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Max leaves Amanda for last.
The Snapping Turtle is warm and mostly silent except for the murmurings of quiet conversations between her friends that have clustered together. Max invited everyone this morning so she could explain herself, maybe salvage some of the few relationships she still has. Plus, she knows a thing or two about trauma and speaking from experience, it’s worse to be alone in the aftermath. She wants them all to have each other to lean on, too.
Max talks with Moses for a while first, wondering about Safi and wishing she could reset things, maybe try to get through to her sooner. But she knows in her heart it wouldn’t have helped. Accepting that has been the hardest part.
Once she’s done, she checks in with Gwen, fumbles through a conversation with Diamond, and does her best to play matchmaker for Reggie and Vinh.
And then all that’s left is Amanda.
Max is telling herself that she left Amanda for last because she doesn't want their conversation to feel rushed because the others are waiting. She’s pretending that she wants to give Amanda her full attention, that it's a selfless choice.
She's pretending that she wants to leave Amanda enough time to sneak out because maybe she doesn't want to talk to Max at all. Maybe Max pulling away at the end of their date was the shit cake, and the events of the last 24 hours have been the icing.
Mostly, she's pretending that it isn't because she's terrified and sweaty and feels a little like she might throw up and she wants to run so SO badly and skip talking to Amanda altogether. She's pretending she doesn't want to pull away now too.
So, yea, she's a little avoidant. Sue her. Those tendencies have gotten her this far, okay? And the front door is deeply tempting. But she's not running anymore. As of, like, an hour ago, admittedly. But she's not running. New year, new Max, or something.
So she shakes out her arms, bounces on her toes a little, and takes a deep breath before walking toward the bench where Amanda is sitting. All while ignoring the way she can see Moses watching her knowingly from the bar.
She instead focuses her attention on Amanda. The attractive way she’s straddling the bench, the way her forearms look as they rest on her knees, and the curve of her neck as her head bows forward.
Max is rapidly losing her grip on any of her prepared openers. Thankfully, Amanda saves her. Max suspects she may be saving her in more ways than one.
"Hi," Amanda starts softly, sitting upright, her dark eyes drifting over Max, making her feel raw and exposed. She tilts her head to the side and tucks her chin in that way she does. "You okay?"
She almost breathes the question. Her expression is open, concerned but warm. Always so steady.
"I feel like I should be asking you that," Max replies. "It was your first supernatural catastrophe, after all. I'm an old pro at this point." Max chuckles softly, just shy of self-deprecating, trying but probably failing to convey her earnestness.
"Really though, Amanda, how are you doing?" Max pauses, then adds, "I'm really glad you're safe." She tries not to fidget where she stands.
Amanda smiles softly at first but then her brow wrinkles and her lip pouts slightly as she considers the question. After a moment, she seems to come to a conclusion.
"Sit with me?" She scoots back on the bench, still straddling it, and pats the spot she just vacated. Max obliges, facing away from the table with Amanda at her side..
She holds her own hands in her lap and picks at her thumbs, not brave enough to observe the emotions Amanda so delicately and consistently wears on her face.
Then, a soft "hey" comes from beside her.
Max looks at her.
How can she not?
"Thank you,” Amanda says, “For asking about me. And saving me. Well, all of us." The corners of her mouth turn up and her eyes crease in, almost, pride?
Her eyes dance over Max's face. "You were amazing."
Max feels warm under her collar. "Oh, I don't–"
"No," Amanda cuts her off gently, her hand raising briefly as though she might reach out, before returning it to her lap. "You were."
Then she smiles, lopsided. “Learn to take a compliment, Caulfield.”
Max can’t do anything but nod and glance back down at her hands, not quite resisting the urge to look away. Gosh, why does Amanda have to be so—
“Honestly, I feel like I haven’t even processed any of this yet. I’d plan to leave it for my therapist to untangle but there’s about a million reasons why that’s not an option.” Amanda lets out a short laugh, exhales, and adjusts herself on the bench. “It’s a lot, even for me. And I’m not even sure where to start. Probably gonna have to spend a lot of time journaling or start a support group or, fuck I don’t know, but honestly I haven’t even gotten that far, I just keep thinking about—”
Amanda cuts herself off.
When she doesn’t immediately continue, Max turns to her again. Amanda’s rubbing her neck and her jaw gently, her expression tight, in that way she does when she’s struggling with that honesty that pours so easily out of her like honey if she’s caught up in the moment. Max thinks she could get addicted to it. She wants to spread it on toast, or mix it in her tea, or just drink straight from the source.
Max grabs a slice of bread.
“Just keep thinking about what?” she asks. She hopes she knows the answer.
Amanda rubs her jaw one more time, then curls her fingers into a fist and rests it on her thigh. Sitting up taller—Max hadn’t even realized she’d started to slouch—she looks Max in the eyes and finishes her thought. “You. I keep thinking about you.
I keep thinking about how, as crazy as all of this feels for me, this is your reality. I mean holy shit, Max. I guess it explains a lot but like, wow. Fuck.” She sighs. “I feel like I’m not being very eloquent.”
Max offers a small smile. “You’re doing just fine. I know it’s a lot.”
