Allergic

'

Disclaimer:
As usual, I don’t own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein. I receive no tangible benefit from this story. I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.

Author's Notes:
This story is partially autobiographical. It was inspired by my real-life 3 year (and counting!) journey through a crippling health crisis. I did take some creative license along the way; not everything that happens to our spotlight character actually happened to me, though each event has its roots in truth.

That being said, there's a good bit more angst than would be typical of our heroes, as well as some issues involving team dynamics and character personalities that wouldn't necessarily happen in the canon M:I universe. Please keep that in mind and read at your own discretion.

Chapter 1

April 15

It was early spring. The five agents had just returned from a difficult mission and were debriefing at Jim's condominium, as was typical. It was lunchtime, and they were munching on sandwiches, chips, and sweet tea prepared by Jim and Shannon. A half hour or so after they'd finished eating, Shannon glanced over at Max. He was rubbing his eyes
vigorously with both hands.

"What's wrong, Max?" she asked him, prompting the other team members to look over in his direction.

"Nothing. I'm fine," he answered with a smile, bringing his hands down from his eyes. The team members were taken aback by what they saw.

"Max, your eyes are awfully red," Shannon clucked. "Do you think it could be allergies?"

"I've never had allergies in my life," Max grunted.

"Well, 'tis the season, buddy," Grant said with a grin, standing up to take his empty glass back to the kitchen and slapping his friend's broad shoulder as he passed him. "And you aren't getting any younger.  They say your body starts to fall apart once you hit forty," he added, knowing full well that Max was
almost there - and that he himself still had a few years to go to reach that milestone.

"Hey, I resent that!" Nicholas joined in the banter, having hit the milestone a couple of years before. "I happen to think I'm in pretty good shape."

"Says you, buddy," retorted Grant, which caused Shannon to erupt in peals of laughter.

"Well, what about you, Shannon?" Nicholas asked pointedly, pretending to be hurt by Grant's comment.

"Hey, I plead the fifth on the age question," she grinned.

Jim chuckled at his teammates. "Well, I've been forty for a long time," he reminded them, "and age is only a number."

They continued back and forth for a while, slinging good-natured insults at one another. Even Max got  into the rhythm, his itchy eyes all but forgotten. Finally, as the sun sank low on the horizon, the debriefing drew to a close; the team members said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

*******

The next morning, Max picked up a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit at a local drive-through on his way to the grocery store. They had been out of the country for over a week on their latest mission, and there was absolutely nothing to eat in Max's house.

As he pushed the grocery cart up and down the aisles, Max felt a telltale tingling in his eyes. Before he knew it, he had stopped along one side of the aisle and was reaching up with both hands to scratch them.

Was this really happening again? It was really starting to irritate Max, not normally a patient person anyway. What could it be? Maybe Shannon was right, he mused. Maybe it was allergies.

"That does it," he muttered to himself, and as he walked up toward the checkout counter he stopped by the pharmacy section and picked up some over-the-counter antihistamine pills. That should fix things, he thought, and paid for his groceries, certain that his minor trouble would soon be behind him.

Chapter 2

April 22

It was Friday evening. The team had just been given another mission and would be flying out to a remote area of Latin America in the morning. It was Grant's idea to have a serene, quiet dinner together before the craziness of the mission played havoc with their eating schedule. The other four had readily agreed; Max had perhaps a little less enthusiasm than the others, but it had gone unnoticed.

Max had begun taking the antihistamines last week to help with his itchy eyes. For the first two or three days, they seemed to help, but after that it didn't seem to make much of a difference whether he took them or not.

In the past day or two, Max had begun to notice that the itching was directly correlated with what he put into his body. If he stayed away from bread, for example, his eyes didn't itch as badly. So tonight, at the restaurant, he was determined not to eat any bread at all.

When it came his turn to order, Max had the steak and potatoes as usual, but declined to partake of the
basket of hot rolls.

"What, no bread, Max?" Grant needled. "Trying to lose a few pounds?"

Max managed a tiny smile. "Oh, you're a comedian," he replied. "Actually, I think bread might be what's causing my eyes to itch."

"Seriously?" Nicholas inquired, raising an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"I've noticed that if I eat bread, the itching gets worse," Max replied.

"So, do you think you're allergic to bread?" Shannon wanted to know.

"I don't know, Shannon," Max answered, hating the feeling of defensiveness that had suddenly washed over him. "I'm taking anti-histamines but I'm not sure how much they're helping."

"People just don't suddenly develop an allergy to bread, Max," chided Jim. "It's probably just this seasonal stuff floating around in the air. I bet it has nothing to do with the bread. I'm sure you'll be fine in no time."

With that, the conversation turned in a different direction, leaving Max's food issues behind.

The four teammates continued their exchange, not appearing to notice that Max had suddenly grown quiet, lost in his own thoughts. It was hard to put into words what he was feeling. He knew that his team cared about him, but they certainly didn't seem to be offering him much sympathy.

Max balked at the thought, even as it popped into his mind. What's wrong with you, man? he asked himself. You're not a sympathy hog. What's the big deal?

Suddenly, Max felt a nagging discomfort in his abdominal area. "I'll be back," he growled, and made his way to the restroom, where he proceeded to leave all of his dinner behind.

He was gone for so long that the team noticed his absence.
"It's about time you got back, brother," Grant teased. "We were about to send out a search party."

As Max took his seat next to Shannon, she noticed that his face had gone slightly pale. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"Fine," Max snapped, not really intending to be short with her, but at the same time not willing to have his bathroom habits become another topic for dinnertime conversation.

For the rest of the evening, Max remained quieter than usual, participating somewhat in the back-and-forth but speaking only when spoken to. Only Shannon seemed to notice, judging by the concerned glances she shot him occasionally; still, she said nothing.

Max's stomach felt funny - a strange mix of nausea and pain. He didn't feel well, but more than that, he was still unexplainably upset at the way his teammates had brushed him off. Max, usually the jokester, tonight didn't find Grant's jokes very funny. Max, who so often dismissed his own feelings, laughed at himself even to the point of self-deprecation, wasn't laughing at all. Finally, mercifully, the night came to an end. Max said a hasty goodbye and rushed to his car, leaving his teammates staring after him.

 *******

Max couldn't get home fast enough.

He jumped out of his car, rushing into the house and straight to the bathroom. He almost didn't make it,and by the time he was finished the nausea had given way to nothing but excruciating pain.  There would be two more bathroom visits before the pain finally left him alone. At last, Max collapsed
onto the bed, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. Sleep would come fitfully tonight, and Max prayed that he would feel better by the time they were ready to leave in the morning.

Chapter 3

April 23

The alarm clock woke Max at five a.m. - way too early for a Saturday morning, but necessary in order to catch an early flight to Latin America for their next mission.

Max, having been so sick the night before, was worried that illness would plague him during the mission -or, worse yet, that he wouldn't be able to go at all. Thankfully, he felt much better this morning. Must have been just a stomach bug, he reasoned.

He met his teammates at the airport. If anyone was thinking about last night's dinner, they didn't mention it. Outwardly, Max appeared to be his normal, good-natured self, happily chattering with his friends; inside, he just couldn't shake the sense of melancholy and resentment left over from yesterday.

Still cautious of his vulnerable digestive system, Max had skipped breakfast altogether, opting only for some peanuts and fresh fruit on the flight. His stomach seemed to feel better if there was less in it. The others either didn't notice or didn't care; at any rate, they asked no questions.

A little while later, Max was reclining in the seat, resting his eyes, when he became aware of a strange feeling inside his mouth and throat, as if someone were tickling them with a feather. He opened his eyes abruptly and sat up slightly, startled by the sensation.

Nicholas noticed the flicker of movement from the seat beside him. "Everything okay?" he asked, looking at Max.

"Sure," Max lied, not wishing to get involved in another discussion about his symptoms. "I must have dozed off for a second."

Nicholas accepted the explanation and went back to reading his magazine. Max, meanwhile, was busy trying to get a handle on this new development  For one terrified moment, Max thought he might be having an anaphylactic reaction to something. But what? Fruit? It didn't seem likely.

He sat there quietly, concentrating on breathing in and out and keeping his racing heart under control - all the while trying hard not to alarm his teammates. It worked; after a few moments, the tickling sensation went away and his vital signs returned to normal, with no further inquiries from his friends.
Max didn't say anything to anyone, but he made up his mind that he was going to a doctor as soon as he
got back to the States.

*******

April 24

It was hot in Latin America, even though it wasn't even summer yet. Grant and Max were undercover, having been hired on by an associate of the villain they were pursuing, fabricating a steel building that would house chemical weapons.

Max was feeling even hotter than usual; even his hands felt strange, like they were burning from the inside. Chalking it up to the warm climate and the heat radiating from the materials they were working with, Max paid little attention.

It was Grant who noticed.

As Max handed him a hammer, Grant caught a glimpse of Max's left hand, and his eyes grew wide.  Glancing around to make sure nobody was listening, he then turned back to his friend.

"Max!" he hissed.

"What's wrong?" Max answered, instantly alarmed by the tension in Grant's voice.

"Your hand," he replied, pointing.

Max looked down at his hand. It was blood red, as if It had been burned in a fire.

"Did you hurt it?" Grant asked anxiously.

