Chapter Text
Consciousness is a funny thing. Because you don’t always notice it. In fact, that’s just it – it’s how you notice things. So when it goes away, you don’t really notice. It’s funny how the whole world can go dark, and void, and silent, and you don’t really notice until it stops being all those things. Until something breaks it. Sometimes it’s all at once, sometimes it’s slowly, in and out, one sense at a time. Like falling asleep or waking up – you never quite remember when it happened or what the process felt like. You aren’t aware of it until someone of something outside of you lets you know. That’s how this was. It wasn’t exactly a blackness fading out into light. Because the blackness wasn’t a thing she could see. It just sort of happened. Like most things do. But this one turned out to be one of the most important things in her life.
She didn’t know what had happened. But somehow, she wasn’t curious. It didn’t seem to matter much. She was pretty sure she was lying down. She was fairly certain she was not dead, and was breathing. There was a dull ache below her ribs. She remembered that it had hurt. A lot. She didn’t remember why. It was warm in here. She never liked being too warm. Maybe if she could just – she tried to open her eyes.
It only took a couple of blinks to make the blurry world come into moderate focus. What was harder was making her brain do the same. To focus on one thing at a time. Light streamed in through the blinds on a window to her left. The room was white, and a sterile blue-green curtain on her right told her everything she needed to know. She was in the hospital.
Well that was enough for now. Chloe closed her eyes again. She was just so tired. Too tired to think, to see, too tired to remember. Hospital. That was bad, right? Or maybe it was good. Did she do this? She couldn’t remember. She was pretty sure that if she sent herself here she would remember. Besides, she had made a promise – years ago in a rare moment of real concern and serious communication she had made a promise, and it was one she intended on keeping, no matter how much it restrained her or what bravado she put on against it – who had she promised? Mom her mind told her. A sense of warmth – the nice kind this time – dripped slowly into her mind at the thought. She was in a hospital. Her mom was going to be pissed. It almost made her want to laugh. But laughing would hurt.
You know what would make this better? Chloe’s mind was wandering now. If Max were here. God, Max. She hadn’t thought about Max in ages. Hadn’t allowed herself to. Where had that come from? It didn’t matter, the thought was there. Max Caufield. What she wouldn’t give to be back on that pirate ship again, back with Max and with… her dad. For a blessed moment, in her drug-addled brain, everything that had happened between then and now disappeared. She remembered her mother smiling – smiling like she hadn’t seen her since that day – as she snapped a picture of the pirate ship, while her father insisted that he get to play as a shark or a kraken. It was a comfortable memory, one of the few she had left, one of the few non-taxing enough for her brain to entertain. Max Caufield. Mom’s smile. The pirate ship. And dad.
Suddenly, Chloe realized that she was hungry. Really hungry. Thirsty too. And her leg felt cramped. How long had that been going on? Perhaps she should try to open her eyes again. It was harder this time. Her eyes felt crusty, she hadn’t noticed that before. The light felt sharper. She could feel the weight of her own limbs, without even trying to move them. The ache in her side had sharpened a bit, and was accompanied by an annoying itch. Chloe did her best to look down and try to move her hand.
Chloe however found that something was in her way. Something, no someone, was laying weight on her right hand, holding it actually, and blocking her view. She realized that someone was sitting by her bed, leaning on her, their head rested half on their own arm and half on hers. Asleep. The position looked uncomfortable. Sandy, blondish hair. For a sharp moment Chloe’s mind shot to Rachel Amber, but as she successfully moved her hand, the thought was overwhelmed as she heard a very familiar gasp, and the person sprang up. It was her mom.
“Chloe!” her voice broke. Her face was red, her eyes redder. She had clearly been sobbing. Her grip tightened on Chloe’s hand, and the blue haired girl tried to give a weak smile.
“Hi mom.” Her voice was horse, and sounded strange in her own ears. Like she was still in a dream. Perhaps she was. Dreams didn’t normally hurt this much. The ache and itch in her side was still fighting for her attention, and it was winning, despite the woman in front of her.
