Through the Looking Glass [Max]

[Rowena Jones]

Rowena stared at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. Her hand raised slowly and she watched the other Rowena do the same. She sighed, her shoulders slumping and the movement repeated perfectly in the glass. Exactly as the Max that wasn't Max had been doing the past few days. Behaving exactly as he should do, following the same patterns as the real Max... but she'd seen him die. She saw it again every time she closed her eyes. That awful moment in perfect clarity, the blood that flowed, draining away his life force, heard the delighted cackle of Warghollow, felt her heart breaking over and over and over again. She'd felt him die, even with the distance that separated them. Her very soul had split. And there was only one way to fix that.

The pain that accompanied her every moment did not cease when Mary and Elle had spent hours fixing her body, straightening her tortured leg, soothing cuts that required more than basic healing. She'd told them not to bother. She hadn't planned on needing it for much longer, but then she realised it was necessary for what needed to be done. She knew there was something broken within her. The thoughts in her head made sense, but rushed, hard to follow sometimes. And she couldn't explain them to anyone else. Every waking moment was spent missing him.

Which is why she could not remove the vision of him that followed her almost constantly. The air had gotten colder as the days had passed. Her magic had faded away and she had lost the comfort of it's protective embrace. Magic was gone from her now. Without it, she relied on her vision of death for support. It had given her the strength to get herself to Mungos. Whenever she needed to focus, he was there and she could push forward with the plans that were forming in her shattered mind. Even knowing that it was just an extension of herself, projecting what she needed to keep her on the edge, to stop her from falling into the tangled web that lurked all around her, it helped. But it hurt to see him. A constant reminder of all she had lost. She ached to follow him to the place where there was no return but there was something she needed to do before she could join him. It was her responsibility.

"Forward he said. Forward we go. Into the Shadow. The Lady in the Dark. Cut the strings. Not your puppet," she said out loud. Words were lost too quickly in her mind. They needed to be said so she could understand herself. "Then sleep. Together."

[Max Kameren]

She was better. Over the last few days Elle and Mary had worked wonders, mending Rowena’s body to what it had once been. Slowly her strength returned and she could walk on her own. Max was there every step of the way, watching over her and helping when he could. A month out from their forced sabbatical and Mungo’s still felt like home, but more in the way it had when Max was a child: restless nights trying to get comfortable in waiting room chairs, holding out hope that a loved one could do the impossible and heal. So far Rowena’s body had made progress, but her soul remained the same.

It hurt every time she stared into him distantly, accepting his support and affection but never really believing it. Somehow Michael had convinced Rowena Max was dead, and there was no fixing the horror he’d engraved into her heart forever. He was flesh and blood and soul, following her and speaking to her and holding her when she would let him, but still she couldn’t believe. It was maddening, trying to prove his existence to his girlfriend at every turn and being met with a stone wall.

Slowly she’d gotten used to his presence and acknowledged him as some kind of mental familiar watching over her. He felt the waves of pain go through her aura when she glanced at him, but slowly she learned to tolerate his presence reminding her of whatever Michael had done to her. He hated how his presence hurt her, but still he stayed. He couldn’t leave her.

Now she stood in the bathroom, inspecting herself in the mirror of her St. Mungo’s room. Max sat in the same chair he’d been in since her attack, motionless for so long he could have grown roots. He watched her quietly, keeping his aura even and gentle to comfort her. He couldn’t sing lullabyes; this was the gift he had.

"Forward he said. Forward we go. Into the Shadow. The Lady in the Dark. Cut the strings. Not your puppet," she said out loud. Words were lost too quickly in her mind. They needed to be said so she could understand herself. "Then sleep. Together."

“I’m not dead, Ro.” Max repeated in a tired monotone. Every few times she mentioned his apparent death Max would make a new attempt at trying to convince her the man standing in front of her was the same she had loved. He’d reached out with his aura, he’d touched her and held her in his arms. Nothing had worked. Maybe he could try something new.

Max pushed himself up from the chair, stretching and stalking tiredly to stand behind his girlfriend in the mirror. Her head fit almost perfectly below his chin, his gawky height cutting the top part of his head off in the mirror. His emerald met her amber in the reflection and he felt his heart sink at the dull disassociation in her eyes. He still wasn’t real.