"No," Max answered, still not quite sure what to make of things. Why was his hand so red? It didn't hurt, not really - just that peculiar feeling of burning from the inside.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Max reassured him hastily. "Probably just a sunburn."

"Well, the sun is hot," Grant agreed, reaching an arm up to wipe sweat from his brow. "Just put something on that when we get back to base camp, all right?"

Max nodded, and the two of them got back to work.

Later, as the team reconvened, everyone agreed that Max's hand was probably just badly sunburned, though they all thought it strange that his other hand was not and neither were his face and arms. Max rubbed some aloe gel on it, but it had already stopped burning as soon as they'd come inside.
Reassured that Max would be okay, the team hungrily devoured the submarine sandwiches that Shannon had
prepared. For whatever reason, Max wasn't thinking about the discomfort that had plagued him when he'd eaten bread the week before - at least, not until a half hour after he had finished his meal.

The annoying eye itch was back.

Max did his best to address the itching without letting the others know, but this time he was not successful.

"Eyes itching again?" Shannon asked, empathy in her voice as she laid a hand on his arm. Naturally, the other team members turned to look at him.

"It's no big deal, Shannon," he answered dismissively as he stood up to walk toward the restroom. "You guys are right; it's probably just allergies. I'll get it checked out when we get back home."

He disappeared into the bathroom, and as soon as the door closed behind him, he doubled over in pain.  He bit his lip, determined not to cry out and alert his friends.

When he was finished, he stood up and immediately grabbed the sink to steady himself as the world spun around. He stood still until the moment passed, then he looked in the mirror. His face was a curious combination of redness and pallor, and he was grateful that there was more of the former than of
the latter.

He splashed water on his face and re-emerged, hopeful that the team wouldn't notice how ill he felt. Max was certain now that he would be going to the doctor as soon as the mission was over. He was equally sure of two things: there was more to his illness than just allergies, and he could no longer pretend that bread wasn't affecting him.

Chapter 4

May 2
It was only the first of May, but it felt like summer. The team had returned from their mission two days before, and this morning Max was making good on his promise to go visit a doctor.

The rest of the mission had been incredibly difficult. Max had not felt well at all, and he had done his best to conceal his illness from his teammates. It wasn't really that he cared for them knowing, but he was convinced that food was causing his issues and he couldn't get anyone else to understand that.

There had been bathroom issues every day...sometimes one extreme, sometimes the other, and almost  always accompanied by horrible pain. He would suffer through them, and then he would put on a brave face and pretend that he was fine. Nobody really seemed to notice. Occasionally, someone - usually Shannon, sometimes Nicholas - would ask, or Max would catch them giving him a sideways glance. He
always dismissed it, and they didn't push the issue.  Max wasn't altogether sure why he was acting that way - hiding his symptoms from his friends. The team had always been close, even from their very first mission together. When something wasn't right with one of them, the others just knew, and rallied around to try to help.

But Max couldn't forget the dismissive comments that he'd received the one time he tried to tell them what was going on. It was just allergies, they'd said. Nothing serious. You'll be fine. Max supposed he'd expected someone to acknowledge his apprehension, maybe even offer to go with him to the
doctor. He expected them to just know, and they didn't. And he wasn't going to tell them he thought it was something worse, because he couldn't take any more of the comments that would undoubtedly follow.

So he had called a local clinic - he hadn't had a regular doctor in years - and was on his way in for a consultation. As he drove, his air conditioner blasting on such a hot day, Max became aware of his hands feeling strange. He looked, and the backs of both hands were bright red, exactly where the cold air had hit them. They didn't feel cold to him, but they looked for all the world like they'd been frostbitten.

Max was flabbergasted. So his hands were reacting to cold temperatures as well as heat. The doctor is going to have fun with this, he thought.

Max arrived at the doctor's office and checked in. A little while later, an attractive female practitioner listened as Max recounted his symptoms from the past two weeks. Of course, when he started describing how his hands had reacted earlier, he had no visual to corroborate; the redness had vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

"Well, Mister Harte, it does kind of sound like allergies," she stated when he was finished, and if there was any empathy in her eyes or voice he couldn't tell. "I'm going to refer you to an allergy specialist for testing. You'll want to call them to set that up."

"What about my..." Max cleared his throat.... "other issues?" His cheeks flushed. Blast, what was he doing, talking about bathroom behaviors in front of a girl?

"Well, you do lead sort of a high-stress lifestyle, being a freelance pilot," she responded, "and I'm sure you don't always eat well. Why don't you wait to see what the allergist says, so you'll know if there's anything you should avoid, and then you can try to modify your diet with safe things that are more healthy."

"Like....?"

"Whole grain bread, fruits, vegetables, nuts, the usual." She smiled at him.

Great, Max thought. Two of the things that made him sick in the first place. He'd just have to wait for the allergist.

"In the meantime, there are things you can get over-the-counter that will help if your symptoms get out of hand. I'll write you a list."

Max nodded. After a beat, the young doctor spoke again.
"I am going to write you one prescription while we wait for that allergist appointment," she said, a bit nervously.

"For what?" Max asked.

"An anti-depressant."

Max was speechless for a moment. He didn't know what to say. "But I'm not depressed," he finally managed.

"That may be true," she conceded, "but being hit with a sudden health crisis isn't easy, and from what you've told me it doesn't sound like you have a strong support system."

Max's emotions were all confused. He felt defensive of his teammates, and he wanted to tell her that they had his back - but, of course, he couldn't tell her about his "real job." On the other hand, blast it, she was right, at least for the moment.

"It’s a very mild dose," she was saying. "It’s very safe. Just take the prescription, and you can fill it if you need it."

Max nodded, thanked her, and proceeded to the checkout window.  He drove straight home without stopping at the pharmacy and called the allergist's office.

"We'll be glad to schedule you for testing, Mister Harte," the receptionist told him. "Have you been taking any over-the-counter antihistamines for your symptoms?"

"Well, yeah," Max replied.

"Then you'll have to stop taking them for at least two weeks prior to testing," she advised, "otherwise it will throw off your results. If you don't take any more as of now, I can schedule you for two weeks from tomorrow."

"That'll be fine."

After the arrangements were made, Max hung up the phone, and was a bit startled when it immediately rang again.

"Hello, Max," greeted Nicholas. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Max answered, recognizing the underlying question. Nicholas and the others had known he'd planned to see a doctor today. "I just got back from the doctor."

"And?"

"She thinks you guys are right, that it's allergies. I go for testing in two weeks. If we're not out on a mission by then."

"Two weeks? Why so long?"

"I took some antihistamine for my itchy eyes," Max responded. "I have to be off those things for a couple of weeks before they can test me."

"I see." It was hard to read Nicholas' voice. "Well, I guess you'll have to just take it easy until then."

"Yeah."  What else was there to say?

"Well, if you need anything, Max, you let me know, all right?"

"I will, Nicholas, thanks."

Max hung up the phone and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't believe he had to wait two weeks for testing! The antihistamines hadn't fixed all of his problems, but they had gotten him through the past couple of weeks. If he couldn't take them, how was he going to cope?

There was only one way. He would have to avoid eating anything that bothered him. The thought made him suddenly, inexplicably sad, and Max decided that if he was going to survive the next two weeks he'd better stop by the pharmacy on the next trip out and fill that antidepressant prescription after all.

Chapter 5

May 13

It had been a very long couple of weeks.

There hadn't been any missions to run, and Max hadn't seen the team since they'd gotten back from the last one. It seemed that everyone had something to catch up on.  While he had missed his friends, Max was grateful for the time away from them, to focus on trying to figure out how to eat without becoming ill.

At first, he eliminated just bread and fresh fruits from his diet - the two things that he was sure had bothered him - opting instead for meat, vegetables, and dairy.  He learned quickly that red meat would send him to the bathroom almost immediately, so he opted against that and started eating more fish and poultry.  After a few days, Max's trips to the bathroom were fewer and his stomach pain was much relieved; however, he began to notice that raw vegetables would cause his eyes to itch, much like the raw fruits
had done. So he began to cook all of his vegetables before eating them, and things got better.  In fact, as long as he stuck to white meat, cooked vegetables, and dairy, he barely had symptoms at all, even without taking the antihistamines.

The antidepressant was another thing. Max had trouble remembering to take it, and after a while when his symptoms improved he decided he didn't need it after all.

But then came Friday night, and a knock at Max's door.  Who could that be? he thought, puzzled.

He opened the door and came face to face with all four of his teammates. Shannon was in the lead, carrying a cake box.

"Surprise, buddy!" Grant yelled with a grin.

Max allowed a sideways grin to cross his face as he stepped aside to let them in. "What's the occasion?" He wanted to know.

"Oh, nothing special," Nicholas shrugged. "We just wanted to get together and hang out for a while, and you've been so downright reclusive lately that we thought we'd come to you."

"And I brought us some dessert," Shannon chimed in, setting the cake box on the table just inside Max's kitchen. Then she began to make herself at home, opening the cabinet door and locating the coffee.

Suddenly, the agents took a good look at Max's appearance and were taken aback. Max's body was still amply muscular, but his face was noticeably more slender.

"You've lost some weight," Nicholas commented quietly.

