Work Text:
December 25th 2015
Chloe wakes up feeling disoriented. She's not in her bed, in the apartment she shares with Max. It takes her a second to remember that she's in her old bed, in her old home. That realisation stirs up a lot of murky shit lurking in Chloe's depths, but it doesn't sweep her away, like it used to.
These days, Chloe has an anchor.
Max is burrowed into her, tangled up with her, separated from her by a couple of thin layers of cheap fabric, snoring softly and drooling on Chloe's sleep shirt. It's astonishing how messy Max's hair is. It shouldn't be possible to get bedhead this bad when she's so tightly enmeshed with Chloe, and yet she looks like she's been worked on by a hairdresser going through a Salvador Dali phase. It's astonishing how warm she is, for such a sliver of a girl. It's shocking how good she smells. How good she feels, in Chloe's arms.
There are a couple of things that stop Chloe from kissing Max awake.
One is that her old room has thin walls and Chloe doesn't want to agitate Joyce with any...friskiness. The other is that Chloe kinda needs to pee, and she likes to be able to commit her full attention when she starts kissing.
Max snorts, grunts, and wriggles until she's somehow pressed even tighter against Chloe. Some drool drips onto Chloe's arm. After a second, Max starts snoring again.
Chloe has to wake up to ridiculous shit like this quite often these days. Chloe smiles, and lets the bad feelings settle again. She carefully kisses Max's brow. "Merry Christmas," she whispers.
She waits until she really needs to pee before she starts to gently disentangle herself from Max.
Her room isn't her room anymore. At some point since she left the old posters were taken down, the old wallpaper removed, the graffiti painted over. The height chart, the one that her dad made to track her and Max's growth, the one she defaced when William died and Max left, is lost to a couple of layers of beige emulsion.
Boxes take up a whole corner of the room, now. Joyce's craft supplies, Chloe supposes. She's into cardmaking and shit these days. Joyce's efforts to tidy up the room ahead of Chloe's visit only renders the space that much more unfamiliar. Her room was always a mess, much like their bedroom in LA is.
Chloe smiles fondly at Max's still snoring form. Max is scrupulous about making the bed each morning and almost as scrupulous about leaving books, papers and dirty dishes strewn everywhere. If anything, Chloe's the tidy member of the household, these days, largely because someone has to be.
Chloe takes another look around the room and wonders if she wants to pin down what she's feeling. She grimaces, then grabs her bag with her shower stuff and a change of clothes and leaves the room that used to be hers as quietly as she can.
The smell of frying bacon hits Chloe as soon as she leaves the bathroom.
She shakes her head, frowning slightly.
Chloe pads down the stairs to the hall. She pauses in the kitchen doorway and watches Joyce at work for a minute. She's wearing a robe, and her hair's in a messy ponytail, but there's a surety to her movements when she's cooking, something that was noticeably absent when Chloe and Max arrived last night.
Chloe pushes through into the kitchen and leans against the wall. She rubs her face and, when Joyce looks over, offers as much of a smile as she can muster. "Morning. You know you're on vacation, too? You don't have to cook for us, mom."
Joyce smiles at her, a little uncertainly. "Who says any of this is for you? Max and I are going to have a feast."
Chloe snorts out a laugh, relieved when Joyce's smile becomes more sure of itself. Chloe says, "Max is all tuckered out. She's had a long couple of weeks at school. It'll just be us for a while."
Joyce purses her lips. "Well, then. I guess we should do presents later, huh? Why don't you make us some of that fancy coffee Max brought? You do that, and I guess you might get some bacon, after all."
Chloe throws out a lazy salute. "Yes, ma'am!"
Joyce's smile ebbs and she quickly returns to her skillet.
Chloe bites her lip, watching her mother's shoulders hunch. "Shit," she breathes, not sure how to apologise. She feels a flash of irritation that she even wants to try, but decides to busy herself with the kettle before irritation can ignite into anger. Chloe's definitely going to need caffeine before they have the inevitable David talk.
It's strange, working alongside her mother in that kitchen for the first time in years. Even if the strained silence and the main cause of it are all too fucking familiar. Chloe would like to think she's changed a lot since she moved out, that she's found a way to leave a lot of the past behind.
And in a real way, she had.
