David Madsen heard his stepdaughter before he saw her. The overstressed engine heaved and huffed down Cedar Avenue, just as it did two years ago. Just as it did before half the houses on the street became wrecked beyond repair, before hundreds died in a freak storm formed within minutes, before David lost the woman he loved for the second time.
Before reality slapped David out of his delusion that the three of them could ever be a family.
He cracked open a can of Dr. Pepper and took a sip, watching as the paint-chipped, weathered (what the hell is that? Ford F-150?Jeep Comache? Dodge RAM?) car came into view. He felt nothing as it sputtered to a stop and two girls he never thought he'd see again pushed the doors open.
Chloe skipped town right after the storm hit. Initially, David assumed her to be one of the countless dead, but nine months later the police station received a call from a woman claiming to be Chloe Price, telling them she was fine and requesting her removal from the Missing Persons list.
At first, David hoped it was a case of the department being in complete disarray. There was no way Chloe was fine, and if she was, there was no way she waited nine months to call the station.
There was no way she would have missed her mother's funeral.
David leapt into action. Within two hours his dented car was packed and his fingers were wrapped around the wheel. But after shifting the gear stick intro drive, he hesitated.
What the hell was he doing?
If it took this long for her to call the station, that meant she didn't want to be found. She didn't want David to find her. There was a reason she called the police station and not the house, after all.
He wished he could be the callous bastard she thought he was and not feel hurt. But he did.
In retrospect, he should have expected this. She never shirked on showing her disdain, something that—aside from the occasional blip of something else—remained generally constant. He could blow up a tank but couldn't pierce the shell of Chloe Price. If anything, his attempts at fatherhood made everything worse, and it was only with the benefit of hindsight that he could see how ineffective and harmful some of his actions were.
A wave of emptiness and lethargy crashed into him. He loosened his grip on the wheel and closed his eyes, and after a few minutes and several deep breaths, David unpacked the car, drank a few beers, and vowed not to think about Chloe Price unless a miracle happened and she decided to reach out on her own.
Which was apparently today, two years later.
"Wow. Never took you for a sit-on-a-lawn-chair-and-stare-into-space kind of guy."
He wasn't. Before the storm, he used to sneer whenever he drove past "lazy assholes" doing just that. But a lot had changed since then, like Chloe's appearance.
Her eyes were wary and guarded, but lacked their usual venom. Likewise, she wore a smile instead of a smirk, albeit one that seemed forced. The tattoos that once decorated her arm were covered over in black ink, and she—most noticeably— finally decided to abandon the hair dye and let her strawberry-blonde tresses grow out. The bottom tips were still a greenish color, but her hair was longer, like how Joyce would have wanted.
Thinking of Joyce caused David's fingers to curl around the soda can. The levity brimming Chloe's tone was wildly inappropriate, but he forced himself to take a few deep breaths to collect himself.
Chloe was back: this was a good thing. Yes, she left without warning, and yes, she didn't attend or even inquire about her mother's funeral, and yes, she had the audacity to turn her first sentence into a joke, but she was still his stepdaughter. He needed to reign in his temper before it bit him in the ass again, like it did so many times before.
He took another sip to formulate his thoughts. "Just admiring the view."
Chloe blinked and glanced behind her, checking to make sure that–-yes—the crushed remains of the neighbor's house was still there. "You make jokes now? Shit."
That was the reaction of other Arcadia Bay survivors over the past two years. Comparatively speaking, they were rare, but marked a change from their virtual nonexistence three years prior.
The storm must have broken more in him than he thought.
"Who says I'm joking?"
Chloe squinted, not quite sure what to make of him. And that was fine. He wasn't sure what to make of her either.
"H-Hi, David," the second visitor murmured. Unlike Chloe, Max Caulfield looked the same as she did two years ago, the only difference being a change in fashion sense that he attributed to Chloe's influence.
For a long time he resented Max for believing she wrecked his relationship with Joyce, but had since realized he had no one to blame but himself. "Hello, Max. What brings the two of you back here? I thought you wanted to leave Arcadia Bay."
He tried to sound non-accusatory, but wasn't sure of his success. The two girls looked at each other in silent conversation before turning back to David.
"We did, and we're not staying long," explained Chloe. "We just kinda, um, wanted to stop by, see if anything's left of Mom's old stuff." So she knew Joyce was gone, then. For how long? "Not expecting much though," she muttered, glancing up at David's slipshod work in renovating the roof.