"A little," Max confessed. "I haven't been eating as much," he added, in response to Nicholas' raised eyebrow. "I feel better that way."

"When's your testing again?" Jim asked.

"Four more days," he answered, "unless we get a new mission."

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but caught a look from Max and closed it again.

"Well, hopefully, you will get some answers," Grant smiled. "We wouldn't want you to waste away to nothing."

Max's own smile faltered for a second, and then he made sure it was back in place again. For some reason, Grant's comment had offended him. Intellectually, he knew Grant was only teasing - the two of them were always doing that - but for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on, he just felt belittled again. And that made him angry.

The four men continued to chat while the coffee perked. Presently, Shannon entered Max's living room carrying a tray with four steaming mugs of coffee, along with cream and sugar for them to use as they liked. Another trip to the kitchen, and she returned with generous slices of lemon creme cake for each of them.

"Eat up, guys," she said cheerfully.

She handed Max his slice, but instead of taking it, he just looked at her.

"Shannon," he said gently, "I can't."

The broad grin on Shannon's face faded instantly. "What?" she questioned.

"I appreciate it, Shannon, I really do," he assured her, "but I'll get sick if I eat it."

Well, that was thoughtful, Max chided himself. He was referring to his symptoms, of course, and didn't intend it as a slander of her cooking, though he could see how she could interpret it that way.

"But, Max," Shannon insisted, "I made it from scratch, just for you guys. Please, have some."

Max looked into her eyes and thought he saw tiny tears hiding in the corners.

Oh, no.

The last thing he ever wanted to do was to hurt her feelings.
His other three friends were looking at him as if he had committed a mortal sin. They didn't understand.  Why didn't they understand? Shannon's cake was made from the same kind of flour as bread, and would more than likely affect Max's body the same way. The problem was, nobody really believed that was the case.

Why couldn't they accept that Max was being cautious, at least until the testing confirmed or denied his suspicions? Why couldn't they understand how good he'd felt these past few days, when he had avoided bread altogether?

Max was angry and hurt that his own feelings were being pushed aside, and he started to get up and storm off into the other room. But one more glance into Shannon's eyes, and Max sighed, knowing what he had to do.

He forced a smile. "Okay, Shannon," he relented, reaching for the cake. "I'd love some."

He felt as if he were on television - or on trial - the way the others watched him take a bite of the cake. It was magnificent, he had to admit - especially since he had missed bread so much - and he told her so.  Her face lit up, and all the teardrops were gone.

The others each ate a second piece of cake. Max stopped at one, but nobody seemed to mind.

After the cake was gone, the team spent a little while in lively discussion about a whole host of topics.  Max tried his best to join in, but he was incredibly distracted; all he could think about was what was happening to his body. He had a feeling that tonight would be incredibly difficult, especially since he
didn't have the antihistamines to fall back on.

He felt the telltale eye itch within a half hour, but he did his best to ignore it, only reaching up to scratch them occasionally. Part of him wanted them all to see all of his symptoms, to show them what he was going through; the other part was sure that someone would accuse him of imagining it all because he knew what he'd just eaten.

Max was listening to Jim recount a story about his younger days in the IMF. All of a sudden, he became aware of a heaviness around his upper body. He felt like someone had lain a heavy backpack upon the back of his neck and shoulders, and he was having incredible difficulty keeping his eyes open.

"Max?"

Nicholas, who was sitting beside him, was shaking his shoulder gently and peering at him, his eyes filled with concern. Max wasn't sure how long Nicholas had been calling his name, but from the look in his eyes it had been a few moments.

Slowly, Max fought through the heaviness, blinking his itchy eyes and shaking his head slowly to clear the cobwebs.

"Are you all right?" Nicholas asked, once he was sure the life had come back into his friend's eyes.

Max wasn't sure; he didn't even know what had happened. This was the first time he had felt that way.  Had he fallen asleep? Had he passed out?

"I guess I must be more tired than I thought, guys," Max managed to answer. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, Max," Shannon reassured him. "It's getting pretty late anyway. We all need to go and let you rest."

The other men took the cue and stood up, each of them bidding Max goodbye with a handshake and an
affectionate shoulder slap. Then, after a soft hug from Shannon, they disappeared into the night.

Max managed to hold it together until he closed the door behind them. Then everything fell apart as every symptom he'd had two weeks ago - that he hoped he'd finally put behind him - came back with a vengeance. This was going to be a sleepless night, and this time he didn't have any medication to alleviate his symptoms.

Chapter 6

May 14

The telephone rang early Saturday morning, jolting Max out of a fitful sleep. Who on earth could that be this early in the morning? was his initial thought. But when he looked at the clock beside his bed, he realized it was after nine - not really that early at all.

"Hello?" he said into the receiver, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Hello, Max," greeted Nicholas. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"It's all right, Nicholas," Max assured him. "I just didn't sleep much."

"Really? You seemed so tired before we left." A pause. "Did you get sick last night?" he asked quietly.

Max didn't quite know how to respond to the sudden show of empathy. "I'm okay," he said dismissively.

"Max." Nicholas' voice dropped an octave in pitch. "Tell me the truth."

Max sighed and ran his hand through his hair nervously. "It was pretty bad," he admitted, without elaborating. He wasn't comfortable telling Nicholas how swollen and puffy his face was, or how many trips to the bathroom he'd taken overnight, or how he'd fallen asleep on the bathroom floor because the
heaviness he'd felt during their visit had returned.

"I'm sorry, Max," Nicholas said. "I'm sure Shannon didn't intend to hurt you."

"I know," he responded, somewhat bitterly, "but nobody listened to me."

"What happened to you last night, Max?" Nicholas asked suddenly, an edge of anxiety in his voice.

"I'm not sure myself," Max replied honestly, after a pause. "I was listening to Jim and all of a sudden you were shaking me. The rest is a blur. And it happened again after you guys left."

"Well, all I know is that you were fine one minute, and the next minute it's like you weren't with us anymore. And it was a few moments before I finally got you to respond. It scared me," Nicholas confessed, and Max was touched by his concern. "The others were worried, too."

"Really?" Max asked, surprised at how quickly the sarcasm laced his voice. "Is that why they've been teasing me and telling me this is all in my head?"

"They haven't said that," Nicholas challenged softly.

"Not in so many words," Max muttered, "but they might as well have."

Nicholas sighed heavily. "I can talk to them if you want-"

"No!" Max interrupted. "Don't you dare say anything."

"But, Max," Nicholas persisted, "we're your friends."

"Don't, Nicholas," Max threatened, a hint of danger in his voice, immediately sorry that he'd let Nicholas know how much he'd been bothered lately. "It's really not a big deal," he added, a little gentler. "Thank you for calling. I've got to run." Max said goodbye, and the connection was broken.

Nicholas stared at the dead receiver for a moment. Obviously, it is a big deal, he thought to himself, or Max wouldn't have acted that way. And, Nicholas had to admit, Max had good reason.

He had spent nearly two weeks alone, no doubt fighting these symptoms, and the team had barely bothered to check in to see how he was doing. When he had been forthcoming about it, they had all made light of everything. Even though he had told them his suspicions about bread, Shannon had made
a cake and practically guilt-tripped him in to eating it. And, worse, Grant had even teased him, more than once.

He would respect Max's wishes and not talk to the others. They would probably either go overboard with their concern or chastise him for making a big deal out of things. Either way, Max would know he had said something.

He wouldn't betray his friend's trust. Nicholas had the feeling that no matter how sick he got, Max wasn't going to be very open with the others. God only knew what would happen to him if he shut Nicholas out, too.

Chapter 7

May 16

The sun blazing through the upstairs window woke Max from his slumber. Finally, three days since the cake incident - three days of vegetables, baked or grilled white meat, and dairy - he was starting to feel normal again.

He hadn't heard from Jim or Grant since their gathering on Friday night. Shannon had called the day before to see how Max was feeling. She hadn't apologized for the cake; then again, she didn't have a clue how ill Max had been that night.

Nicholas had called every day to check in on his friend. When they'd spoken the night before, he'd been thrilled to hear that Max was starting to feel better. For the first time since that first night at Jim's condo, Max actually felt like someone cared about what was happening to him.

It was almost noon when Max heard a knock on his front door. He opened it, and was surprised to find Nicholas standing there in the doorway.

"Nicholas, what are you doing here?" he asked. "Not that I'm not glad to see you," he added teasingly.

But Nicholas was in no mood for teasing. His mouth was drawn into a worried frown.

"What is it?" Max asked tensely as his own smile faded.

"We've got a mission," he replied quietly. "Jim was going to call you, but I told him I'd tell you in person.  It's in Guatemala. We fly out tomorrow."

Max knew exactly why Nicholas had come over. He tried to hide his disappointment, but failed somewhat. "Then I'd better get packing."

"Max, your allergy test," Nicholas reminded him.

Max shrugged. "So I'll postpone it."

Nicholas shook his head, concern brimming in his eyes. "Max, you've waited this long - and without any medication. You can't miss this test."

"I'm doing okay right now, Nicholas," Max reminded him.

"Yes, but you've been staying home and eating well. Do you really think you'll be able to do that in a foreign country?" he questioned. "And if you go back on the antihistamines, it's just going to set you back several more weeks."

Max said nothing, because he knew his friend was right.

