The storm eventually subsided into a quiet drizzle, its fury expended on the pitiable town in the distance. Max felt equally spent, if she felt anything at all. Faint streaks of heavy tears on her cheeks were barely distinguishable from the rain that had long-since drenched both Max and the world around her. It seemed to have soaked Max to her core: seeping deep into her skin, through everything inside, and into her heart.
She was waterlogged, senses and emotions blurred within the murky depths of loss.
A limp hand slid from its place on her thigh, tapping the wooden bench with a muted thump. Max was absently reminded that it was the same bench where, just the Monday before, she had opened up about her powers to... Chloe.
The memory was a violent spark, reigniting the kindling of her unspent pain. The drowned feeling abated, replaced by a sear of grief and anger.
Chloe... I'm so, so sorry. Why was I so stupid! How did I think this would undo anything, or that it would stop the storm?
It's not like the universe or whatever is stupid! If using my powers in the first place caused the storm, how does using them to prevent myself from using them count as not using them? I can hardly even call it a technicality...
A frustrated sob arrested Max's breathing, interrupting her thoughts for a moment.
It didn't last long.
If the universe really thought Chloe was supposed to die, why would I even get these powers? Why would I let myself believe that, even if Chloe believed it herself?
Max's tears slowed, her thoughts becoming softer.
How could I go along with that? Chloe was so scared. I wonder if, somewhere in the back of her mind, she wanted me to say no?
Max paused. She was still crying, but the pain had slowed from a flood to a drip feed.
I wanted to say no. To turn back and tell her, "No, Chloe, you're my hero." I should have ripped that picture in half. It shouldn't have been an option. And now I know that it wasn't really one anyway...
Her tears spent, Max was empty with despair.
Now I don't have any options. I dropped the fucking butterfly photo when I went back! How could I make such a stupid mistake? It should have been my lifeline, my backup, but now? It's nothing.
My journal isn't any better. Of course all of my photos from this week are gone: I erased it! Everything!
Ugh… How could I be so stupid?
Her anger partially spent, Max felt incredibly drained. She was just so, so tired. And now, she didn't have Chloe to help her push through it and keep going.
She silently realized she never would.
Her eyes were suddenly drawn to the cliff face in front of her.
Max rose from the bench. She shuffled forward.
Her eyes peered down over the edge, as it slowly opened up before her.
Before Max reached the precipice, a thought struck her, and she stopped.
This is exactly how I got here: not being careful enough and thinking things all the way through.
I've got to - got to fucking think about this. Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe there's still a chance.
Maybe Chloe doesn't have to stay dead.
Max took a shaky, shuddering breath and sat down right where she was near the ledge. The bench was soaked anyway, and she bitterly mused that maybe the hazard would help force her to think.
Max thought through the twisting chain of events that had put her in this spot. Starting from the Dark Room, she tried to plot her course across realities and timelines, to see what was still true and what wasn't. Things had gotten mixed up near the end.
She remembered winning the Everyday Heroes Contest and thinking everything was fixed.
She remembered undoing that choice, and accidentally putting herself back in the Dark Room.
She remembered being rescued by David, after more than a few botched attempts.
She remembered fighting through the storm, helping who she could, and finally getting the photo taken at the party from Warren.
She remembered warning Chloe on the night of the party and their happy reunion on the beach after that plan worked.
She remembered her nightmare.
She remembered reaching the lighthouse, and she wanted to stop. She pushed through.
She remembered the bathroom, dropping the photo for no good reason.
She remembered Nathan, and she remembered Chloe.
She remembered Chloe's death.
She remembered her senses blurring, and then there was nothing more for her to remember.
Max was emotionally numb, subconsciously defending herself from the pain pouring out from the memories. But she kept pushing through it, trying to find the detail that mattered. There had to be one. She couldn't accept anything else.
And then suddenly it was obvious.
Max had been distracted by being placed back on the cliff. It felt like she was right back in the storm where she had been, merely minutes of difference to her perception. The only real difference was a distinct lack of Chloe Price.
But this wasn't the same reality at all. Everything in Max's memory, other than events in the most recent jump back, had never happened. Max had been vaguely aware of that fact because of how awful it made her feel for Chloe. Not only had she died, she died feeling alone and abandoned by everyone in her life. Her dad. Her mom.
And Max, who showed back up just in time to watch her get shot. Practically mocking her.
That guilt amplified the pain of losing Chloe. And, though Max still acutely felt that pain shooting through her chest, its implications planted a tiny seed of hope.
Max's journal wasn't an option anymore; she couldn't fix things during the week.
The butterfly photo wasn't an option either; she couldn't fix the problem at its source.
So she would just have to go back further, as obvious as it seemed. Max didn't know when, and she didn't know where, but she knew there had to be a silver bullet.
She had an entire arsenal of them hanging on the wall of her room at Blackwell.
I don't want to get my hopes up, but... there is a chance. A chance that I can still fix this.
I won't let myself miss it by being careless. I have to be stronger than that, for myself and for Chloe.
Max stood, fully in control of her actions. She burned with a sudden blaze of willpower.
Hope is strange like that.
Max turned away from the precipice. The rain had nearly stopped. She took a deep breath and started for the familiar path down from the lighthouse.
Chloe... I will fix this. We were so wrong, but I can still make things right. I have to.
I need my partner in crime.
AN: So, we've got the ball rolling now! Apologies for the late update after promising to be quick. Editing took longer than planned: something I had made a note to fact check turned up a detail I had misremembered, so I needed to edit a good amount of the internal dialogue in this chapter. It has definitely made things better though; the original version had Max take a little too long to realize some implications of how changing things back affected her options going forward, and I thought it was a little unconvincing. Max is a smart cookie! Most of the time, anyway.
I'll need to do some similar work on what I've already written going forward, so editing that will take a bit longer as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and this small peek behind the curtain. Until next time!