Author Notes:

Finally back with another chapter. I'm really sorry this one took so long to come out. There's a part near the start of this explaining why Frank can only count to nine on his hands. It's a little dark, since, you know, he used to be able to count to ten. So consider yourselves warned. Thanks to everyone who left reviews, PMs and constructive criticism. They are greatly appreciated.

Funnybombninja, slydino, Guest, Fireblade57, Susanbermudez28, Alpenwolf, Angela3000: Thanks so much for your continued support.

G. G. Lapresa and MaxNeverMaxine: Really sorry this took ages. I've been working on this a lot since the last one. I just couldn't bring things together in a timely fashion.

Fireblade57: Regarding Grey and Mercy Graves from superman, I never actually got to watch superman animated; I had to track down a couple of episodes just to see how Mercy behaved. I think it's true I've written Grey kind of similar on a superficial level (officially Prescott's driver, unofficially does 'bad things' for him); to be honest that's probably because Sean Prescott's a bit Lex Luthor-y, in that he's a rich guy who likes to control others rather than act directly. Hopefully some differences will show up in the future. So far Grey's uniform has pants, so I guess that's something?

GrumpyCat42: Thanks. I don't think they shoot the correct part of the bumper for that in the game. Actually, I'm not sure the round hits the bumper at all. Last time I played it, it seemed to go higher, and given that, it probably should have gone straight through the vehicle. In any case if you do happen to hit the exact right point on the curve to get a 180 degree deflection, you run into a different problem, in that the collision becomes highly inelastic with the bullet's soft metal deforming to adsorb most of the impact energy. The flattening of the bullet also reduces impact pressure. And pistol rounds don't usually have that much energy to begin with. When it comes back, unless it hit an eye, the amount of damage it would do would be highly questionable, possibly not even breaking the skin. The highest chances of a lethal ricochet against the shooter are when you get the bullet returned by several glancing deflections, not a single straight 180 degree one.

Random reader: I'm not sure that you've replied to the correct story. Unless those are innuendos, in which case I sincerely look forward to writing about them.

MangekyoMasta510: I lost count of how many times I heard Max tell me there was a bonfire spot near by. Protip to game designers: when you want to give the player a clue as to the location of something, actually include a clue as to its location.

Crowthorne : Wowser, you put a lot of thought into that review. Thank you. Regarding Warren, he has a special place in my heart. A place that could probably do with a bypass operation. His fate was decided with episode 5, where he gets co-opted as the voice of the game authors to info dump, leveraging his alleged intelligence to convince the player. I say alleged since a smart person wouldn't have jumped to the conclusions he did in that info dump – they'd have probably told Max that her use of powers and the storm were uncorrelated given a closer look at the evidence. Nor would they put sodium or potassium in water. So, with this fic having a satirical theme against the original game's forced tragedy themes, it's only natural that Warren becomes a bit of a target. That said, I don't think I've written him as that stupid (yet). Just hopelessly naive about Max liking him, and self-entitled. Arguably not that different from what the original game actually presented, especially if you keep Warren trapped in the friend zone from the beginning and don't give him any hope.

I have a feeling Chloe and Max would be more aware of the first tomb raider reboot. They'd have been a couple of years old at best when the original tomb raider came out, and Legend came out a couple of years before Max left for Seattle. On the other hand, Max might have sought out and played the original for hipster cred.

And LOL at the homicidal deer being dontnod personified. Though I won't deny that at times I feel that may be a somewhat valid meta-interpretation.

Guardian of Azarath: Some of your questions might be answered in this chapter.

SuomynonAX and The Madreader: Regarding Frank, I find him particularly is difficult to write in this, since I try to make everyone a little smarter with their plans and motivations. But for him, pretty much everything involves stupidly antagonising Max and Chloe, mostly due to his bull-headed impulsiveness and short temper. In the original game, Max can provoke him into attacking her right in front of a police officer. Not the smartest thing for anyone to do, let alone a known drug dealer with his rv outside, probably loaded with product. By episode four, he already knows Chloe and Max may have a gun, but sees red so much he tries to choke Max in front of Chloe and wont back down if a gun is pulled on him.

The soft sensation of hand-woven material was a small comfort to Frank Bowers, as it slipped between the three remaining fingers on his left hand. His plan to confront Chloe in her hideout had been less than successful. As had been his search of the rest of the junk yard. Somehow they must have known he was on to them, all he'd found was an old bracelet of Rachel's, sitting on a small table improvised from a wooden reel. It was a lot like the bracelet Rachel had given him, except smaller. A plastic 'R' letter had been incorporated into it. And inseparably linked with it was another identical bracelet, this one with a 'C'. How appropriate, Chloe's bracelet clung to Rachel as desperately as Chloe had in person. He felt a spike of jealousy as he remembered. Always tugging at her arm when the three of them were hanging out, pulling her away from him. In the end, she seemed to have abandoned both of them. Still, some bonds were not so easily severed, those born out of necessity. Like the one between Chloe and her means of transportation. All he really needed to do was wait by her truck, and catch her when she returned.

There was a buzz from Frank's left jacket pocket. He reached inside and extracted his phone. He felt a sudden shot of pain run through his little finger, the finger he no longer had, as he read the text message, and the identity of its sender.

Two (LIMY PSYCHO): If I might have a moment of your time. I know there is a matter of some petty cash between you and one of the girls that arrived on that truck. You will let them get into their vehicle and carry on their merry way or I will be paying you another visit.

Frank practically jumped about face, half convinced he'd find the Prescott's assassin standing behind him, peering over his shoulder. He saw nothing, the place looked deserted. He looked back at his three fingered hand and noticed it was shaking. He remembered a boast he'd often made. That "he wasn't afraid of anyone except his maker." That woman had shown him how wrong, how hollow those words had been.

He recalled the moment that precipitated all of it. An instant of anger when he'd backhanded Nathan across the face. To be fair, the little bastard had really deserved it. Nathan had shown up high in the middle of the night, ranting incoherently about death, ghosts and some stupid school photography project, and nearly brought the cops down on them. It was blind luck that the pursuing police had been far enough back not to notice Nathan drive down to the beach, and instead continued down the coastal highway. Needless to say Frank was more than slightly put out: if the police had declared him an accomplice to whatever Nathan had gotten up to and used it as grounds to search his RV, his entire inventory would have been discovered.

Even then, Frank had realised pimp-slapping Nathan was a dumb idea; the screw up was one of his most prolific customers. What Frank did next caused more lasting damage though, grabbing the terrified kid by the scruff of the neck and showing him his blade. Telling him "he'd carve a chunk out of him and let his dog eat it" if this ever happened again. He sighed. Nathan had been unlucky, he'd caught him at a bad time, it was a couple of weeks after Rachel had left him and he was still sore. Back then he read her parting gift, the most cliché riddled Dear John letter he'd ever seen, every night. "I'm a Leo, so I don't look back" it had said. It really only underscored the age gap, that what they had would have never worked in the long term.

Frank didn't realise the depth of his mistake though. He never stopped to think why Nathan had such a gross excess of disposable money for drugs, ridiculous even for an entitled Blackwell student, or inquire as to the kid's last name. If he had realised Nathan was an heir to the family that seemed to rule over Arcadia, that littered the town with billboards all but proclaiming the Prescott family the town's saviours, he might have tried harder to keep his rage in check. He might also have kept all his digits.

Things came to a head the following night. A continuous assault of insect chirps had serenaded the darkness, their call punctuated by the rustling of leaves with each gust of wind. As usual, Frank's RV had been parked by the beach; he'd left his slightly mildewy sanctuary to relieve himself behind the trees that seemed to border just about everything in Arcadia Bay; their swaying branches cast barely perceivable shadows that danced in the pale moonlight. The shadows seemed to jump out when in the peripheral vision, but blended into the background when focused on, giving the unnerving impression of something lurking, just out of sight.

Frank found himself gripping the baseball bat he habitually carried after dark a little tighter. It might have been a momentary bout of anxiety from his last joint, but something seemed off that night. Besides, it wasn't paranoia if you actually did have people who wanted you dead, and Frank's old gang weren't too pleased with him after he suffered a crisis of conscience over the dog fighting ring they were running. He'd rescued his current dog, Pompidou, from that ring. Moments later, the police swarmed the place on an "anonymous tip," and those who managed to evade arrest came to the conclusion that the two events might be related. There was always a risk a few of Frank's old friends would track him down one day, looking for revenge, but Frank calmed himself with the knowledge that they weren't the sort for subtlety. They were the kind to ride straight up to the diner in a pack of Motorcycles while he was having breakfast and demand a knife fight, not stalk him for hours in the night, waiting for the perfect moment to stick a knife in his back.

A series of incoherent curses rang out as Frank was startled by a sudden buzzing. He immediately spun around, confronting the shadows that surrounded him with his bat raised. A moment later he realised it was just his phone, set to vibrate. He allowed himself to relax, tucked his bat under his arm and fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. The words "unknown caller" glowed on the screen, along with a mobile number he didn't recognise. He brought the phone to his ear and hit answer.

"Frank Bowers?" A male voice asked, gruff yet sophisticated in tone. "I understand there was something of an incident yesterday."

"Who the fuck is this?" Frank demanded. "Is this another pig attempt to get me to admit something? If so, it's even worse than the last one."

"You misunderstand, Mr Bowers. I'm not trying to implicate you for a crime." The voice responded. "I'm the reason there's been no further attempts to implicate you to date. And I'm most displeased with the state you seem to have put my son in. I honestly believe you can be of great benefit to me in the future, but prior to that, I feel an example needs to be made."

The call abruptly ended. Frank glanced around in the darkness, the dim silhouette of trees illuminated only by the moon and a couple of distant lamp posts back at the beach-side street. He became aware of two things. Firstly, the chirp of insects from the bush had gone oddly silent. Second, that under the pale illumination of the moon, he seemed to have obtained a second shadow.

