Synopsis: Ashley has been waiting for this day in what feels like forever. Her wedding. With Chris. All she has to do is walk through those doors, letting her feet lead her down the aisle. And she'll be there. In front of him. But is it that easy? A story in which Ashley deals with the aftermath of all that she's done and the events of the mountain - all with the help of Chris. A companion story to 'After'.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Friendship

Ending: All but Emily survive + Josh

Rating: T/M - warnings: mental illness

A/N: As a thank you/Christmas gift for all my lovely 'After' readers who really wanted to see the Chrashley wedding, I started this fic! And for anyone else who has stumbled upon this and hasn't read my other fic, 'After'; it isn't necessary to read that one before this one. However, I recommend that you. As this is set afterwards and there will be spoilers for 'After'.

Chapter One

To Have and To Hold

"Stop stressing," Sam hums, fiddling with the fluttering ends of my curled hair, making sure they're laying in the exact, perfect place across my shoulder. Jess only slaps Sam's hand and redoes it. Of course Jess knows the real perfect place. She's always been a perfectionist. "As soon as you see him, you'll relax."

Her words don't help the butterflies battling in the pit of my stomach. I press my palms to my belly, trying to squeeze them, to suffocate them. Jess swears under her breath, pushing my hands away from the sturdy, lacy, ivory fabric. Her eyes glare, "You'll ruin it."

I cringe a smile, flinging my hands up in surrender. I better not contradict Jess. You never know what she's capable of. "Okay," I mumble through my nervousness, gritting my teeth in a smile. "I'll keep my hands off."

Sam nudges me with her elbow. Jess almost kills her with a glare as Sam's elbow almost snags the ribbon wrapped around my waist. Sam just rolls her eyes and grins at me, wiggling her eyebrows. "Chris won't be able to keep his hands off though," she chuckles. I feel my cheeks blush ferociously. I cup them with my cold hands, wishing the redness would just go away. This is not a good look for a wedding day. "Especially when he sees you in this."

I glance down at my wedding dress, the lacy fabric falling like waves over my curves. It took me forever to pick out this dress. I kept asking Sam and Jess, after trying on each and every single dress, if it suited me. They'd smile with glittering eyes and nod enthusiastically.

Then I'd ask them if Chris would like it. Sam would bite her lip in a smirk, Jess would eye me with a look that said, 'are you serious?'

"He'd love anything you wore, Ash," Sam would explain with that telltale grin on her face. One that she probably adopted from Josh.

I try to avoid thinking about him.

"No," I'd mutter, shaking my head, devastated. My ears would never hear a single word. I was so convinced Chris wouldn't like it. It had to be perfect. It had to be perfect for him.

It wasn't until Sam pulled me aside and told me the truth - that the perfect dress for Chris would be one that I loved – that I realised. And took a breath and went for the dress I loved. Why is it that Sam's always right?

She leans in towards my ear now, making sure not to ruin my curled hair, her eyes sliding to Jess just to make sure. "And I'm sure," she grins, "He'll enjoy it even more tonight."

"Oh gosh, shut up," I cringe, wanting to slap her on the arm and shove her away so she'll stop making me blush. I don't even want to think about Chris and me tonight... It makes me excited and nervous at the same time. Mainly nervous.

I glance to Jess who's busying herself sorting out the exact dimensions of the bow at the small of my waist. I had to ask her to be my bridesmaid. It had felt so natural after everything. We never were really close before. But Chris had started spending more time with her. Helping her as she moved on from what she'd left behind. And through him, she'd started warming up to me.

Chris said Jess needed the distraction – after everything that had happened. After dropping her contract with her whole motivational speaking gig, she needed some motivation of her own.

She was delighted when I asked her. But I couldn't ignore the reluctance in her eyes; like she didn't think she was worthy.

The large, wooden doors creak in front of us, a familiar face peaking through the doors. "Are you guys ready?" Matt whispers, the E tattoo scrawled across his neck still prominent. But it's fading. Like something – or someone – else has taken its place.