"We were able to salvage some things, from the first floor mostly. She also left you an inheritance which you gotta claim."
"I know," she mumbled, looking away.
David placed his half-empty soda can on the grass and stood up. "Well, let's head in."
Chloe's eyes widened. "You mean, like, now?"
"That's why you're here, right?"
"Yeah, but…" There was another silent conversation between her and Max.
"We didn't think you'd let us go in," Max interjected, "or even be here. We just got our motel room an hour ago."
"And we kinda wanted to just, like, drive around. See what's changed and who's still here."
Keep your temper under control, keep it under control, keep it—-
"How long are you staying for?"
They glanced at each other again. "We haven't decided yet," Max mumbled. Of course you haven't. "Maybe a couple days?"
He knew, objectively, he should ask if they wanted to stay on Cedar Avenue. That would be the right thing to do, even if they rejected it (which was more than likely). But when he tried to force out the words, they died on his tongue. "Who are you looking for?"
"Um, just some old friends. Like Warren Graham…"
"He's dead." David said bluntly. He felt neither guilt nor vindication in seeing her face crumple.
Chloe squeezed Max's hand and finished the unspoken question. "Kate Marsh?"
"She's dead too." He left out the part about the whole Marsh family dying together, knowing it might cause unnecessary grief. But David didn't view it as tragic. They really were fucking blessed if they all got to go together.
Not like me and Joyce.
A curtain of brown obscured Max's face as she turned it away. Hands slipping from Chloe's, she re-entered the car without a word.
Chloe let out a sigh of frustration. "Is there a list of everyone who died?"
Again, David restrained himself from having an outburst. This entire trip was clearly something they did on a whim; a list of the confirmed dead had been available for a while now.
What the hell have they been doing the past two years?
"There's a memorial in the town." He paused, then added. "Not everyone died, Chloe. I know at least two of your friends made it out. The Gingrich girl and one of the North brothers."
A pained expression crossed her face. "Which one?"
"The youngest, I think."
"Okay. Thanks for letting me know."
"No problem."
A heavy, awkward silence descended between them. There was a lot that could have, should have, been said, but once again, David couldn't bring himself to do so. A gaping chasm existed between him and his stepdaughter, much as it always had. But this time it felt different, though he couldn't pinpoint why.
"I'll get your key," he offered, folding up the lawn chair.
Chloe blinked in surprise. "What?"
"It's your house, you can stop by whenever you want." He shrugged. "Clearly you didn't give coming here much thought, but I can't spend the next few days sitting around here, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for you to show up."
Chloe went on the defensive, those famous walls forming around her once more. "I'll pick a day. Whatever."
"Forgive me if I don't put much stock in that. I'm gonna get the key now. You stay put."
He was aware of her cold gaze piercing into his back as he took his sweet time opening the garage. He leaned the lawn chair against the wall, unhooked the spare key, and took a few deep breaths to mentally center himself.
Chloe's back. This is a good thing.
Hadn't he been waiting for this to happen?
Yet all the emotions he thought he'd feel weren't there. It was like he was no longer David Madsen anymore, but rather an alien wearing his skin. Something that, he supposed, he shouldn't be surprised about. He hadn't felt like himself since before the storm.
Long ago he would have loved to wake up differently, to be someone who didn't feel emotions as deeply as David Madsen did. That way, they wouldn't control him like he used to. But now that they were gone, he wasn't too sure.
When he returned, he was surprised Chloe was still there. He wouldn't have blamed her for leaving.
"Where are you working?" she asked as he made his way across the lawn. "No way it's Blackwell."
"Construction. Kristine Prescott inherited her old man's money and funds most of the rebuilding efforts, even the ones the state wrote off as a lost cause." Chloe's eyes narrowed at the name 'Prescott.' "I thought she'd be rotten too, but she's not."
From the few times he'd seen her in person, she seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders, albeit one heavy with grief over her brother's actions. Wisely, she chose not to stamp the Prescott name on every new building like her father would have and was generally hands-off with Arcadia Bay. David suspected the only reason she funded the relief efforts in the first place was to make up for the damage her family caused.
"That's good, I guess."
"Yeah."
There was another thick silence as she took the key from his hands. Getting closer to Chloe allowed him to see details that previously escaped his notice: the dark circles underneath her eyes, the traces of red in the sclera, the pallid color of her complexion.
"Chloe?"
The words came out of his mouth on instinct.
"...What?"
He wished he was good at this shit. He wished he knew what to say without constantly making things worse. "I know we had our differences, but I just wanted to say…I'm glad you're not dead."
