The four walls were still visible through Lizzie's blurred vision, as her stomach tightened, ready to implode at the thought of remaining in this cell for the rest of her days. But something was different, there was light.  

Lizzie rubbed her eyes in sheer disbelief, clearing her vision just enough to confirm her suspicions; her dreams. A pair of deep blue curtains were drawn across the far side of the room, with sunshine beating in through a small slit between the material. The yellow rays licked the skin on her arm, spreading the warmth through her body like hot soup on a chilly winter's morning.

She stared down at the dancing, shimmering light, noticing for the first time that her arm was heavily bandaged in white cotton. Then it all came flooding back to her.

The escape. Saunders. The knife. Her wrist. The blood. Darkness.

She thought that she had finally found a way out, a way to end this madness on her own terms, but Joey had found a way to deny her of even that.

Where had they taken her now? They had medical supplies at the castle, so why would they bring her here to heal up? Lizzie wasn't about to stick around and find out. She could answer those questions later.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, heaving herself to her feet, but immediately collapsing under her own weight. Her legs were weak and brittle from her time in the cell, and the immense blood loss hadn't helped her strength either.

As Lizzie crawled her way towards the window, she could hear the heavy, panicked beating of footsteps bounding up the stairs beyond the bedroom door.

In one final burst of energy, Lizzie yanked a cord in front of her, sending a bedside lamp crashing to the floor. The porcelain shattered into multiple pieces, the largest of which Lizzie gripped tightly in her right hand, spinning around to face the door as it burst open.

She raised the makeshift dagger above her head, at peace with the fact that she would either kill them, or at last resort, herself.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Lizzie screeched, her eyes wild with fear, anger, but most of all exhaustion.

Max extended his hands calmly, creating an ushering movement, urging Lizzie to relax and drop the weapon.

"Lizzie, it's okay...your safe," Max assured, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Lizzie raised the blade even higher, pushing herself up into a seated position, before hauling herself back to her feet with the help of the bed frame.

"Max?"

She was now questioning her whole existence. Maybe her suicide had been successful after all, maybe this was now all in her head. Or maybe she was simply unconscious, hallucinating. One thing she was sure of was that this wasn't real, it couldn't be.

"Lizzie, put that down for me, please," Max asked, his eyes fixed on hers. "It's me...Max."

"Shut up!" Lizzie screamed. "You aren't him! You can't be him!"

Max tentatively stepped closer to Lizzie, keeping his arms outstretched, ready to pounce on any movement she happened to make.

"Lizzie, this is real, this is all real, I promise. It's really me, I came back for you."

"The real Max is long gone...or dead! You can't be him!" Lizzie wept.

Max rolled up his sleeves and trouser legs, revealing deep, gruesome bites and scratches, both healed and fresh, decorating his limbs like tattoos.

"The real Max never left you," he insisted. "The real Max has been searching for you for months. The real Max waded through teeth and bullets to save you. Lizzie...it's me."

Lizzie scanned the scars across Max's skin, they looked so real, so detailed. He hadn't had them the last time she had seen him, so why would her mind concoct them now?

"Max?" Lizzie finally whimpered, the doubt in her eyes replaced by hope.

"Hi there, kid," Max beamed, pulling Lizzie into the tightest and longest embrace.

The shard of lamp fell from Lizzie's grasp as she wrapped her arms around Max. It clanked quietly on the ground, before the room fell silent, aside from the soft breathing of a reunited father and daughter.

Tears rolled down Max's cheeks, dripping onto Lizzie's shoulder. The droplets sank into her t-shirt, a dark, damp patch expanding further and further as they refused to let go. Lizzie sobbed gently into Max's chest, her small hands gripping the material on his jacket tightly.

"Where have you been?" She finally sobbed.

"It's a long story, kid," Max half laughed, half sobbed.

"Have you got time to tell it?" Lizzie asked, finally withdrawing from the hug, gesturing towards their surroundings.

"Don't worry, we're safe. It's over. We have all the time in the world."

"Then get talking, old man," Lizzie smiled.

Max explained it all, from the beginning. He told her of Paulo's betrayal. How he managed to escape the pit. How he almost ended it all, before he stumbled upon new friends. He talked for hours about Dawson, JJ, Karl and Rodney, and their adventures. The trouble at the school and how they rescued George.

