WARNING:

All characters and the story upon which this fanfiction is based are property of Dontnod Entertainment and Square Enix. I don't own anything.

As this is my first story to be published here, I will be happy about every reviews - both good and bad as only so I can know what I have to improve. :)

Rated M for crude and strong language at times, violence and mature content.

-Her Infernal Majesty / Killing Loneliness-

"Rachel? Where the hell have you been? I tried to call you, like, a hundred times?" Chloe angrily said as she picked up the cell-phone from where she'd thrown it on the bed. She was in no good shape. The things Cassandra had revealed were constantly gnawing at her self-respect and confidence, undermining the very essence of the world she'd build around herself – a world where Max was the one with the good life, while she'd suffered. To say these revelations were disturbing would be a massive understatement, hard as they were to believe, but if what the woman with raven-black hair had said was true – how could she ever hope to make it up to her former best friend? How could she ever hope to redeem herself in the eyes of the young rocker-gal? These thoughts had kept her awake until late in the evening of the previous day and at night had plagued her as nightmares. And it had only further fed the silent, ever-growing despair and fear that had coiled in her gut like a venomous snake - the fear of having no possibility of ever regaining what had been lost and destroyed – their friendship.

Still, even as part of her so desperately wanted to see her former best friend again and somehow win her back – mend what had been broken – the fear of being confronted by it all had won out in the end and the young punk had spent the rest of the day in her hideout, thinking, over-thinking, despairing and trying to get a hold of Rachel.

Rachel Amber - her best friend for over five years now. The woman she so endearingly, though only secretly, called her angel. Her best friend and on-and-off-lover-of-sorts, which though becoming somewhat random and restless over the last year still cared for and looked out for her. The one who had promised she'd be there to support her. The one she'd gone through so much with… The one who had not called, texted or even somehow given her a sign over the last two days…

This very same person was the one she needed right now, but whilst the first things she'd gotten down top-notch – getting hold of the woman she had proven to be far more difficult. She'd thought of going to the Academy at one point or to Rachel's parent's house, but for all she had imagined or decided she could and would do – the fear she so badly dreaded to name and address – had clamped down her mind and body for so long and until the point where the only logical thing to do was drive back home and continue her contemplations there. Of course – there had been no real difference between sulking and falling into the abyss of self-pity and self-loathing at home and doing the same at the junkyard…

"Wow. Real smooth, Blue-Jay. Five years of not seeing each other and this is the way you thank the person who's bringing your zonked-out friend's ass over in one piece, so that you could take care of her." The voice of a woman replied from the other end of the line. The sound of that voice triggered three emotions to well up in the punk-girl's chest at the same time – confusion, hope and sheer panic.

"Max? What the-? What are you doing there? How did you get a hold of Rachel's phone? What happened?" Chloe stammered after a few seconds as her mind slowly came to realize what was happening and her throat suddenly started to feel as dry. It was only due to this fact that she hadn't actually spoken louder and probably woken everything in the whole neighbourhood. After all – it was nearly 4 A.M. and had it not been for all the things going on and the thoughts in her head keeping her awake, she'd probably been fast asleep already.

"Figures that would be the first thing you ask…" There was a note of hurt in the young rockers' voice, but from the sound alone Chloe could tell that her former best friend was slightly smiling at the other end of the line. How did she know this? It had always been theses small things she'd be able to tell about the young woman who for so long had been only a ghost in her world – a memory of a different time... Still, it had been true back when they were kids and it was now. "Anyways, you sure as hell are a bad lookout. I'm already at the front of your house for the last twenty minutes. It just took me a while to find and get into Sleeping Beauty's phone here."

Max had barely mentioned being at the front of her former best friends' house, when she already could hear the young punk-girl scrambling to get somewhat dressed and bolt down the stairs.

'This is it, Max.' For a second the young woman with red-brown hair grabbed the steering wheel of her new-old car with such force that her knuckles went white, staring straight out in front of her, not focusing on anything, but battling down the intense emotions that had boiled up in her just by hearing her Chloe's voice, just by the prospect of seeing her again, talking to her… 'My Chloe, huh?' A wry, mirthless smile hushed over her lips before she forced it and every other emotion from her face. She had to steel herself for what was to come, but truth was that she knew she couldn't steel herself for it. Regardless of how many times she'd played it out in her head.

It was only a few moments later when she saw the door of the house left of her car swing open and the blue-nette running out onto the small patch of front-lawn with a puzzled look on her face as she noticed the vehicle parking in front of the house. Max took a deep breath and exhaled before she opened the door and slowly got out of the car.

When she opened her eyes the first thing that she registered was that it was still slightly dark outside though a speck of dim light falling through the half-closed curtains indicated that sunrise was not so far away. Despite that she could tell her vision was somewhat fuzzy as she felt slightly dazed and still had not regained full control of her limbs. The blonde woman managed to prop herself up a bit on one elbow as she fought down a growing sense of panic. From the feeling of the fabric of the matrass she was lying on and the general layout of the room she was in she could tell she was not in her own room, but at a place that over the last four years had become very close to a second one.

'What the hell happened? Did I black out or something?' The young woman with the feather-earring tried to discern what exactly had transpired on that evening, but found she could scarcely recollect what had happened after she'd seen Max and started talking to the photography teacher. 'Did Mr Jefferson bring be back here?' She was still wondering why the teacher would have brought here to this particular place, though the most logical explanation was that he simply didn't know her address and thus had to rely on what he knew about her and her friends. Still - the thought of having passed out during the party and the high-point of their conversation seemed like the worst possible thing that might have happened. There were other possibilities too, but those were rather unlikely as from what she could tell – she was still dressed, still had everything on her and didn't feel anything unusual in her lower parts. Had anything like that happened, she'd be able to tell. 'So we didn't make out and didn't have sex. I must have fallen asleep while he was out talking on the phone and then he brought me home.' As her mind slowly worked through the daze a small, spiteful and (she had to admit to herself) somewhat dirty part of her felt slightly cheated, but mostly she felt awful for it meant the man she'd partially hoped to impress and partially had wanted to ensnare had seen her at one of the lowest points and had even acted like a chevalier. She felt how her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Her thoughts were so fixed on figuring out the possible answer to her question of how she got here and what had happened to her that at first she didn't notice the figure sitting on the chair at the desk with only the desk-lamp on, which glowed dimly and had been turned away from her, so that it wouldn't hurt her eyes, when she'd wake up, and was staring at a picture – lost in thought as well.

"Slept well, Rach?" The voice of the young woman sitting at the desk rang out in the silence, prompting the startled blonde to turn towards her, or at least to turn as much as possible towards her, as Rachel still hadn't regained full motoric control over her feet.

"Chloe! Oh, erm… hey. Yeah, I suppose I was really zonked out, huh?" The blonde girl stammered surprised by the seemingly sudden appearance of the punk-girl, though it was her room and her home, and felt flustered at her own state.

"Yeah. Pretty much… I assume the party was hella great, hm?" The sarcasm and slight notes of jealousy were not lost on the blonde woman with the half-Mohawk hairdo. Even in the state she was in she could tell that her friend was really pissed, though as to why – she could guess the options.

Rachel looked away to one side, not wanting to start quarrelling with her best friend, and let silence fall over the two of them. More pressing questions were bothering her fogged mind and a dispute with the blue-nette was definitely not a thing she needed right now. A few moments passed before the blue-haired punk spoke up again, having returned to staring at the picture in her hand.

"It was Max who brought you here, if that is what you're wondering about." Her voice was quiet and calm again, but for someone who normally would react way more harshly and drastically this was an indication that the punk-girl was not really feeling great. It was obvious to the blonde woman that her friend was trying to supress what she felt or thought. Still, the remark had an effect on her and she felt how the blood rushed to her head. Somehow the prospect of her being taken here by the rocker-gal seemed even worse than the prospect of Mr Jefferson bringing her to her friends' home.