He knew they weren't close, but still didn't expect the reaction. Chloe's shoulders slumped and her bottom lip wavered. Her eyes held a deep sorrow he'd never seen from Chloe, never seen from anyone outside of the military: the haunted, hollow eyes of a person carrying a burden they knew others around them could never understand.
"Thanks. Bye, David."
From this distance, he could see Max's body trembling with sobs as Chloe entered. The two girls wrapped each other in an embrace that lasted several seconds before the car sputtered to life and clattered away from Cedar Avenue.
David sighed. Chloe and him didn't get into an argument—that should be a success.
But it didn't feel like it. Instead, David felt even emptier than he did when they arrived.
"Fuck."
David's hands rifled through his pockets, confirming his worst fear: He left his wallet at home. Not wholly unexpected, given his lack of sleep and the chaotic swarm of thoughts flooding his mind, but it was annoying all the same.
Jessica's eyes shone sympathetically. "Don't worry about it. This one's on the house."
"No, that's alright. I'll—"
"I insist. You boys are doing good work renovating that hospital."
Out of the corner of his eyes, David spotted the rest of the construction crew munching on their lunches and shooting the shit. The Slammin' Sandwiches stand had been open outside the construction site for the duration of the job, and Jessica had worked there for most of them. She knew David was a reliable customer who never shirked on the bill before. Still, he hated the idea of accepting charity.
Perhaps sensing this, Jessica added. "I'm gonna be leaving it on the counter whether you take it or not. Up to you whether you want it to go to waste."
His growling stomach made the decision for him. "Thanks," he said gruffly, grabbing the warm chicken sandwich. Damn, this smells good… "I'll pay you back tomorrow."
"Like I said,"she winked, "no need to worry about that."
David headed in the direction of his foreman and explained he needed to head home. He didn't like the idea of being without a license or spare cash, and luckily, his house was close enough to the construction site that he'd be able to get home and back before they were scheduled to resume work. As he strode over to the parking lot, a loud barking sound alerted him to the presence of Fang (Yes, the collar might have said something different, but considering the name on it was so damn stupid, David refused to address him as anything other than Fang). The brown mutt rushed over to David, wagging its tail rapidly as it eyed the sandwich in his hands.
David sighed and unwrapped it, tearing off a big chunk of meat for the dog. Fang was one of the many strays in the wake of the disaster, and David wished he could do more to help. But animal shelters were at full capacity, and while he sometimes toyed with the idea of taking the dog in himself, he never worked up the mental fortitude to do so. Having someone—or something—new on 44 Cedar Avenue felt wrong, like he was ready to move on with his life.
He wasn't.
After saying goodbye to Fang, he drove back to Cedar Avenue and felt his heart twist upon seeing Chloe's car parked outside. He gave her that key so she could come whenever she wanted, but damn it, he was not ready to have this conversation today.
With a sigh, he parked in the garage and exited. As he headed to the door, he stopped abruptly, an icy dread pouring over him.
One of his guns was missing from the case.
He heard distant, muffled sobs from the opposite side of the door. "Fuck…I'm sorry…"
Chloe's voice.
His immediate thought was that someone broke into the house and threatened her, and fury spiked through him. Then, it dissipated as another, more realistic possibility weighed in his mind. He didn't think, simply acting on instinct and adrenaline as he rushed into the living room.
David's time in Iraq prepared him for many things, but nothing could ever prepare him for the sight of his stepdaughter weeping while she held a photo of her mother in one hand and a gun—pressed against her temple—in the other.
Like in war, a rash step might trigger an explosion. This was a tense situation that needed to be diffused delicately and sensitively.
And the only person around right now was him.
Fuck.
Chloe spotted David and sprang to her feet, causing the photos on the table to scatter in the breeze. "G-Get the fuck away from me!"
Shit. Ohshitohshitohshit.
Memories of a forlorn Kate Marsh standing atop the Blackwell dorms swarmed his mind. Memories of him rushing impotently to the roof, only to find that Max already deescalated the situation.
Max. Where the hell was she now? That girl was the only one who could talk Chloe off the proverbial cliff. David always made things worse.
But Max isn't here. It's just me.
His throat was dry. He remembered there was a staff meeting about the need for formal training regarding suicide prevention in the days following Kate's attempt, but then the storm came and everything went to shit. He was on his own. Fuck.
His first step was to hold up his hands and take a couple steps back. "Okay, I'm backing up."