He spun around, slightly lethargic from having recently partaken in his own product. He felt a sudden discomfort in his leg, something akin to getting jabbed with a pair of needles. A figure stood behind him, completely silent. A disturbingly tall woman, her face pale and gaunt. The slightest hint of a smile broke across her face as Frank's leg exploded into a strange combination of numbness and agony. He unceremoniously slumped head-first onto the ground, but that didn't prevent Grey from pulling the trigger on her Taser several more times, each tug putting fifty thousand volts across the needles he was stuck with. He looked up, his legs deaf to his brain's demands to get up; he couldn't run and he couldn't protect himself. He watched helplessly as Grey pocketed the Taser and reached for the baseball bat he had dropped.

Half a minute later, and Frank's world was one of pain. Dull pain, punctuated by sharp pain when he tried to move. Several of his ribs were probably cracked; Grey had been relentless with his bat. Somewhere along the line, she'd probably also broken his nose; it just wouldn't stop oozing blood down his face. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes: a few trickles of red had run backwards over his face and was starting to pool around them, giving everything a sickly red haze.

Frank finally clambered back to his feet, which had, at last, decided to start obeying commands again. He was surprised in that Grey let him instead of pressing an attack. She also hadn't done anything to his head beyond the broken nose; that bat connecting even once might have well laid him out. That led to a realisation that was almost as painful as his injuries: he was being toyed with. He pulled his knife in an instant and tried to keep facing Grey as she circled him, a predator regarding a wounded animal, just out of range, studying him for the moment of weakness that might let her end everything.

Then she stepped forward. She didn't take another proper swing at him with the bat, deciding his battered and barely conscious form wasn't worth the effort. Dripping contempt, she instead used the bat as a blunt spear. She drove the end of it into his already battered ribcage, delighting in the cracking noise and the way Frank's desperate breaths suddenly became laboured; the muted groan as he doubled over in agony was music to her ears.

Frank stared up, vision blurred and head spinning, barely able to breath let alone move now. He watched the monster stand over him. Her eyes reminded him of a cat's, upon noticing something small and pathetic crawling along the ground nearby. Something it could toy with for its own amusement. There was a definite smile on her face now, her lips a long shallow crescent bathed in the light of a full moon. She stepped on the arm he held the knife with. He gripped it tightly, refusing to surrender it. It was a last act of defiance, ultimately futile. In his current state, he was weak enough that she could rip it out of his fingers, or just continue beating him until he went completely unconscious. Instead he heard a series of diminishing thuds as she discarded the baseball bat and it bounced against the hard beach-side road. There was a second quieter thud as she discarded the Taser's wire cartridge, exposing a pair of bare electrodes, and an arc of miniature lightning that jumped between them each time she pulled the trigger.

He felt the electrodes touch his wrist and knew what was about to happen. His fist clamped even more tightly for an instant, then went limp amidst a burning pain, the harsh click of electrical arcing, and the smell of ozone. She took his knife in hand, feeling its balance and taking in how well the edge had been sharpened. She nodded approvingly, then slowly, carefully, ran the edge of the blade down his left arm, the one untouched by electricity. Brushing it with such a light touch it almost felt like a feather. All the way down his arm, down his hand. She didn't stop until she reached the second knuckle of his little finger. She looked him straight in the eyes as she pushed down slowly, taking her time to slice through him, savouring his reaction. Taking a piece of him with his own blade.

He remembered hearing himself scream. She just stood there smiling, waiting to see if he'd be able to get himself under control. Whether he could endure this final addition to his pain, or pass out.

"You said something about taking a chunk from Sean Prescott's son." She finally whispered in that obnoxiously upper-class English accent, gracefully taking the severed finger in hand, displaying it to him as he shivered in agony. He tried to tell himself this wasn't happening, over and over, as he was given a view of his own protruding knuckle bone.

"Do remind me what you said you were going to do to that chunk of him you cut off?" She asked, as Frank finally slipped from consciousness.

Frank awoke in the hospital the following day, agony from the bandaged stump of his missing finger quickly making itself known in the back of his mind, along with a dull ache in his ribcage. A healthy dose of painkillers kept it from the forefront. He glanced around his new surroundings. The place was empty. He'd been given a private room, something normally reserved for the dying, and the exceedingly wealthy. A bulging plain white envelope sat on a bedside table next to him, addressed to "Mr. Frank Bowers". He reached over, feeling the pain spike as his body rolled slightly. Inside the envelope was a short letter, and alongside it and wrapped up in a cloth to conceal its shape was his switch blade. He took the letter in hand and began to read:

Mr. Frank Bowers,

Mr. Prescott has heard about your victimisation by 'gang violence', no doubt perpetrated by the group of ruffians you had a prior association with. The police appear to have reached a similar conclusion.

In his infinite generosity, Mr. Prescott has decided to pay for your medical expenses in their entirety. He is of the firm belief that, while you have a somewhat chequered past, you can make a valuable contribution to Arcadia Bay's future, post rehabilitation. I strongly urge you to consider such an effort. It is unlikely that you will find any such generosity and opportunity outside of Arcadia Bay. No doubt you will be contacted about this again at a later date.

And don't worry about your dog, it was given the very best care. I personally saw to his dietary needs. Rest assured that no matter what happens in the future, your dog will remain well fed. On a completely unrelated matter, I have enclosed one of your personal effects in this envelope. Do take good care of it. It may be needed in the future.

Kind Regards,

Daphne Grey

(On behalf of Mr Sean Prescott.)

Frank's remaining three fingers closed around the letter, crushing it into a ball, and throwing it at the rubbish bin. He cursed as it missed and fell to the ground in the corner. The implication in the note was clear. The Prescotts owned him now. They could have him beaten, they could pay for his treatment like some house pet, they could cut chunks off him with his own knife and feed them to his fucking dog. And if he attempted to quit the town, they'd stop "being generous" with him, which meant they'd make him disappear. He was theirs.

That was a little over six months ago. So far the only thing the Prescotts wanted was the provision of drugs to the hyper-entitled kids at Blackwell. Sean's only demand was Frank cut his prices and go for a "high volume" strategy. That had risks, a large customer base meant more chance of drawing police attention, but it seemed Sean Prescott had pulled some strings. On several occasions he thought he was about to be busted, only to see the police suddenly turn about face and 'be somewhere else'. He had no clue why Sean Prescott was so obsessed with enabling the narcotic habits of art students. He really didn't care either. He just did exactly as they wanted, and both kept out of jail and kept his nine remaining fingers.

Frank stood, concealed behind a stack of crushed car chassis, watching as Chloe's truck retraced the tracks it had left in the soft dirt. His RV, which he'd left parked alongside Chloe's, had left a similar set. He suddenly became aware of a third set of tracks as well, not quite so far apart, not quite so deep, and that definitely hadn't been there when he'd arrived. The kind that would be left by a more conventional car. It seemed someone else had paid a visit while he was searching the junk yard; based on the text message he had just received, their identity was obvious.

Chloe pissed Frank off: betraying their almost-friendship with that loan, and always trying to take Rachel away from him. Perhaps even succeeding in the end; she had broken up with him a few weeks before she suddenly disappeared, but kept hanging around Chloe until she up and vanished. In spite of all that, he found himself desperately hoping he was wrong. That Chloe hadn't doubled down on her stupidity and somehow made an enemy of the Prescotts. No one deserved what they were capable of.

Chloe's truck was ravenous in its consumption of the open road, travelling at the posted speed of 60 miles per hour. The coastal road was still blocked, thanks to that landslide they'd noticed earlier in the morning, consigning them to a long rectangular path around one of Sean Prescott's forests on the way back to what passed for civilisation. In spite of that, and them having to evade Frank and deal with the ghost, they were still likely to get back to school with plenty of time before Max and Victoria's afternoon classes, so long as they kept their speed up. Doing so sent the truck's body rattling again, not so bad that you felt it was about to fall apart, but just teasing out the possibility that it might. Victoria found it no longer bothered her: there was nothing like facing definite life and death situations to numb you against more minor concerns.

Turning to her left, she regarded her two companions. Max sat sandwiched between herself and Chloe, relegated to the lap-belt position yet again. None of them were really in a talking mood. The adrenaline brought on by being accosted by what could only be described as a ghost animal, and Chloe nearly being crushed by a freight train, had long since worn off. The quiet let the three of them digest the reality of what they'd just been through.

"We were stupid not to leave immediately after the ghost's first appearance." Victoria finally said. "We should have gone straight back to your truck and left. Instead we hung around and it had another go at us."

It was slightly more complicated than that. Neither Chloe nor Victoria wanted Max bouncing around that rickety truck on a half-hour drive back to civilisation while outright unconscious and in an unknown state of stability. They'd actually been moments from calling an ambulance when she came around.

"I want to know why Max's future self didn't give us a warning," Chloe replied. "Oh, hey. You know that fucking dangerous ghost thing you ran into yesterday? The one that can cripple Max's powers, and immobilise you with a glance. It practically lives in the fucking junk yard. Don't hang around there or it'll come after you over and over."

Victoria reflected on that. She supposed it could have been something new, that Max's future self never predicted happening, or something she knew they'd be able to overcome on their own, and hence not worth the effort. She supposed that meant they shouldn't rely on Max's future self to provide a complete cheat-sheet to the week. The behaviour of the ghost was more interesting to her at that moment. It always seemed to go for Max first, and in a different way to herself or Chloe. Bombarding her mind with visions of destruction at the hands of the giant tornado until she passed out.

"Why does fucking Bambi's Mom always go for Max?" She wondered aloud.

"My time powers, I guess," Max responded, not really wanting to think to much while she nursed her headache. "That's the only obvious difference."

"But is it after you specifically because it doesn't like your powers, or simply because it considers you the greatest threat?" Victoria asked. She mulled over the words as she spoke them. Max Caulfield as the greatest threat. If she'd heard that yesterday, she'd have laughed. Except in a photography context, then she'd have obsessed for an hour over how embarrassing it was going to be if she lost to a selfie, and then how infuriatingly enchanting Max's facial features were. But otherwise, she'd have laughed, doubly so if the line-up of other threats included "The Price". But Max's powers changed everything, literally letting her undo any injury her companions might suffer and get them out of virtually any situation. Logically, any attacker had to neutralise her first. Of course that had also turned out to be a colossal mistake, in that it attacked Max in Chloe's presence. Chloe had her own instinctive response on seeing anything try to harm Max: to rush in at blinding speed and punch its head off. It had actually worked too, after a fashion. Interposing her arm with the ghost's body had inflicted torturous pain on both of them.