"Oh…" She muttered as her eyes slid down to the floor in embarrassment and a new set of thoughts rushed through her mind. How had this come to pass? Had Jefferson asked Max to take her home and Max had just assumed it would be easier to bring her to Chloe or had Max found her herself? None of the thoughts and half-daze-induced theories made much sense, but as her mind worked furiously on patching together the most plausible reason and explanation for her being in the situation she was in her look shifted to the photo that the young woman with the blue hear at the desk was holding in her hands. It was a picture of Chloe and Max dressed up as pirates from a time just before Max had moved to Seattle, but as she focused on it and the young woman holding it another thought dawned upon her. 'Oh hell…'

"Hey, Chloe." The young woman standing in front of the punk-girl greeted with a thin smile on her lips, but keeping her voice and face otherwise devoid of any emotion. Had there not been a slight breeze outside, the tension between the two former best friends at that moment might have been enough to take solid form as the moments where none of them spoke stretched on.

"Max." That was the first and only thing Chloe could manage to respond as her own thoughts and emotions stumbled one over the other and tried to get control over her mind and the words she could, that she would and that she shouldn't say. The rocker-gal had come around the front of the car and was now leaning on the bonnet.

"Look, Rachel's on the passenger seat pretty much zonked-out. She had a wild night and will probably sleep in for quite some time, so I guess it would be best if you'd take her someplace she can sleep more comfortably." It was the first thing the rocker with the nose-piercing said after another quite uncomfortable silence had stretched on for long moments. As she said it, she'd turned her head to where the young blonde woman had reclined against the seat of her car. It felt like she'd said something completely different from what she'd initially intended to say.

Another set of thoughts and small flashes of information raced through the young punk-girls' mind. 'Whoa! Look at that nose-piercing! And that outfit! I mean, look at those abs!' A part of her mind tried to tear her eyes away from the young rocker-gal, who in Chloe's opinion looked like a bona fide badass with a touch of sass. 'And what the hell does all of this mean? What the hell happened to Rachel and what did she do to her? How the hell does it even come to this whole situation?' Another more confused, jealous and fearful part of herself piped in. 'Just… look at her. Look at the way she bears herself…' A deeper, more concerned part of her mind spoke up.

The young girl she'd known as Max Caulfield was no longer there. The teen and young woman Chloe had imagined her to have become had never existed… And still, there was something there. Something like an old ache. She could see that the woman with the matching black boots and jeans was clearly not speaking her mind. That there was something more… And had Cassandra not told her quite a bit about it all? Had she not hear what had happened? Couldn't she believe it knowing Max? Couldn't she believe it to be true knowing the one person, who once had been her best friend? A friend and the friendship she had longed for in the years of her absence? 'The years of her absence…' The chaotic spiral of thoughts halted for a moment as another emotion grabbed hold of her. She knew this was most definitively not something she needed or wanted to say. Her heart and mind screamed at her to hold her tongue behind her teeth and remain silent. But the venom like feeling spat out the words even as her mind spun and she felt like somebody had suddenly thrown her into a bottomless pit and she was now in free-fall.

"That is it? Five years of bailing and now this? A simple 'Hey Chloe'." 'Shut up!', Chloe's own voice screamed in her head, 'Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up! Please, don't do this!' "You come back without a word, throw one party after the other and don't even care to chat up or contact your former best friend. You get my real best friend dead drunk and what not and now you just appear out of nowhere? Wow. You hella are the Max Caulfield I remember." The words left such a galling aftertaste in her mouth that for a moment Chloe thought she might be sick. She hadn't noticed the young rocker turning and just staring at her without uttering as much as a word and as she became aware of it to the blue-haired punk it became almost physically painful to wait through the ensuing silence that settled between.

What had she done? What had she just said? She felt like running away, falling to the ground and crying and begging for forgiveness at the same time. And still, neither did she move, nor fall.

"The way Max looked at me then…" The young punk with the blue hair and her trade-mark beanie just sat there not moving as a dull silence started to stretch. Rachel had seen Chloe on bad days and hard times, but this – this was different. Completely different.

"What did you expect?" The voice of the woman with brown-red hair was cold and devoid of any emotion. "Did you think I'd fall to my knees and beg you to take me back into your world?" The rocker-gal eased away from the car and started to move slowly towards Chloe and though it was still dark the single beam of light that fell from the street-lantern and illuminated the small front-lawn made it possible for Chloe to see her former best friends' eyes as she moved closer. "Did you think I'd ask for forgiveness that my parents decided to move to 'Fuck-town-up-north'?" Though her expression changed only a little it was the eyes which betrayed her emotions. The blue-nette could see how every word strained and hurt the young woman walking towards her, though there was something strange – it looked like the pupils of Max's eyes dilated and narrowed with each step, seemingly without the rocker herself noticing. "Or did you think I'd jump up and down like a moronic tween, squealing with joy of seeing you again?" Her tone slightly changed as she was already only an arm's length away from the stunned and petrified punk-girl. Chloe could see her eyes grow cold for a split second before a desperate expression settled on Max's face and cleared out any other emotions that had previously played in her eyes. It was like something had given way and laid bare emotions in the shorter woman, which had been supressed for far too long to be contained anymore.

With a violent tug at the collar of her shirt the rocker-gal brought her former best friend to her eye-level.

"You abandoned me! You were hurting, but you abandoned me!" Her voice cracked as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her completely. "You pushed me away, when I tried to help you and when I returned you abandoned me again! You selfishly asked the impossible of me again and you abandoned me!" By now silent tears had started to roll down the slightly younger woman's cheeks, but she seemed not to notice. For a moment it seemed that time around them had frozen still as the only thing Chloe could see was the pained expression and the desperate, nearly pleading look in the young girl's eyes, rendering her oblivious to everything and anything else.

As sudden as the moment had come it passed on as Max let go of her shirt and partially pushed Chloe away from herself, as if to ward of anything she might say. But what could she have said? There was nothing at that moment in the young punk's mind except the image that had burned itself into the retina of her eyes. The look on Max's face. There was nothing she could say as her emotions were going haywire and her thoughts playing crazy. Yes, there was a huge rift between them. A rift she herself had partially caused (maybe even more than partially), but for all that had been or might have been or even could still be, at that moment none of it really mattered to her. It was so strange. So very strange and unsettling, but at that moment everything else felt numb and distorted and the only real thing was the woman turning away from her and starting to walk towards the car. It was out of this deep, unnamed and unspoken desire to regain the one person she had once trusted more than anyone besides her parents that prompted Chloe to act.

She didn't think when she grabbed for Max's hand. She hadn't even thought of what to say or what to do once she got hold of the young girl with the matching black boots and jeans. There was nothing really there besides the subconscious understanding that if she was to let the girl walk away without responding somehow – she'd never see her again. She knew it somehow. Felt it deep within her heart.

It took the blue-nette's mind a couple of seconds before it registered that she indeed had succeeded and caught her former best friends' hand, stopping her for a moment from moving forward. It took her mind even longer to concentrate on anything she might or should say as her vision seemed to be focused on the woman in front of her, silently watching, with an expression that threatened to burst Chloe's heart. Neither of them spoke and the moment dragged on in silence, while her mind screamed for the blue-haired punk to say something.

"Max, I-" Chloe didn't manage to complete whatever she was about to say, when the sudden sensation of the shorter, but clearly stronger woman's grip on her waist materialised in her head, followed by the realisation of the sweet taste of the rocker-gal's lips against her own mixed with the salt in her tears.

Slightly reeling the punk girl broke the kiss, only now noticing the hand the other woman retracted from her hair. She hadn't intended to reciprocate. She hadn't intended to deepen the kiss. She loved the woman leaning back in the passenger-seat in the car in oblivious slumber. She loved Rachel. Her angel… She couldn't explain it. It was as if for a moment her body had just acted on its own, as her heart swelled with emotions she dared not to name and her mind scrambled to gush another wave of self-loathing over her. But that kiss… For the heartbeats it lasted – it had felt so right, so true… And though the feeling she had when she made out with Rachel was breath-taking in the most direct interpretation of the word, this… this one kiss had felt so pure… so real, so warm. Like for a moment the moon and stars she had adored so long had been switched for the sun she'd yearned for.

