All Hallow's Eve

Disclaimer:  I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein.  I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.  🙂

Summary:  It's Halloween and the boys are celebrating, but for Max it isn't much fun.

Please see Author's Notes at the end of this story for additional context.

*******

The chilly autumn afternoon found the team between missions. Grant and Nicholas were spending time with Max at his apartment. Grant had just gotten up to refill his glass when he noticed the calendar hanging in the hallway near the kitchen.

"Hey," he grinned. "I just realized that tomorrow is Halloween."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "All Hallow's Eve," he declared, using the more traditional name for the holiday.

"Time for ghosts and goblins in the streets and blood and guts on the movie screen." Max smiled slightly, his voice nearly devoid of emotion.

"Most scholars consider it a Christian holiday," Nicholas advised. "A celebration of the arrival of All Saint's Day."

Grant rolled his eyes. Of course Nicholas would know that. "Thanks, Nick, for the history lesson," he quipped. "We should do something to celebrate."

"You're a little old for trick or treating, Grant," Max deadpanned.

The Black agent pouted at Max, feigning hurt feelings, as Nicholas chuckled. "We don't have to dress up," he whined.

"Why don't we go visit Rosewood?" Nicholas suggested suddenly, almost leaping to his feet with excitement.

"The old cemetery?" Max asked.

Nicholas nodded. "I've been wanting to go look around there for a long time," he told them. "It's the oldest one within a hundred miles of here. Lots of history there."

"Sounds creepy," muttered Max.

"It's tradition, Max," Nicholas protested. "In many countries, people gather in the cemeteries and bring food and drinks and light candles for their loved ones who have passed."

"On All Saint's Day," the blond clarified, recalling his schoolboy studies. "Not the day before. I'm pretty sure most cemeteries are closed on Halloween." He waved his hand aimlessly. "To prevent vandalism and all that."

Nicholas' expression sobered for a moment as he thought about what Max had said. Then he brightened once again. "I doubt if that's true for this one," he reasoned. "I don't recall seeing a gate or a fence anywhere."

The dark-haired agent glanced at Grant, who had been quiet for the past few moments. Grant shrugged. "I've never visited a cemetery on Halloween," he said thoughtfully, "but it sounds pretty interesting."

"Well, you guys go knock yourselves out," Max said, with a sideways grin and an attempt at levity which didn't quite land. "I think I'll pass."

Nicholas looked back at his friend in surprise. When Max wouldn't meet his eyes, he found himself thinking back to their mission in Switzerland, when the team had ended up searching for Hitler's gold inside an old cemetery crypt. Nicholas hadn't been there when they'd first opened it — he, Graff, and the others had come later — but he'd heard them talking about it on the way back to California. Grant had made light of it, of course, gently ribbing Max for initially hanging back and letting the others enter the vault first. Max had smiled slightly, as he did sometimes, but hadn't said much about it.

Now, Nicholas wondered if there was a reason for that.

Nicholas cast a wary glance at Grant before speaking again. "Max," he ventured knowingly.

Are you scared? he thought, but then bit his lip. I can't ask him that. Not in front of Grant.

"Do cemeteries bother you?" he asked instead.

"Of course not," the blond agent replied, a little too abruptly.

"Then don't be a spoilsport, pal," Grant begged, taking his glass back to the kitchen and stopping to slap Max's back fondly, oblivious to the edginess in Max's voice. "At least you'll make it fun. Without you, I'll be stuck in history lesson hell with the Professor here."

Max forced a chuckle. Both Nicholas and Grant were staring at him expectantly, and Max realized that he only had one choice.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'll go."

********

The next afternoon, Grant picked his friends up at their respective apartments and set off for Rosewood Cemetery. The acres of lush green rolling hills, interspersed with faded pieces of stone, seemed out of place in the midst of the asphalt and skyscrapers nearby. The cemetery had been here since the late 18th century; the rest of the city had merely developed around it.

Nicholas opened the car door and took a deep breath. The air held that musty, old scent of having stepped back in time. He sighed contentedly, and smiled.

"It's beautiful here," observed Grant, as he and Nicholas began to walk slowly around the property.

Max said nothing, but followed closely behind. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone in a place like this.

Max was fairly sure that he had never told anyone about his — thing — with cemeteries. It wasn't that he was afraid of dead people, exactly. Lord knows he had seen enough death and destruction to be almost desensitized to it. It wasn't that he was afraid of ghosts, either, exactly. Hell, he wasn't even sure he believed in those to begin with.

