Melanography

A/N: Due to popular demand, this is a sequel to my work Chiaroscuro. Would strongly recommend reading that one first, if you want to understand what's going on here. Partially inspired by Doctor Who. Hope you guys enjoy. Brownie points to whoever can pick up some references. Cookie to whoever figures out what the title means.

Warning: spoilers for Life is Strange episode 4, character death, emotional manipulation, light sex, referenced abuse, referenced assault, referenced rape.

Listening to: Bullets by Archive

Mountains by Message to Bears

Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran

She is fifteen years old when she first discovers her power.

The other girls are laughing at her. Seattle is a wonderful city, and the arts are truly astounding here, but the people? Well, she supposes that everywhere has its own bullies, its own victims, its own injustices. She wonders if that makes her feel better.

It doesn't.

Jessica is still pointing at her, giggling. Angelica, to her left, laughs loudly, while Chloe sniggers. She knew a Chloe, back in Arcadia Bay. She wonders for a moment if she's doing okay, back home. This Chloe makes for a poor substitute. Pudgy where hers was slim, tanned where hers was pale, snobbish where hers was sociable. Oh, and of course a complete bitch instead of her best friend.

As always, though, it's not the rest of the Mean Girls who get to her the most. It's her. With her fancy shoes, smug smirk, condescending gaze, designer clothes, and enough jewelry to fund a small country.

Margherita Henry.

The very name is enough to make her want to gag.

Anyone else with that name, and they'd be teased mercilessly. Her parents may have wanted to name her after an Italian cocktail, but the simple fact is that everyone in American high school's going to think of pizza first. If it had been Margherita Smith, or Margherita Chang, or heaven forbid Margherita Hooker, you can guarantee that they'd need therapy for the PTSD.

But no, it's Margherita Henry, and so that means everyone's pointing and laughing at Max Caulfield. Because she slipped on juice and now has gravy on her shirt and cheese fries hanging from her hair.

Ah, high school. Never again in one's life will people be seem so cruel. The actions might get worse, and the consequences more severe. But when you're in high school, you live and die by your reputation, and even if it's only your pride that gets bruised, well, it's one hell of a bruising.

Kristen and Fernando are across the yard, frozen. They start to get up to move, but, honestly, she doesn't feel like the typical cycle of positive affirmation in the face of ridicule. Maybe on some other day, in some other school, with some other students, there would be people standing up to the bullies, helping out the geeky introverted hipster. But this is not that day, this is not that school, and these are not those students.

So Max drops her tray, musters what dignity she can, and turns on her heel and walks out the yard. Sure, she might miss a few classes, but she doesn't have anything to change into anyways, and she's just about done with the world right now.

Of course, with her luck, this is the exact moment some asshole's brakes fail, and a car hurtles down the road at fifty miles an hour while she's trying to cross.

There's shouting, laughter turning to screams, points changing from mocking to warning, mouths falling open in shock instead of ridicule, a few people starting to run. But no one is close, no one can reach her, and Max stands there shell-shocked like a deer in the literal headlights, frozen for a few seconds before she can think to move. And then it's already too late, and the unforgiving urban beast is screeching down the road, a panicked face behind the windshield, but the car seems to be grinning as it races towards her, and Max's hands go upwards in a defensive reflex, as if human skin and bone could withstand the full force of uncontrollable metal.

The world flashes and her head spins, and she wonders if this is what death feels like and if her life is flashing before her eyes.

Her life flashes in rewind, and then suddenly Max is standing in front of the school doors, having just entered the yard, and her tray is suspended in front of her, floating in the air.

For about half a second, before it comes crashing down, splattering gravy all over her shoes.

Laughter rings out for a second time that day, and again Kristen and Fernando start standing up, but Max is far too confused to care about either the taunting or the comfort. She blinks, looks down at her hands, looks up again, gazes at the crossing where she's sure she just died.

Oh god, is this what the afterlife is? Do you just relive the last moments of your life over and over again? Is this like when Emperor Joker killed Batman over and over again, not letting him die?

But while Max is standing there dumbstruck for a few minutes, and Kristen's asking her if she's ok while Fernando sort of half-heartedly tells everyone that they should just go back to their food and leave Max alone, when suddenly a car comes blazing down the road, whizzing past the crossing and continuing for a good mile or so before it tears through a lamppost, toppling it, before it continues going and slams into a dumpster truck, crunching to a halt.