Nicholas began to pace, as he often did when he was nervous. "There's got to be a way," he said resolutely.

"Don't you dare suggest I skip the mission," Max warned.

Nicholas looked at his friend. "I wasn't going to," he answered quietly. He knew that if it came down to a choice between himself and the work of the IMF, Max would always put the mission first.

Nicholas didn't bother to tell Max that he'd already tried to talk Jim into passing on this one - or at least delaying it for a day or two, until Max's test was done. Jim had refused. The stakes were too high, the mission too important. They had to get there right away. Nicholas thought of asking Jim how important his teammate was, but bit his tongue.

But then Nicholas had an idea.

"What if there was a later flight?" he mused, aloud but mostly to himself. He turned back toward his friend. "Max, what time is your test?"

"It’s at ten," Max answered.

"Same time as the flight is scheduled. But if there's another flight going out later in the afternoon or evening, we could get you to your allergy test and still get there only a few hours later."

"We?" Max repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Max," answered Nicholas. "I'm going with you to make sure you get this test done." He didn't mention that he knew Max wouldn't stay behind to do it unless someone kept him accountable, but he knew without a doubt that was the case.

"But what if they need you there earlier?" Max protested.

"I'm not really worried about that right now," Nicholas replied softly.

Max's stomach lurched. "I don't know, Nicholas."

"Max, please," Nicholas begged, laying a hand on Max's arm. "You've been sick long enough. I don't want something to happen to you while we're thousands of miles away."

Nicholas met Max's gaze, and Max was taken aback by the worry that shone back at him. Whatever had happened to Max Friday night had terrified his friend.

"Just let me make a call," Nicholas pleaded. "Let me find out."

Max hesitated for a moment. "All right, fine," he finally relented.

Nicholas squeezed his arm and flashed him a grin, then rushed to use Max's phone.

After a quick call to the airport, Nicholas hung up and smiled at Max. "There's a flight leaving out at three," he said excitedly. "That would give us plenty of time to get to your appointment, get whatever medications you need, and still get to the airport. And we'd only be five hours later than the rest of the team." He looked at Max expectantly.

Max allowed a sideways grin to creep across his face. "I guess you won't take no for an answer, will you?"

"Not this time, pal," he smiled back. "I'll call Jim."

Max went into the kitchen to fix the coffee while Nicholas telephoned Jim. The conversation was hushed, but Max could have sworn he heard Nicholas raising his voice slightly. A few minutes later, he joined Max in the kitchen. His smile was gone.

"Everything okay?" Max asked him.

"Fine," Nicholas replied, tension in his voice.

"He wasn't happy, was he?" Max ran a hand through his hair.

Nicholas shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Max," he answered.

"What did he say to you?" Max demanded. In the years he'd worked with the IMF, he'd never known Jim and Nicholas to have a harsh word between them.

"Max, it's not important," Nicholas insisted. "We're scheduled to fly out at three tomorrow afternoon.  Grant will meet us at the airport."

Nicholas forced a smile back to his face. "I'd better get going," he told his friend. "We both have some packing to do." He patted Max's shoulder affectionately. "I'll pick you up in the morning."

Nicholas turned to go, but then Max called after him.
"Nicholas?"  He turned around.  "Thanks, pal."

Nicholas grinned at him - sincerely, this time - and closed the door behind him.

Chapter 8

May 17 - 9:45 am

The next morning, Nicholas picked Max up and they arrived at the allergist's office at a quarter to ten.  Once there, Max answered what seemed like a hundred questions about his symptoms. Then he acquiesced - rather unwillingly - as the nurse placed thirty-six scratches on his back, each representing a separate substance that could represent a potential allergy.  Almost instantly, Max's back began to itch. He figured this was a good thing, confirmation that he really
was allergic to something.

When the doctor came in twenty minutes later and looked at his back, he shook his head. The news wasn't quite what Max expected.

"Well, Mister Harte," he said, "your skin cells have an extremely high level of histamine in them, which is making your results inconclusive."

"What exactly does that mean?" Max asked, dumbfounded.

"Histamine is the stuff your body produces when your body is having an allergic reaction," he explained.  "That's what causes your symptoms. And based on what I'm seeing, whatever you are allergic to has been causing a systemic reaction for a long time."

"So why am I just now having issues?" he questioned.

"Your threshold is probably pretty high," the doctor answered. "Think of it as a cup filling up, and you don't notice it's getting full until it runs over. The problem is, I can't tell what you're actually reacting to."

"So what now?" Max wanted to know.

"There's another test we can do," the doctor replied. "It's called a transdermal test. Instead of scratching the surface of your skin with the allergen, we would actually inject a small amount underneath the top layer of skin."

"What, like, with a needle?" Max demanded, not sure he liked this idea.

"Yes, but it’s not that painful," he chuckled. "The transdermal reaction is more accurate because it bypasses the cells where the histamine hides."

"How long will it take?" Max asked, glancing at his watch, mindful that they had a plane to catch. It was almost eleven already.

"Same as the scratch test. Get the injections, wait twenty minutes, and done."

"All right," Max agreed, knowing Nicholas would never forgive him if he went through all this trouble and then didn't find out anything. "Let's do it."

A few minutes later, Max hissed and clenched his teeth as the nurse inserted sixteen needles under the surface of his skin. While he was waiting, there came a soft knock at the door.
"Come in."

The door opened, and Nicholas popped his head in. "Hey, Max," he greeted his shirtless friend. "You've been back here a while. I was wondering about you. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine, just a little sore and itchy," Max answered, and he filled Nicholas in on what was happening.  "You can stay back here if you want," he said, as Nicholas turned to go.

"You sure?"

"Sure," he smiled.

A few moments later, the doctor came in.  "Itching yet?" he asked Max.

"Definitely," Max replied.

"Well, I understand why," the doctor mused.

"What am I allergic to?"

The doctor smiled at his patient. "Perhaps the question is, what are you not allergic to?" he answered.  "Everything we tested you for had at least a mild reaction - grass, pollen, ragweed, mold, dust, you name it."

Max took a moment to take this in, but he was confused. "I don't understand," he said. "I'm outside all the time, in all seasons. I've never had an issue with environmental allergies. And I'm pretty sure that all of my reactions now have to do with food. So how do you explain that, and why didn't you test me for food allergies?"

"We like to test for environmental allergies first, because they are easier to rule out or address," the doctor responded. "The truth is, a true food allergy has no treatment other than complete avoidance."  Seeing the crestfallen look on Max's face, he continued. "But your reactions to food could absolutely have an environmental connection."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything you eat either grew or came from something that ate something that grew," he explained.  "Ever hear of oral allergy syndrome?"

Max and Nicholas both shook their heads.

"Plants produce food by pollination," the doctor continued. "During the process, some of the pollen becomes part of the food. If you are allergic to pollen, your body will have the same allergic reaction when you eat the food."  The doctor looked at Max. "You said that you had issues with wheat, right?" Max nodded. "No surprise; wheat is a grass, and grass was one of your strongest allergens."

"So how do I get better?"

"Well, I know you mentioned that you had fewer problems with cooked vegetables. Cooking manipulates the proteins in the food and basically disguises the pollen from your system so it doesn't react." A pause. "But sometimes if you have an exceptionally strong reaction, cooking won't even help. For those situations, some patients have been helped by immunotherapy."

"Allergy shots?" Nicholas asked.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "Of course, the shots target the environmental allergy instead of the food itself, but that's essentially what you're reacting to anyway."

"What's the protocol?" Max inquired.

"Usually twice a week for about three or four months to build up your tolerance to the allergen, then maintenance dose is once a week for about a year. Eventually, we taper down to twice a month, once a month, once every three months, and so on and finish the course completely in about five years."

Max shook his head. "I'm a pilot," he said. "I'm out of the country sometimes for weeks on end.  There's no way I could do that."

The doctor sighed. "No plans to take any time off, I suppose?"

Max shook his head. "Do I have any other choices?"

"Well, most allergy medications are available over the counter these days," he replied, "but I can give you
some that are prescription strength that will be more effective. Combined with what you're already doing,
that should help you feel better. Some things, like wheat, may continue to be such a problem that you have to avoid them altogether. I'd recommend that you keep a food journal - a list of foods you try and your reactions to them. That will help you remember what foods you can eat as well as identify any new
problems that may develop."

The doctor glanced at his watch. "I know you're in a hurry," he remarked. "I'll get those prescriptions written and get you on your way."

Forty minutes later, Max and Nicholas left the pharmacy with three filled prescriptions in hand. It was just after one o'clock.

"The plane doesn't leave till three," Nicholas suggested. "What do you say we grab some lunch? It'll be one last chance to grab some good food before we leave."

Max did not need to be asked twice. After feasting on grilled chicken and cooked vegetables, he and Nicholas set out for the airport.

Chapter 9

May 17 - 5 pm

Max was stoically quiet as he and Nicholas waited at the airport for Grant to pick them up. So many things were running through his mind.

He finally had an idea of what was causing his symptoms, and some medications to try and address it.  But eating would still be a problem, because there were some things he wouldn't be able to eat at all.  Not only was he apprehensive about finding the right kind of food in the middle of nowhere, he was nervous about how much to tell the others about his condition, and what they would have to say about it.