But his grandmother had been a very wise woman, and when he was younger she had told him stories. Stories about things out there beyond human understanding — things that defied explanation. Stories that would have likely borne little significance for a scientific mind like Grant's, or an educated one like Nicholas'.

Poking around a cemetery in the daylight as part of a mission — like that time in Switzerland — was one thing. Max could shove that back into a corner where it was easier to tolerate, because that was his job. That had a purpose. But being here somehow felt like trespassing, and Max wondered if — anything — was upset about it. Especially today, when the air was ripe for such phenomena.

If they existed at all.

Slowly, the trio trudged on, stopping occasionally to read a faded headstone. There were people buried there who had fought in every war since the Revolutionary, and periodically, Nicholas would make a historical reference or connect a stone to a famous relative.

Max remained mostly quiet until they happened upon a large, raised concrete slab taking up a prominent piece of land. "What is that?" he asked, his voice low.

"That's the Smith family burial vault," Nicholas answered. "It's mildly famous because of the urban legend."

"Urban legend?" Max repeated cautiously.

"Back in the early 1800s there were lots of diseases that often wiped out entire families within a short period of time," the dark-haired agent explained, crouching down to rub the raised letters on the plaque in the center of the slab. "The wealthier families had burial vaults where all of the family members could be interred together."

Nicholas rose to his feet and looked at his companions, his gaze intense. "Two of the Smith children passed and were buried here first. According to legend, when the vault was reopened to bury their father, the heavy lead coffins of both girls were in disarray, as if they had been thrown about by someone or something. And it happened three more times, for three successive burials, with no explanation. Each time, the vault had been locked, and nobody with access had been inside."

Grant whistled. "That's creepy."

Max's eyes widened, and he took a step backward. Nicholas saw this, and chuckled softly.

"Take it easy, Max. The story was almost certainly made up by an overzealous reporter. Besides, the vault is empty now. Because of all the hype about the legend, the bodies were reburied in separate plots long ago and the vault was permanently sealed."

"Well, that's good to know," Max said sardonically as he looked around, noting that the light had begin to fade.

"Listen, fellows, it's getting dark," the blond advised. "We probably should be going soon."

"We've still got a little daylight left," countered Nicholas, looking at his watch.

"Besides, pal, the darkness just makes it more exciting," smiled Grant, slapping his friend's shoulder affectionately, clearly starting to enjoy himself.

"We really shouldn't be in here after dark," Max insisted, wishing for perhaps the tenth time that he'd just brought his own vehicle. "You can't read headstones in the dark."

But if his friends heard him, they did not respond. Instead, they continued walking, with Max doggedly trudging along behind them.

As the sky grew darker, the cool breeze that had played with Max's hair all afternoon got stronger, and then began to howl. The blond cast a wary gaze upward, where an orange moon was now peeping over the horizon — so close he almost felt like he could touch it.

A chill went through Max's body that had little to do with the weather as he listened to the howling wind. Suddenly, something else caught his ear — a slap, slap, slapping sound, almost rhythmic, from somewhere to the east of them.

"What the hell is that?" Max demanded, the abruptness of his voice taking his friends by surprise. They both stopped mid-stride and turned around to face Max.

"What?" Nicholas asked, his voice calm.

"That." Max pointed to the air, in the direction of the sound. "Don't you hear it?"

"I don't hear anything," Grant shrugged.

But Nicholas, seeing the haunted look on his teammate's face, began walking in the direction Max was pointing. He squinted for a moment in the dusky twilight, then he crouched down.

A pang of fear pierced Max's heart. What was Nicholas walking into? The fear intensified as Nicholas called his name.

"Come here."

Max hesitated.

"It's okay, Max. I found what you were hearing."

Cautiously, the blond approached his friend, who was still crouched down next to an old, faded headstone whose words time had long since erased. But clearly someone still remembered whoever had rested here for all these years.

There was a small pinwheel stuck in the ground near the stone, just close enough to scrape against it every time a gust of wind caught it.

Slap, slap, slap.

Max let out a small sigh of relief that didn't lessen his anxiety in the least.

"Look at you," Grant jibed, noticing the pinwheel as he joined his friends. "All scared over a child's toy."

Max remained still while the other two agents walked on ahead, discreetly forcing himself to take deep breaths in a futile effort to calm his nerves, certain that Grant and Nicholas would be able to hear his heart thumping against his chest if they stood close enough. Wondering how much longer it would be before they called it a night.

As he hustled to catch up to them, he realized that the evening had taken on an eerie glow. Max looked up at the sky. The bright orange moon was clearly full and rising rapidly.