A stillness falls between them, an emptiness full of all the unasked and unanswered questions. All of the unknowable parts of Max that Amanda didn’t even know were there to be known—not really, anyways. Max knows she could see the shape of them. Could sense them like the quiet heat from a nearby candle. Probably could see it in the spaces between what Max said, and did, and didn’t say, and didn’t do.
Max thinks of Chloe, and Safi, Moses, and everyone she’s ever had some version of this conversation with. She’s never really gotten much better at it. “So, I can manipulate time and space, and that sounds cool but probably it’s a curse, and I promise to do everything I can to protect you from me, and maybe one day that will be enough.”
Amanda speaks first again and, apparently, goes for broke. “So…do you have a superhero name or, like, a leotard with an abstract logo on the front, or…” A grin slowly spreads across her face. “Personally, I wouldn’t object to seeing you in a leotard.”
And just like that, the space and stillness between them starts to fill again.
Max laughs, really laughs, for the first time in—well, actually only since their date a few days ago or yesterday, or last week? It’s hard to keep track of when they are, now. But she laughs freely for the first time in what feels like years. The laughter bubbles out of her uncontrolled and bright, and the shaking in her hands stops, and she feels lighter for a moment.
Max covers her face with her hands in embarrassment, still shaking with laughter. “Oh god, not a leotard please. A superhero name is bad enough.”
“Oh so there IS a name,” Amanda teases, clearly much too delighted by this information. “Well now you have to tell me.”
Max groans into her hands and says nothing.
After a moment, Amanda continues, but her tone has shifted. Serious, but kind. “If you’re really uncomfortable sharing with me, you don’t have to. I’m just jumping at the chance to learn something about you.” Damn her and her earnest charm, Max thinks.
“I can’t help but want to know you, despite your frustratingly endearing attempts to avoid that up until now.” That light teasing tone returns to Amanda’s voice.
When she doesn’t say more, Max realizes the ball is in her court. Amanda’s ability to make space for her and hold it gently in the palm of her hand until Max is ready is breathtaking and suffocating all at once. She doesn’t deserve her patience. But she wants to try to be worthy of it. Amanda has reached for her, the least Max can do is meet her halfway.
Her cotton gloves are rough against her cheeks and lips. She resists for one more moment, then gives in. “Suhfermaf” she mumbles.
Max can feel the bench shift as Amanda leans forward, and she can hear the amusement in her voice. “Hmm, come again?”
“Super Max.”
Max emerges from the safety of her gloved hands and turns to meet Amanda’s gaze. She expects to find her laughing, or preparing to tease her further. Instead, Amanda is looking at her with a gentleness that Max feels undeserving of. Her smile is smaller and close-lipped, and her eyes are warm and fond. Max wants to photograph her, to preserve her as she is now.
“Super Max,” Amanda tests it on her tongue. “I like it.”
Max feels suddenly small and shy, unused to the burrowing gaze of someone so determined to see more of her than anyone has in a decade. And she will, if she looks close enough. And Max thinks maybe that she wants her to.
“Well, Super Max,” Amanda utters softly, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Max can feel that she’s smiling despite herself. But it weakens at the edges when the reality of her recent choices creeps back into her thoughts. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says.
Amanda blinks in reply, slightly startled by the change in topic and tone.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from me. I thought keeping you at arm’s length was enough but instead I think I just made you more vulnerable,” Max intones. “But also, if I could do it all again I might still make the same choice. Because this terrifies me. Being known like this.”
Amanda opens her mouth as if to speak but Max gently cuts her off. “At the very least, you deserve my honesty after everything. And that means that I want you to know that I’m sorry. For a lot of things. And I understand if you need time or space or—”
Amanda stops her mid-sentence with a gentle hand on her arm. “Max.”
That soft smile is back. The one that Max feels oh so undeserving of.
“Thank you. For the apology,” Amanda continues. “And maybe, yea, I wish you had shared with me, but I can’t lie and say that I don’t understand why you didn’t.” She pauses. “I just want to know you now. Can I? Know you?” Her voice has gone so soft that she almost whispers it.
Then her eyelashes flutter and the crest of her cheeks goes a little pink and she pulls her hand back and clarifies, “In whatever way you’re comfortable with, I mean.”
Max can tell that Amanda is fighting the urge to look away, probably following some practice in her head from her therapist about maintaining eye contact and being brave in the face of vulnerability. Max is so charmed by it that she forgets to respond entirely. Until Amanda purses her lips a little and crinkles her nose, and Max can see her begin to retreat and she wants nothing but to stop it.
She has to wave the white flag. I surrender. I’m sorry and I surrender.
Max reaches out this time, her hand finding Amanda’s own. It’s warm even through her gloves. “I’d like that. For you to really know me.” She sighs. “Someone way smarter than me once told me that I’m ‘emotionally unavailable’—”
Amanda rolls her eyes and can’t help the fond quirk of her lips.
“—but,” Max continues, “I want to try. There’s so much. So so much about my life and my past that is ugly and I don’t know how to talk about it. But I’m gonna work on it.