And Max is still alive.

And being still alive, and not having the car about to run her down, she realises that she recognises it, everyone does, and now that she can see Margherita's face, she sees the horror and terror gripping her fine features, mouth gaping in shock, unbelieving eyes wide.

Because that car belongs to Jason Henry, Margherita's older brother.

And any vindictive feelings Max harboured for Margherita vanishes as she sees the latter's face change, shock morphing into fear, then despair. And Margherita's starting to mouth "No" over and over again, and tears are starting to smear her make-up, eyeshadow running in black rivers over carefully blushed cheeks, and everyone's either pointing and shouting or frozen in shock and uncertainty, until teachers start pouring out of the building, and then there's shouts and urgency and 911 emergency, and soon police sirens are wailing while ambulances swarm the area.

And through it all, Max just stands there, forgotten in her gravy-stained shoes, Kristen and Fernando to either side, Kristen just gaping as if she can't believe what happened, Fernando trembling uncontrollably. Even as they're corralled back into the school gym and everyone sort of mills around shaking their heads or sitting mutely, Max doesn't say a word, but neither is she frozen in shock. She sits down on the bleachers, staring at the brown seeping into her trainers, and the only thing she can think of is the screech of tires and shouts, and sunlight gleaming off metal as it rushes first at her and then again past her. She looks down at her hands, and she thinks of Jason Henry, and it could have been her, it could have been her. And she feels… she feels…

"OUT."

Max fell out of bed, head throbbing from the explosive word that had just rocked threw her skull. Cradling her head, she tries not to whimper as she curls up on the floor of her dorm. Victoria's right across the hallway, and knowing her she's probably get a stethoscope pressed up against the door or something, ready to come and provide whatever help she can at the slightest sound of discomfort, eager to please. And with the hammers currently pounding away at her brain right now, Max really wasn't in the mood to deal with trying-to-play-it-cool-but-ridiculously-overeager Victoria right now.

Maxine's power was stunning. Her ejection hit Max far harder than any physical headache. There hadn't even been any fury or desperation at having Max once again dive into her counterpart's memories. Just irritation at the intrusion, a brief period of terrifying calm, as Maxine gathered her willpower the same way one takes in a deep breath before a shout, and then this sheer forceful word, an order backed by such resolve that it had blasted Max out of Maxine's head, smashing her across the dimensional gap and slam-dunking her back onto this world, this strange, strange world where Victoria was improbably nice and desperate for Max's attention, where Nathan was uncomfortably friendly when he wasn't regarding her with unbridled hatred and a tinge of what Max thought was fear, where the student body loved or feared her in equal measure but respected her either way, where the staff seemed wary except for Mr Jefferson, who was as charming as always… and where Chloe was dead.

The dull emptiness inside Max throbbed again at that thought. Chloe, in her bed, hooked up to the machine that was both her life and her prison. Chloe, crushed and broken not by her own burdens, but the burdens of her family. Chloe, who had looked at Max with such love, as if unaccustomed to such attention. Chloe, whose life was full of what-if and if-only, no matter the timeline.

Chloe, who had looked so peaceful in death as she never had in life.

As always, Max pushed aside that emptiness, and instead clung to the fear that was left in its wake. The fear of what Maxine would do to her Chloe, punk Chloe, with her blue hair and spiked bracelet and bullet necklace. The fear of what Maxine would do to her world, if left unattended.

It was this dread which helped Max take a deep breath, calming herself, willing away the headache. Reaching across the void and plunging into Maxine's memories was about as appealing as pushing through a razor-wire fence and diving into boiling acid, but Max had to. If she was going to ever beat Maxine, she had to know why she was the way she was, understand what drove this mad, insane girl. At the very least, she'd be able to cram in all the years Maxine had spent experimenting with and learning about and developing her power into a few short hours.

Max took a deep breath. Released it slowly. She sat up, crossing her legs, continuing to take deep breaths to calm her aching head. Adjusted herself to rest comfortably against the wall. She took another breath, held it, then released it. A trick she'd learnt from Maxine, that. Breath control helped her focus her powers, kept her mind steady.