"It has to have something against Max. I mean, I've been in that junk yard a ton of times with Rachel, and the weirdest thing that happened was me occasionally beating her at darts."

Chloe had assumed that would engender some sort of knowing response. Instead it was met with silence.

"Rachel was really good at darts." Chloe clarified belatedly, feeling her companions might have missed some context.

"Rachel was really good at everything except being honest." Victoria replied.

"Discussing what a deer wants." Chloe grumbled, deciding it was best to simply ignore Victoria's anti-Rachel jibe completely. "This is bullshit. It's a fucking deer. I mean it's see-through, but it's still an animal. Shouldn't it be, you know, stupid."

"A regular animal would be limited to crude associative reasoning. If it's some spirit of the land like in Native American myth, that can see the future and blast visions of it into Max's head, then who knows."

"Chloe did seem to have a very convenient accident when it came back to get me the second time." Max said.

"You think the whole thing with the train was an elaborate trap to off me?"

"It knew you'd try to beat it up again otherwise. You can add 'incorporeal entity' to the list of 'people' you've managed to terrorise."

Victoria had meant that as a compliment. Chloe's list of known destructive feats were legendary, which cultivated the image of 'The Price' that seemed to publicly define her. To Chloe though it felt like she was being reduced to some one-dimensional thing, when she at least liked to pretend there was more to her.

"That does seem to be what I'm good at." Chloe mused a little bitterly. "Dishing out beat-downs and frightening people."

"You've never frightened me, Chloe. You're more like this indomitable force of good."

The way Max positively beamed threw her blue haired driver into a state of stupefied bliss, practically melting into her seat in response.

"Chaotic good." Victoria grumbled from the far passenger's seat, before worrying she'd let slip her power-level again. Not that it mattered with those two, they already knew about the 'collectable figurines'. They didn't even seem to hear her anyway, too busy smiling idiotically at one another and being generally adorable and perfect together. Victoria watched them and felt a rising tide of jealousy, a current of bitterness that threatened to pull her in at least two directions.

Why couldn't she be the one to charge out, punch ghosts, be the ridiculous hero and make Max feel safe? To be the one to be complemented. To take that wonderfully lithe frame into her arms and rush her to safety, see those big doe eyes of hers meet hers in gratitude and more, and definitely not throw her back out like a wimp in the process.

And why couldn't she be the one Chloe saved? Picked up in those strong arms, cradled against that magnificent body, firm all places and somehow still soft in a couple, and carried to safety. To be able to complement her and not have it come off backhanded. To utter a handful of words that could reduce the most publicly infamous person in town to such a warm gooey mess, that she could just about bathe in her.

Then she recalled some of the second part had actually happened yesterday. It didn't feel enough, somehow, and not just because she missed out on a bath of liquid Chloe. She felt, deep inside herself, that Chloe and Max would always go further for each other than for her. They had been closer than family since childhood, while she had been a source of antagonism, and only quasi-redeemed. As Max put it, "the token evil team mate" on their superhero team. That brought a certain glory, and seductiveness to the position that it didn't really deserve. She'd been a coward, who nursed her fragile sense of self by mocking those with enough courage to be themselves, and hiding behind a largely fabricated persona. Prim and perfect and vacuous, and not able to show anyone those disgraceful female figurines she so enjoyed collecting.

"Why did the ghost run for it?" Chloe asked, snapping Victoria out of her daydream. "It had us hella dead, didn't it? Max KO'ed, Tori frozen in place by that freeze sight thing, and me trapped in front of the fucking train."

"There was that flash." Victoria said.

Chloe and Max looked at each other uncertain. Victoria folded her arms in frustration.

"Please tell me you saw the white flash."

"I was busy being force-fed a vision of doom and tornadoes."

"I was busy trying to pry my foot loose of the train track."

Victoria huffed and her brow furrowed above her piercing green eyes.

"There was a white flash, and the ghost fucked off. It happened just before we heard the train."

"I think I saw a white flash earlier," Max said. "Just out of the corner of my eye. When I looked in its direction it was gone though. It was just before Victoria's first attempt at shooting. Just before that bullet ricochet wildly and nearly hit us-"

"We discussed this Max, we were never in any danger." Victoria replied rolling her eyes. "Nothing short of magic could make bullets deflect like that from an angled surface."

As she finished that last sentence, she found herself hesitating slightly. Her eyes lingered on Max's right hand, and she wondered whether, in a world where Max could reverse time and they were being periodically stalked by a ghost, declaring something as "impossible short of magical intervention" wasn't tempting fate. Then again, Max's future self seemed to have fate in a headlock, and appeared to almost have it choked into submission.

She realised she wasn't the only one absent-mindedly regarding Max's extremities. Max seemed entranced with her own hand, her arm held in front of her, slowly stretching and retracting her fingers. Wondering if her powers were going to return, Victoria thought. She found herself wondering how they'd cope if they didn't. With everyone, everything seemingly out to get them, those powers were a lifeline. They'd even provided the kick in the pants that had forced them together. They were a terrifying shock, then a thrill. Of course Max had countless other ways and features she found enchanting, Victoria had a clandestine library of photos which spoke to that effect. It would be nice, none the less, if her powers returned. Aside from their utility in repeadely saving them from mortal danger, she wouldn't mind being shocked and thrilled again.

Frank slammed the front door to his RV shut and keyed the ignition, not even bothering to greet his dog, who howled once in disappointment then sat obediently when he yelled at it to shut up. Under Frank's questionable mastership, Pompidou seemed to have decided that 'shut up' and 'sit' were interchangeable. Frank sighed. He didn't have time for his dog right now, he just wanted to get as far away from the junk yard as possible. There was something that made him uneasy about that place. Uneasy and angry. On top of that, that psycho, Grey, had just cost him three grand. She may still have been loitering nearby, watching him. A test of loyalty perhaps, or looking for an excuse to indulge herself and inflict more torture if he disobeyed. Or it had nothing to do with him, and she really was going after Chloe for some reason. If that was the case, Chloe would never see that psycho coming, just the same way that he hadn't.

He thought of the blue-haired idiot, and the endless, fucking ridiculous nerve she had. Always showing up for weed, and rarely bothering to pay for it. Demanding he teach her his 'OG kung fu'. Borrowing a few of his magazines. She hadn't been so bad, almost like him at her age in fact, only smarter and with a lot more balls. She introduced him to 'her hella good friend Rachel'; that hadn't been so bad either. She'd fucking ripped him off for three grand, that made him angry. Grey ambushed him, sliced his finger off, and fed it to his pet. That put things in perspective, made Chloe look like a saint in comparison. Sure he had to make some budgetary sacrifices, go without steak for his steak and beans dinner for a couple of months. That wasn't so bad, he didn't even really like the steak.

He grit his teeth as he relived the attack again. Blood oozing from the stump of his finger, and that fucking smile on Grey's face. The casual disregard Sean Prescott had shown when consigning him to mutilation. That "an example needed to be made." Impulsively, he brought out his phone, intent on texting Chloe a warning. His finger hovered over the send button. He felt his phone shake in his hand. He almost thought he was getting another call, and it was set to vibrate. Then he realised it was him, his arm shaking. Fear and sanity reasserting themselves. He thought of them despatching Grey for another visit, and of how much of him she'd claim this time. He deleted the warning and put his phone back in his pocket, disgusted at his own cowardice.

What other choice did he have though? He asked himself. Chloe had already metaphorically cost him an arm and a leg. If he warned her, that might well become literal.

A slight tingle ran through the finger's on Max's right hand. It was barely noticeable over her throbbing headache, which had stayed with her since the two encounters with the ghostly deer, but it seemed to be building gradually. To Max it somehow reminded her of an old camera flash charging. A whine of increasing pitch and building power, but one she felt from inside herself rather than heard. She ran her finger tips along her left arm, just above the surface of her skin, and felt a tickle and the faintest hint of goosebumps break out. Reaching out with her right arm slightly, she saw a red hue engulf everything, just for a moment. Her powers were definitely returning, though rather slowly. She grimaced as her headache spiked in response to the probing of her abilities.

"Max, try leaning back if your headache's bothering you." A honeyed voice suggested, and she felt Victoria regard her with her usual stern, heated gaze.

She began groping beneath her seat for a lever to tilt it backward, without much luck. Chloe seemed about to say something, but was pre-empted. Instead Max felt the soft touch of hands grasp her atop her shoulders, and heard the slight jingle of an expensive gold bracelet. She went rigid in surprise as she was taken in hand and gently ushered downward and to her right.

"Just relax and put your head in my lap, Max." Victoria huffed, managing to make herself sound enormously put out, but not quite managing to suppress an intruding husky undertone . Max found her instruction did little to relax her.

Shuffling around on her backside so she was more or less on a diagonal, Max felt herself gulp as she cautiously leaned back, guided by the soft and exquisite touch of Victoria's fingers, her thumbs idly pressing into the base of her neck in small circles, providing something of a clandestine massage. Max briefly considered questioning Victoria's motives, but decided it was better to merely enjoy them. Her gaze shifting upward, she saw the truck's dilapidated ceiling come into view; like the rest of the vehicle it was caked in graffiti. Her attention was grabbed by the phrase "Just gotta let go". She'd seen it before, plastered across the wall in Chloe's room. This one seemed to have a more literal second meaning, as an arrow had been drawn next to it pointing to a handhold above Chloe's door, one side of which was broken. She found herself following the spirit of the writing, surrendering into the blonde's grasp, and allowing herself to be ushered downward.

Then Victoria entered her field of view, and Max had something far more eye-catching to look at. She intently studied that prim, strong face. As their eyes met, Victoria's veneer of superiority seemed to peel away a little, hinting at the anxious girl hiding behind it. The scared rose-scented girl she had comforted last night. Max shot her her usual, awkward, gratitude-conveying smile and took some pride in how Victoria's cheeks reddened in response, as she continued the magic work of those fingers, reversing the grasp to compensate for the smaller girl's descent into her lap.

