March 11, 2016

[silverhammer]

Max only makes it home because somebody's nice enough to give him a ride. Somebody figures it's safe to pick up the guy on the side of the road without shoes or a phone, or even any cash and give him a ride halfway across town. Max figures it's the first bit of good luck he's had in days. That and the fact that he didn't drive Linda after parking her at Ocean View.

Though, it's not like anybody put the bottle in his hand Tuesday night.

"Thanks, man," Max says, as they stop near the building, and Max climbs out of the guy's sedan, "I... I owe you one."

"Just take care of yourself," he says, and Max nods, though he doesn't know what the hell that even means. The only thing he knows is that whatever happened to him the last couple of days can't happen again. He was supposed to come home, and now here it is, three fucking days later and he doesn't even know where to say he went. There's a black hole there now that sucked him in, and now he doesn't know how to pull himself out of it.

Max's head is still pounding, even as he boards the elevator and rides it up to the top floor, putting his key in the lock to the apartment and opening the door.

He's told himself, told Brian and Lucy, that nothing about this is a big deal. He's tried to ignore the fact that he's been trying to ignore how his head buzzes when he walks into a crowded room, how a flask became his go-to whenever he felt like just hiding for days at a time...

He can't ignore this.

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[minimumbullshit]

While Max was upstairs, Brian sat down on the sofa, knees on his elbows and his head in his hands. He couldn't think. He couldn't fucking stop thinking. Jesus, what a fucking mess.

At the sound of Max's footsteps on the stairs, he lifted his head.

"She got out as soon as I got home from the office. She's a lot smarter than she looks," he muttered, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He drew in a breath and finally asked, "Where the hell were you?"

[silverhammer]

It's a question that should have an easy answer. Any other time, and it would've. But as it stands, Max still doesn't know the answer to it. After waking up on an unfamiliar floor, he hadn't stuck around to get everybody's names.

There's a pause before he answers, because for a second, Max thinks that maybe he'll remember what the fuck happened. But it's all still a blank. Days gone.

"Some apartment across town," he answers, "Before that, I don't know. Shit."

[minimumbullshit]

"A three day black out. That's impressive," Brian said, his tone carefully measured.

The worst of it, the fucking worst, was that Brian still wanted to reach out and touch him, just to reassure himself that Max was all right. He shouldn't have given a shit. Max was a grown man, and just because they lived together, it wasn't Brian's job to look after him.

If only he could've just been angry. That would've made everything so much easier.

"You know, I was worried fucking sick," he admitted, wiping a hand across his mouth and coughing out a miserable laugh. "I just kept thinking... what if he's gone? Please, God, don't. Don't let him be gone." He laughed again, brokenly, and his eyes were fucking burning now.

[silverhammer]

It's not what he expects Brian to say. Then again, he doesn't know what the fuck he's expecting. He guesses there's a part of him that remembers every time he fucked up at Princeton, every lecture he got back home, even though there's nothing to make him think this'll be anything like that.

In some ways, he wishes Brian had freaked out on him. That might be easier.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I don't..." Max starts, but it feels like bullshit, because he knows it's not enough. Because he doesn't know how he spent the past few days and doesn't even know who he could ask about it.

Max pauses again. There's a moment where he thinks about joining Brian on the couch, but thinks better of it, keeping his distance on the other side of the living room.

"I can't keep fucking doing this."

[minimumbullshit]

He laughed again, and it was broken and brittle and God, did he fucking hate it. Abruptly, he pushed to his feet, pacing toward the door, feeling like he might crawl out of his own fucking skin.

"As far as hitting bottom goes, it could've been a hell lot more dramatic. I'd even say you got off easy."

He was digging in the knife now, twisting it, though he really wasn't sure which one of them he was hurting.

"But I'm glad we agree on something."

[silverhammer]

There's not really any part of that Max can argue with. He woke up on somebody's floor with no idea how the hell he got there, but he could have woken up in a hospital. Or in a hospital. Or not at all. He knows Brian's right; he got fucking lucky.

"Probably," Max answers, knowing it's an understatement, still waiting for Brian to lay in on him even though he's pretty convinced Brian won't. And not that it's any kind of excuse, but he figures there's something that needs to be said at some point.

"Jude's gone."

[minimumbullshit]

Jude's gone.

Even Brian understood the significance of that. Despite his own opinions about Jude, whom he'd found tedious at best, he understood that kind of friendship. He'd done a lot of shitty things to keep from losing Mikey, over the years, and up until a couple years ago, the idea of living without Mikey around had been a hard pill to swallow.

Drawing in a breath, Brian turned back toward Max, his lips pressed into a thin line. When he reached a hand out toward Max, beckoning him closer, he hesitated, but only because he didn't want to admit to himself that it hurt, just a little, that Max had sought out comfort in the bottom of a bottle instead of with him. Christ, he was fucking losing it.

"Come over here," he said, sounding almost impatient.

[silverhammer]

This shouldn't be Brian's shit to deal with. It shouldn't be Lucy's and it shouldn't have been Jude's. Not that Max ever dumped a lot on Jude in the first place. Once, he found Max on the floor of his apartment, convinced he'd been sent back to that fucked up version of Darrow, but beyond that, Max could put on a show. He'd gotten good at drinking away the smell of jungle and that feeling that reminded him of being Over There.

With Brian, it's not so easy.

Which is why when Brian reaches for Max, he doesn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around the other man and burying his face in his shoulder.

He used to think he had the pieces put back together again, but now he feels even more lost than he did before. The only thing Max knows for sure is that he can't go on like this. Something's gotta change, or the next time, he might not wake up at all.

[minimumbullshit]

Brian was quiet for a long time, with Max wrapped up securely in his arms, his cheek resting against Max's hair. Stroking a hand up and down Max's spine came naturally, and he didn't think twice about pressing a kiss to his temple.

"So, what do you think? In-patient, or out?"

[silverhammer]

There's a moment where Max doesn't speak, trying to make sense of what Brian's just said. Or at least, letting it sink in.

"What do you mean, like, a hospital?" he asks, pulling away a little. It's not that he hasn't been in one before, since he came back from Over There. They pumped him full of drugs at the V.A., but this feels like something different.

[minimumbullshit]

"Rehab. Or a spa retreat, if you're a starlet with a coke habit," Brian said, his hands resting on Max's shoulders when he pulled back.

"Believe me, I think therapy's bullshit, but you said it yourself. Something's got to change."

[silverhammer]

"So a loony bin," Max says, even though he's been in Darrow long enough to know nobody really calls it that anymore. It's 'therapy.' And hell, he's known people who talked about going to therapists, talking about their problems with a shrink.

The fucked up part of it is, even though he decided a long time ago that he didn't give a shit what he thought, the first thing that pops into Max's head is the look that'd be on his dad's face if he knew.