She clenched her hand into a fist, pushing down the pain of an infinite number of Maxes and Maxines and Maxwells and Maximuses, all using that same hand, all clenching or relaxing or releasing or shaking that hand. She focused on the here and now, on the immediate presence of her power and her being, and she splayed her fingers outwards and pushed.

"Hey, Margherita. Ah… How are you doing?"

The other girl looks up at her, and her eyes are dry, any tears evaporated by the anger in her gaze.

"How do you think I'm doing, you stupid bitch? My brother is dead, and now Max fucking Caulfield is over here to play waitress to my pity party. Well, fuck you, Caulfield. I don't need your pity, I don't want your company, and the only thing you can do is fuck off."

"But that's wrong," Max wants to say, "Jason swerved off the road to avoid hitting me, he crashed into the bushes, he was just in crutches for a while." But that's not what she says, Max never says what she thinks when she relives Maxine's memories. She autopilots through conversations, skipping through options already said, fast-forwarding through time, afraid of changing anything lest she give birth to another universe with another Max. So instead, she stammers through Maxine's answer, the words simultaneously alien and familiar.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"You didn't what? Didn't mean to come over here, when I'm a fucking mess, and give your fake pity, with your programmed comforts? 'I know how you feel', 'Stay strong', 'He wouldn't want this for you', 'You have my condolences'. What the fuck even is a condolence?"

"I don't-"

"Just go away, Caulfield. Just fucking go. Just leave me alone. Without my brother… that's all I've got now. Alone."

Tears are starting to spring up in her eyes now, tears leaking through Margherita's fake eyelashes. Angrily, she dashes them away, but all that does is smudge her eyeliner.

"I'm sorry, Margherita. I am so, so sorry. If there's anything I can do..."

Margherita laughs bitterly at that, a noise that's more choking sorrow than angry mirth. "Outside of having him come back to life and walking up to me and saying 'Hey, Maggie, everything's ok, I'm here now'? You can just go fuck yourself, Caulfield. And leave me alone."

"I could do it," Max thinks. "I could go back. Make sure it never happens. Make it so he's alive." She'd been fiddling with her power. She'd been getting better with it. She'd started figuring out what it could do.

"But what if saving him kills me?"

And Max wants to do it, she knows that she survives, that Jason survives, that Margherita will keep on being her usual bitchy self, that she will never know this terrible loss. But other Max isn't sure, she's scared, she's frightened, she sees the car speeding towards her, and she lets out the breath she'd inhaled in preparation for a huge time leap. Instead, she flicks her wrist a little, and her vision blurs for a second before clearing, and now Margherita is looking up at her with anger in her eyes.

"What is it, Caulfield? Come to gloat? Tell me I got my karmic punishment?"

And oh, Max wants to, she wants to say it so much, she remembers the sting of the laughter and the pointing. But she doesn't. She holds her tongue, the barbs drifting away into nothingness. Instead, she sits down next to Margherita, ignoring the heat of Margherita's glare. "It's ok if she's a little ungrateful, she just went through a huge loss."

"I can't imagine what you're going through," Max begins, and Margherita scoffs at that.

"Yeah, you can't. So you can fuck off now."

Max persists, ignoring the temptation to do so and leave this bitter, selfish person to her sorrows.

"But I do know what it feels like to be alone. To feel lost, and isolated. To feel like no one understands. And while I don't think I can understand loss on this scale… I do know that sometimes, when you say you want to be alone, it's actually the last thing you want."

Max reaches out and gently places her hand atop Margherita's knee.

"Let me be here, Margherita. I won't say anything. I won't make a noise. Just… don't force yourself to be alone. There are other people here who care for you. And while we'll never replace Jason… We can still be here for you, Maggie."

And at that, Margherita's angry façade drops, and she's clinging to Max, holding her tight, and she's sobbing. It's not gentle, small tears, it's full-blown wailing, with huge breaths in between each burst of tears, and Max just wraps her arms around the other girl, ignoring the tears and make-up staining her shoulder, and thinks "This. This is good. This helps. Even if I can't bring back her brother… I can at least do this. I can at least make sure I say the right things. Make people feel better. This I can do."

"Having fun? Good. Now leave."

BANG!

Max yelped in pain, not just from the pain flaring in her arm as Maxine twisted hard across dimensions to wrench the power from Max's grasp, but also from where her forehead connected with the edge of her desk as she slammed her head forward after once again being kicked out of Maxine's mind. The resounding thud echoed louder as the motion caused her desk to rock backwards, rattling the windows.