He told her how he'd returned to the pit, but she had already moved on. How he had reconnected with Paulo, before beating the shit out of him. Lizzie particularly enjoyed that part. He explained how they plotted her rescue, with the help of Paulo.

He told her about Han; what little her knew about the man. He told her about his sacrifice, how they well all here, alive, together, because of him.

"And Paulo?" Lizzie asked.

Max shook his head.

"The others?"

"Downstairs and dying to meet you," Max smiled.

"What about the castle? The other prisoners, did anyone else make it out?" Lizzie blurted, furious at herself that it had taken her this long to ask.

"We met your friend, Saunders. He helped us escape."

"Is he..."

"No, he's alive, don't worry. He wouldn't leave his work though, said it was his duty to stay and keep working on a cure. I'm sorry, we couldn't convince him."

"But he's okay?" Lizzie asked again, desperate for reassurance.

"He was in a bad way when we found him, but he's alive," Max confirmed.

Lizzie paused for a second, as if fearful to ask, "Was there anyone else?"

"You and Saunders were the only ones in the cells when we arrived. No one else. Why?"

"No reason," Lizzie replied, edging towards the window, and ripping open the curtains.

The sun now enveloped her skin, like a hug from the gods, as she looked out past the slightly dusty glass.

She had always known it, or at least suspected it, but now she was out, and free. This had always been the one dream that had kept her going through the cold, damp nights in that cell. The one ounce of company she had through the darkness. The thought of seeing the sky, one last time.

"What did they do to you in there?" Max asked.

"Not now," Lizzie replied simply. "I just need to live in the present for a while, you know?"

Max nodded, he knew exactly what she meant. He had spent so long chasing the past that he was now washed over with a sense of relief. He could now finally just enjoy what he had in his life, and that started with Lizzie.

"Come and sit back down. There's still one part of the story I haven't told you..." Max gulped.

Lizzie perched on the bed next to Max and looked suspiciously into his eyes. He was nervous. She had rarely seen this in him before.

"This sounds ominous," Lizzie chuckled, but Max didn't laugh back.

"Do you remember the last thing you wanted to do, before we ran into Otto and the fucking Brotherhood?" Max asked.

"I wanted to visit my Mum's grave...to say goodbye to her properly," Lizzie answered, unsure of where Max was going with this.

Max averted his gaze, "When I hit my lowest, when I decided that I was going to...end it, I wanted to do one last thing, for you."

"You went there, you visited her?" Lizzie finished before Max could.

"Exactly. I was sure that you were dead, I trusted Paulo, we both did. I just thought that maybe I could do one last thing, to honour you in death, after I failed you in life-"

"Max! You didn't-"

"Just let me finish, please," Max quietly insisted, as Lizzie silenced her grievances. "I found the graveyard, and I matched this gravestone to the one you'd been doodling on our map, and..."

Max's eyes were welling up once more, as he paused, unable to force himself to say it.

"Max, it's okay if you couldn't find it..." Lizzie assured, placing a comforting hand on Max's shoulder.

"Do you remember when I told you about the one love of my life?" Max asked.

"Yes, of cours-"

"Do you remember her name?"

"I don't think you ever told me her name, did you?"

"Do you remember when we first met? Me and you. Do you remember how you introduced yourself?" Max questioned, now sobbing on every other word.

"I guess, Lizzie...?"

Max fumbled through his wallet, past the family photo of the Humes, right to the back, where an old, slightly crumpled photobooth picture sat. Max slowly slid it out of the pouch and offered it to Lizzie.

"Is this her?" Lizzie asked, before picking up the photograph from Max's outstretched hand.

She stared down at the picture of a young Max, a broad smile across his face, and his arm wrapped around a similarly grinning woman.

"But, I don't understand. This looks like..." Lizzie trailed off, unable to take her eyes off the photograph.

"I found your Mother's grave. Here lies Katherine Pickett, loving Mother, you will be missed," Max wept. "Pickett! Fucking Pickett! One fucking word!"

"Max..." Lizzie trembled, her eyes now awash with tears too. "What are you trying to say?"

"Why couldn't you have just said 'My name is Lizzie Pickett'? Why didn't you say that one word? Why didn't I fucking ask," Max laughed.

"This woman Max. The woman in this photo, what was her name?" Lizzie demanded, droplets streaming down her face. "What was her name, Max?"

Max took one last brave sniff, before locking his bloodshot eyes with Lizzie's, "Katherine. Her name was Katherine. Lizzie, I think I'm your father."