It sounded corny, and he wasn't sure it did anything to placate her nerves. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes reflected raw agitation and panic.
He needed to appear calm and non-threatening, which was rich, given their history. "Put the gun down, Chloe."
"No," she snapped, jamming it against her head. "You don't understand. I need to do this."
He needed to get her talking, needed her to feel validated and understood in a way Kate never did. "What don't I understand?"
Tears streamed down Chloe's face like twin rivers. "The storm. Mom's death. Everyone's death. It's all—it's all because of me! I'm the cause!"
"That's just nature. It's not your—" A sudden manic, frenzied expression sprang into her eyes, and he quickly amended his words. "Why do you think you caused this?"
"Because I'm not supposed to be here," she whispered, those empty, hollow eyes from the previous day returning. "I'm supposed to be dead, in that bathroom. But I didn't and—and the whole space-time thing got fucked."
Oh Lord, this was a real, honest-to-God psychotic break. This was way out of David's wheelhouse.
His palms sweat as he remembered Jim in his unit having a breakdown over imaginary insects crawling over him. At that moment, there was no way to reason with him—the delusion felt too real. But eventually, he snapped out of it on his own.
"It sounds like this is going to be a long story," he began carefully. "I'm gonna sit on the opposite end of the couch and—"
"Do you think i'm fucking stupid?" she snarled. "You're going to wrestle the gun from me."
"You could point it at me the whole time to make sure I don't."
He didn't care if he got shot.
Chloe narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but slowly turned the gun away from her head and towards David. He carefully made his way towards the edge of the couch, trying to maintain a neutral expression.
It was pointed away from her. That was the important part.
When he finally sat, a tense silence reigned. Her eyes no longer held the panic of earlier, but instead reflected the simmering anger he knew so well. He could work with that. Maybe.
Or maybe I'll fuck it up like always…
"I know what you're trying to do," she said hoarsely. "I'm not an idiot. You're trying to get me distracted so I won't do it."
"Yeah," he admitted. Chloe never had any patience for bullshit. "But if you really want to do something, nothing on earth is going to stop you. I sure as hell learned that by now."
"Good. So why the fuck are you wasting your time?"
"Because I don't want you to die," he said, voice cracking. "I know I wasn't always…the best stepfather, but I did…I do…love you, and I don't want to see you hurt."
He knew the words might ring false to Chloe. Aside from their heated arguments and shouting matches, there were a couple times in the past when he laid hands on her in a misguided attempt to get her on the right track. David was raised to fear and respect authority, and would have gotten his ass kicked as a child if he said even a fraction of what Chloe did. The late William Price—from what Joyce told him—ascribed to a hippie-dippie parenting approach where there was virtually no discipline, rules, or boundaries, leading to a sense of entitlement and lack of inherent respect for adults.
Joyce privately confessed she wished they gave Chloe more structure growing up, and lamented how her daughter interacted with adults no differently than she did peers. David pounced and made it his mission to bring some tough love into Chloe's life and draw out the potential he knew she had inside. And become the father he always wanted to be.
But the execution was much different from the idealistic daydream, and laying down the law was like charging headfirst into a tidal wave. Instead of adapting, he doubled down and created an endless cycle of hostility. He handled the situation terribly, and it was only with the benefit of hindsight that he realized how badly he fucked up. Just because it was legal to rough up his grieving stepchild didn't mean that he should, and just because his father never created an open dialogue between them didn't mean that David shouldn't.
For all his mental criticism of William's parenting, Chloe loved him. She was happy with him. She felt safe, loved, and protected with her birth father in a way she never did with David.
Yet none of the thoughts swirling in Chloe's mind seemed to reflect the tempest in his. Instead, her face calmed, and she opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. Still, the gun didn't drop. "Yeah," she finally said. "Max said something like that…"
David shifted position and cleared his throat. "What did you mean when you said the whole thing is your fault?"
Chloe let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes for several seconds before opening them. He was tempted to grab the gun then, but restrained himself. "It's going to sound so crazy…I thought it was crazy when Max told me. But it's so fucking real." David didn't say anything, waiting for elaboration while attempting to quell his inner panic. "And it's a secret, too. Max's secret. The only reason I'm telling you now is because me dying is going to reset the timeline, and you won't remember any of this."
Chloe lied a lot, but David grew accustomed to her tics. The intensity of her gaze left no room for questioning the sincerity of her words: she truly believed what she was saying.
It really was a psychotic break.