Max leaned back further and tried her best not to stare overtly at that ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater. The way it hung off and hinted at the enviable chest she knew lay beneath it, rising magnificently with every breath. Finally there was her jaw. Max had kind of noticed it before, but from this angle it was so much more prominent: Victoria had a weirdly sharp and almost chiselled jaw outline. Some might deride it as verging on mannish, but Max rather liked it. Eccentricity gave things character while perfection was bland, besides who decided what perfection meant anyway?

She felt an odd sensation in the back of her head as it came to rest against one of Victoria's thighs, just below the skirt's hemline. Apparently so did her makeshift cushion, eyes growing wide and drawing a sharp breath in the most wonderful way. A response to being both literally and figuratively shocked.

"Max, are your powers returning?" Victoria asked, cradling Max's head in her hands, feeling the sparse blonde hairs on them stand on end as they approached it, and them grow slightly numbed as they made contact. It was odd. She could have almost sworn that hipster's hand generated a slight sensation before, so faint it might have all been a figment of her imagination. This was different, orders of magnitude stronger, and more centred around Max's head than her hands.

"I think so." Max replied, bringing her hand up to demonstrate, and a surge of unworldly power skimmed across the exterior of her skin once more, surging between her head and her body. "When I flex my fingers and reach out, I think my powers are-"

"Don't" Victoria gasped, drawing a sharp breath as pins and needles rushed through her thigh. It was an odd, sharp tingle, a little extreme but not exactly painful. She found herself infinitely grateful that Max's head wasn't resting slightly further up and over, and at the same time somehow strangely disappointed.

"Since using it is what finally made your powers cut out, they'll probably come back more quickly if you just let it rest a while. Besides-" She sighed, this was going to sound stupid no matter which way she said it. "Your head seems to be bleeding electricity."

That revelation instantly snatched Chloe's attention, as well as Max's.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Max inquired, immediately trying to get back up. Victoria held her down by the shoulders.

"It's barely a tickle. Nothing compared with what that ghost must have done to you."

Not to mention she was getting to mimic Chloe's earlier cradling of Max in her hands. Somehow that made her feel all warm and giddy, not that she'd ever admit it. Warm, giddy, and slightly paralysed. She noticed Chloe's expression change from something mirroring the concern Max had shown, to that annoying, knowing smile.

"Victoria, isn't Max's head-"

"It's resting on a leg, not between them." Victoria snapped.

"I was going to say 'insulatable by putting something between her head and your shapely thigh.' Maybe the jean shorts you complained about being left on your seat earlier."

Victoria grit her teeth, convinced that wasn't what Chloe was originally going to say, annoyed that it was actually quite a good suggestion, and slightly befuddled at her thighs being described as shapely. She folded Rachel's old pair of jean shorts over and placed them under Max's head, feeling the tingle subside. She briefly appreciated the irony. She'd sworn she'd never let Rachel get close to her again, and yet she had her pants pressed hard against a leg.

"Did she feel this way while we were back in your sec-, hideout." Victoria asked, bitterly annoyed that she'd almost referred to that shabby junk yard building Chloe and Rachel used to hang out in as "Chloe's secret place". What was next, randomly inserting hella into sentences?

"You're asking me if I felt tingly when I had Max's head in my lap?" Chloe grinned.

Victoria shook her head, and Max sighed. Of course Chloe had to go there.

"I was zap free. No discharge of an electric variety. To be honest I'm feeling left out. There's literal sparks flying between the two of you, and I'm stuck driving."

"Then touch Max's forehead," Victoria suggested with a commanding tone.

Chloe hesitated. She was curious, and she'd gladly suffer hella pain just to be able to obnoxiously boast that sparks flew between herself and Max too. But she was driving, and she had an almost religious devotion to careful driving.

"You can drive with one hand on the wheel for a few seconds, it won't cause an accident." Victoria insisted. "Here. You keep looking at the road, and I'll guide your hand to Max's head. We need to establish if this affects other people as well as me."

After a moment, Chloe reluctantly uncoiled her hand from the wheel. Victoria took it between her own highly pedicured fingers, soft and supple thanks to countless dollars spent on trips to the beautician, and allowed herself a moment to squeeze it softly: somehow every part of the punk was wonderfully, almost unnaturally warm. Probably a result of the metabolism she needed to maintain that ridiculous body and all its muscles.

She eventually remembered what she was supposed to be doing and slowly brought Chloe's hand toward Max. There was something immensely satisfying at the look of dread anticipation on Chloe's face. Unable to look as she was busy driving, and knowing something was about to happen. She took a moment to savour it. Momentarily, and in some small, pathetic manner, she finally had 'The Price' at her mercy.

"Fuck! It's… Actually like my hand turned into a tongue and I licked a nine-volt battery."

"All in the name of science." Victoria assured them both. "Besides it was utterly insignificant next to what an attack from that fucking ghost felt like."

"Victoria Mengele Chase." Chloe muttered, trying to look upset and failing miserably as she shook the pins and needles out of her hand. And then she realised something: All the pain and stress she'd been feeling seemed to have just gone away for the moment. Displaced by simply being around her oldest friend, and her newest. Yes, there were a ton of things out to kill them, but right now she was next to Max 'time is my bitch' Caulfield and Victoria '(probably) not as much of a bitch as she pretends to be' Chase. Somehow their simple presence made things better.

Another thing to be grateful for was that they had a working vehicle to convey them. Not everyone could be so fortunate, a matter illustrated by the car they were passing at that moment, pulled over to the side of the road with the pulsating orange of its hazard lights contrasting its white paint job. She barely gave the sedan a second thought as it disappeared into the distance, struck suddenly by a random revelation she was sure her friends would appreciate.

"You know..." Chloe began, her smile teasing out the promise of something she seemed to consider equally profound and amusing. "...I think being in a life and death situation on a railway track gave me an epiphany about the trolley problem."

"What's-" Max asked, confused.

"That's a basic abstract philosophical problem dressed up in a dubious practical example, Max." Victoria immediately cut in, always desperate to display her knowledge. "Some villains with twirly moustaches have tied a bunch of attractive, helpless women up and placed them on a train track. Before reaching the women the track branches at a set of points, and the second track only has one attractive, helpless woman lying bound on it."

"Why are all the victims women, and attractive?" Max wondered aloud.

"The villain's playing on society's embedded stereotypes to maximise the emotional impact."

How dastardly.

"I think you should tell us more about these tied up women." Chloe said as she slew them round a corner, absent-mindedly noting the logging camp and that grotesque Prescott billboard approaching. "Their clothes, figures, how this clearly repressed villain has chosen to lay the ropes about their bodies and the type of knots-"

"Look the point is you're standing at the points, with a manual switch that actually works, and have the option of switching the track. That grossly reduces the number of deaths, but gives you a knowing, personal involvement in the death. If you're feeling particularly sadistic, tell the person you're applying the test to that their lover is the one on the alternative track and see how that influences their decision."

Max felt a sudden wave of anguish wondering how she'd respond if she was ever forced to make such a choice. Chloe and Victoria in exchange for a bunch of other people's lives. She consoled herself in that such a contrived and manipulative scenario seemed almost impossible to eventuate in reality. And if it did happen, she'd just use her powers to avert it. Besides, it was far more interesting that her subconscious had chosen Chloe and Victoria together as her lovers. She felt a sudden flush of heat as she fully considered that.

"So what was your epiphany?" Victoria demanded. Knowing Chloe it was probably some stupidly obvious loophole that would raise a middle finger at the purpose of the whole thought experiment.

"It's obvious when you stop to think about it." Chloe smiled, dragging the whole thing out, mostly because it frustrated Victoria to no end, and that was beautiful. "You just- STUPID FUCK!"

Max's eyes snapped open and she lurched up out of Victoria's lap. She looked out the windscreen in disbelief. That large logging truck they'd been stuck behind earlier this morning on the way to the junk yard had just pulled out of the camp in front of them, blocking the entire roadway. Chloe stamped the brake pedal. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, and then do its very best to make up for it, thumping against the walls of her chest. Nothing was happening, they weren't stopping at all. She pumped the brake desperately with her foot. Still nothing. She threw the car into low gear and pulled the hand brake. That began to slow them, but not quickly enough. They were going to hit. They were going to die. Maybe this was some sort of poetic destiny: she'd tried so hard to be a good, safe driver, and her fate was still going to match her Father's.

Max threw up her hand, desperate to squeeze something out of her failing powers, to somehow save them all. She heard the boom of metal tearing like tissue paper. Then everything stopped, except the noise, the deafening yell of steel shearing that echoed throughout the eerie red world she'd jumped into. Her gaze was locked on Chloe, as she realised with horror that the steering column had broken free of the dashboard, propelled backward as the front of the vehicle concertinaed; it was a literal instant from punching into Chloe's ribcage with ghastly force. Something was very wrong: time wasn't reversing, nor moving forward. It was just frozen; she was trapped in a moment of horror.

Max looked back at Victoria, who'd brought her hands up to brace herself for the collision, a gape of disbelief and utter terror on her face. Then at the speedometer, which indicated the car still had the majority of its speed. There was much worse damage yet to be done in this collision. In all likelihood, the entire cabin was going to crush, killing the rest of them along with Chloe. If time resumed it's normal flow, all three of them were dead.

Max concentrated, tried harder to do whatever it was she did that made time go backwards. There was no other option, she'd succeed or they'd all die. For what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality no time at all, things just hung in the balance. Then time moved forward again, the sound of wrenching metal deafening as the world came apart around her, for one horrific instant. Then red clouded her vision and things smashed themselves back together with equal violence. A brutal salvation set to the shriek of metal crumpling in reverse. Things became a blur, and then everything froze once more. Max stared around the red-hued scene and realised she'd probably forced time back twenty seconds. Pushing further had no effect, and it felt like someone had embedded an axe in her head. It seemed she'd exhausted her powers again. Before time began to flow around her once more, Max's eyes lingered on the car pulled over at the road side. The white sedan with vanity plates "DOTJKL", and inside, a shadowy figure watching them pass. No doubt alerting her lackey truck driver when to pull out.