The sudden realisation of it all sent her mind stumbling and her heart hammering in her chest. A surge of shame, fear and confusion took control of her mind when the rocker-gal's hand reached up to cup her cheek. She hadn't intended to shove her away. She hadn't intended to shrug back at the small gesture of love and care. Again her mind was awfully slow to register everything that was going on, but in the next moment the warmth of feeling the other woman's body against her own was gone. As was the sensation of feeling the heartbeat of the young girl with the butterfly-tattoo. As were the overwhelming feelings that had possessed her for a moment, leaving her bare for the anguish of self-doubt, self-loathing and sheer disbelief and panic at the whole situation. It must have shown on her expression, for as the rocker-girl steadied herself the look of pure, desperate love, desperation and hopelessness slowly morphed into a forced and pained smile, while new tears trickled down from the corners of her eyes. Chloe hadn't noticed how she had moved her arms in a tight hug around herself, as if to ward off the young woman in front of her. A moment passed in deafening silence before the rocker finally turned and, without looking back, spoke to the stunned blue-nette.

"Come on, Blue-jay. Get your angel out of my car and I'll be on my way. I'm through here." It was the way she said it that held an edge of finality to it, indicated – this was really it. This was the end of the whole situation. For her at least...

It was long after Chloe had picked up the sleeping blonde and watched the girl with the nose-piercing drive away at breakneck speed before she had actually moved to carry Rachel into the house and to her room. An even longer time passed before the numb feeling in her mind seceded allowing her to focus on any thought really, though in her state the young punk-girl dreaded that maybe even more than anything else. What was she to do? What was she to think? What was she to feel? Only the ominous feeling of someone having torn away the very ground beneath her feet still lingered in her gut…

Again, as if acting on its own her body had reached into a box hidden beneath her bed, fishing out an old picture of her and her former best friend dressed up as pirates. It had been taken only a short while before her father's death. Before Max's family had moved to Seattle.

Chloe had remained in that pose nearly without shifting until the young blonde-woman currently lying on her bed showed the first signs of waking up.

"I don't know what to do, Rach. I just don't know what to do…" She let the blonde woman sling a still slightly disobeying arm around her shoulders and pull her back on the bed so that they lay next to each other. It was nearly the same as the first time she'd seen Max again after all these years and had talked to Cassandra for the first time. Only this time it hurt much, much worse.

Max was watching the sun slowly rise on the horizon and looked out towards the still dark ocean. She hadn't really slept that night. How could she even? The tears had dried up only long after she arrived at the parking-lot near the ocean-side. She had let them low freely, unable to hold her emotions in her anymore. She had known this would be the outcome. Chloe didn't feel the same for her as she did for the punk-girl with blue hair. But still seeing her up close, talking to her… everything had sent her thoughts and emotions tumbling and her whole resolve – crashing down. Maybe she had made a mistake by kissing her, but her own heart had betrayed her.

So much had been different. She had seen a new side of Cassandra and even if she had known the woman with raven-black hair would leave her in the end, she had still let her into her heart. It had hurt like hell, when the moment of truth came. Max herself had done many things differently. Be it by impulse, calculation, emotion or pure randomness, though she had tried out not to rely on her powers as at times they would fail her completely and leave her stranded in the bog, so to say. She had gone so far… She had hurt, hated and obsessed, but… The hollow shell where her heart was supposed to be was not so hollow after all. That pitch-black abyss was not void of those traitorous feelings. How could she ever hurt the one person that mattered most to her? How could she hurt the person she truly loved? She could never hurt her Chloe. Not like this… Not anymore. Not after seeing her, feeling her touch again, not after-… The young woman fought to keep control of the emotions she felt and to supress the thoughts and countless memories from different 'pasts' and 'presents' flooding her mind again. She just couldn't go through with what she had initially set out as her plan. She couldn't do it. Her resolve had started to crumble the day she had first seen the blue-nette dance happily with the other young woman who had been a good friend to her in many of the different 'pasts' and 'presents'. It had finally crashed completely when she had laid eyes on the young punk in question outside of her family's house.

Like a festering wound spreading corruption through her body a new, bitter resolve had risen up in her over these past few hours. Much to her own despair and disbelief, but there she was. At the beginning of a new day. It didn't actually change so much from what she originally had intended to do, but now she'd have to move a bit faster. She had decided.

It was time to tie up some loose ends. For good.

'If that is what you truly want…' an oh-so-familiar voice whispered from deep within her mind. It had never really disappeared after that one twisted nightmare-come-true and it always accompanied those painful memories from the various 'pasts' and 'presents', but Max ignored it. She'd grown used to it as she knew – it was a part of her.

The rocker with brown-red hair turned the keys in the ignition and started up the motor. It was time she got moving.

-The Czars or John Frusciante - Song to the Siren / Supergirl / Ederlezi / Korn - Get up (non-dubstep version)1-

Nearly a whole week had passed since that strange night that the last Vortex Club party took place. They'd found Nathan passed out at in one of the corners in the boy's changing-room. It appeared he'd drunk too much and couldn't really remember anything, but was convinced the whole party was a huge success. The teacher himself couldn't really say that at all, though he'd kept quiet about the whole incident. To be truthful it was quite troublesome, for there was still a slight bruise on his face, where the boot of his unknown assailant had connected with his jaw and where his head had hit the ground. His neck felt still slightly stiff and he had to turn his whole torso, whenever he wanted to look left. The most problematic thing perhaps though was that he had no idea who had been the woman who had attacked him. He knew that much from the tone of the voice, but he hadn't been able to place it at all. Not to mention he couldn't really go around the campus or even the town and chat up every woman that he'd meet just to confirm who had been the one to assault him. Back at the Academy he'd covered it up with falling down and landing in a very unfortunate way and though some of his colleagues were slightly suspecting it wasn't the truth, nobody really bothered him, as it might as well be his very personal issues he was dealing with and they respected his privacy.

It bugged him though. No. Actually he had started to wonder if he was growing paranoid, for while he had played it cool and kept a low profile for these days, waiting in a makeshift ambush, nearly hoping someone would seek him out or approached him – but nothing had happened. Still the feeling of being watched, monitored and followed didn't leave him.

Involuntarily the photography teacher's eyes were drawn to the portfolio lying on his desk. It was red with stark black-and-white pictures neatly placed on black sheets of paper. Max Caulfield's attendance rate had dropped significantly after that concert she'd given on that night. Though he'd seen her on the campus grounds a few times and even had the chance to chat her up about the assignments once, she felt somehow… strange, changed and unstable… more aggressive, more prone to lashing out. It was not out of worry that the man had made these observations. Far from it. After the mysterious and unfortunate incidents with capturing young sweet Rachel, he'd set his sights on the rocker-gal, but hadn't been able to really get any closer to her or observe her more in this situation.

'Sweet, young Rachel will have to wait 'till it's her turn again now.' The man thought without any mirth or any emotion really. It was his work that mattered. His project. It was so frustrating to know there could very well be another incident like the last time, which could practically mean the end of the line for him and his work. A bleak perspective that Mark Jefferson wouldn't and couldn't allow himself to start fretting over. He was so close to the creation of a masterpiece. To reach the pinnacle of his work as a photographer. He could feel it. And yet – it this whole situation threatened to shatter his dreams. His hopes. No, he wouldn't allow it.

His attention was torn from his thoughts when the young blonde woman with her trademark feather-earring stopped in front of his desk to hand in the assignments for this week. Somehow she too looked slightly worse for wear. As if something was seriously bothering her, but she couldn't really talk about it.

'Hmm… Maybe this will not be so difficult after all.' An idea manifested in the older man's mind as the young woman smiled warily at him. Only now did he notice that the rest of the class had already gone. He'd forgotten that he'd written everything they'd need to prepare for the next week on the blackboard and had told them to just photograph or copy it so they don't forget before allowing them to leave. Most of those that had done their assignments had just left them on their tables.

