadia Bay behind. America is a fucking big country. Find a town that has never even heard the name Prescott and build a new life. One that's yours and no one else's!"

Nathan took a deep breath, running a trembling hand through his dishevelled hair. "What, you think you can help me? Fucking Super Max saves the day?" He laughs bitterly. "This isn't a fucking cartoon, Caulfield. Not even Rachel could - "

Oh, no.

With the mention of her lost angel, Chloe's hand started squeezing Max's so hard she thought she might never get feeling back. "Rachel? What do you know about Rachel? What the fuck did you do to Rachel?!"

Nathan stepped back, eyes darting around the room as panic twisted his features into a feral snarl. Max was moving before he pulled the trigger, before the gun even came up. She pushed Chloe back as she stepped in front of the outraged punk, her back pressed into Chloe's chest.

She felt it before she heard it. A surprisingly small impact, like an impossibly concentrated punch, pushing so deep she could feel it in her bones. She barely noticed the bang as she gasped in shock, staggering further back into Chloe's arms. Which should have made things okay, Chloe hugs usually did. But, as Chloe hugs went, this one was a serious disappointment. Definitely the third worst embrace they had shared.

Her partner was shaking and sobbing, grip weak as they sank down to the floor, Chloe's back to the wall and Max's against Chloe's chest. Chloe did the best she could, but the need to press her hand to Max's chest in order to stem the flow of wet warmth soaking through her shirt and spattering red onto the cheap blue tiles really ruined it. That was a real shame. It would have been nice to have one last hug before she died. Not that their farewell kiss at the lighthouse hadn't been wonderful of course.

Max just wanted…..more. So much more. An entire lifetime's worth. Oh god, I don't want to die. Chloe noticed her distress, her breath warm in Max's hair as she tried to comfort the girl who had just taken a bullet for her.

"God, Max, are you…..does it hurt?"

Max couldn't help but smile. Despite it all, she had one comfort. "I'm fine, Chloe. I was finally, finally, there when you needed me."

Nathan was standing stock still, as if the gunshot had frozen him in time. He started muttering to himself "I-I-I didn't mean to, it-she…It wasn't my fault! Just like with Rachel, I never-n-never meant to kill her I just…..Jefferson he…"

Nathan started pacing back and forth, his whispered excuses became less and less audible until it was just indistinct muttering.

Something was wrong. Chloe was being too quiet. Nathan's outright confession that he had killed Rachel should have triggered enough rage to overcome her shock at Max being shot.

That was when Max finally felt it, the warmth of blood spreading across her back just like her front.

"No." She whimpered.

The bullet had gone right through her and into Chloe.

"No! I saved you! I saved you!"

Chloe huffed out a laugh that flecked her lips with blood. "Sorry, Super Max, but there is no way your scrawny ass is stopping a bullet. Too….…..too much time away from Joyce's cooking."

Max couldn't keep the tears from her face or her voice. "Im so sorry, Chloe. I…can't even fucking die for you properly!"

Chloe's arms around her were so warm, her voice so loving. "Shhh, Max, you came back. That's all….all I ever wanted. Never stopped loving you. Fucking never."

"Yessss." Nathan hissed, all traces of guilt or regret gone as he watched the girls he had mortally wounded bare their souls to each other.

He sure got over the tormented thing quick.

"This is exactly what Jefferson..…..I need to capture this! So perfect."

The disturbed photographer, now fully over his earlier terror, ran to Max's bag, knocking her phone over as he rifled through it before returning with her camera.

Oh you piece of shit, don't you dare.

The familiar click and whirr of her camera taking and printing a picture almost seemed to be mocking her. Such a familiar sound, one that had brought her comfort for so long.

Fuck, You, Nathan.

Her feelings must have shown. Nathan scowled, stepping forward and kicking her in the face as snarled "Don't fuck up my shot, Max!"

Max had never even suspected it was possible to hate anything this much. She would have given almost anything to wipe the smug expression off his face. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Because that was when David Madsen burst in.

Letting out a strangled sound halfway between a gasp and a sob, the combat veteran wasted no time gawking at the horrific tableau before him. He was unarmed and had an entire room to cross, but Nathan lacked his mentors psychopathic poise. He fumbled with Max's camera, dropping it as he scrambled to get his gun up in time.

Madsen was on him before he had it halfway there. David lashed out, a single punch thrown with years of experience, decades of simmering anger and the newfound wrath of a father now terrified he would never get the chance to do better, slamming into the shooter's face with a heavy THUD that somehow seemed louder then the earlier gunshot. Nathan twisted as he fell back into the stall, his head shattering the outer rim of the filthy toilet bowl as he went down.

David went to his knees beside the wounded girls, training the only thing keeping the tears from his eyes as he fell back into the basic battlefield medical care he had picked up. He wasted no time dealing with one of the only injuries he knew how to tend, even as he shouted for help.

For the rest of his life, he would be grateful that he didn't notice Nathan's unconscious form twitching behind him, the tiny amount of water in the toilet bowl his head had crashed it's way into sufficient to cover his mouth and nose. He didn't want to know whether or not he would have gone to the aid of the person who had shot his daughter, as the boy drowned in a toilet.

It was all too much. Max closed her eyes.

And tried very hard not to die.