Nicholas looked over at his friend with empathy but said nothing, leaving him alone with his thoughts. At last, Grant showed up to get them.

"So how'd it go?" Grant asked.

"Turns out I'm allergic to almost everything in the environment," Max mumbled, "and it's affecting what I eat."

"Well, you shouldn't have to worry about allergies here," Grant grinned. "Nothing but sand and desert as far as the eye can see."

Max felt the blood rushing to his temples. Once again, there was no empathy, no understanding...just a quip. Max wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it was more than he got. His hands began to shake.

Nicholas saw this from the backseat and reached forward to lay a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. It was this gesture alone that kept Max from saying something to Grant that he'd regret later.

"We'll drop Nicholas off to meet with Jim," Grant was saying. He glanced over at Max. "You and I have some surveillance work to do."

Max nodded, hoping that the work ahead would provide a suitable diversion.

*******

"We've been waiting for you," Jim told Nicholas as he walked in the door at the team's makeshift headquarters. His voice wasn't hostile, but the underlying frustration that he and Max were five hours late was not lost on the dark-haired agent.

"Don't, Jim," he responded, matching his leader's tone. "This was important. And we're here now."

"So what did the doctor say?" Jim inquired.

Nicholas followed Max's lead from earlier and told Jim and Shannon exactly what he had told Grant. Jim nodded, and then they turned their attention to the mission.

*******

The building the team was using for headquarters was a bare-bones warehouse, with no extra amenities. There was no refrigerator, no microwave, and no stove, so the team had little choice but to send someone to town to pick up food from a restaurant or grocery store when it was time to eat.
Tonight it was Shannon's turn, and she came back with takeout burgers and fries from a knockoff version of an American fast food place.

"Who'd have thought we'd find these over here?" she asked, as she distributed the food.

When the cheeseburger and fries were set before him, Max hesitated for a moment. It had been hours since he'd eaten, and he and Grant had worked hard this evening so he was starving. At first, he only ate his fries, believing them to be relatively safe; however, when he was finished, he was still hungry.

Now, Max had a dilemma. He knew that he would get no more to eat tonight. He could eat the cheeseburger and face the physical consequences, not to mention the comments that might come along with it. Or he could skip the cheeseburger altogether and be starving by morning - and probably still
have to endure some comments. He couldn't win.

After mulling it over for a few moments, Max decided to leave the cheeseburger in its wrapper. As expected, the comments began.

"Are you going to eat that?" Shannon asked, nodding toward the cheeseburger.

Max refused to meet her eyes. He shook his head. "I can't," he answered.

Grant, who had just taken a drink of tea, set his glass down hard. "Oh, geez, Max, not this again!"

Max looked up at Grant, but said nothing.

"For heaven's sake, Max, you've been eating cheeseburgers ever since I've known you. How could they suddenly start making you sick?"

Max remained silent, but Nicholas spoke up. "Grant, the doctor said -"

"Well, maybe the doctor's crazy!" he interrupted. "And maybe so are you!"

"Grant-"

"Let it go, Nicholas," Max whispered. He got to his feet, disappeared into a side room, and closed the door behind him.

For a few seconds, there was dead silence in the room. Finally, Nicholas rose up from his chair.

"Well, I hope you're happy," he hissed at Grant. He walked over to the side room and knocked softly on the door.
"Max?"

"Go away, Nicholas."

Nicholas' stomach lurched. "Come on, Max."

"Nicholas, please. I just need some time, all right? I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Nicholas sighed heavily. "Okay, but you know where I'll be." Then he retreated to a second side room without another word, leaving the other three agents alone to wonder what had just happened.

Chapter 10

May 18 - 1 am

Prior to the arrival of the latter two agents, Jim and Shannon had rigged up some cots for sleeping.  It was the best they could do under the circumstances, so everyone hoped that they could wrap up the mission soon.

Max lay on his back on his cot, fingers interlaced behind his head. He couldn't sleep. He kept thinking about Grant, wondering how things had gotten so tense between them. Could it be that he just didn't understand? Max would love to explain things to his friend, but he feared more of the verbal jabs and comments that had become commonplace. At least if Grant was angry at him, maybe he wouldn't wisecrack.

But something else was keeping him awake. He was starving.
The small helping of fries and glass of water he'd had at dinner hadn't been enough to quell the hunger inside him. And although he'd gotten used to eating less these past few days, he was accustomed to getting protein at every meal, not just carbohydrates. He could feel his blood sugar taking a nosedive and knew that he was going to have to do something.

He thought about that cheeseburger that he hadn't eaten earlier, wondered if it was still on the table where he'd left it. At least, he could ditch the buns and eat the beef and the cheese, and that would give him some much-needed protein. It was true that red meat didn't usually agree with his stomach, but right now a little pain would be preferable to the emptiness he felt inside his gut.

He opened the door, almost noiselessly, and crept into the empty room where they'd all gathered a few hours earlier. He smiled when he saw the burger still there, untouched and wrapped up, on the table in front of the chair where he'd been.

He sat down in the dark and gingerly unwrapped it, licking his lips. The aroma immediately caught his attention. It smelled so good.

Suddenly, he lost all sense of control. The next thing he knew, there was nothing on the paper except crumbs. He had devoured the entire cheeseburger, buns and all.

*******

Nicholas woke with a start. It had to be at least the fifth time he'd woken, and the fifth time he'd thought of Max. He could stand it no longer.

He tiptoed to the door, turned the knob, and crept toward Max's room. But a noise from the large room caught his ear. Glancing over, he saw Max sitting at the table and walked quietly toward him.

As he drew closer, he saw the cheeseburger wrapper on the tabletop, now empty, and Max with a look on his face that was somewhere between embarrassment and disgust.

"Oh, Max," Nicholas breathed. "You didn't."

"I couldn't help it," Max said quietly. "I was so hungry. I...I don't know what came over me."

"How long ago?" Nicholas asked as he sat down in the chair across from Max, his voice tense but filled with compassion.

"About fifteen minutes," Max answered.

Nicholas knew that it was about time for his symptoms to start, and that he hadn't taken his evening medication yet. Without a word, he got up and fetched the antihistamine and some painkillers along with a glass of water.

"Here, take these," he said gently, and Max obeyed. He set the water down on the table and promptly reached up to scratch his eye.

"It's already started, huh," Nicholas mused sympathetically, and Max nodded, grateful that he wasn't belittling him. "How do you feel?"

"I'm a little light headed," he admitted, "and my stomach feels funny."

"Let's get you lying down," Nicholas suggested, drawing close to his friend's side so that he could steady him.

"Um, Nicholas, I'd better stop by the bathroom first," Max advised, mortified by the admission.

Nicholas laid one hand on Max's shoulder and the other on his elbow as he helped him to the restroom.  He could tell that Max was somewhat unsteady on his feet.

"I can make it from here," Max told his friend once they'd reached the door.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Max winced slightly as the pain hit his stomach, praying Nicholas wouldn't notice.

"Okay if I wait outside?"

"Thanks," Max said gratefully, as he closed the door - and immediately doubled over in pain.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, he stood up and the room began to spin around in circles. He waited a moment until things settled down, then he opened the door.

Nicholas was shocked at his friend's appearance. Max's face was noticeably paler and drenched in sweat, and his eyes were red and swollen. His eyelids were drooping, and Nicholas couldn't tell if he was just sleepy or if he was losing consciousness like he had the other night.

"Max, are you still with me?" Nicholas asked tensely, his stomach lurching at the memory of last Friday night.

Max nodded slightly but didn't say anything as Nicholas again steadied him until he was safely lying on his cot. Max's eyes were closed. Nicholas pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from Max's brow.

"I'll stay with you," Nicholas stated flatly.

Max's eyes popped open. "No, that's okay," he disagreed. "I think I'm going back to sleep anyway."

"Max."

"Please, Nicholas," Max begged. "I'll be all right, I promise. Go on and get some rest."

Nicholas raised his eyebrows.

"I'll come find you if I need you," Max assured him.

Nicholas sighed, not happy at the idea of leaving Max alone. "All right, if you're sure," he relented, and he turned to go back to his room.

"Nicholas?" Max called after him.

Nicholas wheeled around, on high alert, expecting Max to ask for something. But, instead, he just smiled.

"Thanks."

Nicholas smiled back and closed the door behind him.

Chapter 11

May 18 - 3 am

After Nicholas left, Max laid there for a little while, alone with his convoluted thoughts. He was thankful for Nicholas. It felt good to have someone genuinely care about him without judgment or criticism.

Eating the cheeseburger had been almost a compulsion, but Max knew that it would have been easy for Nicholas to label it a bad choice and say that Max was getting what he deserved. His friend, however, hadn't done that.  On the other hand, Max was quite uncomfortable being fussed over, and sharing his most intimate symptoms with his teammate. He just wanted to get to feeling better, without all of the drama.

Max's eyelids grew heavy again, and he lapsed into a fitful sleep. Less than two hours later, his entire body jerked awake.

The first thing he noticed was intense pain on the right side of his face, near his jawline. Involuntarily, he reached his hand up and felt the sore spot. To his alarm, it was swollen to the size of a large marble. It reminded him of an abscessed tooth, though he didn't see how it could be that.