(Unless what she's saying was real, but that would be crazy. Then again, so was a tornado materializing out of nowhere.)
"About a week before the storm hit, I snuck into Blackwell and got into an argument with Nathan Prescott in the girls' bathroom. He shot me and I died and—stop looking at me like that! I know it sounds crazy, alright? But then this…blue butterfly comes in through the window and then Max gets these powers to rewind time and…yeah. It's like her mind goes into the body of her past self…weird as shit. But then she used it to go back before I got shot and pulled the fire alarm so I didn't get shot. And then we spent the rest of the week using those powers to figure out which limp-dick fuckers murdered Rachel. "
Chloe wasn't looking at David anymore, instead latching her gaze onto the table. Nonetheless, David tried, very, very hard to maintain a natural expression.
"How do you think we tipped you off about the Dark Room? Or how Max got to the rooftop even though she just came out of class? Or how the storm literally came out of nowhere?"
Those were admittedly questions David asked himself, but this explanation was…not what he expected. "Hmm. I see."
She chuckled darkly and rolled her eyes. "You don't believe me? Typical."
"I didn't say I don't believe you," he said carefully. "It's just….it's a lot to take in. This idea that Max has time traveling powers because of a…butterfly."
"'Had.' She doesn't have them anymore. And I think the butterfly was my soul from another universe or my spirit animal or something."
David said nothing, but whatever expression crossed his face caused Chloe to kick the table in frustration. "Stop! I know it sounds dumb! But the time travel part's true! I've got proof."
Lord help me. "What proof?"
Chloe bit the inside of her cheek. "Well, not proof-proof, but I know things that would be impossible for me to know otherwise."
"Like what?"
"I know you told Mom she was your hero."
That wasn't something he spoke about to anyone, though Joyce could have theoretically told Chloe sometime in the past.
"Anything else?"
"I know you always suspected Nathan and Mr. Jefferson, and the reason you were up in everyone's ass was to protect the school. And me."
"That's…true."
"I also know you agreed to take a family counseling class."
David's body grew rigid. He only spoke to Joyce about it a couple hours before the storm hit. Chloe wasn't with Joyce then. Unless Joyce told someone else and it got back to Chloe somehow?
But who, and when? Chloe left immediately after the storm.
"And Max said…" Now, finally, she placed the gun on the table. Thank God. "She said you really were trying to be a good father, even if you did it in a crappy way. And she said you actually did, um, you did love me…"
She looked so vulnerable, so frightened, so honest. He wanted to wrap her in a hug like he should have done, years ago.
"Do you believe her?"
"Of course," Chloe replied immediately. "I always believe her. And I know you…tried. Like with the photo you gave me of that Beckett guy."
"Becker," he corrected automatically.
"Yeah, him…sorry."
"It's alright." He paused for a moment and reflected on everything that happened, everything Chloe told him. "I…believe you."
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Seriously?"
Maybe it was because she really did know things she logically shouldn't. Maybe it was the deep sincerity in her voice, or the vulnerability in her eyes. Maybe he just wanted to believe her. Maybe he was going crazy himself from stress and trauma. Maybe he just wanted to believe in miracles. But either way, once the words came out of his lips, he realized they were true. "Yeah."
Chloe's brows scrunched as she surveyed David. Then, content with what she saw, she leaned back. Unease flickered on her face; David suspected she wanted him to disbelieve her. That would have been familiar, instead of venturing into these new, uncharted waters.
He coughed. "So Max used these, er, powers to find out about the Dark Room? That's how you sent me that tip?"
"Yeah." Her eyes grew distant at the memory. "We found Rachel…her body"—her voice hitched and David felt the sudden impulse to punch Mark Jefferson in the face—"and then—and then he shot me."
"What?"
"Not in this timeline," she said quickly, "but yeah, I um, died there too…and then Jefferson brought Max into the Dark Room and was going to kill her, but you-you saved her. Her and Victoria."
"Huh." She was looking at him with an odd, unfamiliar expression, and it took him a moment to realize it was respect. "Hope I put a bullet in that fucker's skull."
Her lips twitched upward. "You did, when you heard he killed me."
"Good."
Chloe's gaze fell, and she began fiddling with the frayed edge of the cushion. "She also told me some of the things you told her and I guess…I guess you really did want to just, like, get along with me. I always thought you were just pretending to, for Mom…"
"I really did, Chloe," he stressed. Then, he corrected himself: "I do. Look, I know I—" He sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest. "I went about it all wrong. I fucked up and I…hurt you, in all kinds of ways. And I thought it would help, having structure and discipline, but I went overboard and ended up making everything worse. I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to me, but I just want to say…I'm sorry. And I mean that, Chloe."