For normal neighbours, this was something to be ignored, and the appropriate response was to turn over in bed and mutter angrily about annoying sleepless hipsters. For Victoria Chase, this meant leaping out of bed, slamming open your door, and dashing across the hallway so fast that you were knocking on your neighbour's door before your own had enough time to swing back into place.

"Maxine? Are you okay? I heard something slam. It sounded like it hurt. Do you need help?"

Max pushed away from the desk, rubbing her forehead and wincing at the sting in response.

"Everything's fine, Victoria. I just slipped. Go back to bed."

A perfectly acceptable response even when croaked in obvious agony, in Max's opinion, but Victoria wasn't having any of that.

"Come on, open this door Maxine. You're obviously not feeling well. I can help. Let me in."

And something about the way she says those last three words triggers something in Max, an odd form of reverse déjà vu. Because she remembers that tone, she knows that tone. Her voice had sounded the same, on the roof, with rain pouring down, and Kate standing across from her, feet on the very edge.

Maybe there was more to Maxine than it seemed. Maybe there was more to Victoria.

Max placed a hand on the edge of her desk (not her desk, Maxine's desk). Pushing herself to her feet, she tottered on unsteady legs to the door. She tossed a hand through her hair to try and get it in some form of order, and once again is startled by how silky smooth it feels. Maxine's designer-brand shampoo ('borrowed' from Taylor) worked wonders. Max sniffs the ends of her hair, and the unfamiliar scent of cinnamon and honey floods her nose. Yet another way of reminding her that this body wasn't hers.

Max opened the door.

"Hey Maxine," Victoria said. "Can I come- oh."

And Victoria's face was suddenly flushed, and her eyes darted lower before flying back upwards to land resolutely on Max's face. And Max was suddenly uncomfortably aware of she wore only an old T-shirt and panties, and that was completely braless.

Weird. She'd never felt self-conscious around Chloe. She'd felt safe, secure, happy. But with Victoria, she was painfully self-aware.

At least, Max was. Maxine's body, on the other hand, apparently felt horny.

Max crossed her legs (Maxine's legs) uncomfortably, trying to pass it off as natural by leaning against the door. Victoria clearly wasn't buying it, but to her credit, aside from the slight pink tinging her cheeks, she was doing an admirable job of ignoring the sexual tension charging the air.

"I was just wondering if I could come in. To help. Because it sounded like you were banging something. Banged against something. Crashed into something."

An admirable job, not a perfect job.

"Sure, come in," Max said, and instantly felt like the world's biggest moron. "Sure, come in, you can stay in my room at 1am. Oh no, don't worry, you can sleep in my bed, I'm not using it right now. I'm too busy trying to commune with my murderous, insane alternate self. Want some coffee?"

Victoria beamed, and stepped in, not entirely able to hide the spring in her step. She looked around the room with a slightly awed expression that clearly showed that she (or anyone) wasn't typically allowed inside Maxine's room.

And it was an impressive room. Clearly, Maxine didn't believe in frugality or minimalism. Almost every square inch of space on the walls was covered, be it by a poster or a photo. A guitar sat haphazardly on the sofa, its strings dangling loosely across the neck, as if Maxine had been stringing it and had gotten bored halfway. The desk bore multiple stacks of paper, and the ravaged remains of a hard drive. Max had no clue what any of the bits and pieces strewn across the desk's surface was, but she guessed that it was an abandoned effort to do… something with her computer. It could join the overturned wireless speakers stacked up on a shelf in the 'unfinished and/or forgotten projects' department. Clearly Maxine had commitment issues with anything beyond photography.

But dear god, her photos were amazing. Incredible angles, wonderful lighting, covering an enormous range from the abstract to human portraits to wildlife, with an excellent eye for colour and contrast as well as harmony and unity. And with her work on display on every surface in the room, it was almost enough to make Max forget that Maxine was a sociopathic monster who delighted in tearing people down to see what made them tick. Almost.

What did make Max's mind go completely blank, however, was having Victoria turn around and give her the most impossibly sexy smirk. Not her usual "I'm so much more superior, hipster trash" smirk. This was a coy "come hither and ravish me" smirk. And dear god, was Maxine's body responding.

"So," Victoria said.