That storm…I’ve seen one like it before. I did everything I could to stop it. My— People died. It’s not— I’m not a superhero. I didn’t save anyone from anything I didn’t cause. I can’t risk letting people get too close again. To know me is to be in danger and I can’t protect you.” Max coughs self-consciously. “I mean. All of you. Any of you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says again. “A part of me wanted to, but a bigger part of me was so scared, so I made excuses and kept you at arm’s length instead.”
Max pauses after that, wanting to give herself a moment to breathe and Amanda the chance to respond. She realizes she’s feeling less antsy than she was at the start. As though the slightest relief has found her in between her confessions. She looks down at her hand still resting in Amanda’s and realizes belatedly that Amanda is passing her thumb back and forth across the back of Max’s glove in a gentle soothing motion.
It’s grounding. She wants more of it.
As if reading her mind, or maybe just following her gaze, Amanda untangles their hands, slips Max’s glove off and rests their uncovered palms together again, returning her thumb to its ministrations—skin to skin.
“Thank you,” Amanda says finally. And Max immediately wants to dismiss it but she holds her tongue.
“Thank you for trying,” Amanda’s voice brings Max’s gaze back to meet hers. “I’m not going to try to pretend that I know what your experiences have been or how it all must feel. But, I do know that we all need people. And people need us. I need you. Moses needs you. Your students. Even Safi. And we, your people, get to choose to accept the risks or not.”
She pauses for a beat, then cracks a smile.
“I mean I’ll be honest, this IS pretty insane. And maybe if you’d tried to tell me I wouldn’t have believed you, but I like to think that I trust you more than that. Plus, you don’t exactly strike me as a liar. Avoiding the truth, sure. But lying? You’re too good, Max Caulfield.”
Her brow turns quizzical as though she’s lost her train of thought. “Shit. Where was I? Oh! Right. Risks. Like, yes all of this is insane and maybe none of us can fully grasp what it means, but you can’t protect us from our own choices. And if we choose to stick with you, well,” she grins, “You’re just gonna have to suck it up.”
“Amanda,” Max breathes, exasperatedly. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t blame you if all of this,” she waves her free hand around absently, “Changes things. You can walk away, I’d understand.”
She can see the gears in Amanda’s head turning before she responds, always trying to find the right words to say what she means. She does everything with so much care and intention. It makes Max feel like a storm herself, untamed in comparison to Amanda’s calmer weather.
“I don’t want to walk away” is what she says first, and Max can feel a weight lifted away. “I’d be lying if I said I was 100% sure, but I’m sure enough. If that’s good enough for you. I still have so much to process and I think I need…time? To figure out how I feel about so much of this. But I know that I won’t regret trying, too.”
Amanda curls her thumb and it scratches over Max’s skin. Max doubts she even realizes she’s done it, with how deep in thought she seems to be. Amanda tilts her head and offers, “Can we start over? Not from the beginning but, I’d like to try some things again and relearn each other a little.”
Max can’t help the smile that erupts across her face. “Yea. Yea, I’d like that.” She tries to reign in her happiness before she does something embarrassing like laugh or burst into tears.
Thankfully, she manages to sober herself enough to add, “I’d like to earn your friendship, Amanda. I’d like to feel deserving of it.”
Something flickers across Amanda’s expression but before Max can chase it down, it disappears behind a smile and a nod. “You’ve got a deal, Max Caulfield.”
“Cool. Cool cool cool.” Max bobs her head for a couple seconds, at a loss for what else to say, before both women give in to soft chuckles.
Max wants so badly to sit on this bench for hours, safe in this bubble of their own making. Amanda’s hand is soft and warm, and Max wants to lean further into her space, seeking out more of that warmth, and curl into her and hide from the world for a while. Max wonders if Amanda would let her.
But she still needs to address the group. And start figuring out what’s next. And maybe look for something to snack on because quite frankly she can’t remember the last time she ate and she fears it’s been days at this point.
Max sighs and shifts away, bringing her hand with her. “I should— I promised everyone some explanations so I guess it’s speech time.” She lets out a wry laugh and begins to stand.
“Just picture everyone in their underwear right?” Amanda jokes, in a tone that makes it immediately obvious that she knows exactly how that question will land. Max, still midair, nearly stumbles back onto the bench as her eyes go wide and her breath freezes in her chest.
“Yea,” she nearly wheezes in response, “Something like that.” She hopes to god her cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.
Refusing to look Amanda in the eye, fearing what she might find there, Max rights herself, slips on her missing glove, and prepares herself for what’s next.
Before she can help herself, she spares one fleeting glance back at Amanda, and smiles bashfully. “Thank you.”
All in all, she keeps it vague. Partly for her own sanity, and mostly for everyone else’s. She focuses primarily on the events of the previous week. Safi and the double timelines and Max’s mistakes and desperate attempts to fix it. She alludes to her past but nothing beyond the contextual necessities.
I developed powers in high school, misused them, and they caused a storm like ours that I had to stop.
They were dormant for a long time after that, and then they changed when Safi died.
I always believed I was the only one like me.
Mostly, it’s not much different than what she shared with Moses, or with Safi—sitting in front of a crackling fire, facing an impossibility she never expected.