The second thing he noticed was how much his lower back was hurting. He and Grant had worked hard the day before, but Max hadn't lifted anything heavy. There was no reason why it should be hurting that badly.

The third thing he noticed was that he had to go to the bathroom again. As he raised up from his cot, leveraging himself with his right arm, his shoulder suddenly gave way and he crashed back down onto the cot again. Pain ripped through his body and he bit his lip to keep from crying out and waking the others.

With the second effort, he kept his weight off his shoulder, and this time he was able to get up off his cot.  He stumbled to the restroom, where his body proceeded to rid itself of all traces of the blasted cheeseburger.

Once finished, Max stood up unsteadily and pulled his clothing back into place. Suddenly, he became aware of a bizarre feeling of intense heat that started in his groin. He almost felt as if he was wetting himself, though he knew that was not the case.  The strange heat traveled quickly up his body, and Max felt as if his legs would buckle beneath him.
When it reached his head, the sensation was a peculiar mix of numbness and dizziness, and his chest felt tight.

Max knew that he was going to pass out. What he didn't know was how long it would take someone to find him. His last conscious thought was wishing he hadn't sent Nicholas away...

*****

The sound of a thump from an adjacent room roused Nicholas from a restless sleep. It took him a moment to realize that it hadn't been a dream. Once he did, he sat bolt upright. Max! The thought shot through his brain, and in an instant he was out of his room, no longer worried about waking the others.

Nicholas saw the light shining out from underneath the bathroom door, and he had a sickening feeling.  He knocked lightly at the door.

"Max!" he called out anxiously. There was no response.

Nicholas turned the knob and was relieved to discover it was unlocked. He pushed it gently until the opening was wide enough for him to slip through. There on the floor, to his horror, lay Max, unconscious.

"Max!" he hissed, immediately dropping to his knees and checking his friend's vital signs. To his relief, Max was breathing and his pulse beating strongly, although more rapid than Nicholas would have liked.

Max's face was pale, cold, and clammy, but Nicholas' warm touch caused him to stir slightly.  He lifted Max's head gently and laid a folded-up towel underneath it, then he continued to rub Max's face with his warm hands. Max continued to stir, shaking his head slowly until his blue eyes finally opened.

Nicholas sighed audibly and smiled slightly at his friend. "Easy, Max," he soothed.

Max tried to sit up, but the dark-haired agent held a firm hand on his shoulder. "Just lie still a moment," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Max replied, his voice still weak.

"Ready to try sitting up?"

"Okay." Max reached up and clasped Nicholas' left hand, while the latter's right hand went around his shoulders, and Nicholas eased his friend to a sitting position.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Max nodded. "I think so."

"Your color's a little better," Nicholas observed. "You had me worried."

"I had myself worried," Max responded honestly.

"What happened?" Nicholas asked.

"Let me get back to the room," Max answered, "and I'll tell you."

"Okay. Easy now."

Nicholas helped Max to his feet and steadied him as he walked back to his cot. Then Max told his friend about the strange feelings that had preceded his fainting spell, as well as the new symptoms that he'd felt this time.

"You think it was the bread again?" Nicholas asked.

"I'm sure of it," Max replied. "I can't do it anymore, Nicholas. I just can't."

"What are you going to do for the rest of this mission?" Nicholas inquired, knowing how hard it would be to find something to eat that didn't include bread.

"The best I can," he replied simply. "Stay away from bread for sure. Hopefully Grant and I can get our part wrapped up tomorrow, and I can hurry up and catch a plane out of here."

Just then, Max and Nicholas heard Jim's voice drifting through the emptiness of the warehouse.  "Nicholas, is everything okay?"

Nicholas shot a glance at Max, who shook his head quickly. "We're fine, Jim. Sorry we woke you."

"You'd better get back to bed," Max cautioned.

Nicholas disappeared without a word, and without closing the door behind him, only to reappear moments later carrying his cot. He set it down just a few feet away from Max's.

"What are you doing?" Max asked.

"I'm not leaving you this time," Nicholas vowed.

"Nicholas-"

"Forget it, Max," he interrupted, in a tone that invited no argument.

"Whatever," Max smiled, acting noncommittal but in reality grateful for his friend's presence, as the two settled down to sleep.

Chapter 12

May 18 - 7:30 am

The rest of the night passed without any further incidents. The next morning, Nicholas and Max awoke to find that Grant had already gone after breakfast. He returned a little while later and set a large brown bag on the table.

"A taste of home," he smiled, as he began to distribute the Styrofoam containers. "Biscuits and gravy for everyone."

Nicholas glanced at Max, and saw the taller man's face fall. There was nothing that he could eat. He turned away from the table.

"Max, aren't you going to eat?" Shannon asked him.

"I'm not hungry," Max lied, and he started toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Nicholas demanded.

"I'll be outside when you're ready to go," he said to Grant, his voice low.

"What's with him?" Grant asked when Max had gone outside.
Nicholas opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it and closed it back. He tried to eat, but couldn't; he was thinking about his friend.

Halfway through his meal, Nicholas pushed his food away and went outside where Max was sitting on the front steps.

"Are you all right, Max?" he asked quietly.

Max looked up, and Nicholas was surprised to see that his eyes were moist. "Why, Nicholas?" he whispered. "Why are they doing this?"

"I don't know," Nicholas confessed. "You still don't want me to talk to them?"

"No," Max responded. "They won't understand."

"Well, you hang in there, all right, pal?" Nicholas encouraged. "Hopefully, we'll be home soon."

Max nodded, as Grant exited the warehouse and he got up to follow behind him. Max paused long enough to give the dark-haired agent a grateful shoulder slap, as Grant was left wondering what was going on between the two men.

On the way to the surveillance site, Grant tried to make small talk, but Max was having none of it.  Finally, Grant just gave up and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

They finished their portion of the mission with no communication between them other than what was
absolutely necessary, and the trip back passed much the same way.

It was when they got back to headquarters that it all came to a head.

It wasn't time for lunch yet, but Max's stomach was already rumbling loudly - so loudly that Grant could hear it, standing beside the blond Australian.

"Are you hungry, Max?" Grant asked. Max said nothing, and Grant continued. "I guess I'd be hungry, too, if I picked at my supper and then ditched my breakfast."

Suddenly, Max snapped.

Before he even knew what was happening, he had grabbed Grant's shirt collar and shoved him up against the warehouse wall.

"Max!" Jim and Shannon called out simultaneously in alarm.

"What the hell are you doing?" Grant asked, after he finally found his voice again.

"You have no idea how I feel," Max seethed, his teeth clenched, "because all you've done for the past month is make fun of me and act like this is all in my head."

"Max, that's not true," defended Shannon.

"You're one to talk, Shannon," Max said angrily, turning his attention to her and causing her to take a step backward in apprehension. "You heard me say that bread was a problem that night at the restaurant, and then you baked me a cake. And then yesterday you brought me a blasted cheeseburger. What am I supposed to think?"

Jim held up his hand, taking a careful step toward Max. "Calm down, Max."

Max turned to Jim. He had never seen such fire in the young agent's eyes.

"My part of the mission is done, Jim," Max growled, his voice dangerously tense. "I want to be on the next flight back to the States, and I want you to arrange it. Now."

Jim hesitated, not sure Max was serious. There had been times they'd flown out separately, but only twice had they failed to return home as a team.

"Now, Jim," Max repeated, and he picked up the receiver to illustrate his point.

Jim took the receiver from him and dialed a number. After a brief exchange, he hung up.

"It's all set," Jim said quietly. "The flight leaves in two hours."

"Then I'd better head on down to the airport. I wouldn't want to be late. Call me a cab."

Fifteen minutes later, Max had gathered up his things and started out the door to wait for the cab.

"Aren't you going to wait for your buddy Nicholas?" Grant jeered condescendingly.

Max felt the heat rush to his temples again. He pointed his finger at Grant. "You leave him out of this," he snarled. "He's been better to me during the past month than any of you."
Max looked at Jim. "Tell him I'll see him at home," he added, then the taxicab pulled up and he was gone.

Chapter 13

May 18 - 5 pm

A couple of hours later, Nicholas returned from his part of the mission - portraying a dignitary at a peace rally. When he walked in the front door at base camp, the tension in the atmosphere was palpable.

Nicholas looked around and quickly noticed that one of their own was missing.

"Where's Max?" he asked, immediately suspecting that the one had everything to do with the other.

"Gone," Grant answered tersely. He was clearly angry.

"Gone?" Nicholas echoed, afraid for a moment that Max had been taken.

"On a plane back home," Jim elaborated. He glanced at his watch. "Should be taking off now, as a matter of fact."

Nicholas stood dumbfounded for a moment. Max, on a plane, without the rest of the team, and without saying goodbye to him? It must have gotten really bad.

"What did you say to him?" Nicholas demanded.

"You don't even know what happened and I see you've already taken sides," Grant answered coolly.

"Sides?" Nicholas retorted. "This isn't about sides. This is about standing up for a good friend who's going through hell right now."

"Give me a break, Nicholas!" exploded Grant. "I don't know what Max's game is, but he ate that cheeseburger last night. We found the empty wrapper on the table this morning."

"He was starving! And you have no idea how sick he was afterward. He passed out on the bathroom floor, for heaven's sake!"