“Oh my god, Chloe!” Joyce at once had her arms wrapped about her daughter’s shoulders, and Chloe found her face buried in her mother’s hair where it has loosed from its normally tight bun. The woman was talking, saying words quickly, stumbling and repeating herself, crying again. Chloe couldn’t really make out the words. She breathed in deeply her mother’s scent, and let her eyes close as a gentle hand came to rest on her cheek. Well, at least her mom seemed happy. That was a good sign, right? Meant she wasn’t about to die.
After allowing them to close, opening her eyes again sounded like a distinctly terrible idea. Chloe’s body smiled on instinct at the strange peace she found in the darkness as her mother fretted. She was obviously trying to explain what had happened, but somehow Chloe didn’t care enough to listen. She just needed some more rest.
“Chloe?”
Chloe’s eyes shot open at the hesitant new voice she could tell was coming from the other side of the room. Her breath caught. She knew that voice. Was she dreaming again? She was so certain she had woken up. Was she going mad?
Max Caulfield stood near the doorway, a styrofoam cup of coffee in each hand. She looked shocked, timid, and hopeful all at once. She didn’t look real. Chloe’s brain insisted that she couldn’t be real.
“M-Max?” Her voice trembled a response anyway, to the not-real girl who had just come in from the hall. She watched as Max set the coffee down on a nearby table, never breaking her gaze from Chloe, and came to stand beside Joyce. Joyce smiled, still holding Chloe’s hand, and looked between her and Max. So maybe she was real. Joyce could see her too. “Max how did…”
“I am so sorry, Chloe.” Max’s voice sounded so solid, so real, and so her. Chloe’s mouth was gaping open now as she looked on her old friend, who continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t call or write, I should have, I’m sorry I-I…” The word flooded out of Max before she could stop them, a fountain of shaking apologies that Chloe could hardly comprehend.
“Max you’re here.” Chloe stated the obvious. Max bit her lip, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and Chloe realized in a blink of clarity that Max was afraid. She did not know why. Perhaps if she was in her right mind she would. Perhaps she would be mad, be angry, feel like an apology wasn’t enough. She had a vague memory of being mad at Max before, for all the things the girl was asking for forgiveness over now. But Chloe was still staring at Max as if she were a miracle that her very dreams had brought to life. “H-how are you here?” Was all her weak voice could make out. She somehow knew it was the wrong question, but it was the only one she could think to ask.
“-I should have come and found you right away when I got back, I-“ Max was still rambling. She stopped when Joyce laid a hand on hers.
“It’s alright, Max. You’re here now. You were there when Chloe needed you most.” Joyce’s voice had stabled, and she was once again the voice of calm in the room, as she so often had been.
“What… happened?” Chloe finally thought to ask. Ever since she had woken up she had not actually tried to remember what happened, it somehow didn’t seem like the most important thing at the time.
“You were shot.” She heard, in Max’s voice. Shot. The word sounded like a literal gunshot in her mind. Her mind flew as she remembered that sound. Remembered the flash, and the sudden, ripping, unbelievable pain. The ache in her side seemed to pulse, and Chloe shook her head to try and make the memory go away. The rom had been blue. Blue tile on the floor. And someone called her name. Max. She remembered. Max had been there. Had that been a dream too? It sure felt like it at the time.
Max was still talking “You were at Blackwell, fighting with Nathan Prescott, do you remember?”
Even in her addled state, Chloe’s instinct of disgust kicked in. “That little shit.” She said. She heard a disapproving “Chloe.” From her mother like background noise. “That fucking rich kid shot me.”
Max nodded. She was standing now by the foot of Chloe’s bed, leaning against it. She had a hand laid gently on one of Chloe’s legs, through the blanket the covered her. Chloe was still having a hard time believing that the girl was real. But then she was having a hard time believing that she had actually been shot, when her own body was screaming painful evidence of the incident the whole time.