After she’s done, everyone filters out pretty quickly. Moses needs to return to his lab, but makes Max promise to come see him in a few days so he can begin studying her powers in greater depth. She doesn’t feel completely like a lab rat, at least. She knows deep down it’s his way of showing he cares.
Diamond departs shortly after Moses, leaving Max with a gentle squeeze on her arm and not much else. Something about her eyes makes Max make a mental note to check in, in a few days. Diamond seems unfulfilled, almost. Like she’s missing something. Safi looked a little like that.
Gwen disappears without so much as a word; Max certainly can’t blame her for that. She, too, is a big fan of a stealthy exit.
And Reggie and Vinh stumble out the back entrance last, in a fit of drunken giggles. It appears they helped themselves to whatever was within reach behind the counter, while Amanda’s attentions were elsewhere. Max will have to true-up their tab when the cash register is open again in a couple days. It feels like the least she can do.
Before she realizes it, she’s alone. She’s sitting in an empty booth, staring down at a bowl of stale bar nuts and watching condensation drip onto the table from a glass of long-since-melted ice water. She can hear Amanda moving around somewhere in the kitchen, probably just occupying herself while waiting for Max to leave; too polite to tell her to go.
Max should head home.
She can’t move.
Her mind is still so loud, full of questions and memories, and she wishes closing her eyes could shut them out. She doesn’t understand how there’s room in there—or maybe that’s why she feels like she’s starting to leak. There’s not enough space anymore, and it’s all starting to stream out of her. Probably, it should.
Blackwell, and the storm, Kate on a roof, Chloe, her friends. Mr. Jefferson towering over her, Victoria on the floor, Nathan. The dark room over and over and over again, Chloe in a medical bed begging to die, Chloe on a bathroom floor begging to live. The wind cracking the trees around her as she stood on that cliffside. The stagnant stale air as she watched them lower the coffin into the ground.
Her pain, her grief, two timelines and double the people needing her and then Safi’s pain and Saif’s grief. There’s no more room.
How many alternate events and timelines and people’s emotions can one person fit inside their head before it explodes? The visual is both horrifying and feels like a fantastic opener for a horror film.
She’s several minutes into imagining the rest of the plot when Amanda appears.
Max feels her before she sees her, drifting into her space like a warm day that ushers in the winter thaw. It's as though she vibrates at a different frequency that Max can feel in the air, even from a few feet away. Steady. Always steady. Even now.
"Hey."
“Hey.”
If Max’s head exploded, Amanda would probably clean it up for her.
“How did that feel?” Amanda asks, resting her hip against the table.
Max shakes the bloody visuals from her thoughts. “Hmm?”
“The Max Caulfield Time Travel TedTalk. Sharing with everyone. How did that feel?”
“Oh,” Max replies inelegantly. Honestly, she’s not sure. She feels…“weird. But I think it was good for me. I’m hoping it feels like that at some point, at least.” She laughs weakly.
She can feel herself drifting a little, as she looks back at the items on the table. She’s still not sure what to do now. The exhaustion is creeping up on her, and she feels like she’s nailed down to her seat, still unable to move.
“Hey.” Amanda’s voice pulls her back. Always her tether. “Let me walk you home?”
Home. A collection of belongings in a borrowed house. A wall of photos that sting and soothe. A pile of blankets to escape the world under.
Max smiles, softly. “Sure, yea. That would be— yea. Thank you.”
Amanda studies her for another second and then steps back and turns, throwing the next words over her shoulder as she walks away. “Okay, let me grab my things and lock up. I’ll meet you at the front?”
And just like that, some of the warmth is gone. But getting to watch her walk away sort of makes it worth it.
The walk from the Turtle to Hellerton House is no more than 15 minutes, especially if you take the shortcut through campus. It’s a beautiful day out, all things considered. Max can feel the cold nipping at her cheeks and her nose, even as the sun tries her best to warm them. The snow squeaks beneath her feet and the air is clean and tickles her lungs a little if she breathes in too deep.
Most of the walk is done without conversation. It’s not awkward or strained, but the sort of silence that’s companionable. It’s comfortable and peaceful. Almost domestic. Max tries not to think about that.
She knows she pretty much fucked her chance of anything beyond friendship with Amanda when she tried to juggle dating with secrets, plus her abysmal communication skills. She feels lucky to have Amanda’s friendship at all. Even if you forget the superpower secret of it all, Max rebuffed her in a moment when she was so open and trusting, looking to Max to confirm there was something between them. Max blew it, plain and simple. She has no reason to think that she’ll get that chance again.
Amanda is so free with giving her affection, but also so strong in her sense of self and firm with her boundaries. Max doubts Amanda has any desire to open that part of herself up again, when there were so many other Lakewood locals who’d jump at the chance to take her out and treat her better.
And they probably won’t have a decade of time travel trauma with fresh alternate reality trauma heaped on top of it.
Still, as they walk side by side, Max can’t help but wish she could hold her hand.
Hellerton eventually comes into view and they make their way toward the front entrance. In a reversal of their date, Max holds out her hand to steady Amanda as she walks up the icy steps, giving her a private smile, as Amanda thanks her with a bow of her head.
“Thank you, my liege,” she says.
“Anything for the lady,” Max returns with faux seriousness and an exaggerated accent, before following her up the stairs.