His vision started to blur so he couldn't see her fully, but the cracking in her voice indicated he wasn't the only one holding back tears. "I know. And I'm sorry, too. I acted like a bitch to you, even when you didn't deserve it. I felt like you were replacing my dad and I hated it so I just—I don't know, the whole thing was stupid…I was so fucking selfish, I didn't even think about what would make Mom happy. I didn't even try to like you. I was just concerned about myself."
"So was I," David finally admitted. It was hard but necessary to say. "I wanted to be part of your family so badly, I ignored how much you were still hurting from your father's death. In Iraq I knew….lots of good men who died. First time's a tragedy, but the more it happens the more numb you become. You push it away to some dark corner of your mind and keep forging ahead. And then you start forgetting how hard it is for people who aren't used to death. I expected you to be like me, which you're not. And thank God for that."
"We both could have done things better," sniffled Chloe, wiping a tear away. "I wish we didn't waste so much time. I wish things could have been different…"
"There's still time left," David reminded her gently. His eyes glanced at the gun. Should I make a move for it now, or…?
"No. There's not," Chloe asserted, drawing herself up. Aside from the dampness staining her cheeks, she looked poised and controlled. "Do you want to hear the rest of the story?"
David nodded hesitantly. Chloe crossed her legs on the small table, blocking David's pathway to the gun. Damn it… "So Max traveled back in time, and that's when we texted you about the Dark Room. Max passed out, I think because she was using her powers too much, and I brought her to the lighthouse. Then she—"
"Why the lighthouse?"
"Haven't you seen any movies? If supernatural shit's happening, you follow the visions. So I brought her up there, and that's when the storm started getting intense. She woke up and said it was caused by her messing with time—since she kept saving my sorry ass again and again. And then I remembered the photograph and—"
"What photograph?"
"Before I was shot—not in the timeline with Jefferson, but in the bathroom with Nathan Prescott—Max took a picture of the butterfly. And if she focuses on the photo, her mind could rewind and go back to that point in time. So I told her to go back and let me die in the bathroom, but—"
"Chloe…"
"But she didn't listen!" Her body started to tremble. "She tore up the photo, and now we're stuck in this hellhole!"
Gratitude towards Max and anguish for his stepdaughter swelled in his heart simultaneously. "Then what happened?"
"After the storm, we drove around a bit and left town. We went to LA and then some other places, but it was weird. Like, we knew what happened but it was almost like it didn't happen. We never talked about it. We went to concerts and tourist traps and shit and had a great time. It was like the Chloe and Max watching Firewalk were different from the Chloe and Max who killed hundreds of people."
"You and Maxdidn't kill anyone," David corrected. "The storm did."
"A storm that wouldn't have happened without us! A storm we could have stopped, but didn't. If you saw another soldier about to walk in the direction of a landmine–that you put there—and you decide not to stop them, that's your fault, right?"
David closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Chloe, that's…." He sighed. "What made you decide to return to Arcadia Bay?"
"I don't even know. One day I was fine, and the next day I just…wasn't. It hit me, like, 'oh, shit. I'm clubbing on the graves of hundreds of people.' And me getting upset caused Max to get upset and it was like a fucking dam broke. I guess we were just holding so much inside, and once it started pouring we couldn't stop. We kept thinking and talking about Arcadia Bay and then Max said we needed to come back, so…here we are."
"And when you saw the town and the list of the dead, you decided to"—kill yourself—"reset the timeline?"
"No, I only decided that when I saw the gun cabinet. It was like…fate." Her lips twisted into a wry smile.
I knew I should have changed the combination.
"Max is talking to Warren's mom, so she won't have to see this," she said, placing her feet on the floor and picking up the gun again. "I thought you wouldn't, either. Sorry, David."
His mind fritzed, but he had enough combat experience to know he needed to focus on one thing instead of being pulled in different directions. Appealing to emotions won't work, not when they were running so high. Maybe pragmatism?
"Chloe," he said quickly as she examined the silver weapon in front of her, "You said that when Jefferson—uh, when Jefferson shot you in the other timeline, Max was taken to the Dark Room. Everything didn't reset because you died: She had to make that choice to go back. If you die here, I'm still going to be here. So is Max. The only thing that'll change is that you won't be around, and that's not something either of us could handle."
