And awakens, mouth opened in a scream. Eyes darting around, Max sits up in bed, trying to shake away the nightmare. She can see the brilliant blue sky, outlined in the window, and the light of the sun pouring in. Bright on her face, but far from the fluorescent and harsh lights of her dream.
Reassured, she sinks back down into the plush covers and soft bed, arms stretched to brush against the sides of the down comforter. Once her heartbeat has slowed, she reaches towards the nightstand, and the notebook sitting atop it.
But the dream is already fading, and by the time Max holds the pen to paper, all she can scribble down is: long hallway, bright lights.
Shrugging, she glances at the clock and determines it more than time to be awake. Sleeping in has never been her thing. The covers pushed back, Max slides her bare feet to the floor, judges the temperature warm enough to avoid slippers, and rises from the bed.
Her nightgown is just a little long and trails slightly against the floor as she replaces the covers and moves onto the balcony. It is a bright and beautiful day, with flowers blooming in the lush gardens, while the clear aquamarine waters below glisten and the rich blue sky meets a backdrop of tall mountains. All Max's unease melts away at the view. It is ridiculous to be so worked up over a silly dream.
Feeling much more awake, slightly calmer, and only a little silly, Max crosses back through her bedroom and out into the hallway. After only a few steps she is descending the large spiraling stairway, brightly lit by the windows on the opposite wall.
Max wanders down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen, bending down at the entrance to pick up an apple out of a conveniently placed wooden basket.
From the other side of the kitchen a familiar voice remarks, "Who knew I'd be the first up?" the stove clicks off, and the voice moves toward Max, "I figured I must've worn you out, so I made you breakfast."
Instead of turning around, Max takes a bite of her apple. Red. Delicious. "Maybe I'm not hungry."
"Had to ruin my moment."
Setting the bitten apple down on the table, Max shrugs, "Like your ego needs to get any bigger."
Hands settle on her shoulders, "Hey, at least I can cook," and spin her around.
Max leans in for a kiss, grinning at the indignant look she is receiving. The look quickly fades as the kiss intensifies, hands trailing down her silk-covered back to rest at her waist. "Forget breakfast."
Pulling away, Max laughs, turning towards the table and ignoring the sigh from behind her. Smirking, all false innocence, "But, Alec, I wouldn't want to ruin your moment!"
The sentence is barely out of her mouth before Max finds herself scooped up, her half-eaten apple pressed into her hand. Alec grins, "I was thinking: breakfast in bed."
...
In the lower light of late afternoon, the house is suddenly bathed in mellow ambers and shadows. It is Max's favorite time of day, since so much of life is dominated by the large windows and balconies liberally spread throughout the house. It is open, airy, simple, and luxurious. Sometimes, Max was sure that she would never get enough of it.
Beside her, Alec stirs gently from his catnap. He untangles a few limbs from the silky sheets, stretching with a little yawn as he wakes up. The sunlight leaves golden stripes over his naked body that shift as he moves. Tantalizing.
One eye flashes open, regarding her intently, "You look like you're planning on devouring me."
"Maybe," Max runs one hand lazily down his chiseled chest, following the patterns of light.
A bark of laughter is her response. The eye closes again as he leans into her smooth touch. After a moment, both eyes snap open; sparkling with the grin he refuses to show. "Weren't you getting up, oh, hours ago?" He catches her raised eyebrow, "Not that I'm complaining. Feel free to stay here all day. Doing wicked things to me."
For a few seconds their eyes met and then the laughter bursts out. Max smacks his side, where she had been following a trail of light, and he scrunches up, shifting, all the patterns skittering away as he sits up next to her.
She tosses the covers back and slips out of bed, naked in the deep sunlight, padding towards the bathroom. Not bothering to shut the door behind her, Max leans against the marble countertop and studies herself in the ornate mirror. A strange sense comes over her, as she tugs at her shoulder-length, curly dark hair, as though she expected it to be different once in her hands. And there's something else. Something she can't quite see. She shakes it off, moving to twist the tub's taps. "You should get dressed," she calls back to the bedroom, knowing that Alec has yet to move.
Alec brushes past the door, already half buttoning up a crisp, white silk shirt, loose and light for summer. "Do you remember where we tossed my pants?" But he's smirking at her when she turns.
...
By the time she gets out of the tub, Alec has already disappeared somewhere. Reentering their bedroom, she comes to the walk-in closet, and regards her wardrobe. It's all summery and airy, full of pastels and silks. For a moment, she scans uselessly for something darker, sharper. The only thing she can find is a short black slip, hanging near the wall of formal dresses.
Shrugging, she slips it on. Relishing the tight, dark feel of the fabric against her body. Doesn't bother about makeup or her hair, turning instead to her shoes. Nothing there suits her mood either, though at least there is black, and she opts to remain barefoot. It's not like it matters here anyway.