Once they’re both at the front door, she turns to face her.
Amanda reaches into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out a foil-wrapped triangle.
“I, uh, made you a grilled cheese. Back at the Turtle. It’s warm still.” Her eyes are doe-like, locked onto Max’s own. “Your sad bowl of mixed nuts was too tragic for me to ignore.” She chuckles. “Plus, I’ve seen the state of your fridge.”
She holds out the sandwich and Max grasps it with care.
“Thanks, Amanda. I’m really lucky to have a friend like you.”
Max watches a familiar mysterious expression take over Amanda’s face. She hasn’t figured it out still; some cross between confused, wounded, and amused? It’s as though Amanda’s mind takes a complete emotional journey in a handful of seconds and the map is drawn across her brow.
“Hey, before uhm. Before you go inside, can I say something?” Amanda asks, looking more nervous than Max has maybe ever seen her.
Max watches her shake out her hand before rubbing it over her sternum in what she now realizes is a self-soothing practice. Max nods for her to proceed, not really knowing what else to say and wanting desperately to steal more seconds together no matter the reason.
Amanda takes a deep breath and smiles in a way that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I always want to be honest with you, so I just wanted to say that…I keep thinking about everything and I keep wanting to be angry with you or to blame you for the parts of me that are a little raw right now but I’m just…not. I thought I would need more time to process but I don’t know I just— I was in the kitchen earlier, making this for you and I realized that—”
She sighs and looks at the sky briefly like she’s collecting her thoughts. Max feels like she can’t breathe.
“I was thinking about Superman. Yes, I know, whatever, it’s a cliche. But I was. I kept thinking about Superman and Lois and I’ve been asking myself ever since if I’m really down to be Lois Lane. And if it wasn’t you, I don’t know if I would be.” Amanda almost looks mournful, but there’s a tenderness to her tone when she continues, almost in a whisper, “But it is you, and I like you.”
Some of the surprise and awe must show on Max’s face because Amanda continues, almost urgently. “You just keep saying ‘friend’ and I just— I wanted to make sure you know that I’m still open to exploring more. If you are. And, if I didn’t just make a total ass of myself and read this wrong.” She laughs self-consciously but keeps her eyes locked on Max’s.
Max feels pinned under her gaze in the best way.
“But,” Max says, confusion lacing her words. “But, I rejected you. Gosh, that sounds so harsh. But I did, right? You were so sweet and vulnerable and I pulled away.”
Amanda smiles and shrugs. “Even if it hurt a little in the moment, looking back, it’s kinda hot. Consent and boundaries are sexy, Max. And you respected mine, even across timelines. Even if I didn’t know it.”
Max was always better with photos than words, but they’re especially failing her now. She can’t stop herself from scanning every part of Amanda’s face, her eyes tripping over the slope of her nose, her chin, across her jaw, back up across the bow of her lips and then up to her eyes before falling back down to her mouth and lingering.
She has a chance. Another chance. And she didn’t have to rewind, or hop timelines to get it. Goddam it Max, don’t waste this.
She’s drawn forward, moving into Amanda’s space before she can stop herself, glancing up at her eyes and back down again. She hears Amanda’s breath hitch but she doesn’t try to move away. For a second, time slows.
Max has always been more of a man of action, but she knows what Amanda values. “I wanna kiss you now. I did then, but I really want to now.”
She takes a moment to admire the flutter of Amanda’s eyelashes and the slight pink of her cheeks, and the stray flakes of snow in her hair.
“But I’m very polite. And we’ve both had a hell of a week, and I don’t wanna rush this. Plus, I’m still a mess. One TedTalk hasn’t changed that.” She laughs, and Amanda can’t help but crack a smile, but her eyes remain wide and searching. “So I’m not gonna kiss you. But I want you to know that I want to. I want that part to be different, at least.”
Amanda looks almost like she isn’t breathing. “Fuck,” she exhales finally. “Fuck. Max Caufield, you really are awful. Are you trying to break me?” She’s smiling, so Max knows she can’t be that upset.
“Respectfully,” Max replies with as much mock innocence as she can muster, “I plead the fifth, Your Honor.”
Amanda’s smile stretches into a grin and she pushes on Max’s shoulder lightly, stepping back and laughing. “Yea yea, alright. Way to wind me up. Thanks a lot.”
Another comfortable silence falls between them, but this time with a buzzing tension that Max wants so badly to press on. But she refrains, and allows the moment to mellow until she’s got better control of her impish side.
“Thanks again,” she says, shifting topics to safer waters, “For feeding me.” She raises the sandwich in her hand slightly.
She doesn’t want Amanda to depart but she’s running out of things to discuss to keep her here.
Feeling suddenly shy, abandoned by all of that suave confidence from before, Max scratches her head through her hat and hesitantly asks, “Would you like to stay? Just for a bit. Just to— I dunno, I guess I don’t have a good reason, I just don’t want to say good-bye yet…”
“And nothing has to happen!” She clarifies quickly. “Not that you were thinking that. I just wanted to say that. So you know. I’m not expecting— I don’t—” She sighs. Max, get it together. “I just like spending time with you.”