But one night in her old bed, one morning in this place with the smell of frying eggs and bacon and fuck if this isn't exactly where she left all that shit. It's been waiting for her, that anger, that pain, and it's already clinging to her almost as tightly as Max does in the mornings.
Chloe spoons out some of Max's artisanal, hand-reared, authentically roasted gourmet crap into the cafetiere and hisses out a sigh. "Heh. You know, I worry every cup of this shit's making me more of a hipster. All part of Max's sinister master plan, I guess..."
Joyce laughs. "I'm not entirely sure what a hipster is, but..." Joyce faces Chloe. "You look good, honey. You look...happier."
Chloe puts Joyce's hesitation down to the way Chloe's currently scowling. She rubs her face again, willing herself to relax. "I am. Or...I'm getting there. Life's been good."
Too good. She has a job she likes, she has friends of her own, she somehow has the love of Maxine fucking Caulfield. Chloe's months overdue something turning to shit in her life. The thing is, though...in LA, she can go whole days without bumping into that thought. Here...
Chloe shivers.
Joyce says, "Order up. Sure you don't want to wake Max?"
Chloe really wants to wake Max. But Max has been working crazy hard at school, at her job, at her photography. She deserves to sleep in. Besides, this is something Chloe and Joyce should talk through themselves. So she shakes her head, and adds water to the cafetiere -- hot, not boiling, as Max has drilled into her -- and carries it along with some mugs, cream and the sugar bowl to the dining table.
Joyce plates up their food and joins her. They eat in almost companionable silence for a few minutes, focused mostly on their plates. It's a silence that can't last, Chloe knows, but she's stubbornly determined not to break it.
Still, she also needs to push the plunger down on the cafetiere, and when she does, Joyce meets her eyes and says, "So..."
Chloe pours coffee into each of their mugs. "So. How's the divorce going?"
Joyce rubs her temple wearily. "Chloe. Please. I don't want to fight. And it's not a divorce. David's working through some things. And we both needed time to...take stock."
Chloe nods, swallowing some of the hot and annoyingly delicious coffee to give her a second to calm down. "So it's more of a trial separation? Because you know what they say! Once you try separation, you can't go back! Why not just get it over with?"
Joyce says, "Chloe! You..." She sighs and drops her eyes to her coffee cup. "I know you didn't like him. I loved him. I...think I still might. Can't you respect that?"
Chloe laughs bitterly. "Nope! He was and is a dickhead. I hated him. I still do. And you deserve better. Why don't you get any of that?"
Joyce sits back, deflating. "He has problems, Chloe. He admits it. He's getting help for them."
"Good for him! But too fucking late for me, mom. I mean for fuck's sake, he put spy cameras around the house! And he didn't tell you! Who knows how long they were up?"
"There wasn't one in the bathroom. Or your room." Joyce hesitates. "I know that's cold comfort. But he is sorry, Chloe. He knows it was wrong. He just wanted...to feel safe."
"Yeah, well I never did. Not while he was here." Chloe shakes her head and gulps some more coffee. She doesn't want to uncap this bitter well, she doesn't want to bring up all the old memories of David's tyranny in this house, doesn't want to think about how her mother sounded on the phone when she found the cameras. Chloe wants to be done with that fucking asshole. She wants to be done with her fucking past.
"I'm going for a smoke," she mutters, pushing away from the table. She hesitates, hating Joyce's defeated expression and hating how she can't see any way to a victory here.
"I haven't forgiven him, Chloe." Joyce doesn't look up. "But...if I could. If I did...would that be so bad? Could you forgive me, for that?"
"Uh...fuck, mom! I..." Chloe bites her lip, biting back a scream. "I'll be out back. Let me know when you need a hand with dinner prep, okay?"
Joyce nods, eyes still on her coffee.
Chloe escapes.
Chloe's sitting slouched in one of the old swings her dad built for her years ago, trailing smoke from a cigarette she lit but hasn't smoked and staring at nothing and trying not to think.
At least she is until a pair of hands land on her back, shove her and almost knock her out of the swing.
Chloe spits out her ashy cigarette and grabs the chains of the swing to keep herself from falling on her face. "The fuck?!"
"Sorry!" Max sheepishly steps into view and plonks herself in the swing beside Chloe. "Uh...so that was supposed to be cute and charming playtime and not...assault? Are you okay?"