She finds Alec in one of the dens, setting up the pool table. When he sees her, something unrecognizable flashes across his face, and then he laughs, moving towards her and pressing her tight against him. "What, couldn't find anything to wear?"
Max shrugs. Purring sweetly, "I need to go shopping."
His hands trace her slightly more possessively than normal before he lets her slip out of his grasp. "Well, you might want to find something that you like... the neighbors will be over any minute now."
Alec returns to setting up the pool table, with an exaggerated precision that seems out of place with the rest of the environment. Max turns back towards the doorway, one finger tapping against her other arm, "Oh. I must've forgotten. I didn't sleep well."
"You don't have a headache, do you?" Alec sounds nervous, but is quickly relieved when she shakes her head.
By now, Max isn't even sure if she did sleep well. She can't remember.
...
They never go shopping.
Gradually, Max slips back into her silken wardrobe without even noticing that it had bothered her. The house is enormous, and there are more than enough neighbors and friends drifting through to keep her distracted. She can't even keep track of them all, or all the rooms they entertain in.
Once a week, a dark van interrupts her sunny view; the house is cleaned, the pantry and fridge restocked. There doesn't seem to be any reason to ever go out.
The dreams, however, don't go away as easily as vague fashion discomforts. As a matter of fact, they don't go away at all. Most nights, Max still wakes to brightly lit hallways and details she can't remember. Her journal is full of half-scribbled thoughts and memories, salvaged quickly, as the dreams inevitably slip from her grasp.
She's not convinced that Alec is sleeping well either; when she wakes in the middle of the night, he is rarely beside her.
This night is no different. She wakes, mouth open in silent screams about things that her memory has already discarded. The other side of the bed is empty. Max sits up in bed, wiping at the sweat on her brow, eyes following the patterns of moonlight across the sheets.
After a moment, she rises. Alec is already on the balcony when she gets there and they stand, silent in the odd half light of not-quite-morning, watching the moonlight play out over the slight waves crashing against the shore.
For a moment, Max is disorientated. Cliffs rise to one side of the house and waves crash against the other. There's no dock, no roads. She can't see the lights of the neighbor's houses in this light. Were there neighbors? She can't remember. It feels like they're all alone on their own little island. She shakes it off.
Alec catches her half movement, "You couldn't sleep either?"
"It's the moon, I think. It's so bright."
They both shrug at near the same time. It's the plainest thing in the world, and Alec is the one who says it. "Maybe we should shut the curtains?"
Together, they turn back towards the bedroom. Away from the dark abyss of the water climbing up the shores. Their hands half brush and they share an intimate smile, their private terrors suddenly seeming silly.
They forget to shut the curtains, but fall back asleep in one another's arms anyway, the moonlight drifting in, undisturbed, over their twined bodies.
...
She's sitting on the balcony, legs draped through the rails and dangling off the edge. If she squints just right, it's almost as though she can touch the fantastically clear water below. But she doesn't squint. She sees perfectly, sees all the details that are amiss and it makes her head ache. She looks away.
Instead, Max looks down. Cradled in her lap is her journal and she flips through the pages, back and forth, looking for a pattern. There is none. No pattern at all. Just scribbled thoughts that make no sense in the bright light of her daytime world.
Long hallway, bright lights. Gray. Windows. No, no windows. 42. Long hallway. Lights. Bright lights. Overhead and gray. Where am I?
Pages and pages of the same half formed thoughts. Pages and… how many pages? How many nightmares? She can't remember.
A long time? Long enough.
Unsettled, Max shuts the journal firmly. The lights must be the sun slipping through the shades, of that she's sure. The rest is like gibberish. 42. 42 what?
A hand on her shoulder almost makes her jump. "Whoa, Max, it's just me."
Alec's voice is calming, as real and rational as the daylight bathing them both. Not far away like the shores or her dreams. Max turns, smiling. "I didn't hear you."
Shrugging, Alec offers her a hand and pulls her up. The journal tumbles haphazardly to the ground but they disregard it. "What are you doing out here?"
What was she doing out here? As he wraps his arms around her and they stare out together at the idyllic scenery, she's already forgotten what was so important. "Nothing." It's a little too sharp in her mouth, so she softens it, "Just watching the waves."
Alec holds her tighter. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Nodding even as she pulls her eyes away from the hypnotic rhythm of waves against shore, Max puts her hands over his. Notices his hands, his nails are bitten down to the quick. A frown mars her sunny expression as she twists in his grasp. Alec has deep circles under his eyes.
How many nightmares?
...
Her leather outfit moves with her like a second skin, tight and reassuring. It's dark and she blends into the night. Moving fast, too fast, a predator among sheep, silent and invisible against the cloudy night sky. No stars tonight.
A voice next to her, cocky and bold - too loud, "Hey Max, you ever gonna tell me where we're going?"