'This could actually prove fateful…'. They hadn't had the chance to really talk about anything that had happened back at the party actually. He set up his casual grin, hoping that the woman in front of him would relax at the sight of him himself being calm and composed. Or at least appearing as such.

"Rachel Amber. Still handing in the assignments on time and in person. How I wish your classmates would take you as an example and follow it." Mr Jefferson said. After seemingly starting to go over the handed in assignment, he turned to the young woman still standing at his desk in anxious silence with played surprise and concern. "Um… Is something bothering you, Rachel? Can I help you somehow?"

"Mr Jefferson…" She started, but seemed not to know how to follow up with what she wanted to say.

"Rachel, please. I think we are comfortable enough with each other to drop the formalities. Please call me Mark." The older man gave her a warm, reassuring smile. "Is it because of last Friday?" She looked slightly taken aback, but her reaction spoke volumes. The smile settled on his face and became slightly patronizing.

"Mark, listen, I don't really recall so much of our last conversation at the party. I just wanted to… apologize if I may have been somewhat pushy or… you know…" For some reason she seemed more flustered than normal when she'd talk to him.

"Rachel, you don't have to worry. You did nothing wrong and nothing like that really happened. I actually greatly enjoyed our conversation at that time, but to my regret I might not have been careful enough and should have known better to just keep the drinks coming. I sincerely apologize for that." He made his tone solemn and convincing. "It was just as I walked back from that call I had to take to find you already fast asleep on the couch, so I wanted to call a cab, but when I returned from making that call you were already gone. I hope nothing happened to you. I was actually very worried and tried to contact you, but as I only got your phone from the secretary of the principal two days ago and you didn't seem to answer my emails I could only hope you were alright." This was it – the opportunity to find out something more about what had happened or maybe even who his mysterious assailant was.

"Oh… yeah… I- It seems I couldn't really hold my liquor there." The young woman with the long blonde hair replied looking away for a bit and hugging herself loosely. "It was actually M-" She couldn't finish whatever she was about to say as the teacher's phone started to vibrate and play a piece of classical music. It seemed to be some kind of alarm clock, but to Rachel it didn't really mean anything. The older man though seemed only all too aware of that particular ringtone. For a moment it seemed he'd gone pale as his eyes dilated and focused solely on the cell-phone. He quickly picked it up, silenced the alarm and tucked it away in a pocket of his jeans while he was getting up and simultaneously picking up his jacket.

"Sorry, Rachel. It seems something very urgent has come up with one of my side projects I'm working on with some of my colleagues from California. Something must have gone bad if they message me, but taking into account that the deadline for the project is very near, I can't really bail on them right now. So, I'm deeply sorry, but it seems we'll have to postpone our conversation to another time." The man forced a nonchalant and apologetic smile on his face as he talked to the stunned girl in the punk-rocker attire, while picking up everything he'd need from his desk and shutting the locker on its side. He must have appeared hurried enough for her to not ask any questions, but internally he felt the cold fingers of dread grasping at his throat. Someone had gotten into the Dark Room and set off the alarm. If this was his mysterious assailant then things might have just turned from bad to right-out disastrous.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!' The man cursed the whole town while he ran to his car not bothering to look or reply to anyone who crossed his path, though there were only few of those, as for once in a while the weather forecast had been wrong and instead of the sunny weather one would expect of this time of the year it was pouring outside and the sky had been cloudy since the early morning. The fact that it was getting darker already was not helpful either, but he couldn't be bothered by any of it. Right now too much was at stake.

When he arrived at the old Prescott barn at the outskirts of the small town it was already clear that someone had entered it. The gate was wide open, as was the door to the barn. There was no car though and no tire tracks in the dirt indicating that someone would have come here in a vehicle or left in one. Taking into account the break-neck speed at what he'd driven to the old farmstead there was a good chance that whoever was that had found the bunker-turned-dark-room was still there. He'd have to be careful.

'The perks of experience.' The photography teacher thought with a twisted grin slowly spreading on his face as he took out the gun and the bottle of chloroform he'd stored in the glove compartment of his car after the incident at the Vortex Club party. He was not keen on killing people, but he had nothing against it either. When it became necessary, one just had to do, what had to be done. He'd done it before. Back in his days in Seattle. Still… getting revenge for the sleepless nights and the bruises he'd suffered was a different story, and to be frank he wasn't really above getting his hands dirty and torture. Regardless, he'd have to be careful. If one thing was clear after the incident that despite his attacker being a woman she was clearly strong enough to overwhelm him if he was not paying attention.

He lingered a bit by the door to the barn contemplating on his next move as his look drifted from the busted lock (it seemed someone had really not cared to damage private property as the lock had been smashed off along with the handle) to the door itself (the one who had busted the lock had apparently kicked it in, not really caring that it swung the other way and the old wooden door seemed loose in its hinges) and finally came to rest on the hatch, which was wide open. Light from the single lamp in the small concrete hallway was illuminating the otherwise dimly lit barn. It was only a few moments later that he came to a conclusion and started towards it.

The heavy steel door opened slightly and slowly, but without sound. It had been well tended, as actually everything in this twisted place. Nothing moved. No sounds were made. It felt like the bunker-turned-twisted-studio itself was more of a tomb than anything else. Slowly and only a long while did the door open more and more, until the barrel of a Glock 19 peaked out from behind it. Still nothing had moved and as the door was already nearly completely open, it was clear that no one was standing behind it. A tentative step forward. Shallow, quiet breathing. All in all everything felt like a late-night crime-thriller. Surreal and unrealistic, but it was reality. Another step forward, equally slow, careful and nearly without sound.

Suddenly the door slammed hard into the man standing behind it forcing him to stagger back as it swung close, crushing his hand holding the gun against the door-frame in the process. The gun went off as the sheer amount of pain from his crushed bones caused the man's hand to cramp up for a moment before the gun fell useless to the ground. In the next moment, however, the door swung back and the older man, still in shock from the searing pain in his hand, was grabbed by the collar of his coat and heaved into the room, slamming hard on his back.

Though Mark Jefferson recovered from the initial shock quite quickly and already made a move to get up and defend himself, his attacker was having none of it. Another jolt of unbearable pain shot through his body, this time though stemming from his left sheen. The teacher slumped slightly to the side but was still standing when another hard hit connected to the already hurting leg. For a moment it seemed his vision would fail him as black dots started to dance before his eyes. He could feel that his leg was broken. Unable to hold his own weight anymore the man with the custom-designed suit and coat collapsed to the ground barely managing to get his arms under himself as to slightly cushion the fall.

Immediately his attacker grabbed the man's left hand twisting it whilst using force to hold the man pinned to the ground. A twist, a jerk, an awful, tearing, popping sound of a shoulder being dislocated was followed by the cry of pain from the barely conscious man. After all – the human body could take on a tremendous amount of pain and damage, but the quick succession of inflicted pain could overload the nerves. Something like a forced shut-down for a PC. But he didn't lose his consciousness. His hand, now uselessly limp was released to flop at his side as he was turned onto his back by a black boot against his damaged shoulder.

It was only now that his vision cleared a bit and he could see the one, who so brutally had manhandled him. The lean, but clearly ripped young woman standing next to him and fixing him with a stare that could have frozen the flames of Hell was no other than Max Caulfield.

"M-Max… W-What?" Mr Jefferson started to stammer, but this endeavour met its early end as a ruthless kick to his stomach forced all air out of his lungs.