Chloe snorts and eases herself back into the swing, slowly relaxing. "Other than some rust on my hands and the heart attack, I'm fine. Morning. "
Max smiles, and Chloe finds herself smiling back, and meaning it.
Max says, "I think you'll find it's pronounced 'Merry Christmas,' Chloe."
"Oooh, right! Merry Christmas, Chloe!"
Max rolls her eyes. "Close enough, I guess."
She stands up, steps in front of Chloe, and leans forward. Chloe takes in the sight of her, hair still mussed up, skin pale and freckled, slim body still clad in sleep shorts but bundled up in Chloe's hoodie and a pair of fluffy BB-8 slippers. She smells faintly of sleep and last night's vanilla and raspberry shower gel. She has the deepest, bluest eyes in the world, and they're focused solely on Chloe.
Max cups a hand around Chloe's neck and curls her fingers through Chloe's hair and leans in closer and tugs Chloe forward, just a little, and then Max kisses her, quite a lot.
When they part, Max's cheeks are flushed and she's grinning and she's stupidly beautiful. So Chloe is left with no real choice but to launch herself at her and grab her and spin her around, making her shriek with laughter. She sets Max on her feet and kisses her while she's still giggling.
Max gently pulls away, smiling softly now. "Hey. Are you really okay? You looked...kinda troubled."
Chloe sighs. "I...got into a fight with Joyce about...you know."
"Oh," Max says, smile fading
"It was just a little fight!" Chloe says, defensively.
Max sighs, twining their fingers together. "So how are you and Joyce doing, then?"
"I'm...everything sucks. Mom's talking like she's going to take him back! And...I am beyond sick of him. Him being gone is the only reason I came here this year, but it feels like...fuck, like he could just waltz in, any fucking minute. I get that she's lonely, but I don't understand why..."
Chloe swallows, trying to force down her bitterness, but she can't. She can't pretend. Not with Max. "You have no idea how much I hate this fucking place," Chloe whispers. "I thought I'd be okay, but I hate being here."
Max takes both of Chloe's hands, gripping her just tightly enough. Her expression is solemn. "We can go. Right now. If that's what you need."
Chloe stares at her. "But...Joyce...and Christmas..."
"I love Christmas. I love Joyce more." She kisses Chloe. "I love you more than anything." She says it simply, and with absolute, breathtaking certainty. "We can go."
Chloe leans into Max, wrapping her arms around her. "I missed you so fucking much, Max."
"I'm here. I'm with you," Max says.
Max holds her. She doesn't say anything else, she just gives Chloe time to figure out what she needs. And that's the thing: Chloe wants to go, wants to give in to the echo of the impulse that made her follow Rachel to Los Angeles in the first place. She wants to run.
But it isn't what she needs.
Chloe groans. "We're staying."
Max nods against her chest. "Okay."
Chloe lets herself be held a little while longer before sighing and pulling away. "Come on, there's still some breakfast, if you're hungry. And then you can get showered."
Max wrinkles her nose. "Shower? On Christmas day? Who does that?"
Chloe surprises herself with a laugh. "Uh, everyone? What other gross habits have you been hiding from me?"
"It's not gross!" Max protests. "It's effective time management! Who wants to waste precious Christmas minutes washing?"
"Riiight. As opposed to sleeping in, maybe?"
Max pouts. "Sleep time is never wasted time, Chloe. It's like you don't even get basic logic, sometimes."
Chloe laughs, and picks her up again, kissing her over Max's giggling protests.
They get through the rest of the day together.
When they open presents, Max and Chloe sit on the floor by the fire, like they used to when they were kids, Joyce watching over them, smiling and drinking in their every reaction.
Chloe scores a new jacket from Joyce, and finds a hundred dollars in one of the pockets when she tries it on. Things are tight enough for Chloe that she can't say no to that, even if she suspects that things are tight enough for Joyce that she maybe should.
She can't quite bring herself to hug Joyce, not even armoured in her new jacket, but Chloe thanks her and assures her that she likes it.
From Max, she gets a new sketchbook, pens, and a delighted squeal in response to Chloe's gift of a toy lightsaber.
