Depth of Focus

Summary: When Max awakens in the Dark Room, she's not alone. Episode 4 spoilers.

Rating: T

Notes: I am so worried about Nathan after episode 4; I hope he turns out okay. The boy needs someone caring about him (other than Victoria). This is my take on how Episode 5 should start.

Disclaimer: I don't own Life is Strange.

Max's mind felt detached from her body, a separate vessel housing all her terror at recent occurrences but unable to channel them into actions. She was lost in time - not like she hadn't been before - a mess of a person tumbling clumsily through an event that was much bigger than her.

Rachel Amber was dead. Their wild goose chase had ended with their prized bird being marinated in sauce and served to hungry wolves. By not finding the ghost-like girl before she became an actual ghost, Max felt as though she'd failed Chloe - and everyone in Arcadia Bay, as well.

But Rachel was only a piece of the puzzle; Kate, and Nathan, and Chloe… everyone felt so distinctly connected, with Max being on the outside looking in. She had returned to Arcadia Bay, and thus was an outsider, a stranger to the dark secrets the town was hiding. The woven web held many spiders and flies, but she hadn't even been able to touch the silk without breaking it.

Since returning and rekindling her friendship with Chloe, however, things had changed. Now she was directly involved, but as a caught fly instead of a spider. Her sleuthing skills were lacking, that was for sure - she'd been on the trail of the wrong criminal. Nathan Prescott was a dupe, a pawn, a scapegoat… the real culprit had been the last person she'd expected to even be a part of this mystery novel bullshit, much less the big plot twist villain.

Max's senses returned to her, snapshots of black and white enveloping her mind like the negatives of her photographs. Her heart pounded in her chest, thumping against her ribcage like hunted prey. Due to her mind and body not being very… connected at that moment, she was unable to process the shadowy figure looming over her. Adrenaline shot through her system, leaving her brain wild and awake and trying to process things, but once more her flesh vessel couldn't budge.

A strangled moan left her lips; feeling as helpless and paralyzed as Chloe in the other timeline, Max tried her hardest to fight back the tears pooling in her eyes. The figure - the enemy who did this to her, she was sure - would only laugh and mock her frustrations, anyway, and there was no need to needlessly cry.

The shadow moved away, and Max felt herself fading back to unconsciousness, her eyelids feeling unbelievably heavy despite the fire burning inside, willing her to get up and fight. But she remained motionless, her head sagging and hitting a cool surface. Despite its uncomfortableness, it led her down the path to slumber almost instantly, as though another substance was behind it all. Indeed, it was probably some drug that was wearing the mask behind her exhaustion, revealed to be the true culprit like this was a horror novel.

But it wasn't a novel, and there were real lives at stake here. Why did she think it was okay to take a fucking nap now? Some "Super Max"; she couldn't even lift her head an inch off the floor.

The next thing she knew was the sound of shutters clicking, bright flashes stunning her as she pried open her eyes. Her arms shot out, surprisingly free from bindings as she screamed - or rather, tried to scream. Her throat felt raw, dry coughs hacking their way out of her mouth. Her stomach churned, and a wave of nausea passed over her as she scuffled backwards as best she could, the sudden movement only adding to her dizziness.

Now, Max had never partaken in any of the Vortex Club parties or their garbage activities, but she'd have to imagine that the sickness and aches plaguing her body was more than likely a symptom of the morning after for many guests. Unfortunately, it couldn't be as simple as that; no, she couldn't be a regular teenager and wake up with a hangover.

She had been drugged, the same way Rachel and Kate had been, and dragged off to the Dark Room. Lured out by the man she had trusted, both as a teacher and an inspiration for her own work, and stabbed in the neck with a needle. She couldn't even begin to process the betrayal due to the panic coursing through her veins like a rabbit on the run. Not to mention Chloe…

Chloe. Oh, no, was that image of Chloe sporting a fresh bullet hole in her head for real? Chloe was… dead? This time for good? This was the third time the blue-haired girl had been dealt a tragic, young death, and Max had been unable to save her, prompting the wonder if that was what the cards of fate had set in store for them both.

But no, she couldn't think that way; Chloe was her best friend! There was no way she was meant to die in such horribly unfair ways, and it was clearly the fault of the entangled mess of Arcadia Bay ensnaring her. Chloe had always wanted to get out of town, but for reasons that Max couldn't have ever predicted. Arcadia Bay was poisonous, and anyone who was able to escape by a stroke of luck was probably never the same - but it'd be better for Chloe than being dead, that was for sure.