Gently he put his hands on her shoulders, projecting a warm calm into her broken aura as he nudged the top of her head with his chin. His hands slowly climbed her shoulders to nestle in her hair, the pads of his fingers applying light warm pressure to her temples as he prepared to use his power. “Can I show you something? An alternative to the night you keep replaying. I know you don’t believe me, but maybe this could help…” 

[Rowena Jones]

“I’m not dead, Ro.” Not real Max repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. Rowena shook her head impatiently. It didn't matter how much or how hard she wished for it not to be true, Mas was dead, gone beyond her reach. And soon even this fragment of her memory would be gone too. But it seemed that this time, part of her broken mind was going to be stubborn.

There'd been moments during the first day where she'd fallen so completely into the illusion, tried to convince herself it was real. She fallen into his arms and fallen asleep and her mind had settled. But then the nightmares had started, and Michael had appeared in her mind, cloaked in Shadow, two great dark feminine eyes staring above him. Her sister. Her blood. And together they had laughed at her naivety, her foolishness. He was gone and she should stop pretending otherwise. When she'd opened her eyes she pushed him away, the anguish causing her to scream her sadness, her anger and her magic had pulsed around her. Then her body had seized up as the movement awoke memories of the Cruciatus contorting her body into impossible positions, nerves protesting in agony and blackness had taken her again.

When she'd awoken, he was gone and Mary had stood watching her anxiously. Her heart missed his presence, imaginary though it was, immediately and she'd crumpled once again, babbling words of loss. And then he'd come back and she'd not had the strength to try again. Part of her wanted him there and she could not fight herself. So now she spent most of her time with him. Wondering why she'd been left behind. She been so convinced they'd had so much more time together. That they'd grow older together. That they'd fight life's challenges together. That she'd spend the rest of her days attempting to keep her library in order even as he tried to mess it up. She took a deep shuddering breath as her amber gaze met his green one dully. Those dreams were gone with him, lost in a flood of shadow and blood. 

Warmth climbed up her arms and Rowena hummed. There was pleasure there, but she knew that if she gave in to what she wanted to be true, she would never have the strength to do what she needed to do. She would sink so completely into madness that she would spend her life with a ghost. Not yet. 

“Can I show you something? An alternative to the night you keep replaying. I know you don’t believe me, but maybe this could help…”

Why was she doing this? So she could fool herself further? To fall even further into delusion? Was it not enough that she could not focus, that the world spun in colours and patterns and no one understood the threads that bound them all? But she fell into illusion all the same. Rowena watched her boyfriend curled in an attempt to escape the cold, books surrounding him, in a way that was so similar. How many times had she watched him in much the same position? How many times had she found herself wondering if they'd still have such ease with each other, such comfortable silence when their hair was streaked with grey? How many times had she watched him and wondered if he'd still catch her eye, smirk at catching her staring and take her breath away with the love in his gaze?

She didn't want to see any more. She knew what happened next. He would take the mirror, leave the safety of the house, venture outside. He would smile at her before her panic caught up to him. He would see the bruises on her face, try to make sense of her babbling before hearing her terrified scream. He would duck out of the way, shielding as darkness tried to take him. He'd fight. He'd fight so well. But then he would die. She couldn't watch it again. 

Anything else. Anything but that. With her mind so frazzled and panicked, Rowena couldn't escape pain. Instead her thoughts moved to her own ordeal. She tried to shrink away from herself, eyes scrunched up in mental agony as she watched her life fall apart again. She cried out as she watched Spice die. She sobbed as she fell into the memory of another, watched her father manipulate the people she'd always considered her parents, cringing as she felt their disgust again. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Please. Stop." She begged. Why was she so determined to torture herself? "My fault. Must make it right. So sorry."

[Max Kameren]

The small comforted hum that tuned Rowena to his touch never failed to pull Max’s heart strings. It was a small piece of the woman he fell in love with making herself known, involuntary to the whole that saw him as a stranger. It was a small indicator that the brilliantly frustrating woman he knew was still in there. There was still an argument to be had. “Can I show you something? An alternative to the night you keep replaying. I know you don’t believe me, but maybe this could help…” 

It’s not you, that’s me. Shh… Max hushed Rowena’s stirring aura with his entry, trying to soothe the pain and loss that had taken root there. He thought of Varvara with the warm tendrils of her aura, sifting gently through his thoughts in a way that was intrusive but comforting. When he felt her aura still he projected his own experiences into her mind: the small house at the base of a hill, freezing in the grey Siberian countryside. The deafening quiet of the house, the steamed cinnamon smell of Maria’s constant brewing of tea. He narrowed his memory to the moments Rowena thought were his last: in the attic of the tiny home, huddled on the cot they’d set up for him, reading the diaries Varvara had written decades before.