"So," Max repeated dumbly. She resisted the urge to slap herself. She wasn't entirely certain that urge was hers.

"It's 1am, we're in your room, I'm in my pyjamas, you're already half-undressed. Is this going where I think it's going?"

"Where do you think it's going?" The words, which should feel suave and smooth in this mouth, came out uncertain and unbelievably lame. This time Max was definitely sure that the urge to slap herself was coming from Maxine's body.

Victoria laughed, and it felt unfair that a person could do something that seductively. It wasn't girlish giggles or shy chuckles, no, of course, with Victoria it had to be all low purrs and fluttering eyelashes. Victoria slipped the door shut with the tip of her foot, leg impossibly long as it swung in a crescent. Max swallowed a whimper that was very much her own.

As Victoria advanced slowly, eyelids low, biting her lower lip just slightly, Max fought a brief but intense war as she wanted to back away, but her body was urging her to go forward. She compromised by making an odd jitter standing still.

She could practically feel the ghost of Maxine's presence die from embarrassment.

"Just relax," Victoria said as she closed the distance between them, so softly that her voice was a gentle brush of air grazing Max's cheek. "Relax. For once. Just… let yourself go. Let me in. It'll be fine."

And when she leaned in and kissed the underside of Max's jaw, body pressing against her own, Max inhaled a sharp breath while her brain exhaled all rational thought. Max can feel Victoria's lips smile.

"When's the last time someone made you feel like this?" Victoria asked, her breath ghosting across Max's skin, tickling her throat with the promise of contact.

"Never" Max wanted to say.

"Two days ago with Zachary." Maxine's body ruminated.

And oh god, but now Victoria's hand was slipping lower, and it's pressing against Max's thigh, and she might just about die.

"It's ok," Victoria murmured, and her hand was slipping, sliding, higher and higher, following the curve of Max's leg, inching toward that junction. "Just breathe. Relax. Let go. You don't have to hold yourself together. Not with me. I can catch you. I can take care of you."

"You can take care of me all you want."

The thought was parentless, Max unsure where it came from. Nevertheless, it was quickly banished when Victoria's fingers pressed and found wetness. Max moaned at the contact. And god, Max could feel Victoria's lips smiling, not smirking, smiling, a genuine expression of joy, having finally cracked Maxine's armour, found her way inside.

"When's the last time you've felt this safe?" the shade of a voice whispered against Max's joy, each word accompanied by a slight flick of tongue.

"When I was with Chloe," Max thought, and the thought of Chloe, of Chloe's lips, the taste of Chloe's mouth from that brief second of contact, it had her groaning even louder.

"Umm…" thought Maxine's body.

And now Victoria's fingers were edging the panties to one side, and oh god.

Max let out a huff of desperate air as those long, long fingers stroked at slick skin, thumb adventuring upwards in a gentle trail towards that bundle of nerves. Victoria kissed her cheek, the action gentle, sweet… caring.

"You don't have to hold it in," Victoria whispered. And there was something about her voice, a desperation, a need that reached Max beyond the haze of lust. A cry for attention, a cry for love. "I know that you always have to hide as well. I know. And I just want to show you, you don't have to hide, either." And Max opened her eyes to look at Victoria, and she was shocked by the huge well of emotion staring back at her. Victoria's eyes were enormous, twin pools of desperation and… was that?

"Please. Let me do this. You've done so much for me, showed me so much. Let me do the same thing for you. You don't have to hide with me. You can show me everything. Please."

Could that emotion be?

"You can be yourself."

It was.

"I think I could actually learn to love you," Max thought.

"Oh god don't stop touching me don't you dare." Maxine's body thought.

"I want to take a picture," Maxine thought.

If ever there was a way to kill arousal, it was that extra voice in her head.

Max wrenched away from Victoria with a gasp, panting heavily as she gasped for air. The pain… the pain wasn't there. The pain that normally accompanied these intertemporal clashes. Max flexed her hand, and yes, the power was still there, it was still in her grasp. But that interference, all those other Maxes pulling from every dimension… where were they? Where had it gone?

"I'm sorry!" Victoria's face sounded like it was coming from very, very far away. How could that be, when she'd been so close only a moment before? "I didn't mean- Did I do something that- I'm so, so sorry."