A smile dances on my lips as I catch Matt's eyes slip towards Jess, and hers fall into his. He never fails to make her feel easy. I can see her features relax. She's probably not even thinking about my dress anymore.

I pass a knowing look to Sam who rolls her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. She's trying to hide it but she knows too. There's something going on between the two of them.

"Give us five minutes," Sam informs Matt. He breaks his gaze from Jess, the action obviously shuddering, and meets Sam's with a nod.

"Got it," he mouths before sending a reassuring smile in my direction. I smile back, trying to hide my fluttering nerves, just as he closes the doors with a click.

I never thought Matt would ever forgive me after what I'd done. I still hear the harrowing, deafening click of the gun as Mike pressed down on the trigger and the bullet exploded into Emily's eye with a sickening squelch. I feel sick. The image haunts my mind; the blood smeared across the cork board hung on the wall. The eerie, dead silence following her death. The choking cries of Sam-

"Okay, Ash?" Sam asks quietly, curving around to face me. She's pulled her blonde hair into pin curls, making it look like little roses blanketing the whole of her head. Her expression is careful, watching me slowly. She can tell when something's up – I suppose that's her skill from spending time with Josh. "You look really pale."

"Yeah," I splutter, forcing on a smile. I feel sick on the inside. I can't tell if it's butterflies anymore or Emily's guts. "Yeah, I'm good."

She looks at me for a second. Unsure. Careful. Then she lets a smile slide onto her lips. "Okay," she nods, before motioning to Jess who reaches for my bouquet, handing it to me with her thin, nail-painted fingers.

Jess looks like she wants to press me with one of her motivational speeches. But then her eyebrows crease, her skin wrinkling and she takes a breath, pushing it out. It kind of makes me sad that she feels the need to let everything out there. Instead, she takes my hand, her own hand cold, meets my gaze and says, "Go knock him dead."

I chuckle, though it's strangled. My nerves are coming back. Well, they never really went. But every time I think about Chris, my stomach starts fluttering again. And my hands start shivering. I want to call it anticipation but I know it's more than that.

It's wanting to impress him. And I feel like I'm going to fail.

My two bridesmaids take their spaces in front of me, Jess first, followed by Sam. They clutch their smaller bouquets in their hands – maroon and pink to match their dresses – and straighten their backs. Sam glances at me one last time, sending me a reassuring smile.

I want to smile back.

But I find myself wanting to save that one for Chris.

So I take a breath, lift my chin, and watch as the double doors creak and then spread open.

Waiting for me.

There he is. Stealing my breath away. Again.

I've barely taken two steps along the aisle when my gaze catches his. I can't help it. My eyes naturally just search for him. Like I'm metal and he's the magnet.

He looks just as nervous as me. I can't help but smile, feeling our familiar gaze flutter between the two of us. The knowing gaze - we always know what the other is thinking. Chris shares my smile, looking like he's about to chuckle. It's amusing - we're both so nervous. And suddenly, as soon as we see each other, we know we don't have to be. He instantly settles my stomach, my shoulders relaxing, my hands stopping their shivering. He knows me. Why did I ever need to impress him, be more than I am, around him? He's always been what I'd envisioned him to be - and more.

He's so handsome; in his white suit, pinned to fit his sturdy, lanky figure. The way he shuffles his feet nervously, his arms tucked behind his back. The way he bites his lip in a grin, anxiously waiting for me to reach the end of the aisle.

But I've seen his different kind of handsome. The kind I only see. The way he silently shares smiles with me, the tousled way his hair is in the morning when he wakes up. His squinted eyes when he can't find his glasses and is struggling to see. The handsome of his heart.

And I can't help but notice the way his glasses are steaming up, droplets of tears falling on the glass.

