Chapter Text
Max lay on a bench, her book as pillow, ignoring the chill nipping at her face and hands and rain drizzle soaking her drop by drop as a warm gentle voice on the phone talked to her.
“Dad ... I was thinking of staying a few days longer. It’s Joyce’s first Christmas without Chloe.”
She was an accomplice to Chloe’s murder, it made no damn difference that Chloe had been willing, had sacrificed herself for Max and the town.
“...No, Dad. I want to do something for her. For Chloe.”
Her voice wavered, staring up at the lighthouse flickering on as sunset approached, drops trailing down her cheeks.
“...I know it wasn’t my fault.”
Sure, she could blame Time, anthropomorphize it, a fucking sentient being holding judgement over her. Or she could blame Jefferson for being the sadistic asshole that he was and father figure to Nathan. Or blame herself, or Nathan, or Jefferson, or Time and the storm. Her guilt, grief, and anger were stuck in a loop, coiling around her, a constant ache.
“...Yes, I’ve been going to grief counselling.”
Over two months of grappling with what she went through during that week and the night with Jefferson, and she couldn’t tell anyone. Max dug her fingernails into her thigh.
“...I’ll take the bus...It’s a long drive, don’t put yourself through that.”
A gust of wind and strong splatter of rain struck her. She bolted upright, heart pounding. Breathing deep, closing her eyes.
“Love you. Tell Mom I love her. Call you next week. Bye...”
She opened her eyes as the warm voice hung up. It was getting late and she had a long walk. She stared down at her book and picked it up, got up off the bench and plodded up to the cliff’s edge, staring down at Arcadia Bay. Intact, safe and oblivious to her pain and Chloe’s sacrifice.
She glanced down at the soggy book in her hand. Useless like all the others. Every book on time travel said it was impossible or improbable, not counting the endless math and quantum physics she couldn’t understand. She hefted the book, gauging its weight and hurled it off the side, watching it disappear out of view.
She stood there at the edge, remembering warm soft lips and the last kiss with Chloe. She turned away and trudged the muddy path down the hill, slipping and skidding on sections until a slip knocked her down into the mud. She lay there, numbly staring up at the trees. This was how it all started, her waking up in the mud. Her vision, if it was a vision. A vision, or a previous timeline she fucked up somehow. That made it worse, not knowing if she was changing the past or creating new timelines. Timelines where Chloe was quadriplegic, or shot dead, or everyone dead from a storm. And timelines where her corpse might still be strapped to a chair.
She dug her fingers into her thigh, letting the pain center her, fighting back the ache deeper inside. Her breathing slowed, she let go of her thigh. It was a bad habit she tried to suppress, like everything else.
She took her time getting up. She was soaked and muddy... and then she was just soaked. Practice. Practice and no fucking storm to beat down on her. Time didn’t seem to care about trivial rewinds or time stops. She’d found that out by accident, followed by an immediate freak out. Since then, practice and no bullshit storm to remind her of her responsibilities.
But she needed to take responsibility. She needed to save Chloe.
She continued trudging through the drizzle, turning on her flashlight as Arcadia Bay was swallowed by darkness.