"Very apologetic, this one." Maxine mused, unaffected by the emotional turmoil from the other presences. "Very easy to play, too. So eager for unconditional love. Silly girl. All love has conditions. There's always limits. Always rules. Always restrictions. But our Victoria was so desperate for a friend who'd accept her no matter what, who cared about the woman behind the façade, who believed that she was talented and gifted and confident, who believed in her. Who loved her. Not unlike that Chloe of yours, if you really think about it."

Maxine. Maxine was in her head. Maxine was talking to her in her head.

"Actually, that's my head you're using. And I'd much rather you kept it in good condition. Smashing it all over the place, exposing it to all those dimensions, it's a wonder you haven't gone crazy and splattered my brains all over the floor."

Max was still reeling. Victoria was saying something, but her words were fading, all sound disappearing.

"Oh, that's right, I should mention. Since you were so curious when the last time I felt 'safe' and 'secure' was, I decided to share it with you. Because I'm nice like that. Unfortunately, while you're in my memories, somebody has to take over here. Can't have Vicki get too upset by rejection, that would ruin the plan. Absolute betrayal needs more than a shitty Polaroid to do it justice. Just go have fun in memory lane. I'll take care of this. Should take just a few rewinds to make sure everything's in order."

Max had just managed to grasp her power when Maxine's memories washed over her like a wave, drowning her under a wash of image, sound and emotion.

Max's eyes flutter open. She smiles when the first thing she sees is Maggie's peaceful face. Free of make-up, free of stress, free of thought, she just looks so… peaceful. Beautiful.

Max rolls to the side, slipping her hand out from under the blankets to seize her camera from the bedside table. Gently, trying not to wake her girlfriend, Max props herself up on an elbow to get that perfect angle. Smiling, she snaps the shot, marvelling in just how beautiful Maggie was.

Maggie stirs at the flash, and then lets out a small groan at the printing noise. She looks up bleary-eyed at Max as the latter gives the picture a light shake. "Max?"

Max beams at her. "Good morning, beautiful."

Maggie smiles sleepily. "Morning." Her brow furrows as she frowns. "Did you take a picture of me while I was sleeping?"

Disapproval. Crap. Max flicks her wrist.

This time, she leans in and plants a kiss on Maggie's nose. This stirs the other girl, who blinks blearily at Max as she awakens. "Max?"

Max beams at her for a second time. "Good morning, beautiful."

Maggie smiles sleepily, as Max knew she would. "Morning." She yawns cutely, nose crinkling as her face scrunches up. "How long were you up? You should've woken me."

Max grins. "Not too long. Besides, I like watching you sleep. You're so peaceful. And beautiful. Well, you're always beautiful."

Maggie elbows Max. "Meaning that I don't always look peaceful?"

Startled, Max readies a rewind, but she catches sight of the playful twinkle in Maggie's eyes and realises she's just teasing. With a quiet sigh of relief, she releases her talent. Instead, she plays along, groaning in mock agony and clutching at her side. "Sometimes you're too violent for me. I'm not sure I can handle you. You're like a wild tiger."

Maggie cocks an eyebrow at that. "You weren't complaining about how wild I am last night."

Max flushes at that. She searches for a witty retort and comes up blank. "That's- I mean- Uh-"

Maggie laughs at that, running her hands through her hair to check for knots. "Relax, nerd. You don't have to get all scared of sex. You were fine." She frowns when her fingers catch a knot.

Great. Now you look like a virgin nerd who's too lame to catch sex jokes. Outstanding. Time for a rewind.

"I'm not sure I can handle you. You're like a wild tiger."

Maggie cocks an eyebrow. "You weren't complaining about how wild I am last night."

Crap. Crap. Crap. She rewound but forgot to prepare a clever comeback. Time to improvise.

"I wasn't really in a position to complain. About how wild you are. Last night."

… You absolute moron.

Max throws an arm across her face in a futile attempt to how lame she was while she wracked her brains for an appropriate quip. Maggie giggles at that, but Max prefers her girlfriend be wowed by how amazingly witty she was rather than at how adorably awkward she could be. This time, this time she'll get it right.

"You call that wild? You haven't seen anything yet."

"What?"

Crap.

"You might be a tiger, but I'm like a circus ringleader. Wha-chow!"

"I don't think I'm ready for whips. Or circuses."

That wasn't what-

"That was wild? What can I expect tomorrow night then?"

"Criticise my performance like that, and maybe there won't be a next time."