Chloe's jaw clenched. "Maybe, maybe not. There's no way to know for sure until I try it."
"Offing yourself isn't something you just 'try,' like fucking paragliding. It's–" CALMERCALMERCALMER. He took a deep breath. "Do you really want to die that badly?"
Chloe looked away. "I don't want to die," she confessed. "But I can't continue like this. I can't live, knowing all these people died because of me. David, my mom died because of me. I'm selfish, but I'm not that selfish."
"Your mom would want you alive, Chloe, even at the expense of her own." He swallowed. "So would your dad…"
Chloe's eyes flickered to him briefly before returning to her shoes. Her grip tightened around the gun. "Then I guess selfishness runs in the family. Why should I get to live when everyone else's families got ruined? Steph's parents, Drew, Frank…goddamnit, hundreds of people died. I'm one person. It's not right."
David was quiet for a long moment. "I know you're not going to believe me, but I know what you're going through."
Chloe snorted. "You're right, I don't."
"Not with this time travel shit, but I know what it's like to survive when you think you shouldn't."
She looked at him for further elaboration, and queasiness bubbled inside him at revealing something he never told anyone, not even Joyce. But if she was going to be honest and vulnerable, it was only right for him to do the same. "I told you about Phil Becker, right? How he was killed by an IED."
"Yeah." Chloe nodded and used her empty hand to dig into her pocket for the wallet, while the other remained on the gun. She unfolded the picture of him and Phil smiling, and David's gut twisted in shock. He didn't think she would have held onto it for so long. "You want this back?"
"Keep it. The reason I'm mentioning it is because Phil…well, he wasn't supposed to die that day. I was. I was supposed to be patrolling that area but got sick earlier, so he volunteered to cover for me. He never should've been there, and not a day goes by where I don't think of that."
Chloe's face whitened. For once, they finally had common ground.
"Living when someone else didn't makes it hard to do normal shit. Every time you feel happy, you start to feel guilty. And when you finally think you're over it, it suddenly hits you like a fucking freight train. You start wanting to off yourself, because that'll make the feelings go away. And you think that'll somehow 'even things out' even if it doesn't make a lick of sense. I know, Chloe. I've been there."
Chloe's eyes widened like saucers, her mouth hanging slightly ajar. "What, um, what made you stop?"
Though it might backfire, he decided to be honest. "Your mother. Being with her made me feel life was worth living again."
"Why not do it now?" Then, she rushed to clarify. "N-Not that I want you to, though I doubt you believe me…but since Mom's dead, I'm just wondering."
It was a question he didn't fully know the answer to, but tried his best to put it into words. "Other people can inspire you, and get you on the right path, but the only one who could live your life is you. This is going to sound corny as fuck, but Joyce made me believe in myself, and made me think I still have something to offer. 'There's only one you'...that's what she'd say." He closed his eyes briefly at the memory. "I'm not gonna lie and say it's always easy getting up in the morning, and I'm not going to pretend I never think about it. But I want the world to be a better, safer place—that's what Phil and I both wanted. That's why we joined the marines. And that's why I'm helping rebuild Arcadia Bay. Because I owe it—not just to Phil, and not just the world—but also to myself to try to do the best I can each day. Some days the best I can do is a lot, other days it's as tiny as Nathan Prescott's dick, but either way, it's better than the nothing I would do if I was underneath a headstone."
"Damn," she finally said after a long pause. "That's a good speech."
"Buckle up, 'cause I ain't even done yet." He reached out hesitantly and put his hand on her shoulder. She glanced up, startled, but didn't pull away. "If there's one thing I learned about Chloe Price over the years, it's that you don't follow the rules. Maybe you dying in that bathroom was how things were supposed to go, but it's not anymore. And since it's not, what happens next is up to you. You can blow your brains out now on the tiny chance things reset, or you could build a new world that you want to see, surrounded by the people who love and support you."
"...It just feels wrong," she whispered. "Living while all those people died...It feels like I'm mocking their deaths."
"How? You're alive because of them. You living honors their deaths far more than killing yourself ever would." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Don't waste your life, Chloe. Live for them, because they can't. And live for yourself, because you have so much to offer. There's been too much death in Arcadia Bay."
Chloe was quiet for a very long time, tears dripping down her cheeks. When she finally placed the gun back on the table with a wobbling hand, David felt like crying himself out of relief.