She adds, “You can say no, also. You don’t have to say yes just because I’m an emo loser this week.”
Her shy grin goes lopsided while she waits. She can see Amanda processing, looking less surprised than Max would’ve expected, and thinking it over.
“You know, I really want to be able to tell my therapist that I made good choices this week. But I think this could be one of them,” she says finally. Max wonders absently how Amanda learned to consult her therapist in her head, when trying to make decisions. Sometimes Max wishes someone else lived in her brain and helped her make decisions too.
Max hides her smile of satisfaction with a deep nod of her head.
“Okay.” She grabs her keys. “Cool.”
The morning has melted into early afternoon by the time they get settled on the couch with Max’s laptop on the coffee table, sprawled out with a respectable distance still between them. They decide to split the grilled cheese and a can of tomato soup that Amanda discovered in the back of Max’s pantry with much victorious fanfare.
She sits beside Max, wearing a pair of borrowed sweatpants that hug her thighs and end just above the ankles in a manner that’s equal parts hilarious and devastatingly attractive.
“I look like a cartoon pirate,” Amanda laughs brightly and poses for an imaginary camera.
Well, Max did always have a thing for pirates.
They spend the afternoon watching the first half of a season of some mindless tv series that Max shifts in and out of paying attention to. Occasionally one of them has to excuse themself to take a phone call, still juggling the effects of the past few days. She tries to leave text responses for a later time, wanting to preserve as much of their fragile peace as possible.
Moses stops by at some point to grab the last of the cat food for his new companion. Max actively ignores the raised eyebrows when he spots Amanda in the living room, and instead focuses on handing over the cans and ushering him out quickly with a mouthed, “don’t.” She’s forced to shut the door on him when, on his way out, he turns and opens his mouth to undoubtedly ask a question she has no idea how to answer.
As the sun begins to set hours later, the exhaustion of the past week begins to catch up. Max doesn’t even know she’s fallen asleep until she’s pulled from sleep by the sound of a siren passing by in the distance. She’s disoriented at first until she realizes that she’s still on the couch and her head is pillowed in Amanda’s lap. She looks up to find that Amanda’s also asleep, still sitting partially upright, her head resting on the back of the couch with her neck bent at an odd angle.
Max can feel the neck ache from here. Or maybe it’s her own neck ache. They’re too old for crashing on couches. Rousing Amanda gently, she grabs her hand and hauls her toward the stairs. They stumble half awake up to the bed and Max is asleep again before she even hits the pillow.
Sunlight is on Max’s shit list.
Beams of amber push through her closed eyelids and rouse her from the first peaceful and dreamless sleep she’s had in years.
She’s sprawled out face down on the bed and her arm is tingling from where it hangs off the side of the bed. Her hair is sticking to her face and she thinks there might be a drool situation. God, she must be a vision.
Oh shit, Amanda.
Max wipes her face as she shifts to look to her side but finds the bed empty. She pushes down the immediate hurt and reminds herself that this is Amanda and Amanda would at least send a message if she had to go. She sits up to start looking for her phone and then she sees her.
Amanda is standing quietly in front of the photo wall, framed in rays from the morning sun (maybe sunlight can come off the shit list). In her hands she holds a tray of coffees and a bag of what Max can only assume are pastries.
She’s still wearing the sweatpants, and one of her space buns looks like it’s about to fall off her head. It’s endlessly endearing.
“Hey,” Max starts, her voice gravelly from sleep.
Amanda startles, despite the volume of Max’s voice, and turns to her looking almost guilty. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” she says, gesturing to the photos. She bows her head a little and looks away.
“I didn’t really realize what I was looking at until it was too late and then, well.”
Max climbs out of the bed and pads over to stand at her side, ducking her head to meet her gaze.
“You don’t need to apologize. I wouldn’t have put them out if I was worried about people seeing them.” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Though, I suppose, I wasn’t planning on anyone knowing enough about me to really know what they were looking at.”
She shrugs and looks at the wall. Not everything on it is part of the fabric of her grief. Her loneliness, maybe, but some of the memories still bring a smile to her face. Melancholy or otherwise.
Out of the corner of her eye she can see Amanda turn back to the wall as well, permission granted to look. Max watches as her attention is drawn mostly to the image in the middle. It’s a recent addition. Two teenage girls, smiling at the camera, wrapped up together like they thought they’d never be apart.
She aches, like she always does. But it’s easier to bear today.
She glances at Amanda, kind, loyal Amanda, with the possibly the biggest heart of anyone she’s ever met, and she realizes she’s feeling brave.
She rests her hand on Amanda’s arm and nods her head toward the bed, inviting her to follow. They climb over the rumpled duvet and sit cross-legged near the headboard, Amanda still holding their breakfast. Max leans over the side of the bed to grab the memories box where she’d left it after her most recent trek down memory lane. She removes the lid and begins to pull out a few items with one hand while Amanda places one of the coffees in the other and ensures the pastry bag is within reach.
Amanda sips her coffee and watches all of this quietly but with an air of curiosity until Max pulls out a newspaper with “Arcadia Bay” on it and she stills.
“Max,” she breathes, “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Max replies with a hum, “I want to.”