"That wasn't what I meant-"

"Hey, relax, I was just joki-"

"I honestly don't think that I can handle a tiger. Wild isn't my thing."

"Are you breaking up with me after one night? Wow."

OH GOD NO PLEASE NOT THAT-

"Hey, are you okay?" Maggie leans in and places a hand on Max's shoulder. "You're looking a little pale. And dizzy. You feeling alright?"

Max gives Maggie a weak smile. While she'd been getting better with her talent, too many rewinds could still cause a bit of dizziness. At least she wasn't bleeding everywhere anymore. That had been awful. Not as awful as her attempts at banter, though. Apparently, nothing can top that.

"I'm okay, Maggie. I guess last night took a bit more out of me than I thought. It was really fun, though. And really good. And nice. And I'm running out of positive adjectives."

Maggie laughs at that, and Max makes a mental note. "If clever quips are abysmal failure, can still be charming and cool with self-deprecating humour."

Maggie sits up and begins running her hands through her hair. Max quickly gets off the bed and snatches up a hairbrush from the dresser. She sits behind Maggie and begins combing through her hair, instantly finding the knot. She pulls it loose with some quick, gentle strokes, then revels in the feeling of accomplishment in being a good girlfriend. She wonders if she's allowed to high-five herself without it being weird.

"What are you thinking about?" Maggie asks over her shoulder.

Max momentarily freezes. There's no way she's going to say that she wanted to high-five herself. That is the ultimate of loser territory. She grasps around mentally for a few moments before latching onto the first thing she can think of.

"I was thinking about home. Arcadia Bay."

"Oh right, you're from Oregon. Anything you miss in particular?"

Max thinks about it, combing gently. Blonde hair and bright smiles flash in her memory.

"I guess I miss Chloe the most."

"Chloe?" There's a note of something unidentifiable in Maggie's voice. Max considers rewinding, but the situation is still fixable.

"My best friend. Well, my best friend when I was a kid. God, we were inseparable. We used to spend hours pretending we were pirates, and that the sofa was our pirate ship." Max laughs a little at the memory. "I hope she's doing well."

"Sounds like you two very close."

Yup, that's definitely a tinge of jealousy. In a different situation, this might have been time for the talent panic button, but now it just makes Max laugh a little.

"Don't worry, you." She says, putting the brush to the side so she can nuzzle into Maggie's back. "We haven't stayed in touch too much since I moved. Letters and emails, every now and then, but nothing too substantial. Besides, anything that might have been died when I left Arcadia Bay."

Maggie laughs a little nervously. "Sorry. I can understand if I'm being a little pushy. It's just that… Well, you're not just my girlfriend." Max tries not to puff up like a bullfrog at that. "You're my best friend as well. Nobody knows me like you do. And, even after everything I did to you…"

"Hey, that's in the past," Max says evenly, crushing old resentments beneath the mountain of love and affection and friendship provided in the recent months.

Maggie shakes her head. "No. It was wrong of me. And I can't believe what it took me to realise it. What I've been missing. The most wonderful girlfriend someone could ever have. So, I guess I get a little possessive when I think about losing you to someone else."

Max laughs at that. "Oh, a little possessiveness never hurt anyone. Besides, you don't have to worry too much. You have me, you have your family, you have your friends-"

But Maggie's not smiling anymore.

"Max, what friends? Those girls from school? Half of them don't even like me, and the other half don't like that I'm dating you. The guys from the football team? Most of them just want into my pants, and the others don't get why I'm doing my whole Anti-Bullying Campaign. Everyone else on campus still looks at me and sees miss prissy rich bitch, and with good reason. Family? Mom's always out with her tennis club or her bridge friends, and Dad's always away on business. The only person I really had before you was Jason, and when I think about what happened to him-"

Bad topic, bad topic, bad topic, panic button.

"So, I guess I get a little possessive when I think about losing you to someone else."

Max shuffles around Maggie on her knees so that she can plop down in front of her. She clasps her girlfriend's hands in both of hers.

"Listen to me, Margherita Josephine Henry. Whatever there might have been between me and Chloe is long gone. There's like, no chance I'll even see her again. It's not like I'm planning to go back to Arcadia Bay any time soon anyway. Why would I? Everything, and everyone, I could have possibly wanted is right here in Seattle."

