Max Carrigan

He's supposed to start feeling normal any day now.

At least, that's what the shrink keeps telling him. That he'll start feeling like he's leveling out, that he'll feel like he's gonna jump out of his skin a little less. At some point it got so bad that it was pretty much a daily feeling, but Max had drowned it in so much booze that he'd stopped noticing.

It's not normal, not yet. Especially because he hasn't gotten used to the idea of going to a shrink in the first place, of taking pills every day. He feels like any day now, they're gonna tell him he's supposed to be in the loony bin instead, put him in a jacket and wheel him off.

Max feels like he's going crazy when he tells his shrink this, when the guy adjusts his glasses, pauses for a moment and suggests Max find a job. Because being occupied with something might help.

Only, Max hasn't worked in months, since he took a break from McCormick's, and he sure as shit knows he can't go back there. Not just because he doesn't wanna beg Luce for his old job back, but because pouring and serving drinks seems like a bad idea.

The shrink leaves him to think about where he "wants to go from here" and says they'll talk about it next time.

He thinks about it most of the day: when he goes to the park, when he gets bored of that and decides to go grocery shopping, when he ends up making a fucking mess in the kitchen trying to make dinner just for something to do.

By the time Brian comes home, he still hasn't figured it out, but he's starting to warm up to the idea.

When the ash falls, Max isn't ready for it. Even though he's been on edge for days, waiting for the other shoe to drop, when he steps out of McCormick's for a smoke break and the street's deserted and there's ash on the roads, there's a second before it registers.

Three years ago, Max almost died in the street. Three years ago, a soldier with no face pointed a gun at him and it was only luck that got him out of it. Fucking dumb luck and fighting like hell. He should be dead. He should have died back in the jungle, and he should have died that day in the street.

And now he's back to do it all over again.

"Shit," Max says, and he's trying to wipe ash off of his face, even as it continues to fall. But his heart is speeding up and he can't fucking breathe. The siren's going to start soon, and the next thing he knows, he'll be left in the dark again, thrown back into the jungle.

He wants to think that he's lost his mind, that he's out of his head and this is another one of the dozens of nightmares he's had about this place since he left it, but Max knows it's not. As fucked up as he knows he is, there are some things he's never forgotten, some things that he's pretty fucking sure of. And the feel of this place has haunted Max for long enough that he'd know it anywhere.

Max turns on his heels and heads back inside, even though he knows that waiting this out in the bar is risky. Last time, he spent a day and a half in a closet, and they still found him, dragging him out into the street by his ankles.

He sinks into one of the booths, and it's more fucked up than he remembers from just a few minutes ago, the leather of the seats old and cracked, the tabletop worn and dirty, Max tries like hell to catch his breath, to make his heart slow down and push the smell of humid air out of his head.

Three years ago, Max is convinced he left a part of himself in this place, and he sure as shit didn't want to come back to try and find it.

It's bullshit, basically.

When he'd moved to New York with Jude, it'd taken him less than a week to get a job as a cabbie. He's been to five places now, since he actually started looking for work again, and has come up with absolutely nothing.

We regret to inform you...

We appreciate you thinking of us, but unfortunately...

Max is starting to wonder whether or not he should go back to Little Yellow Cab, groveling back to his old boss. Maybe he made some mistakes, and maybe he totaled a cab because of his Army uniform showing up out of fucking nowhere, but at the end of the day, he thinks he was a decent cabbie. He brought in a lot of money.

But that guy was kind of a dick, and Max isn't sure he wants to give him the satisfaction.

Headed home from yet another failed job interview, Max is loosening his tie, about to take the subway home, when he decides on a detour. He doesn't fucking know why he does it, but the next thing he knows, he finds himself outside of Brian's new apartment. It's both late enough and early enough that he thinks he'll catch Brian while he's in.

Max knocks on the door, really hoping he remembered the apartment number right.