She looks at Amanda then, “I trust you.”
Amanda’s nose twitches and her eyes get misty for a moment before she nods to herself, “Okay.” She breathes in, and back out. “Okay.”
Max unpacks a few more items quietly, feeling Amanda’s eyes on her the whole time. Steady, and waiting without pressure, just observing—giving Max the room to approach things however she needs, always always waiting patiently for her. Once she feels ready, Max reaches for a cherished photo of a girl with blue hair. Offering the image to Amanda with only slightly shaky hands, she begins.
“This is Chloe.”
Max isn’t sure how long they sit there, mapping the ridges and valleys of Max’s trauma, the winding river of her grief.
She describes the day she discovered her powers, the sound of the gunshot echoing off the tile in that godforsaken bathroom. She talks about the confusion, the elation, and later the fear of what she could do. What it would mean. She recounts her repeated efforts to save Chloe, the girl she’d left behind but found again, from the clutches of a death that no amount of rewinding could ultimately save her from.
She shows Amanda articles about Mark Jefferson, unable to put to words or fully say aloud what she experienced. She’s vague and stumbles when talking around it, not ready to sink fully into that black void of memories, but Amanda asks to hold her hand and sees her with the eyes of a grown woman who can read between the pauses. She meets Max with an understanding that’s terrifying and makes her feel tender and exposed even if she hasn’t actually spoken the ugliest parts out loud.
“There’s more but I—,” Max speaks quietly into the space between them.
Amanda lifts a hand in the air and hovers it near Max’s cheek a moment, seeking silent permission. When Max nods, she cups her cheek as though she’s something precious.
Max can see that there’s a fire burning deep behind Amanda’s eyes, a protective rage, and a burning grief for her that she’s keeping in check to give Max’s feelings all the space they need.
“You don’t owe me this right now, or ever,” she replies with a gentle firmness. “But I’ll be here to listen if you want to share in the future, okay?”
Max feels herself remaining detached from everything as she describes it all, every memory laid out across her duvet. She sees every image and hears every word that she speaks but it feels like a story she’s telling and not an excision of the worst moments of her life.
Until she talks about the lighthouse. She describes the shape of her terror as she was forced to choose between the person she loved most in the world, and a town of friends and strangers. She cries when she explains Chloe’s bravery compared to Max’s bargaining. She admits that she’d almost made a different choice, how she dreams about making that different choice, even now.
She starts to lose her voice, then. Unable to form the words in her throat, tight and clogged with tears.
Amanda offers her hand again, not asking for more, letting Max decide what she needs. Max takes her hand but it isn’t enough. Thankfully all it takes is a look, and Amanda is opening her arms for Max to crawl forward into. She presses her face into her neck and lets the pain slowly leak out of her, the muted sound of her sniffling and hiccups filling the space around them.
Amanda holds her there for long minutes, sometimes swaying gently from side to side, stroking her thumb across Max’s back where one of her arms is wrapped around her. Max isn’t sure she even realizes she’s rocking them. Max feels safer here than she has in a long, long time. The motion slowly makes her feel drowsy and so after a while, she gives in to sleep again.
Max wakes again a short while later. She’s laying down now, her head heavy on Amanda’s chest as they lay back against the pillows. She allows herself to listen to the steady beat of Amanda’s heart for a moment, letting its rhythm ground her and slowly pull her from her doze. The weight of Amanda’s arm around her is comforting and she’s tempted to sleep longer, but she can feel her stomach turning sour and knows Amanda must be hungry too.
Her head hurts from crying, and her arm is definitely asleep where it’s wedged under her but she feels lighter and the grief has receded into the cracks in her heart, where it will rest and wait for another day.
When she starts to move, she feels Amanda shift and Max tilts her head to look up at her.
Max is struck by the thought that she needs to photograph Amanda more often. To immortalize the feeling she gets from looking at her.
Amanda smiles at her, soft and warm. There’s a certain pain at the edges, so subtle you could miss it. It’s usually Max’s least favorite part of looking at people who know some of her darkness, but somehow Amanda wears it well. It’s more delicate, like acknowledgement instead of pity.
“How do you feel?” she murmurs.
Max rubs the sleep from her eyes and thinks for a moment. “Better, I think. Not perfect, but a little better.”
“Good,” Amanda replies, still speaking softly. “I’m glad.” She pauses for a single breath. “Thank you for trusting me with that part of you.”
The fact that Amanda doesn’t offer condolences, or empty platitudes, or ask prying questions, shouldn’t surprise Max. But, it registers in her brain all the same. Where the hell did this girl come from, honestly.
Max has no idea how to respond, so she nods mutely before laying her head back down. They lie there in silence for a couple minutes, letting the afternoon drift by before Max’s stomach betrays her with a deep growl.
She can feel her embarrassment warming her cheeks as she laughs and sits up, immediately missing Amanda’s embrace.
“Lunch?” she asks her.
Amanda smiles and nods once. “Lunch.”
After a short adventure to grab some groceries, they’re back in Max’s kitchen, steam from the stove beginning to fog the windows.