"...I think being in a life and death situation on a railway track gave me an epiphany about-"

"Chloe! Victoria! Oh my DOG, It's a trap! The brakes aren't working, and a huge logging vehicle's about to pull out in front of us!"

Not exactly the words Chloe was hoping to hear. An experimental touch of the brake pedal had precious little effect. Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, suddenly haunted by visions of her Father walking out that door, a quick trip to pick up Joyce from work that he never returned from. She pushed them aside and desperately considered her options. She could throw the truck into low gear, and apply the hand brake, but that wouldn't be enough with the stopping distance available. Besides, even if she got them going slow enough to survive the crash, Grey and her stooge driving the truck might take the opportunity to finish them off, and make it look like it had happened during the accident. It didn't seem fair: this was the one area of life she'd done exactly what she was supposed to, been a complete stickler for perfect driving, and she was still moments from a crash. But that did leave one other option, do the exact opposite of what you were supposed to. She stamped the accelerator as she pulled out of the final turn before the collision and the logging camp came into view.

"Our plan's to re-enact the fast and the furious?" Max asked over a screaming engine, the old truck's body shaking like a rattle as the tachometer pushed up into the red.

"It'll be fine, Max." Chloe replied. Her face looked absolutely struck with terror, and her spine felt like it had gone completely rigid, but she somehow managed to make her words confident. "We can't stop in time, so we just have to get past this fucker before they pulls out."

The logging camp loomed up ahead. They scanned desperately for the murderous behemoth, and relief struck them in a way they hoped the logging vehicle wouldn't: When it came into view, it was only just starting to pull away from its parking space, their attempt to move ahead of schedule seemed to have worked.

"Car accidents are, in theory, incredibly easy to avoid if you have forewarning Max." Victoria lectured, trying to cover up the fact she'd nearly had an accident of her own when Max had started screaming about an imminent crash. "They require two vehicles to be in exactly the wrong place at exactly the right time, a coincidence that should be ridiculously easy to break."

That seemed to make sense. Still, there seemed something a little perverse about speeding up to avoid a crash.

Then relief turned to shock: the driver of the logging vehicle, on seeing them ahead of schedule and going far faster than expected, stamped his accelerator in response and his vehicle lurched out onto the roadway. That was the problem: this wasn't a coincidence. The driver of the truck fully intended for the crash to happen, and although caught by surprise, was prepared to try to compensate for their early arrival. Chloe grit her teeth and pulled into the lane for opposing traffic, and then the road's shoulder, sending loose gravel flying as she tried to dodge around the behemoth in front of them.

They almost made it past, before a dull thud signalled a rather rough and unsolicited kiss between Chloe's pickup and the bumper of the massive logging vehicle. There was a screech as the comparatively tiny pickup was thrown into a skid. They careered out of control, thrown sideways within the cabin by the sudden centrifugal force, watching the trees on the side of the road grow closer. Trees that were nearing maturity for harvest, their thick trunks unlikely to yield to the thin rusty steel of Chloe's truck. A head-on clash with one of them and they'd come off no better than if they'd hit the logger.

Chloe desperately threw the steering wheel around, trying to steer into the direction of the skid to restore traction. Just as a particularly large trunk loomed directly in their path, the tires bit deep into the road and steadied them, and Chloe quickly reversed the direction of the wheel, pulling them back into the centre of the road.

She slumped into her seat, breath short and heart thumping like a jack-hammer.

"God. Is there anyone else who'd like to try killing us?" Victoria asked to no one in particular. "If so, be a dear and get the fuck on with it."

"At least we know what Sean Prescott meant about trying to kill us indirectly. That was Grey's car back before the turn."

"Bitch probably put herself there to tip off the truck driver, so he'd be ready to pull out at exactly the right moment. Fuck, looks like we're going to be walking. Again." Chloe sighed, a hard edge in her voice replacing its usual humorous inflection. She began changing down gears to use the engine to slow them, as both the logging camp and the apparently murderous trucker receded into the distance.

"You can't." Victoria protested.

"You kept calling this a death-trap Victoria. Right now it is, and I am not driving without my brake pedal. Especially since Max looks exhausted from that last use of her powers."

"Future Max told you-"

"Make sure we aren't late back to school. Fuck, this is some crazy suicidal bullshit. Fine. But I'm going to drive us there at a crawl."

Another brief silence descended on the cabin, as Chloe gave her absolute focus to the road ahead, trying to coax the car safely down from engine red-line speed. Her intensity dropped in sync with the speedometer, by the time they hit 30 miles an hour, she was mostly back to her old self, still unprepared to take her eyes off the road, but wanting to dote endlessly on her smaller companion for saving them all.

"So Super Max, you saved us both again, in spite of having your powers crippled by a ghost. Are you OK?" She asked.

"I think so." Max replied, nursing her aching head as Victoria offered her a tissue to clear away the trickle of blood that ran from her nose. "Don't sell yourself short though, Chloe. That was some hellamazballs driving."

Victoria briefly cradled her head as if also in pain, apparently from Max's use and indeed bastardisation of Chloe's parlance. Max felt that was fine, she had to deal with an actual headache from her powers, so the least Victoria could do was put up with a metaphoric one.

"Yeah." Chloe smiled. "But in a way that's all down to you too. You practically begged me to do the whole defensive driving thing in your letters. You said you absolutely refused to lose me the way we lost William, no matter what." She took a moment to pause and compose herself. "Tori do you have another one of those tissues, I think I've got something in my eye, and I'd rather not end up blinded while I'm trying to drive a truck with no brakes."

And suddenly, guilt seemed to skewer Max as surely as a spear thrust into her chest, and she fell into an internal panic. The letters again. Chloe was always talking about them, and she had never sent any, or at least never remembered sending any. They had to have been sent by her future self, subtly caressing Chloe's past in just the right way to turn her into someone a little bit incredible. Someone who could protect them from nearly anything. And Chloe seemed to think it was something Max had done in the normal course of things, and was giving her all the credit for it, because sending the odd letter to your closest friend was the absolute least any good person could do. Not curling up into a ball and blocking everything out because your best friend's Father, who was almost a second Father to you died. Completely ignoring how the person he was actually a Farther to must have felt.

"Hellooo Maxine?" A honeyed voice whispered in Max's ear. She snapped out of her daze to see Victoria leaning over her.

"It's Max. Never Maxine." She snapped back automatically.

"I remember someone saying the best way to snap someone out of a daze was to address them in a way they didn't care for. Clearly, they were right, no doubt a novel experience for them." Victoria smirked at her, her superior air in full force.

Max felt like sniping back at Victoria; the matter of Chloe's past and the letters festered in the corner of her mind. She had no idea how to deal with it, did she break the heart of someone who'd been through so much, who'd probably just faced her own personal hell in the car crash they barely averted? Or did she perpetuate a lie and live in guilt, hoping Chloe would never realise the truth. And while she was trying to think of an answer, Victoria was casually insulting her with her usual honeyed inflections. Sticking that striking, regal, elegant face of hers inches from her own. Except on further viewing there actually was genuine concern on her face, behind the disdainful window dressing. It showed in her eyes, and the slightly furrowed brow above them. The rest of her face was a perfect mask. She turned and noticed Chloe seemed similarly worried, but then she could read Chloe's feelings like a book.

"We thought you might have slipped into unconsciousness again." Chloe elaborated.

"No. I was just kind of engrossed in thinking about my future and my past."

She felt Victoria regarding her expectantly, all but demanding more information. Chloe clearly felt the same way, though couldn't take her eyes off the road. She didn't want to explain though. How could she tell Chloe that the letters she'd treasured, that seemed enormously important to her and which apparently inspired her to somehow become a local legend, were disingenuous. Inserted into the time line after the fact by her future self. Literally shaping Chloe's life to serve her own designs. She couldn't deal with this now. She needed time to think about how to break it to Chloe, if she should even break it to Chloe. For now she needed a topic her two companions would find so engrossing, that it would completely derail their current line of questioning.

"So anyway," she began, "before I rewound you two were explaining something called the trolley problem? I think Tori said it had something to do with incredibly attractive women being tied up, and train tracks?"

There was a momentary pause, an unnatural quiet as Chloe checked her rear view mirror, and felt the need to adjust it. Max looked up and saw the reflection of those deep blue eyes regard her, just for a moment as she overcompensated the adjustment. Then, an instant later, Chloe's face lit up like a Christmas tree, or a child having woken up Christmas morning and seen the gifts sitting underneath it. Perhaps it took a moment for Max's words to fully register.

"That sounds like the best fucking moral dilemma ever." She announced, almost startling the other two with her enthusiasm. "Tori, Start at the beginning, and tell me everything."

Chloe's truck sedately glided to a halt outside Blackwell's main entrance, retarded only by the lowest gear and hand brake. Fortunately no one else had parked curb-side; trying to thread a vehicle weighing several tons and lacking its main brakes between other parked vehicles would have been a nightmare.

As soon as they were stationary, Victoria sprung from the passenger door. She hefted her oversized camera bag onto her shoulder and began to stretch out, feeling the tension ooze out of her neck and shoulders, hoping this time it would last. She was finally free of that now confirmed death-trap, and they were more-or-less still on time: they'd arrived during lunch break, and countless students sat on the Blackwell lawn; most talking idly together, a few still enjoying plastic-packed lunches they'd purchased from the café. Their presence brought about a certain sense of security, as she doubted they'd suffer another attack with that many witnesses. Besides, after all they'd been through, it was almost impossible to imagine something else going wrong.

Turning back to the truck, she noticed Max was yet to disembark, still in the centre seat and lost in another one of those introspective moments that seemed to blight her. Victoria cleared her throat, snapping Max out of her daze, and presented a hand to help her disembark. Moments later her brow furrowed and her lip turned up in annoyance: Chloe was making the same gesture from the driver's side. They stubbornly exchanged glares, with Max stuck between them, uncertain. This seemed an incredibly trivial thing to worry about, and it was kind of a pain. It was also a pain that was kind of gratifying: she had two people competing over her.

"It's safer to exit toward the sidewalk," Victoria smirked, and Chloe sighed, closing her door and conceding.