The material of my dress rustles as I let my feet walk down the carpeted aisle. The room is glistening white, ribbons of maroon wrapped around each chair, and bunting hung from the walls. I can see people around me, standing up and watching me move. But all my eyes are focused on are Chris and that irresistible goofy grin of his. I desperately just want to speed up my walk so I can reach him as soon as possible. But the pianist playing the wedding march I'm sure wouldn't appreciate me moving to a different rhythm.

So I focus on the beat of my feet. One step after another, feeling my fingertips tingle, wrapped around the dewed stems of my bouquet. My eyes drop to the flowers, their rich, fall scent soaking into my nose. I'm almost convinced that everyone can see the flowers move and jitter with my anticipation. I'm entirely sure that I don't look very professional.

I smile. But Chris and I were never really professional, were we?

My eyes slip up again, my feet moving down the aisle, closer and closer to Chris. And I expect my eyes to land on him. But then they divert towards his best man. Josh.

I almost stumble.

I forgot he was here.

The smile trips on my lips.

No, Ashley, I scorn myself. He's Chris' best friend. Chris deserves to have him here.

But I don't know if Josh does.

I've tried so hard to move on. To forget what he did, to forget seeing his body ripped apart by a rusty saw. To forget hearing his voice on the end of "You can shoot Ashley or you can shoot yourself."

Chris has been trying. Ever since Josh was released from prison, the charges of arson held against him no longer valid, Chris has been slowly wheedling me into sharing flickers of moments with the three of them. I can see how much Josh means to Chris. And I know that marrying Chris means we'll share everything together. Even friendships.

But I don't know if I can do it.

It hurts.

I force my eyes to find Chris again. He's swallowing, glancing to Josh who is patting him on the shoulder and assuring him he has the rings. Josh dips his fingers into the side pocket of his suit jacket. And then his face falls, his eyes widening in shock. In panic. And I know that look; 'I've screwed up'.

Chris looks like he's going to explode with panic, reaching out to grab Josh's shoulders like he's going to fall over if he doesn't. But then, typical Josh, he grins and pulls out the two rings.

Another prank. Of course.

Chris looks like he's about to murder Josh. When he drops his best friend's arms, looks up to meet my eyes.

And everything flashes.

The room shifts in a blink. It's not white anymore. Blood. Blood everywhere. Smeared across the walls, across the floor, across the seats, across the people. I choke, like I'm going to cough up my own blood. Shivers violently shake my spine.

The people - their faces aren't real. They all stiffly turn to face me, their heads replaced with the soulless ones of pigs. Glassy eyes, blood and all. I want to run. I want to escape. I tug at my feet, desperate to rip them out. But their stuck in guts and blood and organs, wrapped around my legs. A desperate cry rips from my throat.

Josh hangs from mid air, like he's a ghost. And half of his body is ripped off, his intestines falling out. Like spiderwebs. Like sausages.

Bile pushes up my throat. I double over, tears smearing my face. My bones are shivering, quivering inside my skin. I can't stop shaking.

And I want to scream. I want to tear at my own skin, to rip it away and escape this.

"Ashley?" Chris voice breaks through. My eyes pull up to meet his. His face is smeared with blood, splattered over the once pure white suit. I stumble back, coughing up tears. My legs feel like they're going to break underneath me.

Because he's holding a gun to his throat. And his eyes are shivering with fear, eyes watering, teeth gritting.

"Chris!" I cry out, my voice hoarse, tears springing out of my eyes and pouring down my cheeks.

And then I see the blood. It makes me choke. It's on my dress, dribbling down the ivory fabric. Soaking into it like it's bandages. Dripping from the petal of the flowers with a pat pat onto the blood soaked floor. I scream, dropping the flowers with an ominous, echoing thud, pain digging into my stomach.

And on my hands! Blood everywhere! Seeping into my skin, into the creases and wrinkles. Like I'm made of blood.

My throat coughs up a cry, shredding my windpipe. And my fingers fly to my hair, tugging at it, nails digging in, before I spin around and rush back down the aisle and out of the door, tears and blood streaming behind me.