Amanda’s standing at the sink straining cans of vegetables, while Max sits at the island mindlessly chopping some colorful squash she doesn’t know the name of. Low tempo music filters in from the living room, and Amanda is swinging subtly side to side in time with the melody. They exchange a few sentences when something comes to mind or Amanda has another prep instruction to offer, but mostly they enjoy the companionable quiet.
Snow has started to fall outside, blanketing everything it touches, and deepening the feeling that they’re built their own world inside these walls.
Max knows she should be paying more attention to the knife in her hand but she can’t help stealing glances as Amanda floats around the kitchen, dumping ingredients into the water and adjusting the heat. Max feels like she’s oozing fondness and probably has a stupid look on her face but she can’t be bothered to care.
Finally noticing Max’s distraction, Amanda rolls her eyes playfully and rounds the island to stand at her side. She leans into her space to inspect Max’s chopping efforts and Max immediately feels a little light-headed. Amanda is still wearing borrowed clothes and she hasn’t showered since at least yesterday but Max would swear she smells amazing. Warm with a slight spice.
Max sets the knife down before she injures herself with her distraction and realizes belatedly that Amanda must have borrowed from her basket of spare toiletries, kept in the bathroom in case of guests. For some reason, the idea of Amanda staking a claim over even such a small part of this place is enough to make her heart squeeze.
Amanda must find her misshapen squash cubes to be satisfactory, as she offers a “Thank you” and carries the cutting board over to the stove. As she slides the squash into the water she muses, “My grandmother used to make this for us when we were growing up.”
She always wanted me to learn, as the oldest, but I was so resistant to it. I didn’t want to be the eldest daughter who had to perform the women’s tasks, or carry on traditions.”
The last of the squash falls into the water, and she sighs, turning around.
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn about it. It wasn’t until she died that I realized what I had missed, and then had to try and teach myself. I’m still only okay at it.” Her eyes are sad, but there’s a peaceful acceptance in her expression. Softer scars from wounds healed over.
Max rises and walks over to stand in front of her. “I’m certain you’re more than okay at it,” she offers with a genuine smile. “You seem to be good at a lot of things.”
Amanda dips her head in a rare moment of shyness, before glancing up at Max through her eyelashes and mustering a small, “Thank you.”
In the presence of that bashful expression, Max finds that she can no longer help herself and steps further into Amanda’s space. She unravels Amanda’s arms where they’ve been folded across her chest protectively, and drops their hands together.
She leans in further, their fronts almost brushing, moving slowly so she can watch Amanda’s face for any signs of hesitation or discomfort. But all she finds is awe.
She rises up slightly to bring their faces together but pauses a hair’s breadth away. She can feel Amanda breathing unevenly, her breaths puffing against her chin, and Max’s resolve is slipping but still she wants to ask, “Can I?”
The slightest nod from Amanda is all it takes before Max closes the gap and their mouths meet. It’s sweet, and light, and she wants to sink further into it. But she pulls back, and tries to keep the grin off her face in response to the dazed expression on Amanda’s, before placing one final peck on the tip of her nose and twirling away to “find more ingredients to prep.”
Amanda takes several seconds to recover before she’s shouting, “Hey!” and chasing after her. Max cackles and dances out of her reach successfully twice, before things devolve into a full blown game of cat and mouse across the house floor. It ends with both of them in a heap on the living room floor, a tangle of limbs, and Max is over the moon.
They lie there a moment, catching their breath, before Max asks, “Will you tell me more about her? Your grandmother?”
Amanda’s smile is blinding.
“Yea, I’d be happy to.”
Before Max can think, Amanda’s stealing another kiss, deeper this time and full of promise. It’s over too quickly for her liking (karma, probably), as Amanda untangles herself and stands, pulling her up off the floor and leading her back to the kitchen.
Amanda returns to her post at the stove while Max hops up onto the counter nearby to unabashedly watch her work. She’s clearly pointedly ignoring Max’s attention but can’t resist entirely and rests her hip against Max’s knee while she fusses over their meal.
She gives the pot a couple of stirs, and then glances at Max out of the corner of her eye and begins with a smile, “We called her Elisi.”
In the end, the bed upstairs ends up becoming something of a safe space for their worst parts. Max feels insulated there, like it’s the two of them hidden away from everything, and she can unearth her worst thoughts and memories and they won’t escape and poison the world outside. Amanda, she finds, feels the same.
It becomes a habit before they acknowledge it. It’s a cycle for weeks of confessions in the dark or first thing in the morning, safe on the island formed by a mattress and a multitude of pillows, until finally they discuss that too.
After that, it becomes part of the framework of their relationship. So natural that sometimes Max will arrive home to find Amanda has let herself in; she’ll be reading on the couch or puttering in the kitchen, and with a glance she’ll see the weight of something on Max’s face and without a word, follow her up the stairs. And she’ll crawl into bed and lie there with her and Max will offer a little bit more of herself.
And eventually months go by and those turn into years and it becomes so rare that she almost forgets. But she knows in the back of her mind that her bubble is always there, and Amanda is determined to be there too. Stubborn, and beautiful, and bold as she is.
And if one year Max manages to cobble together a Lois Lane halloween costume? Well, maybe she’s slowly learning that she can bring light and laughter to people too. Not just the dark.