Grant and the others were momentarily shaken by this revelation, and Nicholas took advantage of this to hammer the point home.

"You've all been so busy trying to convince yourselves he's fine that you have no idea how ill he really is.  All I can say is that you'd better hope nothing happens to him, or else it's on your conscience!"

"Nicholas," Jim began.

"Don't you start, Jim," Nicholas growled. "You knew Max's allergy test was at ten yesterday morning, and not only could you not wait for the next flight, you gave us hell for taking it!"

"But we needed to get here early," Jim protested. "It was important-"

"All the missions are important, Jim," Nicholas said quietly, "but none are more important than your friends."  With that, Nicholas turned and walked away.

Nicholas retreated to the room he'd shared with Max last night - a room that felt much lonelier now without his friend. He wondered how Max was feeling; he surmised that if he'd made it home without getting sick again he was probably all right, but worried that his symptoms had returned on the way.

Nicholas was a little angry at his friend for leaving alone, judging by how he felt the night before, but he decided to reserve judgment until he found out what had really happened between Max and the rest of the team.

He stayed in the room until Shannon knocked softly and told him dinner was here, then he came out long enough to eat and plan the final day of their mission. All the while, he spoke only when he had to, and afterwards he once again retreated to his room where he stayed the rest of the long, nearly sleepless night.

*******

May 19 - 6 pm

The mission was over.

It had ended about two hours before. The four remaining team members had not hesitated for a moment about catching the evening flight back to the States. None of them really wanted to spend another night in that warehouse.

Nicholas had been somewhat more communicative today, though the team could tell he hadn't slept much. He was trying hard not to be angry at his teammates - after all, they'd done nothing to him personally, but he had witnessed firsthand what they'd done to Max. Nicholas felt his loyalty divided, and he didn't like it.

The plane landed at a little past ten. Jim and the others offered to take Nicholas home, since Max had picked up Nicholas' car already. He'd refused, saying he'd catch a cab. They didn't push the issue, because they guessed he was going to see Max.  None of the others were inclined to follow suit; it was late, and they just wanted to go home, sleep in a
decent bed, and maybe have a fresh perspective on the morning.  But Nicholas was deeply worried about his friend, and was not going to rest tonight until he was sure that
Max was safe.

He tried to call Max from the airport, but the phone just rang and rang. Nicholas' brow furrowed. Max should be home this time of night. His concern mounting, Nicholas quickly hailed a cab and set off toward Max's apartment.

Chapter 14

May 19 - 11:30 pm

Max awoke to the sound of hard thumping that sounded like it was coming from his front door. But it couldn't be, could it? He had to be still dreaming.

He tried to go back to sleep, but the knocking grew louder, more insistent. Blast! He would have to get up and see what it was about.

As soon as he sat upright, the pain hit his head again. He squinted at the light from the illuminated clock on the bedside table. Eleven-thirty. Who could be knocking at this hour?

Max got up and stumbled through the living room, wincing with pain at his head throbbing with every step he took.

He jerked open the door, and was only half surprised to see Nicholas standing in the porch light.

"Geez, Nicholas," Max said, squinting, as he moved aside to let his friend in. "Do you know what time it is?"

Nicholas breathed a heavy sigh of relief that Max seemed all right. "Serves you right for leaving without saying goodbye and scaring the hell out of me," Nicholas muttered, a bit crossly, as he sat down on the sofa. But he found that he couldn't be angry with Max about that, not tonight. There were more important things.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice softer this time.

"I'm okay," Max answered.

Nicholas' raised eyebrow was an unspoken query for more information.

"The flight home was rough," he confessed, starting to wake up a bit more.

"Did you have another....?" Nicholas' voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what to call it.

"Only one," Max admitted, "but I found that if I stayed still and just concentrated on taking deep breaths, I could keep myself awake."

Nicholas nodded.

"I've been eating better since I got home," Max continued, "and for the most part, my symptoms have greatly improved." He smiled at Nicholas. "So when'd you get in?"

"The plane just landed," Nicholas replied. "I tried to call you from the airport. You must have slept right through the phone ringing."

Max nodded. "I took some painkillers." There was that eyebrow again. "Headache," Max elaborated. "But it's going away."  Max sobered as he realized how worried his friend had been. "Look, Nicholas, I'm sorry I left so abruptly."

Nicholas held up a hand and shook his head. "Not tonight, Max," he soothed. "We can talk about that in the morning. The important thing is that you're okay."  Nicholas looked at his watch. "It's midnight," he realized, as he got to his feet. "I'd better get home and let you get back to sleep."

"Wait, Nicholas," Max interjected, and for a moment his friend's stomach lurched. But Max wasn't sick; he was smiling warmly.

"Why don't you stay in the guest room tonight?" he offered.

Nicholas opened his mouth to say something about not wanting to intrude, but Max stopped him. "You've had a long flight, and I'd really rather you didn't drive home this time of night."

Nicholas flashed a smile and accepted the offer. Max looped an arm around his shoulders and showed him to the guest room upstairs.

*******

May 20 - 7:30 am

The next morning, Max insisted on treating his friend to breakfast before he returned home. They chose a little country restaurant where you could have anything on the menu, any time of the day.   Nicholas was surprised when Max only ordered three different cooked vegetables.

"What, no eggs?" he asked.

"I hate eggs," Max snorted, and Nicholas chuckled.

"Well, you can get grilled chicken here," Nicholas recalled. "You didn't want that?"

"To be honest, I've had to stop eating the chicken," Max answered, looking down at his plate. "It hurts my stomach sometimes."

When he looked back up at Nicholas, the latter's dark brow was furrowed. "You can't live on just vegetables, Max," he said gently. "What are you going to do?"

Max sighed. "I called yesterday and made an appointment with a gastroenterologist," he confessed. He thinks I might have celiac disease."

"What's that?" Nicholas inquired, his fork loose in his hand, his meal all but forgotten.

"I don't know a lot," Max answered honestly, "but apparently it's an autoimmune condition. Your body thinks it's allergic to the stuff that's in wheat, so when you eat it you get all kinds of symptoms."

Nicholas nodded. "That would make sense," he mused. "So how do they find out for sure?"

"Well, there's a blood test, but there's also another test..." Max's voice trailed off and his cheeks turned pink. "An intestinal biopsy."

Nicholas smiled at Max's embarrassment. "Whatever it takes to get you better, pal. So when's your appointment?"

"Monday," Max answered.

"Want some company?"

"Thanks, Nicholas, but I think I'll be okay this time," Max smiled.

"All right, but let me know if you change your mind."

Max nodded as he pushed back his empty plate. He ran his hand through his hair nervously.

"I really appreciate you helping me out through all of this," he said softly. "You've been a great friend."

Nicholas smiled broadly. "That's what friends do," he replied. Then he saw Max's smile fade, and he knew that the blonde agent was thinking about the rest of the team.

"What happened on Wednesday, Max?" Nicholas asked gently.

Max explained how Grant's comment about breakfast had set off the physical and verbal altercation that led to him ordering Jim to arrange the earlier flight.

"Well, I'm glad that you were able to explain to them how you felt," Nicholas responded.

"I just don't know, Nicholas," Max continued. "Grant and I are always picking at each other. Maybe I'm just making too much out of this."

"I don't think so," Nicholas countered. "I've heard some of the things he's said to you."

"I'm angry with him," Max admitted, "but I'm also sad, because I don't have his support. Or Shannon's, for that matter. I'm not sure about Jim."

Max gazed at his teammate and saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes. "Didn't the two of you have words before we left for Guatemala?"

Nicholas nodded. "And again when I found out you were gone." Nicholas told Max about the brief exchange he'd had with Grant and Jim the day before.

"Look, about that," Max mumbled, clearing his throat. "I'm really sorry I didn't wait for you. I just couldn't. All I could think about was having to choose between eating bread three meals a day and getting sicker or listening to Grant come up with new ways to make me mad. I had to get out of there."

"Well, it probably wasn't the smartest decision, given how sick you were the night before," Nicholas chided, but his voice was gentle. "I was a little upset with you."

Max dropped his head. "But only because I was worried about you, Max," he continued. "I was afraid something would happen to you and nobody would be there."  Nicholas was surprised to feel his eyes stinging as he spoke. "But I understand why you left, and I'm not upset anymore."

Max met his friend's gaze and smiled, both relieved and touched by his concern. Nicholas grinned back and pointed his finger at Max. "But don't you ever pull a stunt like that again."

"Deal," Max replied. "Are you ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, pal," Nicholas replied, and the two men exited the restaurant.

Chapter 15

May 20 - 9:30 am

Nicholas pulled into the parking spot in front of Max's apartment, killed the engine, and turned sideways in the seat.

"Max," he said soberly, "sooner or later, the others are going to ask about you."

"I know," he answered, matching his friend's tone. "I can't face them, Nicholas. Not yet."

"You don't have to," Nicholas reassured him, "but you know that if they can't reach you they'll ask me."

Max nodded.

"What do you want me to tell them?"

Max's face grew stern. "Tell them I'm fine," he grunted. "Don't tell them about the doctor."

"All right," Nicholas promised.

"Thanks, buddy," Max said sincerely, giving his friend's arm a hearty slap.