"So, how's that headache of yours?" Chloe asked, dashing around the truck at an almost indecent speed, but nonetheless too slow to arrive before Victoria had taken Max in hand and gently helped her out. She consoled herself by placing a hand on Max's forehead, a gentle touch to check if Max was still suffering that rather unique electrical issue. She found herself disappointed again: She felt only a slight tingle, that could well have been unrelated to any electrical activity.

"I think I'm feeling better." Max acknowledged. "I'm a little worried to be honest. What the hell is going on with me?"

"Something I've been wondering since I first saw you at the start of the school term," Victoria mumbled. She instantly regretted it. Why couldn't she be nice for once?

To top things off, Chloe immediately charged in, sensing a chance to make up lost ground in whatever competition they'd become locked in, consoling Max in her usual way, undeniable intelligence concealed by some of the most ignorant use of English imaginable, and seizing every laughably transparent pretext to hug and hold, something Max was complicit in reciprocating. It made Victoria frown in jealousy, even though she'd sort-of done the same thing in the car, with her "put your head in my lap" routine.

She regarded them again, this time with a more professional eye. Visually they really were the perfect odd couple: the meek, vulnerable girl lost in the embrace of a fierce brute, and the casual familiarity that was born of a friendship that had lasted most of their lives. Watching them made Victoria desperately want to steal another photo, except as her former hero once said, it was all "too obvious". The really special moments were when they traded roles, Max revealed herself as the relentless hero and seemingly inextinguishable force of will, and Chloe hung limply off her like a dress. Catching Max in that state would be the perfect (and therefore only acceptable) answer to this damn photo assignment.

A smirk crossed her face as she imagined her triumphant moment, handing in that photo. Applying her irresistible charm to guarantee Mr Jefferson, absolutely smitten with her as always, granted the maximum extra credit. She could practically see it, him desperately stroking the characters 'A' and '+' into the record, need in the eyes behind those non-prescription glasses, so desperate that there'd literally be beads of sweat pouring from his forehead. She'd smile, lean seductively over his desk as always, a pretext to glance at the record. Then, after insuring her grade had been officially entered and signed off, she'd alert the authorities and smile as they burst in and dragged the creep off. Perhaps she'd even give herself to someone on his desk as a final insult. Someone truly worthy.

Her smirk widened and she took her weight off one leg, gently caressing her other calf with the toe of her shoe, warmth permeating her as a fantasy took shape. Lying splayed across the teacher's desk, writhing helpless in ecstasy beneath one of the two people she considered most worthy. She stifled a moan as another, even more wicked thought occurred to her.

Why only one?

Of course, the practical side of her brain just had to spoil everything, reminding her that one of the contenders hadn't reached first base yet, and the other, while sex incarnate, was hopelessly enamoured with the first.

Her fantasy ruined by practical considerations, Victoria turned her attention to the closing portion of the "reassuring speech" Chloe was giving Max. It was at least as graphic as her daydream, but in a completely different way: a vivid description of what Chloe intended to do if the ghost "dared to show its face again and fuck with any of them." It left Max smiling a little nervously and Victoria wondering if you really could make balloon animals out of a largely incorporeal being's entrails.

Dumbstruck by Chloe's (probably) hyperbolic description of vengeance via ad-hoc vivisection, Max and Victoria scanned the Blackwell lawn, hoping for something less stomach-twisting to grab their attention. They were not disappointed. The most incredible pair of legs suddenly called out to them: unnaturally long, toned and creamy in complexion, subtle definition showing as they stretched out and then went limp, over and over. Through raw force of will, they dragged their eyes higher and noticed the rest of Taylor Christensen, a few strands of her long platinum-blonde hair taking flight in the light breeze. She sat alone under a large bushy tree, her eyes downcast, pecking at a rather paltry looking salad, idly pointing and relaxing her toes as she relived a shattered childhood dream about becoming a ballerina.

"Maybe you should catch up with Taylor." Max suggested, realising this was probably the first time she'd empathised with one of Victoria's flying monkeys, on the other hand it was only yesterday she really started feeling sympathy, and other things, for Victoria herself. "She's probably your most trusted friend, and I kind of feel I've stolen you away from her. With Courtney gone rogue she probably doesn't have anyone to hang around."

Victoria looked again at Taylor, sitting alone under that tree. She seemed to be shivering slightly; those tiny shorts of hers really weren't suited to October weather in Oregon. Still, she was sure everyone appreciated the sacrifice. She looked miserable though, and not just from courting hypothermia. Max had been right, Taylor was suffering for her loyalty, an aspect to her she'd never completely appreciated before, though she had heavily relied on it. She was always too busy, bossing people around in an endless quest to avenge the most trivial slight, and keeping the student body under her immaculate leather jackboot. Compared to what she'd been through since she followed Max into that restroom, that all seemed laughably unimportant. An idle glance from Taylor swept the grounds, and she finally registered Victoria's presence. Her eyes immediately grew wide as she smiled hopefully, cheeks a little distended as her mouth was still full of half-chewed carrot and lettuce. The way she began waving was incredibly enthusiastic, almost desperate. It was like she was a beloved pet, realising their master had returned home.

"It's unethical to neglect your slaves, Tori." Chloe agreed.

That was true, and Taylor had been a ridiculously loyal slave/friend to her. In point of fact the only one of her old guard who hadn't abandoned her. And in return she'd all but abandoned Taylor, to hangout with the resident delinquent and her mild mannered hipster friend, and swoon ridiculously over both of them. Granted it was only for a morning, but given Taylor had been ostracised by the rest of her friends, and she was dealing with her Mother about to go in for disk replacement surgery, she was probably feeling more than a little lonely right now.

"Well since you're both so keen to get rid of me, I suppose I could see how she's doing. I need to check on how that surveillance video we shot went anyway, so she might as well walk me there."

"Nice rationalisation Victoria, you wouldn't want people thinking you actually cared about others and were a decent human being." Chloe mocked gently, enjoying the conflicted annoyance that flashed across the blonde's face. "Sorry. That grumpy pout is just so fucking sexy, I kind of want to see it all the time."

"With you around, I'm sure it'll become a permanent fixture." Victoria cut back.

"Tori, wait. The camera's in my dorm room, remember. You'll need my keys." Max said, reaching into her pocket before a thought occurred. "Won't you?"

"Of course I will," Victoria replied shortly. She would too, jimmying the lock with a credit card was such a pain. Regardless, she was inwardly giddy. Max trusted her enough to lend her her dorm key.

She'd normally have left it at that, but as she turned to leave, she felt an odd sensation. A lingering need to stay close to the other two girls. She eventually realised what it was: she was seriously worried about them. She didn't want to be separated from either of them, even for a moment. It annoyed her. She was Victoria Chase; she didn't do the 'clingy emotional' thing.

"You two won't do anything stupid while I'm gone?" She asked in spite of herself.

"Victoria, who do you take us for?"

Victoria's eyes narrowed.

"Someone who's nearly been caught on both ends of a school shooting. And someone who doesn't know what the word periodic means." Her voice was harsher than she intended.

"I love you too Tori." Chloe called out, in a tone that screamed sarcasm and a look that suggested otherwise.

And then Chloe did something that made Victoria grimace. She extended her hand outward, and approached her with even more swagger than usual. Victoria's eyes immediately shot to the arm just to make sure she wasn't imagining things. It was definitely cocked at an odd angle, entirely unsuitable for a 'proper' handshake. She knew exactly what this meant: it was the opening gambit in some ridiculously convoluted series of gestures instead of the more dignified straight up and down. Her face erupted in apparent panic, a sight that amused Chloe to no end. Awkwardly, hesitantly, she brought her own arm up to reply.

Chloe's jaw dropped in surprise: Victoria nailed the urban handshake perfectly, then pivoted and departed toward Taylor, her posture majestic and her face a picture of self-congratulation. She still felt hesitant to depart, but this seemed perfect to her as an ending note: a rival and possible love interest (or whatever they were), bested and intrigued. She reflected that she probably had Hayden to thank for this; when he had first ingratiated himself into the Vortex club, Hayden had set about giving the other 'honours students' remedial lessons in the art of the urban handshake, amused to no end as to how many times it took them all to get it right.

Of course now there was a better than average chance Hayden was involved in whatever Nathan and Jefferson had been up to. It still seemed unlikely to her. Why would he choose to involve himself in Jefferson and the Prescotts' sick extracurricular abduction group? Why would anyone for that matter? Unless he didn't choose, and it wasn't completely voluntary, she suddenly thought. They could have something on him, or any of the other mystery students involved. Still, Hayden was another 'honours student', which meant his family had considerable means. There didn't seem to be any easy avenue for coercion.

A cool sensation brought an end to Victoria's thoughts. She'd reached the shade of the tree Taylor was sitting under, and failure to stop and take in her bearings would risk Taylor going from metaphoric doormat to literal one. She looked down and saw her best friend and emergency paperweight staring back at her, fork in one hand and salad in the other.

"Sweet-T, have a free moment?" She asked.

Taylor hummed a monotone and gestured to her half-eaten lunch in response; evidently Victoria had chosen to intrude at the exact moment she'd taken another bite.

"I've always admired your ability to eat on the run, and I have a very busy schedule." She said, ignoring the way Taylor made a genuine attempt to scowl with her mouth full.

"I need to drop by the girl's dormitories, and then there's the secretarial work that backstabbing slut Courtney loaded me with for the Vortex club. Oh, and I've got some audio editing to do. You'll be a dear and keep me company, won't you?"

Taylor did her best to repress a sigh, not wanting to risk the half chewed content of her mouth being ejected all over the school grounds. Victoria was back, and offering her the chance to be her side-kick again, and that was great. Especially since everyone else in the vortex club and turned against her. On the other hand, she'd have very much liked it if Victoria had the consideration to let her finish her lunch. She realised she should have known better. Victoria was Victoria, when she had a full schedule, she just didn't think of anyone else. Brushing a strand of her long hair out of her face, Taylor snapped the plastic lid on her semi-finished lunch closed, and reached for the heavy camera bag Victoria was carrying with her free arm. It was her "privilege" as the number one slave to carry Victoria's camera. She stared blankly in disbelief as Victoria gently swatted her away.