Mesmerized by the spectacle and unable to look away, Max kept walking, not noticing that he had gotten a little too close to a low-hanging tree. Suddenly, one of the branches snagged his wool sweater.

"AAAAAAAAH! Let go!" Max cried out, instantly whirling around and smacking at whatever it was that had a hold of him.

Nicholas and Grant heard his cry and rushed back to his side. Even in the near-darkness, they could tell right away that Max was tangled on a branch. Max, oblivious and terrified, continued to throw punches at nothing, binding himself up tighter and tighter with each movement.

"Max! Easy!" Nicholas' tone was both commanding and soothing, and his grip on Max's right shoulder was both firm and cautious. He was desperate to calm his friend, but wary of catching one of those wayward punches.

Max looked at Nicholas, his eyes impossibly wide, not actually seeing him at first. But once Nicholas was sure that Max knew he was there, he grasped Max's left shoulder with his other hand.

"Hold still," the dark-haired agent hissed. "Let us help you."

Max slowly stopped struggling under Nicholas' firm but comforting grasp, as Grant — quiet, his lips drawn into a taut line — carefully picked apart the tangled bits of wool until the sweater, only slightly damaged, popped free.

A wide grin spread across Grant's face, his pearly white teeth gleaming in the twilight, as he finally spoke.

"There you go," he teased, the idea of someone Max's size being frightened by a tiny branch almost too much to bear. "I beat up the big bad tree branch for you. It won't hurt you anymore."

Nicholas could feel Max's heavy breathing and his body trembling underneath his grip. He's terrified. He glared at Grant, but his cold gaze was lost in the darkness.

"You all right?" he asked softly, as he gently let go of Max's shoulders.

"Fine," Max answered flatly. "I want to go home."

"Max, come on," Grant cajoled.

"Take me home," Max demanded, his voice angry and urgent. "Now."

Grant sobered as he slowly realized the impact of his words. "Max, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to-"

"I'll be in the car," Max interrupted stiffly, and he walked off toward Grant's Lexus without another word.

Nicholas and Grant watched him go. Nicholas started to catch up with him but ultimately thought better of it. Instead, he and Grant strolled toward the car at a much slower pace, without a word between them.

Once they'd gotten inside, Grant glanced at the rear view mirror and saw his blond friend slumped in the backseat, arms crossed, wearing a scowl.

"Max," he tried again.

But when Max didn't look up or acknowledge that he had been spoken to, Grant looked at Nicholas helplessly. The dark-haired agent shook his head slightly, then Grant sighed and started the engine.

The trio made the trip in silence. When they got to Max's apartment, the blond barely grunted a good night and exited the car, slamming the door behind him. Then, there was more silence until they reached Nicholas' stop.

Grant parked the car and once again turned to look at his teammate, his eyes glistening.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," he said sadly. "I had no idea he was that scared."

Suddenly, something that had happened on the team's Switzerland mission slammed into Grant's memory.

*******

While Casey kept an eye on Nicholas, Graff, and the others, Jim, Grant, and Max rushed to the Greineau Cemetery to look for Hitler's long lost gold.

It didn't take them long to locate the crypt. It was a square structure with a pointed roof made of concrete block. Two grey metal doors, slightly recessed, were secured with a heavy brass padlock. The name "A.Lois" was etched in square lettering above the doors.

"The elusive Mister A Lois," mused Jim. "Alois," he corrected, citing Hitler's father's name.

"Let's pay him a visit," quipped Grant. Then he turned to set his briefcase down, opened it up, and took out a thick metal rod. He handed it to Max, who inserted ìt into the hole in the padlock and pulled downward and backward with all his might.

Max grunted as the padlock broke free. Then he slid the antique hasp to the side and carefully opened first the right door, then the left.

The blond took a cursory peek inside the crypt, then looked back over his right shoulder and grinned. "After you."

*******

Jim chuckled at Max's initial caution, but once they figured out the secret to accessing the gold, Max led the trio down into the vault with no obvious sign of hesitation or reluctance. Grant had even ribbed him later, but Max hadn't said anything further. Now Grant wondered — as Nicholas had earlier — if there was more to the story after all.

"Maybe I should have figured it out," Grant said quietly.

There was a knowing look in Nicholas' eyes, and Grant saw it. "Did you know?" he questioned.

"Yes and no," Nicholas admitted honestly. "I sort of got the feeling he was uncomfortable, but I didn't know to what extent." Nicholas looked down at his hands. "Otherwise, I'd have never suggested Rosewood."

"Do you think he'll ever forgive us?" Grant wondered.

"Probably," Nicholas replied optimistically, "once he's had time to sleep on it."