Could Max rewind? She tried to focus, bringing her hand out to feel the surge of energy at the tips of her fingers, seeking out the familiar lightheadedness that came with rewinding. But no, ultimately she felt nothing, save for disappointment and fright crushing her insides. What was wrong with her? Was this like the moment with Kate up on the roof…? But Chloe…!

"Oh, don't even try that here. Your magic powers won't work this time, Max." A chill slithered down her spine at the voice, so cool and calm despite its malice. The teen lifted her head to get a better view at the bastard himself: Mr. Jefferson, suave photography teacher by day, moonlighting as a serial predator and murderer. Of course, there was no proof that the man was behind Kate or Rachel, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Nathan had been a puppet in the end. That pinch to the neck had been quite a wake-up call for Max's mind, after all.

"Wh- why are you doing this?" Was that really her voice? It sounded as though she was underwater - muffled, hoarse, and far away. Her teeth clenched, anger burning in her eyes as she glared towards a man she had wasted so much respect and recognition on.

Mr. Jefferson merely snorted, shaking his head as though he were talking to a child. "My art takes sacrifice, Max; I told you how important it is to get your work out there, build up your name. You had ridiculous talent… it's such a shame. But you'll be a fine addition to my collection of works, Max - isn't it exciting? I believe it was Francis Bacon that once said, 'The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery'."

Max scuttled backwards further, hitting a wall. Now that she could see a bit clearer, she realized just where she was; judging from the polar-white walls and giant studio equipment surrounding her, this was the infamous 'Dark Room,' or the room where Rachel and Kate were both drugged. Fear drained her face of its color, the terrified look she gave Mr. Jefferson probably making his grin stretch wider to resemble a mad scientist.

"Please don't fret, Max. You'll be immortalized, just like Rachel." The lowness of his voice made her whole body feel cold, a numbness keeping her limbs glued to the floor and rendering them useless for escape.

As he stepped closer, the stoic expression on her old teacher's face frightened Max. She shook her head in protest, beginning to yell for help. She knew it was pointless, that no one was around for miles and her best friend was dead, but she kept at it anyway. Like a cornered animal, she yowled for someone to save her, pleading with whatever cosmic forces out there to make her a deal, to get her out of here against all odds.

Her screaming didn't take well with Mr. Jefferson, however. Merely annoyed, he reached out swiftly and the palm of his hand slapped hard against her cheek, a stinging pain sprouting from the surely-red mark. She cried out despite herself, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

"I didn't want to do that, you know," he spat, "but you are ridiculous. Who would honestly come to save you? Your parents live miles and miles away, and no one at the school knows you're missing. Hell, I think he has a better chance of being sought after, and that's saying something." The man pointed behind her, towards the studio backdrop; Max followed his eyes and noticed the body lying nearby for the first time.

Her heart almost jumped out of her throat at the sight, disbelief settling in moments after. This… this couldn't be right. She had assumed the two were working together, that the kid was Mr. Jefferson's 'dragon' character archetype, plotting with him behind-the-scenes but not being the direct threat. But no, clearly even Nathan Prescott was a victim here, evident by the way he was laid out on his side, curled up in a fetal position with his arms and legs bound by duct tape.

The bruises and cuts caused by Warren's beating were still evident on his face, decorating his face like a canvas with paint. His normally-gelled hair was unkempt and hanging in his face, hiding parts of his eyes from her view. By the looks of his movements, however, it seemed that he was just returning to consciousness because of her yelling.

"I… But I thought… I thought you were working together." That was all she could manage to squeak out, the utter shock at the reality not sitting well with her.

The man scoffed. "Please. I'd have killed the kid long before, but the Prescotts run this town, Max. Offing Nathan at the same time as you would only put me in danger of being caught. He'll conveniently be noted as 'M.I.A.' in a few days or so by a member of the faculty - though I imagine he won't get many likes on his 'Missing Person' post on Facebook."

"But why betray him? Wasn't he helping you drug Kate Marsh and Rachel Amber? Why would you do this?" It didn't make any sense to Max; she stared at her old teacher, once more shellshocked by the turn of events. Between this, witnessing her friend's death like a playlist on repeat, and just getting back from that horrific alternate timeline, this could not be healthy for her psyche.

"I never cared for the brat, in all honesty. I think he's rather… uncouth. Not a very good subject for my artwork, though he did take interest in my style and tried to emulate it. Unfortunately, his outbursts were just getting to be too much, and he was even struggling over what to do with Victoria tonight." Mr. Jefferson merely shot a glare towards the bound teen, his eyes clouded over and without emotion.

