nathan doesn’t really know max caulfield. he knows she was at his trial – he knows she provided a testimonial, knows she was hiding in one of the stalls, and described what she perceived was his motive for murdering chloe. he was–shaking her, trying to see if she was.. okay. voluntary manslaughter watered down by circumstance of predatory manipulation at the hands of a trusted adult and severe mental illness – his sentence is already over, but therapy isn’t.
he likes it, he is almost sorry to say. the therapy is alright. the medication, less so, makes him feel like crinkling plastic, like static, but it works, at least. he’ll have to talk about the side effects with the resident psychiatrist.
when he’s told he has a visitor, he stiffens. god, please, don’t let it be kristine. it’s not – though he’s no less comforted by that face. what the hell is max doing here?
In some ways, Max found herself just a little on the envious side as she’s being lead down toward Nathan Prescott’s holding. Therapists and support groups - Just the ability to talk to anybody about what happened to you ( what you did ) must feel like a MILLION BUCKS. It’s completely warped to feel that way, knowing what she knows he went through, but not having to carry weight alone ?? Max can only dream about that for herself.
It was a weighted decision to come see him. She’d already been set on visiting eventually but actually getting off her damn ass to do it was so much harder than she’d anticipated it to be. Max just wanted to do something for him, but guilt over his time twisted and retconned death didn’t stack up as high as she’d had hoped it would against his hand in what happened to Chloe.
❛❛ Yeah. ❜❜ Petite frame is stiff and folded in on itself, unmoving near door as she took in the difference in his person from the Nathan she knew and the one in front of her. ❛❛ Thought you could use some, uh - Outside company. It’s weird for me, too. I can go, if you want. ❜❜
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