And then Max kisses Maggie just as the other girl's eyes start to shine with joyful tears, timing it perfectly to make this a magic moment worthy of photographing. When their lips part, they embrace, and Maggie is making these adorable little snuffling noises as she hugs Max close.

Max mentally does high five herself this time. She is getting hella good at sincerity.

Max surfaced from Maxine's memories to find herself in the most unexpected position ever: spooning Victoria Chase.

To her credit, she responded quite well, in her opinion. She only freaked out a tiny bit. She didn't even bite Victoria by accident. So, she jostled her a little, but Victoria just mumbled a bit and went back to sleeping, so it wasn't that bad.

A far less welcome presence, of course, was Maxine.

"Welcome back."

Max blinked, trying to figure out where she was. A quick glance around confirmed that she was still in Maxine's room, in Maxine's world, in Maxine's body. Also, she was naked, and still spooning Victoria Chase.

"Yeah, yeah, get used to it. If you're going to be in my body and memories, this is going to be happening quite a bit to you."

"How did you even do that?" Max thought furiously, trying not to move too much. It was harder than it sounded. Righteous anger was a lot harder when you couldn't move. "How can you pull me into your memories? How did you cut me off from my power? If you're here, and I'm here, who's in my body?"

"So many questions," Anyone else, that phrase would be amused and condescending. With Maxine, she just sounded bored. Indeed, she listed off her answer the same way one might list a grocery list. "I've been using this gift for three years. You've been using it for three days. Obviously, I know more about it, and I can learn how to use new abilities a lot quicker than you can. Only had to be exposed to the multiverse once to learn how to cross it, didn't I? Meanwhile, you're still stumbling around here in this boring old place. Not even sure what you can even do here anymore. I think I did just about everything there was to do in this universe. Besides break Chase's heart, of course. That's still going to happen. Hell, might even make you do it. That sounds way more interesting than whatever Prescott could come up with. As for your body… I dunno, I just sort of left it. Do you think the timelines continue even when we're not there? That's an interesting experiment. Wish I could monitor it."

Max tried not to scream. Or punch something. Or move.

"You left my body, potentially to rot, and you think it'll be an interesting experiment?"

"Oh, shut up and relax. Enjoy the moment. You should've been here, it was mildly amusing to soothe Chase. She's been trying so hard to pretend it's nothing but sex between us, but god if she isn't desperate. Not sure what you were doing, but she now seems to think I'm in love with her. Well, whatever makes the final product more genuine, I suppose. What's that called? Method acting? Enforced acting? There's a name for it…"

"My body. Send me back to it, now."

"You're still going on about that? God, you're whiny. Look, even if I could, I wouldn't. The multiverse is just way too interesting. What am I supposed to do if I shuffle you back, hmm? Go back to photographing dead girls with Nuthill Prescock and Mr Fuckerson? Oh no, no, this is far more entertaining. Really, I owe this mostly to you, Max. Before you, I was just dying of boredom. Now, though? Now I have entire dimensions to play with. Trying to roleplay you was interesting, by the way. Trying to figure out how your powers worked, what I could and couldn't do, that was a chore, but figuring out how to pretend to be you? That was nothing if not entertaining. Oh, if you ever do get back home, you might notice a few things have changed. Positive responses, the idea of SuperMax the Blackwell Hero, a slightly smitten Chloe… It's really weird seeing her walk, by the way. I wonder what it would take to get her back in a wheelchair-"

"Did it hurt?" Max thought, cutting off Maxine before she could continue. Her rage had boiled over and was now cooling into a cool, cold fury. "I didn't understand why our timelines changed so much, not until now. You got the power a little early, yeah, but that doesn't explain why you're such a psycho. This, though. This explains a lot more."

"What are you talking about?" And Maxine, the complete sociopath she was, she'd forgotten what it was like, she genuinely didn't know what Max was talking about. She couldn't even remember what it was like to have emotions beyond satisfaction, irritation and boredom. These were her memories Max had been trailing through, and somehow Max understood Maxine better than she herself did.

"Did it hurt?" Max pressed, pushing back Maxine. There's doubt, doubt planted by curiosity, Maxine uncertain what Max was talking about. It's only a little, but it's giving her wiggle room, space to push back against Maxine's dominating willpower.

"Did it hurt when Margherita Henry died?"

To Be Continued