Every few moments with concern he would check his phone, waiting for a sign from Rowena that he would be seeing her soon. The intervals of his worried checking drawing closer and closer until he gave up on his waiting and hiked to the top of the hill, curling cross-legged at its summit to search the mirror for his love’s face. For hours he sat like that, his stomach dropping with dread as the sun set and his phone battery drained. Eventually he returned to the home, pacing his attic room until Maria slipped him a sleeping draught and he fell into a fitful dream.

But before Max could conclude his memory, showing her that the only harm that had come to him was a cold night walking the road back to town and his fear of losing her, Rowena regained control of their joined auras. Max shuddered with his girlfriend as she finished his story for him, feeling every inch of the residual pain. He saw the battle Michael had dreamt up for her, felt her spirits lift momentarily that he would escape before everything was taken. He saw his own face, sunken and spilling blood. Her hollow feeling of loss filled his chest as she pivoted and pulled him through the rest of her experience: the torture, the maddening pain, the knowledge that her entire life had been the Shadowloved trying to protect their asset. The only person in her life who hadn’t been planted by her wicked sister had been him, and to her he was gone.

In her panic Rowena shrank backwards and Max’s hands moved to hold her, pulling himself out of her mind to instead envelop her aura in his own comfort and love. It was a tactic he’d used with mentally ill patients at Mungo’s; he’d never thought he would have to approach his girlfriend the same way. He held her and waited for the panic to pass, staying silent and keeping his breathing even as she sobbed against his chest.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Please. Stop." She begged. "My fault. Must make it right. So sorry."

“No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” Max murmured into her ear, keeping an eye out for any indication she might have another outburst; the first one in her home he’d been lucky enough to throw a shield up in time, but her second outburst at Mungo’s had caught him off guard, throwing him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. Merlin only knew what an outburst would do to him in a smaller space like the bathroom. When her breathing slowed he gave her space, leaning back against the tile wall. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, taking a ragged breath as Rowena’s memories swirled through his mind.

[Rowena Jones]

“No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

She was going round in circles, apologising to herself, the madness creeping in. No! Not yet. Damn her for slipping into those memories again. Weren't the nightmares enough? Her breath came in rapid pants as she struggled to ground herself again. Her eyes darted around for something to help, and she felt comforting warmth surround her. Rowena reached out to it; her magic, come back. But it didn't feel the same, her skin didn't tickle with it's familiar power. She felt it's loss again, just another in a long list of destruction. Whatever it was though, it worked and she felt the panic slowly recede. She'd reminded herself of all that had happened. The loss of Rowena Covington. That woman had been a pawn. Manipulated since the beginning. Who was she? It was impossible to know, impossible to sort through the lies. But perhaps her continued vision of her dead boyfriend wasn't just for tortured comfort, but the part of her that needed to be reminded of what had been real. The part of her life that needed protecting. Max was gone, but those he loved were still here. There was work to be done. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry.”

"Forgive. Must forgive or go mad. No more. No Sorry. Make it right," she chanted, looking at herself again in the mirror. Her skin was unblemished now. At a glance it was as if nothing had happened at all. No physical scars marked the pale oval of her face. What once had been a patchwork of colour, a study in the ways bones broke, was replaced by a healthy body. She couldn't waste more time. The body was ready. The mind would not be if she waited any longer. 

Rowena turned to face Not Real Max, her eyes brightened in her determination. Thinking of the vision as a sort of guardian of the woman who might have been without the Shadowloved, thinking of it as her helper made the pain lessen significantly. She loved Max with all her heart, she loved him more than she'd ever be able to say or show and for a second, she let herself look at the image of him, one more moment to memorise everything about him. The love within her heart filled her gaze and she smiled. "Thank you. Now I remember." For those tortured memories had awoken a different one. One of the morning before the world had crumbled, blissful and unaware, with her books and cats for company and a boyfriend half a world away. She remembered a moment of elation, a discovery that could change so much.