She launched herself at David, wrapping her arms around his neck. David sat frozen in place, not wanting to ruin anything, before tentatively wrapping his arms around her in return. They stayed that way for a while until Chloe finally wiggled away. "Okay," she said, giving a forced laugh. "That was awkward. That's, like, the last time we're gonna do the hug thing."
It wouldn't be, though neither of them knew that at the time.
"Alright." His gaze drifted to the gun. "I'm going to put that back in the cabinet."
"Okay."
He tried to look cool and not frantically overzealous as he picked up the gun and returned it to the case. This time, he made sure to change the lock.
When he returned to the living room, Chloe was gone. His temporary panic attack ceased once he saw her coming back from the kitchen with two Dr. Pepper cans in hand. "Could you, like, not tell Max about this? She'd freak."
David paused as she handed him one. "I won't," he finally said, sitting back down on the couch, "but you should. Not talking about things is what led to this happening. And she'd want to know, since the two of you are so…close."
"I'll have to tell her that you know the secret now, too. Shit…" She plopped down beside him and popped open the lid. "You know me and her are more than friends, right?"
"Yeah."
"And you don't care?"
"No."
"I thought you would. Politics and all…"
David knew why she would assume that, but even before the storm he thought it was dumb to have a fit over liking the same gender. But since she never asked him about it then, he never offered his thoughts. "I just want you to be happy," he said honestly. "Guy, girl, or no one—doesn't matter. Never did."
She took a few gulps from the soda can and set it down on the table. "You know," she said quietly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, "in one of the other timelines, Max spoke to Mom about you. In the diner, on the day of the storm, right before…" She swallowed and looked away. David opened his mouth to comfort her, but she continued. "Mom said she still loved you, and wanted to work things out. If…if the storm didn't hit, she would have asked you to come back. She was planning on it. I just thought you should know…"
Tears welled in David's eyes again. It felt like a weight was simultaneously pressed against him and lifted; for years he grieved over the thought of Joyce dying while hating him, and also he mourned the life-that-could-have-been. "Thanks for telling me."
She nodded. "And when Max and I left town, we assumed you were dead. That's why I didn't call. I didn't know you were alive until yesterday." Then she added, shyly: "I'm glad you're not dead."
"I'm glad you're not dead, too."
This time, she smiled.
Chloe and Max ended up staying in Arcadia Bay for six months. After the first week, they left their hotel room and moved into 44 Cedar Avenue. David didn't realize how empty the house was until their arrival.
Those six months were a blessing that helped David and Chloe's relationship heal and evolve in a way Joyce would have been proud of. Max took an amaetur photography gig for the local newspaper, and Chloe did various odd jobs around town that helped her understand and connect with the residents of Arcadia Bay. Seeing them overcome their own traumas and forge ahead despite personal tragedy provided an invaluable learning opportunity and served as inspiration in the betterment of her own life. A fourth addition to the Price-Madsen household arrived when Max and Chloe visited David at work one day and freaked out (in a good way) upon seeing Fang—or Pompidou, as the girls insisted on calling him. And as much as he liked to grumble about it, he enjoyed the dog's presence in their house as well.
The town itself continued growing from the ruins, slowly but surely. Without the cloud of the Prescotts hanging over it, Arcadia Bay flourished like a rainbow after a hurricane. It wasn't the same Arcadia Bay, but it was something new. Something better. Something that couldn't be built without hard work and learning from mistakes of the past.
But all things must come to an end, and eventually Chloe and Max told him hesitantly that they were thinking of heading back on the road. Not because of anything he did, but because they just felt it was time.
David agreed. In fact, he'd been thinking of doing the same too. Though he loved the town and all the work he put into it, it almost felt as though he was outgrowing it. That the opportunities he told Chloe about applied to him as well, and it was only at this moment that he realized it.
Their departure was a bittersweet, tearful moment for all involved: the girls waved and yelled out promises of calls and visits from their shabby yellow car as it sputtered onto the street, Pompidou barking and wagging his tail from the backseat. Not long after, he went on his own journey.
Arizona was not a place he ever would have expected to go, but when a coworker told him about a commune there, he found himself intrigued against his better judgment. The pages of life unfurled and soon after, his suitcases were packed and tossed in his car.
Standing in the doorway of 44 Cedar Avenue, he gazed into the house that held so many precious memories: some upsetting, some humorous, some sentimental, some regretful. But all helped him—and Chloe—grow into the people they needed to be. These experiences formed the bedrock by which they were able to build something new. Something better.
And he couldn't wait to see what they would build in the future.
David smiled softly, and turned off the light.