So Nathan had objected to drugging Victoria? Maybe the blond had been right in her defending of Nathan's behavior; maybe they were close friends and there was a bond of trust similar to that of Max's and Chloe's. Whatever the case, it meant that Nathan Prescott wasn't, in fact, the devil - and that he had a heart, too. Max would take that as she would, however, as nothing could change the things he'd already done.

Before Mr. Jefferson could continue, or to dissect Max or whatever the hell he planned to do with her, a cell phone jingle echoed in the quiet room. The sound was oddly comforting; normally, such a ringtone would be a buzzing earworm, but she'd never heard something so sweet.

The teacher, however, was not pleased, and merely groaned and picked up. "Hello? …right now? Of course, sir, I'll be there in fifteen- No, of course, I understand. Right now. I'm just outside the pool area. Coming your way now." After clicking the phone off, he let out a grunt of frustration and turned to the caught flies in his spiderweb.

"Unfortunately, duty calls, and I have to continue my day job. But I'll be back tomorrow for sure. Sit tight while you can, Max." A wicked sneer crossed his lips - a look she'd never expected to see on her professor's face - and he turned around, exiting the room and shutting the passworded door behind him.

Max held back a panicked sob and held out her left hand again in an attempt to rewind time. She waited, watching and waiting for the sensation to brush her palm again, but the seconds merely ticked by - at the correct pace and direction. She tried again, her hand shooting out, fingers stretched apart in a desperate attempt to grasp whatever it was that had made her able to rewind before.

Nothing. She tried again, and again, but each try just filled her with more despair. Mr. Jefferson was right; no one would come looking for her until it was too late. Even Warren probably had a hangover or something right about now, and wouldn't be up for a rescue mission no matter how much Max wished she could had telepathic abilities to send him a message.

Fuck, she was doomed; she'd never see the light of day again. She would die alone here…

Alone! That's right, she wasn't alone. Her head cracked to the side, her neck muscles searing in protest at the sudden movement. "Nathan!" she cried out, moving onto her hands and knees. Crawling towards the boy, she managed to get a clearer look the closer she got.

His wounds from Warren left him looking no worse for wear, but there was such a heart-wrenching emptiness in his expression that bothered her. She hated the way his cracked lips were opening and closing rhythmically, as if he was trying to speak but could not muster up the ability. Max hated this kid, no doubt, but she would give anything to have him send a scowl her way and throw a temper tantrum, complete with curses to pepper his words.

But no, he just laid there, dark eyes moving to stare into hers. The sheer sorrow and… acceptance in those eyes made her heart slow, whole body shivering as though she'd caught a fever. She placed a clammy hand onto his shoulder, noting the way he flinched and lowered his head, as though she'd hurt him. And could she honestly blame him for thinking that way? She hadn't stopped Warren.

"Hey…" She was surprised at the gentleness of her own voice. "Hey, Nathan, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I actually need your help."

Slowly, he shook his head; Max could practically feel the surrender in his tone as he spoke. "It's over, Caulfield. We're dead."

"Not yet we're not." She paused, sitting back against the wall closest to him to make herself more comfortable. Glancing around the room, she looked around for any means of escape. If her rewind abilities wouldn't work here, there had to be another way. She would not give up so easily; not with so much on the line!

She'd just saved Chloe's life from the alternate timeline, too. This wasn't very fair - and why the hell didn't her powers work, anyway? How did Mr. Jefferson know about them? Max couldn't even begin to guess, but she didn't have the time to sit here and ponder. Turning once more to Nathan, she quietly focused on getting off the tape binding his wrists. As she tugged, he cringed, and she could even feel the shudders coursing through his body.

What could she even say? Nothing, she concluded - at least, nothing that would help the situation. Nathan looked out of his mind, and frightened despite his resigned look. So she didn't respond to the way he whimpered at her yanking on the tape, and eventually she managed to get through both sets on his hands and feet.

"There," she whispered, leaning back on her knees. "That must feel better."

Nathan blinked, slowly uncurling himself into a sitting position and stretching his limbs. He trembled, lifting his head to stare at her with a dumbfounded look on his face. "Y-yeah," he hissed, "yeah, it feels m-much better. Now I can die w-with my limbs free. Thanks." Sarcasm and bitterness were laced in each word, each syllable a note of his overall hatred.

"Come on, Nathan, we're not going to die, and - will you stop shaking?" she asked, becoming annoyed with the way he was constantly moving.

He scowled at her in return, shaking his head and stammered, "C-can't. We're not all as lucky as you, b-bitch. Sometimes I can't… control myself like this." Angrily, he stared down at his palms, as if he could wish away the shakes that plagued them.