Grant suddenly snapped his fingers. "Maybe we could do something nice for him," he suggested. "Something he actually enjoys."

The two men chatted for another moment as an idea began to take shape. Then, with a promise to meet up at mid-morning tomorrow, Nicholas bid Grant good night.

*******

Max had almost stopped trembling by the time Grant had dropped him off that evening, so it didn't really take him that long to get to sleep. When he woke the next day, he found that most of his anger from the evening before had dissipated. Recalling the awkward way they'd left things last night, Max resolved that today he would reach out to his friends and make things right again.

Max had barely finished breakfast when he heard a knock at his door. He was not at all surprised to see Grant and Nicholas standing on the other side.

"Can we come in?" Grant asked, not quite meeting Max's eyes, his voice barely audible.

For a moment, Max thought about pretending he was still angry, just to see what Grant and Nicholas would do. But he found that he couldn't do that to his friends. Instead, his face curled into a sideways grin.

"Sure," he answered, stepping aside. His two teammates followed him in, and Nicholas closed the door behind him.

"I'm so sorry about last night," Grant began, his soft brown eyes finally meeting Max's blue ones. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Max assured him.

"We had no idea that you…."

Were that scared, Grant's brain finished the sentence.

"….felt that way," he said aloud.

"That's not exactly true, Grant," Nicholas disagreed gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "I had my suspicions, and I still insisted on going to Rosewood."

Max could see how troubled both of his friends were, and it ate at him. "It's all right, really," he said reassuringly. "I wasn't exactly forthcoming about it."

"Maybe not," Nicholas countered, "but you did try to tell us in other ways. We just didn't listen." Nicholas reached out to touch Max's shoulder. "I wish you had just been blunt with us," he said gently, hoping both his tone and his touch would soften his words. "We wouldn't have gone."

"I figured you'd think I was being silly," Max admitted, biting his lip and averting his gaze, "and make fun of me about it."

It was Grant's turn to bite his lip. "Touché, pal," he whispered.

Max immediately laid a hand on Grant's shoulder. "Look, Grant, I don't mind the teasing," he promised. "Some things are just… a little too close."

"Noted," Grant responded, his voice tight. "I'm sorry we were assholes. Can you forgive us?"

A slow grin creeped across the blond's face. "I forgive you," he replied, "but you're still assholes."

The three friends laughed heartily and shared warm hugs to celebrate the renewing of their friendship.

"Well, since our Halloween activity was a bust," Nicholas said breezily, "we wanted to take you somewhere for All Saint's Day."

Max put both hands in the air, palms forward. "Oh, no, you don't," he protested, grinning. "I might have forgiven you, but that doesn't mean I'm letting you drag me somewhere else."

"Relax, pal," smiled Grant. "You'll like this plan."

Grant handed Max a flyer from the local bouldering gym, and the blond's grin grew wider still.

"You're taking me rock climbing?" he cried, incredulous.

Grant and Nicholas smiled broadly, the latter nodding his head with enthusiasm.

"We know it's one of your favorite places," he said.

"Of course, I love it, and I know Grant likes to go every now and then." Max gazed at his dark-haired friend. "How many times have you been?"

Nicholas's breath came out in a nervous laugh. "Let's just say I'm exploring new hobbies," he quipped.

Max sobered. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"But I want to," Nicholas affirmed.

"You're sure?"

Nicholas nodded, and Max studied his features for any sign of insincerity. There were none.

"All right," the blond agreed, "but I can't promise I won't laugh at you."

"I don't mind," Nicholas said good-naturedly, "as long as you're having fun."

Max, understanding the implications of the gesture — for both men, but especially for Nicholas — slung his arm across his dark-haired teammate's shoulders in a sideways hug. "Thanks, guys," he said sincerely. "This means a lot."

Grant smiled warmly at Max for a moment, then he spoke again. "All right, enough with the sappiness," he ribbed. "We've got rocks to climb."

Max quickly grabbed his shoes. "I'm driving this time," he grinned, then the three friends exited his apartment and sped off for the gym in Max's red sportscar.

The End.

********

Author's Notes:

• I've wanted to explore that scene from S1E5 (The Legacy) for a long time.  I've always wondered if Max really did have a fear of crypts, or cemeteries in general, or if he was just being funny.  In the end, I decided to roll with it and give it a backstory.  Some familiarity with the episode is helpful but not necessary.

• The "Smith burial vault" referenced in this story is taken from the fascinating real-life urban legend surrounding the Chase Family Vault in Barbados in the early 1800s. Of course, that's in Barbados, not San Francisco, but I took a bit of creative license and included it here. 

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