Slowing, they fall into step together. A perfect rhythm. Where are they going? "That'd ruin the surprise." She sounds petulant to her own ears, but there's a layer of teasing underneath.
"That'd ruin a good backup plan."
She smacks him lightly, hand to the back of his head in a gesture that feels too familiar to be passing. "Shut up. This is gonna be easy."
They're play-fighting when they round the corner. Overconfident and too loud. He looks up first, and she can see one moment of pure frozen horror on his face before she turns, their eyes transfixed for one terrible second too long.
A moment of horror. She would scream, but the blackness is taking over. She can almost see it… almost see…
When Max wakes, mouth opened in a scream, she can feel that something is different. Reaching for her journal, she's not even sure what to put. This nightmare was different. Different than the multitudes of nights she's woke screaming already, something new and… and just as fleeting as all the rest.
Pen banging against paper, Max gives up. Rubbing at her eyes, a headache already forming.
The spot next to her is empty.
Gracefully rolling out of bed, Max moves towards the line of moonlight drifting in from the balcony. Her head is muddy, heavy, making her weak with sleep as she opens the door softly, squinting into the sudden light.
Alec is there. Skin glinting and shoulders shaking, curled up into a ball.
Rushing forward, Max embraces him, holds him. He starts for a moment before relaxing into her embrace, holding onto her with a grip tight enough to crush. "Max. Oh God, Max."
"Shh, shh," she holds him, rocks with him, presses his head into her bosom and runs her fingers through his hair.
His breath is still ragged, as though he's been running all night long and, clad in only loose fitting cotton pants, he may have been. But where? Down on the beach? "I keep trying… I just can't…"
He can't find the words and she doesn't encourage him. "Shh." Max has no words either because for just a moment, when she first opened the door and he looked up, she saw it.
That same look. A moment of horror.
...
She begins to find journals, scattered throughout the house. It makes no sense. They're hidden, wedged in odd corners and under carpets and beds. She doesn't remember how she found them or why she was looking. Doesn't understand why they're hidden.
There's too many. She doesn't remember writing them. But they're all full of the same half sentences in her own shorthand. There's one whole journal devoted to the number 42. And she can see the increasing agitation in the hand that wrote it - the way it shakes. The splatters of water dotting the pages. Was that her hand? Her... tears?
She can't quite remember, and it gives her a headache, so Max hastily shoves the journals back where she found them. Tries not to look.
If she complains of a headache, the doctor comes, immediately putting her to bed with, "Something that will help you sleep." Those nights, she doesn't dream at all.
She asks Alec about it, once, the doctor. His eyes cloud and then clear, and then he laughs, the edge brittle. "You called for the doctor, Max. To help you sleep."
Max blinks, but she cannot remember. Did she phone for the doctor? She must've. She can't remember there being a phone. But that's silly. Why would they live in this big house without a phone. "I feel like I've been asleep for months."
It's a joke, but she doesn't feel like laughing. Alec watches her closely, then laughs. "Does that mean I get a chance to wear you out?"
"As if you could ever keep up with me. In your dreams." And they're laughing and dancing across the balcony, high up and safe from bad dreams.
...
There's too many of them. Coming from all sides. And she's lost him in the melee. She's been shot again. Again? Again. Her side is breathing and her breaths are ragged and she knows that's not a good sign.
They're closing in around her. She can hear someone screaming her name, but it's too far away. The darkness is rising up to greet her, but she's afraid. She won't go through this. Not again. Not again.
She wakes gasping in the pitch dark. There's no moon but she can still see perfectly. There's something wrong. Her side. Is she bleeding? She was bleeding. And she can't... remember...
Instead of turning to her journal, spread open on the nightstand, Max finds her hands tracing across her body, fingertips searching, searching. And then her heart and head are pounding and she doesn't know how to fix it because her body suddenly feels different. There's a sharp edge of clarity, like she's only now waking, and she can feel scars tracing across her skin - ugly bumps and knots and when did she get those? Why does she have those? Her body...
"Max?"
She starts at the sound, jolting upright, scanning the room. It's only Alec. Who else would it be?
Alec crosses the room, and even without the moon she can see that his skin is slick with sweat, his feet and pajama bottoms sandy and wet. Was he running along the beach? He shouldn't do that. There's... the water, it's... Max can feel the edges of her thoughts swimming away on waves. Oh, her head.
"I thought I heard you scream," he takes in her bared skin, heaving chest, "not starting without me, were you?"
His smirk is cocky. Max looks down and realizes her hands are splayed across her body, one resting across her breast. She can't remember why. "Where were you?" The question spills from her lips unbidden, even as Alec crawls across the bed, sand trailing in his wake.
"Oh, Max." And then he's gathering her into his arms, and the wet press of his skin against hers is calming, even though she can feel both their hearts racing.