As Chloe gave a small groan of pain, Joyce looked around and wondered aloud why a Doctor wasn’t here, and if she should go tell someone that Chloe was awake. She squeezed her daughter’s hand one more time, bent to kiss her temple, and told the two girls to wait right there while she found a nurse – as if they were going to move. Max took Joyce’s place in the chair by Chloe’s side and moved it closer. She looked at Chloe’s hand, hesitant to take it. To Chloe’s own surprise, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Max to take her hand either.
Suddenly alone together, two estranged friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, what were they exactly? Did it matter? Chloe didn’t want to have to deal with this right now. She found herself wishing they could just go back to what they had been before. Just for now, ignore what had happened, at least until she was awake enough to think or stand or yell or cry.
“You were there.” She said, and caught Max’s unsure eye. “I remember. When I was shot, you…”
Max nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him.” She said. Chloe’s brow knotted. She did not remember well enough what happened to remember how Max was involved, or even what Nathan had done. She just remembered, as the thought crossed her mind that this was the end, that she was dying, she remembered Max’s voice, Max’s face coming in to view. And here she was again, sitting beside her. Not a ghost or a memory but real. Chloe looked her up and down. Max had grown up. She did not know why she was surprised but somehow it would make sense if Max had stayed as young as she had been forever. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe that was just the drugs and the blood loss talking. Besides, she herself had grown up. A lot. Too much.
“David arrested him, if it helps. The police have him now…” Chloe almost recoiled at the mention of her step-father. She was about to pronounce an insult against the man, to make sure that Max, who was new to this situation, knew exactly how things stood, when Max added “He field-dressed your wound. I think he might have saved your life.”
Chloe sat in shocked silence. She really did not have a response for that. She was too tired to deal with this. God, the insufferable man was even bothering her now without even being here. Why did he have to go and complicate things like that? She would think about it later. She had to change the subject.
“You…” She tried to think. Thinking was hard. She looked up at the IV drip that was connected to her arm. She hadn’t noticed it before. She wondered what was in it. How strong of a drug did it take to make her like this? Perhaps it was better to not know. It wasn’t an unpleasant state after all, besides the pain in her side. Perhaps it was better to not know how to get back into this. Chloe looked around the room as she realized she still hadn’t finished her sentence. “You’re…” She fidgeted with her hand, picking at the blanket it lay one. “You’re back.” She said at last. She was pretty sure she had said it before but what could it hurt to say it again?
Max took a deep breath, and nodded. Chloe could tell that she was still scared. She sat with her hands in her lap, rubbing one thumb over the other. Concern was evident in her large eyes and Chloe had never known her to be this quiet and rambling at the same time. Why was she scared? Who was she scared of? Chloe would kick their ass. Max glanced nervously as Chloe’s hand and suddenly the girl in the hospital bed realized that her best friend was scared of her. Of how she would respond.
“Hey.” She said. Moving her arm at last and finding it stronger than she expected, Chloe reached out and rested her hand on Max’s own, stopping her fidgeting. “It’s good to see you.” She said. “I, uh… well thanks.”
“Chloe, you have no idea how good it is to see you again,” Max said, sounding a bit breathless, like she had been holding in this exclamation for some time and was still gasping in amazement that the moment had come. “To see you alive.” She added, and took Chloe’s hand.
Now that they were holding hands, Chloe wondered why this had been a question before. She gave Max’s grip a tight squeeze, as if to prove that she was alive indeed. She did not need to say anything else. It felt good that someone, a friend, actually wanted to see her. These days just about everyone seemed to have some level of disgust, disappointment, or dismissal when she showed up. Max looked at her like she was a miracle.
“I have so much to tell you, Chloe I don’t even know where to-“ Max stopped herself. “I don’t even know how to-“ she stopped again.
“It’s alright, you can tell me Max, but uh-“ Chloe tried her best not to yawn in the middle of her sentence but it did not work, “Maybe when my head’s, uh, a bit clearer.” She indicated the IV drip with her eyes.
“Of course, sorry-“
“Hey Max?” Chloe cut off her apology.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
She felt Max’s grip tighten on her hand. “Me too, Chloe. Me too.”