"Oh my God, Chlo!" Max tears the blue saber out of its packaging and extends it, lighting it up and striking a pose all in a matter of seconds. She grins about as widely as Chloe's ever seen her grin. "I'm Rey!"
Chloe grins back. "You bet you are! And, uh..." Chloe passes Max another package. "I may have another one, here. Y'know, if you need a spare..."
Max's eyes light up brighter than her saber. "Or...maybe we could get in some sparring practice?"
Memories of two tiny pirates fighting epic duels with sticks for swords hang in the air between them.
Chloe says, as airily as she can manage, "Oh! Huh. You know, I did not think of that. But I guess we could..."
"Please try not to wreck the whole house while I'm at church," Joyce says dryly. But she's smiling, and remembering, too.
Max pushes a neatly wrapped box Joyce's way. "Here. It's not much, but Merry Christmas."
Joyce opens the box, tugging out a small photo album. She opens it, flipping through the pages, then slowing, staring, taking her time.
Max's fingers tug on her shorts. She hugs her lightsaber. "It's just some shots of where we live, the flat, our neighbourhood, Chloe's work, us...I thought you'd like to see Chloe's world?"
Chloe's chest tightens.
Joyce smiles. "You're so thoughtful, Max." She turns a page.
"And hella talented," Chloe says firmly. "She's already sold some of her work, too."
Max ducks her head, embarrassed. "A couple of things. It's really not that-"
But Chloe is having none of it. "You are a big deal. And you're just getting started."
Max hesitates, then slowly smiles, meeting Chloe's eye. "Yeah. We both are."
She makes it a challenge, almost. Chloe smiles. "Yeah, both of us. I'm gonna be the best blue-haired tattooist called Chloe in one part of LA!"
"I don't doubt it, Chloe," Joyce says. "And your photos are beautiful, Max. Thank you."
Chloe's gift to Joyce is a bottle of wine. "I owe you one of these," she says, passing it over.
Joyce accepts it with a wry smile. "I'm glad to see you remember your first tasting session. The carpet still does."
Max flushes guiltily, but Chloe just rolls her eyes.
"I'm...glad you're old enough to buy this legally, now." Joyce's voice trembles a little. Her knuckles whiten around the bottle.
Chloe nods. "Yeah." Max's hand is waiting when she reaches for it. Chloe smiles at her and squeezes. "Me, too."
Joyce goes to church later in the morning, leaving them a list of chores to do before dinner.
They get most of them done, and a few other things, too.
When she gets back, Max has relented and is finally taking a shower while Chloe sweeps up the remains of the mug and ashtray they broke.
Joyce, riding high on a wave of spirituality and post-service biscuits, merely chuckles and asks, "So, did you win at least?"
Chloe sighs. "The Force is strong with that one. Or she's been practising behind my back. I'll need to up my game. Uh...I'll get you new-"
Joyce waves it off. "I've got plenty of mugs and I don't need that ashtray. Spend your money on something for you and Max."
"Thanks for that, by the way. It, uh...we're doing okay, but rent plus deposit on the new place plus Max's books and...well, we'll be okay, but it's been a lean couple of months." Chloe dumps the ceramic fragments into the trash. "How are you managing, uh...on your own?"
Joyce hangs up her coat and deposits her handbag. "I'm managing, don't worry about that. The house is paid for. I'm not living in luxury, but I'm not suffering either."
They run out of things to use as excuses not to face each other.
Chloe nods stiffly. "How are you managing on your own, mom?"
Joyce sighs, shaking her head. "My little girl...where'd the time go, Chloe?"
"It...passed. Eventually. Really fucking slowly."
Joyce bites her lip. "Was it...was it so bad, Chloe?"
Chloe sucks in a breath. "You...always tried your best. I didn't make it easy...but, no, mom. It wasn't so bad. Because of him, it was worse."
"Oh." Joyce swipes at her eyes, smearing her makeup. "Oh, baby...what did I do? What...what do I do?"
It's surprisingly easy to go to her, to hug her, to offer her something. It feels wrong, too, but only because she's offering comfort to the woman who comforted her throughout her early childhood. There's a lesson in there, maybe, about growing up, about letting go, but Chloe's in no shape to give that thought headroom.
To Joyce she says, "Oh, mom. I've no fucking clue. But you should do what makes you happy. And be honest about what that is, for fuck's sake."