His words made Max's heart sting with pity for a few moments; she couldn't imagine living with such a restless body. But this was not the time for sympathy or anything of the sort. They were still trapped in the murderous spider's web, and couldn't just sit here and wait for death. There had to be a way!

"Look, I'm sorry. I know you're going through something, but you hurt Kate. I can't just forgive that." They'd been trailing him for so long, and had gotten so close… Just for a moment, she let that nostalgic hatred fill her like a balloon; Chloe would have told her to sock Nathan in the face, if not shoot him point-blank. But Max wasn't that sort of person.

"I get it," he mumbled. "But don't act like you know me."

"You're right; I don't. You won't let me." Not that she particularly wanted to, anyway, but he kept spouting out that no one knew him, yet refused to tell anyone exactly that. Hesitantly, she scooted closer to him and looked him dead in the eye, her lips pursed in seriousness. "If we get out of here, I'll listen, Nathan. You can tell me everything, I promise, and I won't tell a soul. Please, I don't want to die, and I know you don't, either."

At that, he snorted. "You really are an idiot. Everybody hates me - they'll be glad I'm gone." His eyes narrowed, fists balling in frustration. He really looked hurt, so Max didn't try to make a comment about how he was responsible for everyone hating him; there was no need for it right now.

"Victoria cares," she pointed out instead, "I tried to warn her about you drugging her, and she defended you. Said you two were close friends and you wouldn't do that."

Nathan nodded. "Of course I wouldn't! That's what made me get here in the fucking first place…" He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, eyes screwing shut in anguish. "She's the only one who would give a shit about me! No one else would care! They - they'd all be glad! And maybe it's better this way, who the fuck knows!?"

He laid back down again, his hands clawing through his hair. "It's fucking better this way! Arrrgh!" After repressing what she assumed would have been a furious scream, his breathing hitched so quickly she feared he was hyperventilating - then, he let out a deep, long sigh. It sounded like his lungs were going to shrivel up with a wheezing, whistling sound attaching itself to the air let out.

And then, as Nathan Prescott lay there motionless, she watched the tears begin to trickle out of his eyes like a low faucet, streaking down his cheeks onto the ground below. He didn't acknowledge them, merely let them fall without a word; he truly looked like he was giving up, the fight long gone out of him.

"Everybody hates me…" His voice cracked at the whisper, and finally, he broke down and began to sob. Looking very much like he did after Warren beat him - curled up, face hidden from sight, and head tucked into his chest - he looked so very small. This wasn't the kid who held the town's biggest name on his shoulders like some fancy fashion accessory, and certainly not the violent psychopath she assumed he was. Max simply watched, unjudging as she witnessed the breakdown of someone she had mislabeled as her enemy all this time - when, in reality, he was just a boy in pain.

Max thought of alternate Chloe, wheelchair-bound and hopeless, and recalled how much her friend wanted to die for the better of everyone. Chloe had been in so much pain and felt like a burden because of her physical state; was Nathan feeling the same thing, but for his mental state?

And just for a second, Max realized that she was beginning to understand Nathan Prescott, if only a little - but it was progress nonetheless.

She moved without thinking, her hand finding one of his and gripped it tightly. "You're not alone," she assured, though she knew the words held no weight. "And we're getting out of here. But I need your help. I promise, I can fix all of this - you just have to trust me." With another squeeze of his hand, she added, "And I'll listen - to everything."

He continued to choke out strangled cries, his eyes not drying for quite some time. Max didn't know how much time they had and, while that did worry her, she wouldn't be able to get out of here without Nathan's help, anyway. She needed him to be okay, and not just for her sake; a calmer Nathan Prescott would be better for everyone in the school, including Nathan himself.

When his whimpers finally subsided, he forced himself to sit up, bringing up a sleeve to wipe at his face. "F-fine," he choked out, "I… I'll help. I can't let that bastard hurt Victoria, anyway…"

Max beamed, relief shining in her eyes. "Thank you. Now, we need to figure out how to get out of here. What can you tell me about Mr. Jefferson?"

The spider wouldn't catch his prey this time.

Nathan opened his mouth to reply, but paused. His expression and voice took on an almost timid tone as he finally asked, "Wait, first, um… did you really mean all that? About listening?"

Without hesitation, she nodded. "Of course."

He looked away, and she must have been still on some sort of drug, because she swore she noticed the edges of a smile tugging at his lips. His gratitude sounding genuine this time, he murmured, "Th...thanks, Caulfield."