"Alex. Must tell. No one else. One chance. But." Rowena paused, frowning. She paced out of the bathroom and towards the bed. "It must be me. Falling Raven. The long War. Pushing. Pulling. The Gate." She glanced at Not Real Max for confirmation. "The Journey. They should know. But they will be coming. No time."

The witch glanced out the small window and scowled. "Wrong time." Her body confirmed it, sagging in relief as she sat on the bed. She may be healed but the ordeal had taken a lot from her and her mental state would not allow her body to rest sufficiently. 

[Max Kameren]

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry.” Max’s shoulders shuddered as he buried his face in his hands, suppressing a sob as the horrors Rowena had been subjected to flashed through him. They’d waited for him to leave so they could close in on her. He’d made it so easy for them to hurt her. He should have been there; the moment he met Michael he shouldn’t have let him out of his sight.

"Forgive. Must forgive or go mad. No more. No Sorry. Make it right," she chanted. That was much easier said than done. Max lifted his head to watch her stare at herself in the mirror, all her injuries from her week in Hell smoothed back to her usual alabaster tone. Outside she was back to her normal self, but her aura felt to Max like tangled twine, twisted and fraying. He arched a questioning brow at her when she turned to him with a renewed determination; there was still no recognition, and he could feel no change in her aura. What now? "Thank you. Now I remember."

“Remember what?” Max’s interest was piqued as he pushed off the wall to follow his girlfriend back into the hospital room, stopping next to the chair he’d inhabited next to her bed since her arrival at St. Mungo’s.

"Alex. Must tell. No one else. One chance. But." Rowena paused, frowning.

“Tell Alex what?” Max asked patiently, lowering into the chair to meet his love’s eyes. “Let me help, Ro. Whatever it is I can relay it to him. You don’t need to do this alone.”

"It must be me. Falling Raven. The long War. Pushing. Pulling. The Gate." She glanced at Not Real Max for confirmation. Max’s emerald eyes reflected back in a confused plea for answers; whatever she was saying sounded important, but none of her thoughts seem to finish. What did she need to tell Alex? One chance at what? They’d well established she was the Raven, but what did she think she needed to do? What was The Gate? "The Journey. They should know. But they will be coming. No time. Wrong time." 

She tried to move for the window but instead slumped onto the bed, worn out from their encounter in the bathroom. Max sighed, looking her over with concern. “Sleep for now, Ro. We can figure it out later. Together, alright? I can help you.” His hand sought out hers, enveloping her cold fingers and warming them in his. He used his aura to help lull her off to sleep on the pulse of his affection for her, relaxing into the chair as he watched her muscles relax and her aura still.

It didn’t take long before Max nodded off as well, his fingers still limply entwined with hers. The constant vigilance put Max in constant crisis mode; after a few days of jumping from problem to problem he was a constant combination of exhausted and jumpy, too wired to sleep but too tired to keep a clear head. He slept when Rowena did and woke with her aura, keeping an eye out on her behalf. He’d failed her once already, he couldn't do it again. But this time the weight of Rowena’s memories in his already troubled mind pushed him over into collapse and his head nodded forward into a dreamless sleep, holding his girlfriend’s hand in his. For now, they would sleep. Tomorrow, he would try again. And again. However long it took for his love to know him again.

[Rowena Jones]

“Sleep for now, Ro. We can figure it out later. Together, alright? I can help you.”

"Help. Already done. Together no more. Finished now." Rowena muttered, looking at the vision of her dead boyfriend earnestly. "Cannot sleep. The Viper will wake." But the soothing warmth was already making her eyes heavy and she lay down on the bed to think. 

Hours later she woke and realised she'd fallen asleep after all. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. But the time had been wrong and she had felt so safe. Now it was right and she felt ready. Rowena lay on the hospital bed, her wide eyes open and staring at the ceiling as she tried to make sense of the fragmented plan in her mind. She was calm though, the calmest she'd been since the world had ended. She glanced at the figure sleeping by her and smiled softly. He looked peaceful in sleep and she realised that it meant she had made peace with what came next. The vision would not come again. It was time to truly say goodbye.