"And who exactly gave you permission to speak, Jeffer-shit? Hm? How many times do I need to repeat myself 'till you listen? 'Don't disturb sleeping beasts.' But, oh well, no going back, eh?" Max didn't even try to hide the malicious grin that slowly crept on her face, making the remark to the already injured man even more sardonic. If anything the sight of the man filled her with even more rage, with more unbridled anger and hate. He was the cause of it all. The key might be another, the answer - even more so, but he was the cause. It was increasingly hard to supress the memories from all the various 'pasts' and 'presents' she had to live through. Memories etched in her mind, deep scars in her soul and heart she was not able to bury or mend. She could feel the voice in her mind smile as maliciously as she did right now if not even more. It gnashed the razor-sharp teeth in its maw and growled with venomous joy at the scene before the young woman's eyes.

She reached down, grabbed hold of his dislocated arm and started to pull the man towards the other part of the bunker, which had been made into a studio. She ignored his yelps and cries of pain.

"You know, as crazy as it may sound, in a different time-line maybe I'd have even looked up to you, you fuck-turd." The woman with brown-red hair said as she let go of the man's hand, when she'd reached the place, where once she'd been bound to a chair. It was more a thought than anything else. Even if it was technically possible taking into account her experience with the various 'pasts' and 'presents' and the strange encounter with a certain hipster-Max. "The façade of being an honourable and deep-thinking, upcoming grand in photography now working as a teacher has convinced pretty much many people, who are into it. No one suspects you to be the twisted psychopath that you truly are."

"M-Max, what are you talking about? Have you gone crazy? I don't know what you mean!" The man stammered before pressing his lips together to stifle another gasp of pain.

"Oh, don't pretend, Jeffer-fuck. You know it was me, who knocked you out back at the party. I saw how your eyes widened in recognition of the sentence I told you back then." The young rocker replied coolly from behind the desk, where she'd booted up his computer and now was rummaging through the binders in the closet behind it, before taking out a few of binders. There was one amongst them that she hadn't expected and it nearly threatened to make her go berserk as the memories of those events flooded her mind again. For a moment she shut her eyes. It was unbearable, but she had to remain at least halfway calm if this had to work out. In theory it should be possible and the few tests she'd run over the past days had shown it was possible, but she still had to be careful. "Motherfucker…" She muttered under her breath as she laid out the binders on the desk.

"What do you want?" The psychopathic teacher said after he'd painfully turned to see where the young woman was. He'd somehow gotten the gist of it that this really was something else and in his situation he was in no position to threaten the violent girl with the black hoody and matching army-boots.

"Have you seen the movie 'Taken', fuck-for-brains?" The young girl walked over to where the man was lying, but stayed a small distance away, with a look on her face as if thinking something over. The white fabric under him was slightly stained by the blood oozing through small cuts the man had received when she'd crushed his hand with the door. Mark Jefferson stared somewhat disbelievingly at his assailant. 'What the- ? What has this to do with…?'

"It has nothing really to do with anything here except for the fact that people are more prone to loosen their tongues under torture. Truth be told, I don't even need any more proof to convince the authorities you are the true proprietor of the heinous crimes you've committed. But, as they say – sometimes it's hard to be satisfied, when you know you can achieve more. It is even harder if the thing you want is revenge." The ice-cold nonchalance swaying in the woman's voice as she was talking to him, sent shivers down his spine. And for the first time in his life the psychopathic man thought that he'd met someone, who is in all truth even more twisted than he was. The woman he'd been intrigued by on the first day she handed in her portfolio now seemed more like a ravenous beast-turned-human toying with its prey. Somehow he was reminded of the pictures in her portfolio and it oddly clicked together. It came as a small shock, when she resumed talking, for it was in an ominously dark and low tone. From the position he was lying in on the floor the teacher could see the young woman's eyes. Her irises were dilating and narrowing constantly as if someone was repeatedly pointing a flashlight at her eyes and then turning it off, or like she was in a trance. And… 'Did her eyes just change their colour?' "I would probably break you for just what you did to me; I'm no stranger to that. But you hurt the one person, who is most precious to me. You killed, what has become more important to me than life ever was. Than anything actually." This confused the man even more. Yes, he'd killed before, but the young girl with the black nose-piercing was too young to have been somehow related to that girl. Besides, from what he knew from the data the Academy had on its students, Max had been in Seattle at that time and he was way over in Silicon Valley. The voice of the woman walking to stand behind him drew his attention back to the here and now. "I would have hurt you for hurting Kate. I would have crippled, tortured and killed you for hurting and basically killing Rachel. I will kill you for murdering my Chloe."

"What?" Mark Jefferson's eyes widened. It was true he had thought about making the stubborn punk-girl with the blue hair one of his pieces of art, but so far he'd not even really dwelled on the issue in depth. Yes, he'd thought of making Kate Marsh, the young rocker herself and the young and enticing Rachel Amber pieces of his art too. He was convinced they would have been the ones to fulfil his dream of creating a masterpiece. But like with Chloe Price, he hadn't even approached Nathan about the young religious girl, nor had he made any move himself. He hadn't even talked to the young man, who saw him as somewhat of a mentor about the rocker-gal. The plan to create the first set of pictures for his work with the young blonde with the feather-earring had been botched by Max. But in all previous cases he'd been careful with the doses and he wouldn't needlessly kill the subjects of his art if it was not outright necessary. So far he'd been able to hide everything perfectly. From everybody. How was it even possible for the rocker-gal to know anything about this place or what he did? And why did she say he'd killed the punk-girl and Rachel Amber? "You're talking crazy! You've clearly lost your mind, you dumb bitch!" He howled in pain, when the heel of the rocker-girl's boots connected to his ribs with so much force that they cracked.

"Yeah, might be even true, taking into account how many timelines I've traversed and how much I've invested to prevent it from happening in this time around." 'Traversing timelines? She's clearly out of her mind.' The man thought as he tried to edge away from the young, but clearly dangerous woman. "Still, knowing that fact is not really gonna help you. Now hold still or this is going to hurt you very, very much. Or – no, please, try to struggle." From the corner of his vision the photography teacher could see that she had a syringe in her hand. A syringe that he had prepared for one of his next subjects – the rocker-gal herself.

"You crazy bitch! You'll never get away with this! They'll never believe you! You have no idea what you're messing with!" He couldn't keep the panic out of his voice. With new incentive the man tried to crawl away from the woman, but his escape was doomed, when a black boot firmly planted itself on his back. A rough hand grabbed his head by the hair firmly and the moment afterwards he could feel the needle enter his neck. It really did hurt quite much.

"If you should survive this, you'll be most probably be sentenced to capital punishment. Either way – you'll die." The woman spoke in the same menacing, low voice like at that time at the party, ignoring the man's words. "By the time you'll wake up you'll experience a tremendous amount of pain. If you don't outright die or go insane, well, more than you are now, the police will find you in no state to resist." He was already starting to feel the numbness of the drug working on his body and mind. He couldn't move. Never in his life had the man felt such fear… The last thing he heard was the young woman state mater-of-fact-like, "The necessary material to make the arrest, including a confession from you, etc., will have been sent to them anonymously by that time. Physically you won't have any wounds really, which is a pity, but it'll look like you botched something, whilst trying to take a lethal dose, when you somehow got the word that the Feds had obtained information about you and now were hot on your heels. It'll appear like I was never here, for I never will have been here. You won't remember me or anything that happened here. Guessing that you probably lied about getting away from class, which must still have gone on at that time, you won't really have an alibi, which will make everything even more convincing…" He could hear the voice taking on an even more dreadful edge. "Anyways, this is it. Lights out." A brutal hit to his head knocked the older man out in an instant.

A few days before the events at the barn.

The young rocker breathed in slowly, before letting the air out of her lungs even slower. She needed to be calm, which taking into account the task she had to perform was not really easy. Too many memories of the various 'pasts' and 'presents' popped up in her mind, blurring what was real and what not.

She knocked at the door of the apartment a certain young woman with raven-black hair was staying at. The rocker-gal had taken some pains on herself to gather this information, but if she didn't conclude this chapter of her life, then what was the purpose of this all?

The silence filing the hallway of the small and only one roadside motel of the town was crushing, but after another tension filled moment the door to the apartment opened.

