Chloe Price sat on the bloody tiles, ignoring the paramedics trying to save her life as she watched her former best friend and current saviour carried out on a stretcher. It hurt a hell of a lot more then the bullet in her chest. And if there was one thing she had gotten to know in the last five years, it was pain.

The young punk looked down at what seemed to her to be an absolutely ridiculous amount of blood. Way too much to all be hers. Max's blood had mingled with her own as it spilled over her, soaking her clothes through. She could feel it, sticky and moist where it wasn't dry and crusty.

On her legs. Her thighs. Her belly. Her breasts, and all over the fresh wound between them.

It was hard to be too grossed out. The paramedics had given her something that put Frank's shit to shame.

She wondered if the steady flow pouring out of her chest had washed Max's blood away from her system, as her long lost friend nearly bled out on top of her, or if there had been too much and it had seeped into her open wound.

The drugs broke down what was left of her consciousness and with the blood of a time traveller staining her clothes and skin, seeping into her body and circulating within her system, Chloe dreamt.

She dreamt of storms and bullets. Of love ending in agony and decay, a shallow grave where she was supposed to be warm and safe. Of trains screeching down at her as an anchor rooted her to the spot. Of a tube in her throat and a chair that had become a prison. Of the trauma on a friend's face, put through hell because of Chloe's rage, Chloe's mistakes. Chloe dreamt of a lifetime of pain and fear packed into a few days.

But she also dreamed of a friend found. A bond reforged. Five years of resentment falling away in an instant. Trust earned through sacrifice after sacrifice, rewind after rewind. The warmth of a hand holding her steady as she offered the same, perfectly in sync with each step on the rails. A shark and otter basking in the blue glow together. The smell of chlorine and a dare that set hearts racing. The shocking, hesitant touch of inexperienced lips against her own. The steady love in warm blue eyes. Peace finally found in a gentle, freckled smile. The desperate passion of a last kiss, death and devastation raining down around them.

When Chloe woke in the sterile whiteness of a hospital room, she blinked the tears from her eyes and thought only of her partner in time. She turned to the tearstained face of her mother and asked a single question.

"Is Max alive?"

Max was alive. But not okay. "Still in surgery" was the answer she got, time after time. Apparently, Max needed a lot of fucking surgery. Heroism had it's price.

Joyce wiped the grime and grit from her face, doing her best to smile for her daughter.

"The Doctor's said that the…..the bullet didn't have enough force to damage your heart. After it chipped your rib it hit, but just couldn't….penetrate far enough."

Chloe glared at the wall to keep herself from tearing up again. If that bullet hadn't had one heroic hipster to work it's way through first…

Joyce could tell where her daughters thoughts were taking her.

"Chloe…After the accident, I spent so long blaming myself. I kept thinking if I hadn't called, if I had gone shopping some other time… It is so easy to fall into that mindset. And you were so lost without William, every time I looked at you….."

Joyce brushed another tear out of her eye before managing a shaky smile. "It took a lot to forgive-"

"If you're gonna tell me not to blame myself-"

"No, Chloe, I'm not. It took a lot to forgive myself and I…..pushed you. The closer I got to moving on the more I pressured you to as well. I'm sorry for that, sweetheart. I didn't let you grieve the way you needed to. You acted out a lot but….I handled things poorly. So you feel the way you need to feel. Let it pass through you, so you can heal. Just remember that I am here for you. And I love you."

Chloe couldn't keep the tears from her eyes this time. This was the most sincere exchange she had had with her mother since, fuck, since before Dad died. She was saved from having to figure out how she felt for long enough to make an equally sincere reply by a nurse bustling in to check on her.

While the woman poked and prodded and questioned, Chloe tried to get an update on Max's condition.

Only to be met with the same "still in surgery" she got earlier. She might have thrown a shoe at the poor nurse. Joyce's shoe.

The Caulfield's arrived before Max got out. Ryan and Vanessa, both broken in different ways over the shooting of their daughter.

Ryan strode in with his enormous beard bristling with rage, looking for someone to shout at, sue, or simply punch. Finding only medical professionals diligently working at keeping his little girl alive (and other sick and injured people) seemed to take something out of him. Like the need to avenge Max had been the only thing keeping him standing.

Vanessa drifted along in her husbands wake. Voice gentle and eyes teary, with a now permanent quiver on her lip.

Chloe wasn't sure how she felt about Max's folks. In her childhood they had been a second set of parents for her, as hers had been for Max. In her teenage years, they had been the assholes who took Max away. But, in her more stable moments, she had to admit that had she the means she would have gotten anyone and everyone she cared about out of this shithole town, no matter what they had to give up.

And now…..now she was the piece of shit that got their daughter shot.

Not that they seemed to see it that way.

Vanessa's hug was light and soft, knowing how easy it would be to hurt the injured punk. Max definitely got her gentle nature from her mother. Ryan skipped the hug entirely, having learned from years spent with his petite wife and daughter to avoid showing his affection physically when he was so worked up. Too many bearhugs that left the girls he doted on wincing. Max's strength, that core of iron which had allowed her to face down Nathan and Jefferson, to be there for Chloe when her own mind should have been shattering under the stress of time travel, that came from her father.

"How are you, sweetheart?"

"Fuck me, how is Max? These assholes won't tell me shit."

Vanessa frowned at her colourful language, as if she hadn't seen the blue hair and tattoos past the fact that it was Chloe wearing them.

Ryan was more amused then offended. At least until he called over a doctor to talk about Max, then any trace of humour was gone.

"The bullet only clipped Miss Caulfield's heart, but it still caused a lot of damage on the way through. She needed open heart surgery. They finished a while ago, but it is taking them a lot longer to get all of the splinters and shards of the rib which got hit."

Ryan ran a shaking hand through his beard, something she had only ever see him do at her father's funeral, and the Doctor continued.

"The rib is a total loss, I'm afraid. Too much damage, it has to be removed completely. At this point the real danger is those rib shards I mentioned. Small, sharp fragments floating freely among her internal organs." He grimaced. "Long term, they could present a serious problem if we don't get them all now."

Holy fuck. Imagine getting hit so hard one of your own fucking bones gets turned into life threatening shrapnel. I think I am fucking over guns.

Vanessa let out a tormented sob before turning to bury her face in her husband's shoulder. Joyce took hold of Chloe's hand and the punk was too grateful to pretend to be offended. Ryan and Vanessa found seats on the other side of Chloe before Ryan reached out to take her free hand, his wife still shaking in his arms.

Chloe wanted to stay like that for hours, but she was simply too weak. Before long she found reality drifting away from her as she slipped into sleep.

She awoke to find her partner in time in the bed beside her. Horribly weak and pale, but alive.