Joyce lets out a watery laugh. She pulls away from Chloe, swiping at her eyes again. "You know...you sound kinda like a hipster, honey."
Chloe gapes at her for a second, then bursts out laughing. "Shit. How could you...? Your own punk daughter...?" Chloe shakes her head. "Max is definitely getting to me."
"She is. And I couldn't be more glad about that."
Chloe smiles. "I'll deny ever saying it, but, yeah. Me, too."
For a moment, it's easy. And Chloe...wants easy. It's what she's wanted for a long time, ever since her father died.
But it's not what she needs.
"Mom...if he comes back...it's your choice, okay? But I won't ever set foot in this house again."
Joyce pales. "I...I see."
"But...you could come visit us in LA. In fact, why don't we do that, next Christmas? Just the three of us." Chloe makes it a warning.
Joyce slowly nods. "I...I'd love to visit you sometime, Chloe. I, uh...I should get cleaned up, just now though. And then we've got food to cook!"
She bustles off, wearing a strained smile, and that's where they leave it. It's still an open question, but at least Chloe feels less like she's carrying an open wound.
Dinner goes smoother. Joyce does know how to cook and she puts on the best spread Chloe can remember since she was a kid. They talk about everything and nothing, so long as it's safe. And if it ever starts to feel like they're headed into dangerous territory, Max's hand finds Chloe's under the table and it's enough to see her through.
After dinner, with a bottle of wine opened and the three of them all being reunited for the first time in seven years -- and one of them being a hipster photographer called Max Caulfield -- old photo albums become an inevitability.
It hurts, looking at pictures of William and realising that it doesn't hurt as much as it used to. It feels almost like a betrayal of him. But Max is there, telling stories and encouraging Joyce and Chloe to reminisce and after a while, it becomes...not easy. Not that. But remembering feels worth it, and brings more peace than pain for the first time since William Price was ripped out of Chloe's world.
And Max's. And Joyce's...
They run out of wine before they run out of talk, but they still manage to run out of talk before they run out of Christmas.
Max uses her tiny bladder as an excuse to bail, leaving Chloe alone one last time with her mother.
Joyce says, "Good night, Chloe. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, mom. We'll get the dishes in the morning, before we go."
"I might not see you...I've got a shift at the Two Whales..."
Chloe nods. "Yeah, we've got to get back, so...bye, I guess."
Joyce bites her lip. She spreads her arms, hesitantly. Chloe hugs her, briefly. "It's okay, mom. It'll be okay."
Joyce doesn't say anything, but her arms tighten convulsively around Chloe and she clings on tightly. Chloe waits as patiently as she can until Joyce realises that she has to let go.
Max is waiting for her in her old bed, in the room that used to be Chloe's, in the house that used to be her home. Max sits up when Chloe comes in and holds out her arms. Chloe all but dives into her embrace and buries her head in Max's chest.
"You did so good, Chloe. You did so good," Max whispers, kissing her head. "Come to bed now."
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Then we're out of here in the morning. Thank fuck."
Max rubs her back, and some of the tension eases out of Chloe. Chloe realises then that it doesn't matter how her room has changed, how this house has changed, or even how she has changed. She knows exactly where her home is, now, and exactly what parts of her past she needs to hold onto.
"Hey, Max? When we get back to LA..." Chloe pulls away and faces Max.
"Yeah?" Her face is solemn. Her huge blue eyes contain all the love Chloe needs in the world.
"I'm so kicking your ass in our next lightsaber duel."
Max slowly grins. "Uh, I'm fucking Rey, Chloe. Greatest Jedi ever? But it's good that you have dreams, I guess..."
"Oh, I was going easy on you, short stuff! Next time, I won't hold back!"
Max yawns. "Oh! Excuse me while I quake in fear, here..."
And, really, Chloe doesn't have a choice. She kinda has to pounce on Max and tickle every last scrap of smug out of her there and then.
And if that leads to Chloe on top of a shrieking, giggling Max, and that leads to kissing, and that to other things...Chloe's past the point of caring how thin the walls are.
When the morning comes, Chloe wakes up knowing that Joyce is gone and with Max wrapped round her, snoring noisily into Chloe's armpit.
Chloe decides that leaving Arcadia Bay can wait.
At least until Max wakes up.