"You still look beautiful, Cas." Max said with a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Regardless of the timelines, the duality of their relationship and the inbound irony of the whole situation were not lost on her.

The young woman with the long black hair and mesmerizing green eyes looked at her in silent shock, not yet really believing her eyes or trusting herself to speak.

"May I come in?" The rocker-gal with the black nose-piercing inquired. The other woman's eyes cleared up, but she still couldn't speak due to the shock of it all and thus simply nodded her agreement, stepping aside to let the woman she so desperately had tried to contact for this entire time walk into the small room.

Max settled in the only chair that was in the room, while Cassandra sat on the edge of the bed. At first none of them spoke, but eventually Max looked at the raven-black-haired woman. She was sitting there in her nightgown, looking more like a princess that needed to be rescued than the evil witch in disguise. 'Yeah… She needs rescuing. From herself. From all those memories. From me…'

"You've spoken with Chloe and Rachel, I presume?" Max asked in a low voice, that held no menace or anger. It was hard for her to be here, but Cassandra, or at least this Cassandra she now knew more intimately and deeper than probably she herself did, didn't deserve to go through all the suffering she would have in a different timeline. Not anymore at least. She had suffered enough.

A nod.

"Would you believe me if I said I could travel through time?" The question must have sounded outlandish and totally out of place to the other woman's ears, but again the answer was a nod.

"I've been cruel to you. Maybe even needlessly so…" The rocker began and for the first time in a long time a note of regret swung in the tone of her voice. She let her gaze wander to her hands, which fidgeted with a pendant on a simple leather band.

"No, Max, you never-! You've never been needlessly cruel to me!" In a heartbeat the other woman had crossed the small distance between them to fall on her knees before the young rocker, closing her hands tightly around Max's. Tears were shimmering in her eyes, but were still contained. The brave face she made in front of and for the rocker-gal wavered and was on the verge of falling away any moment. Her voice quivered and in her eyes the young woman with brown-red hair could see the other's feelings for her laid bare. 'Yes. Most of all you need rescuing from me…'

"No, Cas. I have." The woman with raven-black hair vehemently shook her head, but Max stilfed any upcoming protests or interventions by first cupping the cheek of the young girl with one hand and then gently putting a finger on her lips. "Please, Cas, let me finish what I have to say." The young woman's eyes widened a bit, but eventually she nodded again.

As she talked to the young woman with the raven-black hair, explaining what she'd lived through, elaborating on things Cassandra had heard her voice in her dreams and had thought to be gruesome nightmares, the rocker-gal didn't really notice how the time went by. It had been early evening, when she'd arrived; now it was nearly morning again. The other woman hadn't disrupted or intervened in her monologue for the entire duration of it. She somehow knew it was necessary that she'd hear this, before Max would arrive at the point she wanted to make.

"Throughout all the timelines I have crossed, altered, left and restored - I have experienced so much, Cas. I have hurt, bled, been beaten and bruised. I have felt much pain, fear, anger and hate, but I also loved, felt joy and unbound happiness. I have met you countless times in countless timelines. In many various pasts and presents." The woman kneeling at her feet had let the rocker-gal draw her closer and place her head to rest on her lap. The tears were flowing freely now. It had been so long since the woman she loved so much and whom she had betrayed and hurt so badly had talked to her in the sweet, low voice she'd come to love and adore. It had been so long since they had been so close that it felt unreal to suddenly feel the warmth radiating from her body. Cassandra instinctively knew Max's next words would hurt her. She knew they would be final. She knew the woman she loved so deeply had come to see her for the last time before she'd disappear from her life forever. She knew it, but right now in this moment, she could have died and she would have died happily, for regardless of the circumstances of Max's visit the deepest wish she had had since that fateful day back in Seattle was fulfilled. A small smile played on the rocker-girl's lips and again for the first time in a long time, when she was talking to the young woman crying on her lap, her eyes softened and warmth seemed to glow in them, like small embers.

"In all those timelines I met you, you hurt me. You betrayed, played, used and abused me. I knew from all this experience that eventually you would hurt me too and that it was inevitable, though the form and time of this betrayal was different every time even if the differences were subtle." The memories flooding her mind were more than enough to bring up all the emotions she'd felt at each and every time, but she supressed them, concentrating on what she wanted to say. On what she needed to say. "But nevertheless – in every timeline I met you and in every past and present I fell in love with you. You were my first real love, Cas." A half-sob half-laugh escaped the young girl with the emerald green eyes. "You were the one truly good thing in my life at a time everything else was darkness and depression. Even if the pain you caused me drove me to near self-destruction, you were still the only person in a strange new place I could call a true friend. You made me laugh. You gave me joy and though it may not have been like that in every timeline, I know that you really loved me. And that will never change. You were the one who made me the way I am. Be it for better or worse." She could feel how the woman's grip on her hand holding the identical pendant that the black-haired girl wore tightened.

"I still love you, Max." The beautiful girl's voice was barely above a croaked whisper.

"I know, Cas. But I cannot help my feelings." This time it was the rocker who slowly shook her head. "I can't ignore them. I have tried, you know?" She added with a wry smile before continuing. "I had sworn myself I wouldn't fall in love with you again at the first time we met, but I did anyway. I knew you'd abandon me, but it hurt all the same. I loved you and I hated you. I loved to hate you and hated to love you. I hated to hate you and loved to love you. But in the end it all would play out the same. I would break you in the end for doing what you did. But you don't deserve that fate… I don't know if maybe in another timeline we could've been still together and live happily, but I know that in this one we cannot and never will be. I can't ignore the feelings flooding my shattered heart and soul, but they are not yours to mend, Cas. I can't love you anymore… but despite my feelings - I forgive you…" At that the rocker-girl with brown-red hair took the other woman's head tenderly in her arms and motioned for her to look her in the eyes. "I know this isn't fair either, but I beg you to forgive me too, Cas. But most of all, I beg you to forgive yourself. The torture you've inflicted upon yourself is not what I want. Not anymore. I want you to be happy and live happily, but this happiness will not lie with me. It will be your own. You won't find it if you keep torturing yourself over me or keep chasing after me." She could see the meaning of the words and the understanding seep into the other woman's mind and heart, and reflect in her eyes, but she could also see the protest coming even before the girl opened her mouth to voice it.

"I know… But, Max, I-" Cassandra looked the woman she loved in the eyes, not flinching away from the painful words nor the even more hurtful meaning they held.

"Cas. I beg you. I know this is beyond selfish, but I still have to ask this of you." Max had lowered her head so that her brow touched Cassandra's. "Please." Her voice was firm and sincere. It was true. Her request was unimaginably selfish, but she was tired. So tired…

She could feel how the beautiful woman's hands trembled as she desperately tried to supress new tears from welling up. The nod she felt against her brow was more of an answer than she deserved, at least in her opinion.

"Thank you." She whispered. With tenderness her body had not forgotten she helped the black-haired woman stand up before gathering her up in a tight embrace. She could feel the dampness at the side of her neck, where the taller woman had rested her head, but she didn't make a sound. She didn't really know how long they'd stood there like that, but she could tell from the slower breathing and the body language of the girl with emerald-green eyes that it was time.

"This is farewell, Cas." Max eased out of the embrace and the taller, raven-haired woman let her. Standing on her toes and slightly, but without force pulling at Cassandra's hands to tell her to lower herself a bit, she gave the woman a soft, warm kiss on the forehead. "Stay safe and become happy. I know you will." She let go of the other woman and with the silence slowly settling between them again she left.

She didn't hear the whisper of the tall beauty as she pressed her lips against the pendant she now held in her hand and which was identical to that that she wore.

"I'll always love you, Max Caulfield."

About three hours before the event at the barn.

The knock at his door came unexpected. Even more unexpected was that the one entering his room was a girl. The young woman dressed in an all-black rocker-attire didn't even wait for him to answer or get up from behind his desk to open the door, but barged in closing it behind herself.