Her fingers trace across the scars at the back of his neck, and it feels familiar though she doesn't remember when he got them. "Alec. My head."
His arms tighten around her, "Shh."
How long has it been since she slept without waking to nightmares?
...
When things start to fall apart, it's so gradual that Max doesn't notice at first. Alec finds her standing on the edge of the railing, staring at the ocean stories below.
He teases her even as he helps her down and gathers her in his arms, his grip just a touch too tight. "What, trying to learn how to fly now?"
She doesn't remember how she got up there, or why.
The doctor comes and she sleeps for what feels like weeks.
When she wakes again, Alec is the first thing that she notices is wrong. He's never in bed anymore when she startles to consciousness, mouth opened to scream against something she can't remember.
He always returns before dawn. He's disorientated, confused. Sometimes he's covered in sand or mud. Sometimes it's scratches, and she doesn't know what or who left them on his skin. They're always gone by the morning, as though they were never there.
Max becomes gradually aware that she is losing time. Memories. She finds herself in the sunroom or the kitchen or their bedroom, with no memory of how she got there, or why.
For some reason, there are never any hallways in the house. There must be. What house doesn't have hallways? 42. But all she can see are windows and sunlight and then she forgets what she was wondering.
The neighbors stop coming, she thinks. Or maybe she's forgotten. She can never quite recall their faces. How can she miss something she doesn't remember?
Her head always hurts, now. But she doesn't say a word. Not even to the mirrors lining the bathroom. The ones that reflect a person she doesn't quite recognize.
She smiles and laughs and dances in the sunlight with Alec, stealing him away from cooking breakfast or playing pool. He holds her too tight and they whirl together too fast. The shadows under his eyes are dark in the light, and her head throbs with every flash of light, shooting overhead, but they dance like they never have to stop. Maybe they don't. There's no music, after all.
...
There are doctors standing over her, and there are IVs and tubes coming out of her body. They're wheeling her down the hallway. 42. Lights. There were 42. They're underground, but she has to count how far. Someone will be coming.
It was just supposed to be a simple scouting mission. She didn't think... how did they know? Bad intel. There wasn't enough time and they were too cocky and she cannot believe that this is happening all over again. She can't move her body, and the sounds around her are muffled in cotton and she hopes that they'll put her back together again when they're done. She needs to escape. But she can't leave... not yet...
Her eyes drift and then she sees it. Him. Looking at her with such an expression of sadness. He's strapped down next to her, but he's in one piece, thank the Blue Lady. Her mouth forms the words, but she can't tell if any sound came out. "Alec. Don't let them..."
It doesn't seem to matter. He offers her a weak, bloody grin, his shoulders slumping in a shrug. But his eyes promise her. "I've got you, Max."
She can feel reality fading away, even as she holds onto his face. They'll get out of this. They have to. They've been through worse. Besides, she's never told him... But then the doctors give her something else, and she can feel herself drifting away, even as she fights to hold on to what's happened. What are they doing to her?
And opens her eyes to blink up into the dark. The sheets are warm around her, but she's shivering. One word is echoing in her mind, and it's sharp and painful and suddenly she feels wide-awake in she can't remember how long. Manticore.
She finds Alec standing on the balcony. She takes his hand and they stand on the rail together, silk clothes whipping around them in the wind in shivering caresses.
"Max? I don't..." His eyes turn to her, wide and pleading in the dark, "I can't remember."
"Shh," Max soothes him, his hand rough under hers, "Trust me. I've got this, Smart-Alec."
Something in his eyes clears. "Well then, ladies first."
But Max pivots, her toes gripping the railing, tugging his to her for a kiss. There's not enough time, she knows. "I never told you."
His free hand pushes her curls behind her ear. "You didn't have to, Max." He smirks, "Though I wouldn't mind a demonstration."
"Shut up and jump."
And they do. Slipping off the edge of the balcony and falling fast an hard to hit the shockingly cold salt of the ocean. The waves roar and sirens blare in her ears, and Alec's grip on her hand is firm. She blinks, gasping into the light.
It feels like waking up.
Fin.
Final Notes: This fic was a long time in completion. I know that the end doesn't actually answer most of the questions. I wanted to leave it purposefully open to some interpretation. But this is post-series, after the war is over. Or, it's supposed to be. Max is wounded in a surprise attack, and captured. Alec tries to go after her, and is captured as well. Manticore decides they're too dangerous to keep, too dangerous to release, and too valuable to kill. Their solution involves a lot of mind-altering drugs. Whether or not the house and island was real, or whether they're still in the underground chamber, you can decide. I'd be curious to hear preferences. And there is a lot of background on Max and Alec's developing relationship, both before, during and after this fic. I hope that was clear, at least. At least they had this one moment, this pseudo-happily-ever-after, no matter how removed it was from the real world.