"I think I can manage it myself, Sweet-T. Thanks for the offer though. Oh, did I interrupt your lunch? I'll buy you something much better once we get back to the main hall if you think you can wait. I'm on a fucking awful schedule."

Now this really was unusual behaviour, and it felt more than slightly unsettling. Victoria was actually being considerate, happy to carry her own things instead of using her friend as a pack mule. It left her feeling confused and idle, as if her purpose had been snatched away from her. She looked at Victoria's face and things seemed to take a further turn for the bizarre. She looked truly sympathetic, and not in her usual "I'm so sorry you're not as good as me manner". It actually felt sincere.

"I really do appreciate you sticking by me," Victoria said quietly.

Something had definitely happened to her, it was almost like an unnatural force had her in its clutches, reshaping her to suit its whims. As they departed together, she saw Victoria briefly turn back to the school's main entrance, receiving a final goodbye wave from Max Caulfield, an innocent smile on that freckled face. Taylor watched in horror as Victoria's lower lip became an impromptu meal in response. At that moment she recalled, of all things, a book report she'd received a mediocre grade on. Its topic was an old horror story written by H.P. Lovecraft. Just for a moment, she wondered if there really were mysteries in the world that would drive you insane if you learned the truth, against which the only defence was to remain marooned on a small isle of blissful ignorance.

The moment Victoria was out of sight, Chloe's face lit up like a devil. It was a face Max knew well, one which always led them into trouble in the past. Though usually, it was trouble of the best kind.

"So, Tori's away, time for Max and Chloe to play?"

It was tempting, that grin of Chloe's was contagious. In a sense Chloe was the demon perched on Max's shoulder, dragging her off to do crazy things on impulse. She supposed in a way that made Victoria the angel, the common sense to balance out that impulsiveness, though it was incredibly disturbing to think of Victoria as an angel in any capacity.

Another glance at Chloe's sly grin and Max found herself infected with a matching smirk. It would be so, so easy just to run off and have a carefree moment, and after all the crap they'd been through that morning, she felt they both really deserved it. She managed to delay temptation, there was something, someone weighing heavily on Max's mind.

"I think I need to check in with Kate first. I said I'd meet her around this time, and you didn't hear how she sounded on the phone Chloe. It was worse than back in the dorm."

"So call her. Or text her. Then Chloe time. I mean Tori's actually surprisingly cool, and kind of sexy when she's pissed off. But I think I've had more moments alone with her than with my oldest friend, and that's a serious disturbance in the fabric of reality. We need to restore balance to the universe before it flips out and murders a bunch of innocent people!"

"You're absurd," Max replied, grinning in spite of herself, as she browsed her phone's spartan list of contact numbers. She found Kate's name and dialled. She seemed to answer almost immediately. That was a good sign, right?

"Max?" The voice on the end of the phone asked, weary and worn down. It made Max feel guilty she couldn't somehow dive through the phone, jump out the other side, and hug her. Or perhaps rush to her aid on foot. That might be more physically possible.

"I know I said I'd meet up with you, but I'm running a little late." Kate continued. "After that policeman said there was nothing they could do, I just kind of started walking. Not too far, just around town."

"That's fine Kate." Max replied. It didn't sound fine. Kate in that zombie-like state, sleep deprived and miserable, staggering around town alone. She wished they could drive back and check on her. But Chloe's truck was out of commission, and Victoria's Mercedes was still outside the two whales diner. "You'll be back for afternoon class though? I'd really like to meet up with you before then."

"I think so Max. I'm at the bus stop now. I should be back at school in twenty minutes." Kate replied weakly, and then hung up the phone.

"So, Chloe time?" Her punk companion asked, before noticing the worry on Max's face, the guilt at feeling happy while someone she knew was suffering. It was clear she needed the sage council of someone responsible, but since no such person was available, Chloe decided to fill in.

"Look, it's hella awesome that you want to be there for Kate, but you don't need to be miserable in sympathy with her. In fact Kate needs you as infectiously cheerful as possible so you can raise her spirits. Anyway, I've thought of something productive we can do together: we've got to case the school buildings for our break-in tonight!"

"Won't people get suspicious if we start sneaking around the back of the school buildings?" Max asked, a little nervously. She'd never sneaked behind a school building before.

"Max this is a high school. There's a perfect cover for a couple of teenagers sneaking around the back of a building." Chloe sighed, grasping the top pocket of her jacket to illustrate. She squeezed gently and a pack of cigarettes peeked out. Max allowed herself a moment of semi-ironic despair. She should have realised this was going to happen the moment she started hanging around Victoria and reunited with Chloe. She was now, officially, sneaking off to have a cigarette; she was now officially on the road to becoming a bad girl. Still, lots of people experimented with worse things than a single cigarette in high school. She was sure they didn't all end up hardened criminals like drug dealers or bank robbers.

The pair walked alongside one another around the perimeter of the gym, Chloe subtly pointing out cameras that her stepfather had installed, as well as areas that would be illuminated at night, and points that would be in shadow. Then repeatedly reminding Max not to obviously gawk at them. She undoubtedly knew what she was doing, but Max was left gravely concerned: the place seemed exceptionally well canvassed, mostly from cameras attached to lamp posts surrounding the buildings rather than the buildings themselves.

"It's like every foot of the building's walls are covered."

"Step-Dork's probably especially keen on covering the outside of the gym because, unlike the main building, he can't stick cameras inside it. I mean imagine the shit-storm if someone pointed out the school was recording students in their swimsuits or worse."

The same was true for the dorms: the risk of students walking around semi-dressed meant cameras were largely restricted to the outside of the building, and couldn't cover the external windows of dorm rooms. That was part of why that 'secret' entrance to the girls' dorm they had used yesterday had gone undiscovered for so long. There was no monitoring of the external window to an out-of-service dorm room.

"Besides, not every foot's covered Max." Chloe said, pointing to a narrow space to the side of the gym, bordered by the gym's wall and a large hedge. Countless cigarette butts covered the ground there, and graffiti covered the wall. They spoke to a place the student body apparently considered free from prying eyes. Still, there weren't any entrance ways sandwiched in the small side-space, it was useless for the purposes of breaking in.

"Um, why are we ducking in here now?" Max asked as Chloe placed a hand on her back and gently pushed, guiding her behind the hedge.

"Our cover, remember. We're supposed to be looking for a quiet spot for a smoke or something. This way, we'll have a plausible story for having walked the perimeter of a building the same day it gets broken into. Just in case they bother to review the surveillance cameras that far back."

"Uh-huh. I think you're just nervous as fuck from everything that happened in the junk yard and on the road, and you want an excuse to indulge." Max teased, watching Chloe light a cigarette she'd pulled from her pocket moments earlier.

"Maybe," Chloe admitted, taking a long drag from the vice between her fingers. She exhaled slowly, sending a puff of tumbling smoke rising through the air. "Maybe this is part of a clever plan I thought up to get us alone together."

"I don't think you're that organised," Max smiled back at her.

"Maybe you motivate me. You want a drag?" She gestured to the lit cigarette, and Max watched as flakes of ash slowly fell from its tip like snow. She thought back on that time Chloe stole Joyce's wine as a child, and tried to get her to drink it. That hadn't gone so well, they'd spilled it all over the carpet, which they'd had to confess to. As far as she knew, there was still a stain there to this day. Just thinking on it made her feel hopelessly guilty.

Chloe exhaled again, and a cloud of white smoke hung in the air. Max sighed wistfully. Chloe looked incredible, like the millennial update to a noir film protagonist. Then again, that might have had less to do with the cigarette and more to do with the person holding it. Chloe could probably make dried flower arrangement look suave and dangerous. She'd wondered for years what a sip of that wine would have tasted like. And just maybe, all those life-threatening situations she seemed to be thrust into had given her a desire to experience the things she'd abstained from previously.

"Maybe just a puff. Just to see what it's like." Max said. Smoking a cigarette behind the school gym. Was this the beginning of her descent into moral turpitude?

Chloe proffered the half burnt cigarette. Max took it between her fingers, and the warm scent of burning tobacco slowly encompassed her. She looked nervously back at Chloe, who seemed to develop an almost knowing smile as Max experimentally placed it between her lips, then slowly, deeply inhaled; she felt herself flooded by a dry heat that laced her throat, and a slightly acrid taste against her tongue. She felt her heart race, some combination of excitement and oxygen deprivation. Mostly though, she found herself fascinated by the fact that the paper-wrapped miniaturised bonfire between her lips had been between Chloe's moments earlier. It brought back memories of sleepovers with Chloe years earlier. The inevitable revelation that Chloe had forgotten her toothbrush, and needed to borrow Max's. She'd always hated that as a child, but somehow it didn't bother her any more. Somewhere along the line, her nostalgia trip was interrupted by her body; a reminder that, yes, she'd both inhaled a massive lung-full of smoke, and stood there dreamily instead of breathing. A pair of actions that were about to combine to have some rather obvious consequences. The cigarette fell from her fingers amidst the resultant fit of coughing and wheezing.

"You really went for it first puff," Chloe remarked, trying not to smile at Max's state as she gently patted her on the back. Max felt she should have tried harder.

"That was fucking awful."

"I know," Chloe said. "Want another?"

"No," Max replied indignantly, pouting. She glared at her friend and corrupter, who backed away defensively. Then they both broke into a grin.

This is how things are supposed to be. Chloe thought. Her and Max back together, doing dumb shit together. Maybe they could find a place for Victoria too. They'd just have to lance her annoying sense of dignity, and everything would be amazing. Then the thought of Victoria reminded Chloe of something. A jealous barb turned chance to provoke she just couldn't turn away from.

"Hey Max. You know there was a lever right under your seat, right? Right in the middle."

"What do you mean?" Max asked, baffled at the topic and motivation for this sudden segue.

"For adjusting your seat tilt." She clarified. "You seemed comfortable enough with your makeshift arrangement though, so it didn't seem worthwhile bringing up."

Chloe took a moment to lean back against the gym wall and stretch out, deeply enjoying Max's sudden exasperation.

"Head in Tori's lap, must have been nice." She continued.

The grin on Chloe's face, her provocative inflections, both immediately told Max her friend was messing with her. Mostly. There was something a little needy in her eyes though. Max found herself rolling her own in response.