"What do you want? Don't your groupies leave you alone? Is that it?" Nathan Prescott asked the young woman warily. After the concert at the party last week he'd been pestered nearly every day with requests to throw another party just with this band as a main act.

"I'm here about the Dark Room, Nathan." The answer shot straight as an arrow and the young man froze in place for a moment before instinctively springing up from where he sat and taking on a defensive pose.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're talking bullshit!" The rocker-girl had something ominous about her that he couldn't really put his finger on. But knowing from experiencing trauma himself and taking strong meds against his mood swings, depression and other issues, he instinctively knew that the woman standing with the back to his door and effectively cutting him off from the only possible escape-route was prone to violence and had severe outbursts of anger.

"Cut the crap, Nate. I know you can be a real prick, but this line of continuing the conversation will not get you anywhere. Except for beaten and bloody on the floor." She shot him a cold glare, but otherwise didn't seem all to intent on making her threats reality. "So listen up, dipshit. In any other scenario I'd gladly crack your skull against the very table you were sitting at within a second, but I know that you have a kind-hearted and easy-going side on you too and that, surprisingly, people even care about you. Weird as that might be."

"Anyways. As I said, I'm here regarding the Dark Room in the bunker of the old farmstead belonging to the Prescotts. The one Jeffer-shit is using for his sick idea of creating art." The rocker went on and the young man involuntarily made a step back. It was not that he was really afraid, more than that the woman's words angered him, but the detail of information she displayed in these short sentences was undeniable and made him wary.

"I don't know a thing of what you're talking about. None of it makes any sense to me." He protested whilst fixing the young woman with brown-red hair with his eyes. He'd be prepared if she'd try anything funny.

"You little shit-for-brains really want to test my patience, huh? I told you to listen up, so quit japing and start using whatever turd it is you call your brain-cells today." The tone of her voice alone was enough to silence him, for now at least, as it held the promise of more pain than just a few broken bones. "I don't know why I'm even bothering with this, but her it is the thing. I have several copies of information about you, your family, Jeffer-dick and the whole dirty little project of his. Information about him using you as a drug-mule and a lure to drug and kidnap young female students from this Academy to make his 'special' photo-sessions. Information about you intending to try and mimic him. Information about you seeing him as a father-figure. Information about him just seeing you and your family's wealth as a neat little safe-haven and useful tool to achieve what he wants. Information, which in about four hours the police and the Feds will possess as well, if my sense of time is not completely screwed over. So here's the deal – you confess. Everything. This could maybe even mean that you won't have to go to jail for as long as you might have to. Maybe you won't even have to go to jail at all, taking into account that your family could bail you out. And in return I won't break every second bone in your body."

The young Prescott had gone pale by that time. In him the emotions of fright and anger were boiling at the same level, rendering him unable to decide if he should fight back or respond in any kind.

"Don't believe me? Take a look at this." The young rocker must have seen the struggle going on in the boy with light brown hair as she drew a hand from behind her back holding several beige-coloured folders, which she promptly threw on the bed of the young man.

"What's that supposed to be?" Nathan asked warily glancing at the folders on his bed before focusing on the rocker again.

"A copy of the information, to be more precise, a copy of Jeffer-bitch's personal log about everything, including, how he thinks about your relationship. Go on, read it." Max rolled her eyes, but her tone retained a severe edge.

"T-That's a trick! I'm not having any of it!" The young man with blue eyes half-shouted his protest, but was quickly silenced with a glare from the young girl with the wolf-tattoo, which spoke bloody murder.

"Read it, you slimy, little piece of dirt." It was more a snarl and a threat than anything else.

Reluctantly the young man approached the bed far enough to snag the folders from it before retreating back to his initial position not letting the rocker out of his sight.

As he opened one of the folders it already became evident that the young woman named Max Caulfield had not lied about having information about actually everything. Flying over the documents in the first and second folder made the hair stand on his neck. It was there, everything. Just as she'd said.

The third folder contained copies of electronic and handwritten pages of what seemed to be Mr Jefferson's personal diary. It was unmistakably Jefferson's handwriting and the information matched. As he became more and more immersed in the information he had been handed he felt more and more weightless. It was a very contradictory feeling as it was not quite the weightlessness one would feel at being relieved and it was not the weightlessness one would feel when being confronted by imminent death. It was something in between the two mixed with a good amount of fear, panic and anger. Still, looking up from the papers he'd just read he couldn't bring himself to act in any way than just to stare at the woman in front of the door.

"Jeffer-ass will be dealt with accordingly. Taken into account that he's murdered people before and it would have happened again eventually, I presume he'll get life-time or capital punishment. Nearly hundred percent sure it'll be capital punishment." The young Prescott didn't need to know that most probably the psychopathic man he'd somehow viewed as a foster-father would die by her hands even before the police would arrive to secure the area.

For what seemed a long time none of them spoke and they just stared each other in the eyes. Eventually Nathan lowered his head in defeat. It was over. Everything was over. The only thing he could hope for was that it wouldn't fall back on his sister. To Hell with his father, but Kris didn't deserve this.

"I'll confess." He muttered as the one side normally only his sister would see in him won over. And as bizarre as it might be and to his own surprise, for the first time in his life the young Prescott felt like he'd actually stood up against his fate of being used and abused by the ones who surrounded him. That he'd actually get something right for once…

"Good boy." He looked up, for even as the woman's comment could be interpreted as an insult, it held no real edge to it. It nearly spooked him as much as when she'd threaten him, for her eyes held no real malice in them.

She turned to leave and already was half-way out of the door, when she suddenly turned locking eyes with him. Her eyes were cold. So incredibly cold that the thought occurred to the man that those were the eyes of someone who has killed before. He somehow felt like a little animal confronted by a giant python. He didn't dare move.

"You can keep the copy or do whatever you want with it. Stay away from Jeffer-freak though, if you treasure your skin. Oh, and - Stay. Away. From. Chloe. And. Rachel. I'm warning you for your own good. If you approach them – I'll know. If you do something to them – I'll know. If you hurt any of them – I'll know. And I will find you, and I will murder you. Slowly and brutally. Is that clear?" There was a tension in the air that one might have actually succeeded in hanging an axe in thin air. He nodded. A venomous smile appeared on her lips, which never reached her eyes and sent shivers down his spine. "Excellent. Try not to choke to death on your tongue, when your turn for confession is up."

And with that she closed the door, leaving the young man to wallow in his own misery until the police would gather him up.

A carefully planned and performed rewind and approximately an hour after the events at the barn later.

The young girl with the butterfly-tattoo stopped before the house of a certain blue-nette. It was hard to say what she felt and for the most part she'd say it was fear, but then again – why should she be afraid. Hadn't she been rejected quite clearly? Maybe it was more the anxiousness of the punk-girl not even wanting to face her. She'd disappear from her life wordless and without a sign again, but this time permanently. It was already evening and judging by the fact that she hadn't been at the junkyard or at the Academy, it was Max's best bet to try looking if she was at her parent's house.

Her fears of not meeting the blue-haired punk were erased when the girl in question walked out of the door of the house and approached Max's car. She didn't have her trademark beany on letting the wind tussle up her blue bangs. As it was not raining anymore and had gotten surprisingly warmer over the last hours, she was wearing a light jacket and matching boots.

Max breathed in and exhaled slowly again, before she got out of the car and rounded it so that she'd stand in front of the woman she loved. Chloe didn't even look her way and again was hugging herself tightly as if to prevent Max from approaching her any further. A wry smile played at Max's lips as she noticed it. She'd expected as much.

"Hey, Blue-Jay." She greeted the taller woman, who at the mentioning of the nickname she'd given her before everything went to Hell and she had rewound to prevent it all, looked up towards her. The anxiousness was clearly written all over her face.

"Max, I-… I don't know why you think of me in the way you do, or why you feel what you feel for me the way you do, but-" The blue-nette started but was cut off, when Max raised a hand.