One last glance and she slipped silently out of bed and took the bag of things someone had brought for her. It wasn't much. When it had been given to her, she'd frantically unpacked it, looking for the mirror, anything that was part of him. It hadn't been there. Just a few clothes and some toiletries. No mirror. No phone. No wand. No purse. She'd been angry at that last one. How was she meant to pay them without her purse?! Plus it had that photo inside it. The photo of untruths and manipulation but they would always be her parents, the people who had raised her. That photo was still important. It was still hers. Rowena had gotten into such a frenzy about it, that it had quickly appeared next to the rest of her meager pile of belongings.

With the bag of clothes and her purse in hand, Rowena stepped into the hallway. Alex. She had to tell Alex what she had found. Max was gone, but there were others she had to save. She was like a ghost, old memories surfacing from the Deep to guide her down rarely used corridors, dressed in a white hospital gown, her dark hair unbound. It was early morning though, the sun not yet risen and the halls of Mungos were empty as patients slept and staff took advantage of the quiet to also rest. No one saw the witch descend the floors and leave through a staff exit.

She entered the Muggle world with purpose but was quickly left confused. She needed Alex, but her plan hadn't told her how to get to him. She'd turned quickly down the streets of Muggle London, turn left, turn right, right again, twists and turns and her feet taking her past places she recognised. A coffee shop where she'd spent an afternoon talking to her loving father about the impossible man she had to work with. A loving father who had turned out not to want her and an impossible man who she'd fallen utterly in love with. Fate had a funny sense of humour. Rowena giggled madly, pain twisting the sound, causing a man sleeping in the doorway of a closed shop to stir and glare at her as she woke him. The witch continued. Further now, far from Mungos, her brain just chanting, faster faster as if demons were chasing her and she must get away. The sun started to rise above the city line, its dull winter glare bringing out others as they shuffled to work in the bitter November cold. 

Rowena didn't register the oddness of her presence until an elderly gentleman, newspaper tucked under his arm, stopped by her. "Are you alright dear?" he asked kindly though a little confused at the woman who had spent the past ten minutes wandering around the Square dressed in what seemed to be very little considering the weather. Was that a hospital gown? "Do you need help?"

Her amber gaze fixed on him intently. "Yes. Alex Kameren? I need to speak to him. Very important." 

"Do you have a name dear?"

"Rowena. But I need Alex. Know him? World ending. Soon. Must stop it. Alex must know."

"Oh. Well I don't know any Alex but maybe the police will be more help." The woman obviously needed help of a kind he couldn't provide, the man thought, turning to see if anyone else could see she wasn't in her right mind. By the time he turned back, about to take her to the Police who would surely have a better idea of what to do, the mad woman was gone. 

Rowena turned down an alley as she headed towards the train station some part of her memory remembered was in that direction. She glanced at the sun and sighed. She didn't know how to reach Alex. Time was running out. How many days had it already been? They would be back for her. She couldn't wait for Alex. She had to move on. She'd find another way to tell him. "The Raven will fall. The Gate. The Stones. No time. Have to follow the blood." she said out loud. Some part of her mind noted the odd stares. She should change, she was to easy to find like this. And then she saw the station. Tickets bought. A trip to the bathroom and Rowena emerged dressed in a thick jumper and jeans, looking to anyone who cared to look, completely normal. No one would guess the broken witch that lingered inside as she stepped onto her train and left London, and all her old life, behind for good. 

[Max Kameren]

When Max woke his hands were cold. They grey morning shone through the single window in the empty hospital room, but the air was stagnant. It was silent, the room filled with a lonely kind of absence that pulled at Max’s heart, telling him something was not quite right.

Instinctively Max reached out for Rowena from his chair, a pit of dread forming in his stomach as his fingers brushed cold sheets. Panic rippled through him and for a moment he froze, hair standing on end as realization washed over him:

She was gone.

In a second Max went from drowsily sleeping to up on his feet, crossing the room in long strides to search for her in the bathroom. She wasn’t there. At a glance he noticed the bag he’d brought her was missing as well as her purse; his stomach dropped. He burst out of the room and barreled down the hallway, finding Mary and Milton’s aura and reaching out: Rowena’s missing. His dread twisted further as he felt her surprise and confirmed she’d fled.

Muscle memory brought him to the nearest exit to her room in Spell Damage and he pushed through it, squinting in the morning light as he scanned the streets around him. How could he be so stupid as to let this happen? How could he have fallen asleep, knowing she was in such a vulnerable state? Why couldn’t he have listened, helped her? Why hadn’t he been able to help her?

It was his fault. All his fault.