"You're unbelievable. And didn't I wake up 'in your secret place, or close to it' less than an hour ago? What are we supposed to do, go through every permutation of heads and laps. That could take forever."

"Not really, for the three of us there's only six possibilities, and you've already done two."

Max groaned. This was why her grades were only average, especially in the less creative, more pure-knowledge subjects like Math and Science. She couldn't help it; she was a photographer, not a Doctor of Philosophy.

"Honestly, I kind-of feel like a third wheel between you two," Max said. "You're both so incredibly smart and can talk about science and other nerd subjects."

She took some solace in being able to deride the areas she wasn't good at as nerd subjects, and the look of mock horror that crossed Chloe's face when she did so. There was something incredibly funny about branding someone with the reputation of Chloe Price a nerd. It was something only she would dare to do, only she could get away with, and that was completely true.

"You mean how the two of you talk about photography, and what it's like to not have been expelled from school?"

Well, she had them there. Still, Max had to make Chloe understand. It seemed incredibly important to explain to Chloe how talented and beautiful she found both her and Victoria, how she could never compare with either of them, and how perfect they looked together.

"Visually you two have a great dynamic too. It's so amazingly contrasting: you're all lean and muscled and bad ass and she's all, um, feminine. It's like you belong-"

"Dude. You're saying I'm not feminine?" Chloe interjected, putting on a slightly over the top face of faux-disappointment to try to disguise her actual disappointment. "Harsh."

"I mean curvaceous, like all the posters on your wall, and your video game hero Lara Croft. She's completely your type."

Well, yeah, she was Chloe's type. Or what she thought her type was. The moment Max walked back into her life, saving her in the process, she knew better. After some consideration she decided her type was "bad asses," a conveniently fluid classification which had no real definition beyond Max being its example par excellence.

"Max." Chloe replied, placing her hands on the smaller girl's shoulders. Their warm touch seemed to share some of her boundless energy; they made Max feel far more light-headed than that stupid cigarette. "You're your own worst enemy, always doubting yourself. Your pictures are so hellamazing I've got no fucking clue how you manage to take them with a Polaroid camera. Your mad skills intimidate the fuck out of Tori, and she's got like thousands of dollars of equipment. You just need to have the courage to take a chance. You know, put your work and maybe yourself out there. You also need to deal with the fact that you're really hot."

"I'm not-, I mean when you compare me with Tori-"

"Victoria's hot too, but she's no where near perfect Max. No one is. I mean, you might not have noticed, but her ass is bony as fuck."

Actually Max had noticed that. Victoria did have that tendency to subconsciously lean over desks in her presence, swaying her hindquarters like a pendulum in a grandfather clock. She might have been a little more generous though, and used the term tight. She'd only call it bony if Victoria had done something to piss her off. So maybe it was mostly bony after all. A good sort of bony though, one that left her curious as to just how bony it was. Maybe.

"I guess she's no Rachel Amber," Max admitted.

"She's no Max Caulfield either," Chloe remarked, glancing slyly at Max's hindquarters. Max felt a blush creep across her cheeks. She looked straight back at Chloe, who immediately looked the other way in the most unsubtle way imaginable. Honestly, Chloe was such a pathetic dork sometimes. Her pathetic dork.

"Seriously, though. Your behind is fine. Sure Rachel's was um..." Words apparently failed Chloe, as she chose to express herself by making an exaggerated hand gesture Max felt bordered on obscene. "But you've got this hella cute bubble butt that's proportionate and perfect in those snug jeans of yours. I'm sure the boys check you out all the time."

"Not fine enough to warrant a physical gesture, though." Max countered.

"A physical gesture requires a physical examination, Max. Otherwise it wouldn't be accurate."

Chloe grinned awkwardly and extended her arms toward Max, another callback to their childhood. She'd lost count of the number of time's Chloe took it upon herself to chase her, threatening some nebulously defined doom at her hands if she caught up. Chloe never did manage to catch her though. In hindsight it was a little suspicious, Chloe was always so much fitter and stronger than her, even then. Max, comparatively, waddled like a duck rather than ran, so Chloe should have been able to catch her easily enough. Being chased around, laughing like kids again didn't seem so bad. But something of Chloe's diatribe about taking chances must have resonated with her, because she decided to do something different. Grinning back at Chloe, just as she had so many times previously, Max took a small step forward.

Chloe froze instantly, and her mind went into overload. She hadn't planned what to do if Max didn't attempt escape. Max always attempted escape, back when they were younger. She stood awkwardly, her hands sticking outward at odd angles in faux-menacing posture, while Max stepped closer, easily in range of her grasp, so close she could just about feel the heat of her body. She was right there, looking upward, eyes hopeful and smiling and God, she was subconsciously wetting her lips with a slight brush of her tongue. Chloe's mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. She'd been called out. Max wasn't supposed to call her out. She'd wished forever that Max would call her out. This was bullshit. How'd she go from "The Price" to shoujo manga protagonist in two seconds? Then she looked back at the broad smile on Max's face and felt her throat go dry, and she had her answer.

"This kind-of feels like the wrong order of things." Max finally said. Seeing Chloe reduced to a confused mess, utterly paralysed with indecision and virtually panicking, tugged at her heartstrings. She needed to give her an out.

"What would the right order be Max?" Chloe replied, her blue hair contrasted by her cheeks rapidly becoming scarlet. "Dance? Dinner? A movie? A kiss?" She cringed as her voice cracked on that last item.

"I've never kissed anyone." Max admitted. "Not properly."

The closest she'd come was kissing Victoria on the cheek, after seeing Chloe do much the same thing. But while Victoria's cheek had felt soft, the repeat victim of an exorbitant skincare regime, she was certain lips would have been so much better.

"Max, eighteen and not having kissed anyone?" Chloe asked in disbelief.

Max felt she could have been a little more sensitive about it. Apparently so did Chloe, because what she said next was delivered in a far quieter tone. It was almost shy, but laced with excitement.

"We need to fix this. I, um, I dare you to kiss me. Consider it my late birthday present to you or something. Completely for your benefit." Her heart thumped, and she couldn't believe how lame she sounded. There was no way Max would go for it, but what if she did?

"Behind a school building?" Max queried. It wasn't exactly the most romantic locale.

"Why not? It's the traditional place when you go through a rebellious phase. Smoke a cigarette behind the gym. Kiss a hella fine girl behind the gym." Her voice quaked with nervous energy. She felt worse than when that fucking truck tried to crash into them. "Come on, I double-dare you, kiss me now."

Max regarded her with scepticism for a moment that stretched on forever; those wide hazel eyes gazing into her piercing blue ones in disbelief, and Chloe knew she'd made a terrible mistake. She'd overstretched; Max wasn't ready for this, or didn't want this. She probably wanted Victoria, if she wanted anyone at all; she was always talking about how 'feminine' her body was. Not the freakishly muscled punk. Blood rushed from her head, leaving it suddenly cold as she realised the extent of her fuck up. She'd been given the greatest second chance in history, literally raised from the dead by her oldest and closest friend, and reunited with her. She should have been satisfied with that, instead she'd spoiled it all. She was going to end up outcast and forever alone, maybe even co-founding a support group for people Max had rejected with that weird guy Warren. Consigned to hanging out with him for all eternity, discussing the many feminist virtues of "Beneath the valley of the ultra-vixens" and other Russ Meyer films.

Then suddenly, those hazel eyes closed, and Max was moving toward her. That kind face she thought she'd nearly lost suddenly so very close. She must have gone on tiptoes too, because she seemed taller, almost intimidating. Chloe failed to repress a shiver as slender fingers gently brushed her cheeks in passing, warmth radiating from every casual caress as they moved to cup her face. One lingered with a thumb on her cheek, brushing away a rogue tear that probably made her look like a complete wimp. The other hand travelled further, cradling the back of her head, not exactly preventing a retreat, but gently protesting against it. She felt their noses bump, and there was a kind-of awkward pause that lasted both an eternity and a second, after which Max belatedly tilted her head sideways. She barely repressed a gasp as she felt the touch of something soft as velvet; the touch of Max cautiously, experimentally pressing those wonderfully full lips against her own.

An instant later the moment seemed to shatter, and Max's eyes sprung open in disbelief. She already knew what had happened: she'd felt Chloe slip away from her grip, stumbling backward. Being able to look her in the eye told her why. The uncertainty, the fear of loss and a need to protect what she already had, showed in those eyes. In a strange way it was almost gratifying: for all her devil may care attitude, and talk about taking chances, Chloe would never chance losing her. It was still incredibly infuriating, especially since she'd put her up to it. She was already working her idiot grin back onto her face too, probably intent on passing everything off as some stupid joke again. Max had always loved that grin, but for one brief instant she managed to hate it utterly.

Something inside Max broke; she felt haunted by visions of this happening over and over. Countless different locales, but always the same scenario. Chloe provoking, hinting and finally daring her nervously, and then backing-out at the last moment, trying to cut her losses and laugh it all off. She refused to let that happen again. Finding a second reserve of courage, Max closed the distance between them in less than a blink of an eye, managing to firmly, gently push Chloe at the exact moment she was off balance. She charged forward as Chloe stumbled backward, and Arcadia Bay's foremost delinquent found herself nearly swept off her feet, pinned against the gym wall by Max's lithe body. They held each other's gaze and felt their hearts thump in unison.

"Max-" Chloe began, half a whisper and half a moan between suddenly laboured breaths. Whatever she was planning on saying it was abruptly cut off as Max leaned toward her once more, this time catching Chloe mid sentence with her lips open and unguarded.

Max's lips pressed against Chloe's a second time, and it was so incredibly different from the first attempt. Desperation and need on both sides, the border between them blurring, melting away into something perfectly warm and indistinct. The sensation of something softer than marshmallow in her mouth, incredibly illusive, teasing and frustrating her attempts to really taste it, yet always returning to provide another chance. And the feeling of Chloe's strong hands, each finding its way to her nearest flank, slowly travelling down until they came to rest on the flair of her hips and maybe slightly further back. She pressed herself into them as they squeezed gently. In that moment it all seemed perfect; she was sure it was