"I know. You love your angel - Rachel. It's always been that way. Every time, every timeline. Except for one. This is not the second exception it seems." A dry, mirthless laugh erupted from her, as she felt the tears pricking her eyes. This was way harder than she'd expected it to be. 'When has giving up on the one you truly, wholeheartedly and selflessly love or doing the right thing ever been easy?' The voice asked in a tone that suggested the sad smile; a quiet whisper on the verge of tears. "I know you talked to Cas, despite me asking Rachel to prevent that from happening. I can guess what you and Cas have talked about, so I presume you know part of what has happened to me. If you believe it or not is up to you…"

"No, Max, that's not-" Chloe began again, but was cut short by the rocker-gal.

"Anyways. That is not why I came here today. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be transferring tomorrow. I've already arranged everything. I don't know where I'll be going, but as I don't need to return to the Academy to be officially transferred, I'll drive off today already." She couldn't stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She looked away. "Wanted to say it to you in person, so that you know this time beforehand. I'm bailing on you again, I guess."

"Max, no, listen-" The punk-girl's voice reached a higher note as the sheer panic she felt threatened to overwhelm her. She had to do say everything she had to – fast.

"Go on. Yell at me. Curse me. Blame and hate me all you want. As I said – I'm through. Keep you angel close. She'll need you soon, just as much as you need her and will have it tough for a while, so be there for her-" She'd turned to walk towards her car as she said those bitter words through stifled sobs, when the blue-nette grabbed her hand and forcefully turned her to face her way, simultaneously placing a hand on her chin, raising it. This time around it was Max's turn to stand petrified in shocked silence as everything she'd said, everything she'd wanted to say, every thought, every little thing in the world seemed to go blank. Everything. Except for the warm, sweet lips of the taller woman planted firmly on hers. She could feel how, as when the blue-haired punk let go of her wrist, her arms instantly closed around the waist of the woman kissing her, seeking her support in holding herself upright as suddenly her knees felt weak and she felt like she could fall down any moment. Her mind nearly went blank, when she felt a hand of the blue-nette setting firmly around her own waist and the other settle in her hair, whilst the punk-girl leaned her head to a side so that they could deepen the kiss. She could feel how the salt from tears mixed with the unbelievable sweetness of Chloe's lips. That sweetest of tastes she'd already thought erased from her life, except for her memories. Though she couldn't tell of the salt was from her own tears or from those of the other woman, as she'd instinctively closed her eyes, when she'd realised she was being kissed by the blue-haired punk. She broke it only when both their bodies screamed for them to breathe in the much needed oxygen.

"For fucks sake! Would you shut up for a minute?" Chloe hadn't let go of her and as such the yell from this close a distance came as unexpected as the kiss preceding it. For a moment Max thought she was even unable to blink. The look in the punk-girl's eyes was somewhere between anger, fear, despair, warm, loving and pleading. It was hard to think about anything or even respond at that time for the young rocker as the only things she was aware of was the warmth of Chloe's body against her, the mesmerizing beauty of her eyes, the sweet taste of her lips, that she had so longed for.

"What I wanted to say was that just don't know how to approach this!" Something seemed to have snapped in the punk-girl, but in a good sense, as she finally poured out everything she had to say in one go. "I had confessed to Rachel back on Christmas, but she'd said she needed time to think about it. What we had was real and I loved her and still do, but she rejected me last Sunday directly and decisively. We decided to stay friends. Not friends with benefits or anything, but just good friends. She didn't and doesn't feel the same as I did or do and had others she loved equally. To be honest I don't know how I feel about it all, but I know that that has nothing to do with how I feel about you, even if I don't fully understand how I feel about you myself. All I know is that you're hella important to me. Have always been and will always be. Rachel's gonna go to California with her parent's at the end of the semester and who knows if we'll ever see each other again. And this all might sound like I'm just totally freaking and having a panic attack because I was rejected and then both of you drop such bombshells on me, but it's not! I don't know how everything will work out or even if it will work out and I'll need time to heal and learn to know what it is I feel for you, but if you still love me then, maybe what we have can develop and grow and work out after all." She sighed in frustration before looking at the shorter girl she was still holding close to herself. "Shit! Why does everything with love and emotions have to be so complicated? Why can't I just know that I love you, even if deep down I know I do? Why does it feel so weird and wrong and at the same time makes me doubt everything I've known about love all along? Why can't it be so easy like in the movies? Why do I keep blabbing? And why the Hell are you laughing, Max Caulfield?" The punk-girl concluded her ceaseless ranting, when she saw and finally realised the trembling of the other woman was not from cold or anything, but from the laughter that was bubbling up in her.

The young rocker was helpless as the sheer joy she felt at the words of not being outright rejected and even given a chance by the woman she loved washed over her. She couldn't stop laughing, nor could she stop her tears from trickling down her cheeks, and so she just pressed herself against the taller girl, tightening the embrace. It was after a few heartbeats that she felt the blue-nette lean into her and place her head on her shoulder. She didn't really know how much time passed as they just stood there holding on to one another as if fearing that letting go would mean that the other would just disappear. At one point Max had managed to stop laughing, but a stupidly happy grin still was on her face, as she closed her eyes and just listened to the heartbeat of the blue-haired punk-girl, simply basking in the moment and the closeness of her beloved Chloe.

'Chloe. My Chloe…' She thought she heard the voice she'd grown used to whisper warmly and with unbound love as it slowly faded. 'I guess this is goodbye, me from a happier timeline. Take care of our, Blue-Jay, will you?' Her only reply to the voice was to tighten the embrace and nuzzle against the crook of the blue-nette's neck. 'And don't forget the storm. Or about me!' She could feel the warm smile faintly, before it vanished. Somehow she knew that from this point on she wouldn't be able to use her power anymore. This would be their story. Playing out how it should be – in one go. Without re-tries and with just their hearts to guide them. The storm would be a thing she'd have to deal with, but – 'one thing at a time'.

"Max?" Tightening the hug seemed to have prompted the slightly older girl to take it as an invitation to say something more.

"Hm?" The rocker-gal replied, slightly turning so that she now could kiss the woman she loved on her cheek.

"Don't leave me, okay? Please, don't ever leave me." It was barely above a whisper, but in this frail tone of hers was so much pleading warmth and love laid bare… How could she ever thing that Max would abandon her?

"I'll never leave you again, Chloe. I'll never ever leave you, my Blue-Jay." She kissed the punk-girl tenderly on her cheek. "I love you and I always will." She felt how Chloe tightened the embrace on her part and was slightly, but very positively surprised, when she felt the punk-girls lips form a small kiss against the skin of her neck.

Again another amount of unknown time passed in silence before the punk-girl spoke up again.

"Max? Erm… Could- Could we go inside? My nose is getting cold. Freakily warm weather or not it's still the dead of the night and I'm not dressed as warmly as you are." She said with a bit of awkwardness playing in her voice and looking a bit embarrassed as she eased the embrace but didn't quite let go of the other girl.

"Uh-la-la! Aggressive! I like that." Max just grinned in response and hooked one arm though Chloe's, setting off towards the house and prompting the blue-nette to stumble slightly behind.

"Max, your car-" Chloe started to say, but was shushed by a quick peck from the rocker on her cheek, whilst she theatrically pointed her car-keys to towards her ride and pressed the button causing the alarm-system to activate and the doors to lock themselves.

"C'mon, Chloe. You're ruining the mood. Let's get inside first." Max said with a mischievous grin, amused at her best friend, her beloved Chloe, turning as red as a beetroot, as she quietly let the rocker drag herself inside her own house.

(Not?) THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hey, guys and gals. Well… this is it. It seems. Though, at least one or two chapters will most probably follow sometime in December. Maybe closer towards Christmas. I don't know. Really sorry that I couldn't get this one out as originally planned. Hope you'll like it.

Please don't kill me over it!

With that said - cheers and have a great day and a wonderful rest of the week ;)!

Yours,

Bovragor

1 This time around I'd like to play dirty and let you, the reader, decide which song most fits which part of the overly long sub-chapter. :P