Nicholas smiled. "Take care, Max. Call if you need me."

"Will do." And with that, Max climbed out of the car and closed the door.

*******

May 20 - 12:30 pm

Nicholas was sitting in his recliner, reading a magazine, when the telephone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hi, Nicholas." Grant's voice was even, deliberately so.

"Grant," Nicholas greeted in the same tone.

"We're all here," Grant advised, "and we were wondering how Max was doing. I called him, but he said he didn't feel like talking."

Nicholas winced inwardly, knowing the reason for that was more than just physical. "He's okay," he answered vaguely.

Grant sighed audibly. "Is that what he told you to tell us?" he asked knowingly.

It was Nicholas' turn to sigh. "Look, he's not well yet, but hopefully he's getting there. It's just going to take him some time. He's been through a lot in the past month or so."

"What about the IMF?" Jim wanted to know, sensing that his once-cohesive team had fractured apart and not quite knowing how to handle it.

Nicholas had to fight to hold back his anger. Of course, he would worry about the IMF more than his teammate! "I don't think either of us are going to be ready to run missions anytime soon," he answered honestly; he knew that to be true about Max, and he himself had no intention of leaving on a mission until he was sure his friend would be all right.

"Nicholas," Grant's voice sounded tired, "I may not understand Max's food thing, whatever it is, but I never meant to hurt him. I wish he would just talk to me."

Nicholas felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He knew how close Max and Grant were - how close all of them were. Again, he felt his empathy divided.

"He will," he said aloud, "when he's ready. In the meantime, you have to give him some space."

"Could you at least tell him?" Grant pleaded.

"I'll do that," Nicholas promised.

*******

May 22 - 2:00 pm

Max was startled by the sound of knocking at his front door. He wasn't expecting anyone.  He'd already had his daily telephone call with Nicholas this morning. Nicholas had told him that Grant had expressed remorse for hurting him and wanted to talk to him. Max had refused - he missed his
buddy, but he still wasn't ready.

Surely they wouldn't just come over unannounced.

Max opened the door and was surprised to see Nicholas standing there.

"Nicholas! I didn't expect to see you," he greeted.

"I know," he replied as he stepped inside. His voice was low, his gaze intense. Max ran a hand through his hair nervously.
"What's up?"

"You didn't sound right on the phone this morning," his friend answered. "It's bothered me all day, so I had to reassure myself that you were okay."

"I'm all right," Max replied hastily.

Nicholas didn't look convinced. "Are you?" he asked quietly.

Max sighed. Nicholas was getting better at reading him.

"Well, physically, anyway," Max corrected. "I'm just frustrated."

"About what?

Max sighed again. "You know the allergist recommended that I start keeping a food journal." Nicholas nodded. "Well, I did. Of course, bread and raw produce went on there first. But there have been some additions."

Max got up, retrieved a green spiral notebook from the coffee table nearby, and handed it to Nicholas.  "See for yourself."

Nicholas opened the notebook and was shocked by what he saw. There were page after page of things that Max had charted reactions to, ranging from headaches to stomach issues to itchiness.  Nicholas gave a low whistle. "Max, are you sure about all of these?"

"I've been home for five days, Nicholas," he responded. "I've had time to test all of them. I'm sure. And that's even with the medications they gave me."

"What can you eat, then?"

"Basically, canned green beans and baked sweet potatoes."

"That's it?"

"Well, obviously I haven't tried every food out there, but of the ones I eat regularly, yeah, that's it," Max confirmed.

"But, Max, how are you even surviving?" Nicholas asked, incredulous.

"That's what's so frustrating," Max replied. "I feel like I'm housebound. I'm always having to cook, and I'm always hungry because I get tired of eating before I get full. And if I'm out somewhere and get hungry and need to grab something in a hurry, I have no options. Everything is either greasy and hurts my stomach or breaded and makes my eyes itch."

Max sat down on the sofa next to Nicholas, who slid an arm around his friend's broad shoulders.

"Your appointment is tomorrow. Maybe you'll get some answers," Nicholas said hopefully.

"I can't keep doing this," Max responded, his voice nearly a whisper. "I feel like I'm going crazy."

"You're not crazy," Nicholas soothed softly. He glanced around in no particular direction, and then his eyes fell on the tiny medicine bottle sitting on the mantle. His eyebrows furrowed as he rose from his seat and went to inspect it.

"Antidepressants?" he asked gently, turning to Max. "What is this?"

"That," replied Max, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable as he rose to his feet and took the bottle from his friend, "is nothing."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow in an unspoken demand for more information.

"The first doctor I saw wrote me the prescription. She said something about it being hard to cope with a sudden health crisis." Max waved his hand dismissively.

"But you got it filled," Nicholas reminded him, his gaze not straying from Max's eyes. "There had to be a reason."

Nicholas laid a hand on Max's upper arm. "I need you to be honest with me, Max. Have you been depressed?"

Max sighed, running his other hand through his hair. It would do no good to lie to Nicholas; seeing through deception was one of his gifts.

"I was, at first," he admitted, "but I'm all right now, Nicholas."

"Why were you?" he asked softly.

Max sighed again. He wasn't going to let this go.

"Two reasons," Max responded as he sat back down on the couch. Nicholas popped down beside him, his eyes never leaving Max's. "I was worried about all the foods I would have to give up to get better."

"And?" Nicholas prompted.

"And I wasn't sure anybody would ever understand," Max finished.

It was Nicholas' turn to sigh, as he guiltily recalled how long it had taken him to take Max's illness seriously. And even after the confrontation he'd had with the others two days before, he still wasn't sure they were taking it seriously yet.

"Max," Nicholas whispered, grasping his arm again and giving it a gentle squeeze, "I'm here now, and it's going to be all right. We're going to figure this out together."

Chapter 16

May 23 - 11:30 am

"Well, Mister Harte, your comprehensive celiac panel is negative," said Doctor Wilson, the gastroenterologist, after Max had waited what seemed like forever for the lab results.

"So what does that mean?"

"Well," the doctor replied, "the results could mean that you don't have celiac or they could mean that you have been off wheat for so long that your blood's not going to show a reaction."  Doctor Wilson looked at Max. "I'd really like to do an endoscopy, just to be sure. With the caliber of reactions you're having, there's definitely something going on."

Max thought for just a moment. "Yeah, I'd like to know, too. But I do have one question. If it isn't celiac, what could it be?"

The doctor sighed. "Well, there's this thing called leaky gut syndrome," he answered. "A lot of my colleagues dismiss it, but I'm seeing it more and more in my patients."

At Max's raised eyebrow, he continued. "I can give you some reading materials, but let me explain how leaky gut syndrome develops. It starts when you have an allergy to something that you continue to consume, and your body continuously reacts to it. Eventually it wears down your immune system so that you start reacting to everything."

"That would explain why I'm reacting to more and more things," Max mused. "So how do you fix it?"

"It's not an easy process," he answered, "and how long it takes to repair sort of depends on how long you've had symptoms."

"Only about a month or so," Max offered.

"Had you ever had symptoms at any other time in your life?" Doctor Wilson asked.

Max thought about that for a moment. "Well, come to think of it, I did have some digestive issues about ten years ago for a little while. But I didn't think much about it."

"That may have very well been when it started," the doctor replied quietly. "And it usually takes about as long to fix as it did to get sick in the first place. You have to stay away from literally everything that causes you problems until your body heals."

"Sounds like celiac might be a better diagnosis," Max grumbled.

"In some ways, yes," the doctor agreed. "It's less complicated long-term. But your body will still have to heal regardless."

"So how quickly can we do the endoscopy?" Max asked.

"Normally, I'll wait a week to schedule them because I ask the patient to reduce their food intake," Doctor Wilson advised. "In your case, I'm not sure you could reduce it much further. I could schedule you for Friday morning. You'll have to bring someone with you to drive you home."

"That sounds fine," Max responded. "I'm pretty sure my driver will be available."

"Well, if not, just call us back."

"I will."

*******

May 23 - 1:00 pm

"Of course I'll drive you," Nicholas assured Max when he called to see how the appointment had gone.  "I'm glad you've decided to go ahead and have the biopsy done."

"Well, I need to know for sure what this is," Max replied, "although it sounds like a long road to recovery regardless of which problem I have."

"True," Nicholas said soberly, his heart filled with empathy for his friend. His stomach flip-flopped at the question he was getting ready to ask. "Max, what do you want me to tell the others?"

"Nothing," Max growled.

"Max," Nicholas' voice was somewhere between patience and exasperation. "It's been nearly a week since you've talked to them. I'm sure they miss you and they're worried about you."

"I know," Max answered quietly. "I guess I have forgiven them, if the truth be told. But I don't want to tell them anything until I'm sure of what this is."

Nicholas understood the underlying thought behind Max's words: if his condition were confirmed medically, maybe they would take him seriously.

"I won't say anything," Nicholas promised, "on one condition."

"What's that?"

"As soon as you know for sure what's going on, you have to sit down and talk to them. Work things out.  Get back to being a team."

When Max did not respond, he continued. "Max, Grant has already said he's sorry he hurt you. You've got to give him a chance to prove it."

After another moment, Max gave in. "Fine," he agreed.

"All right," Nicholas grinned. "You need anything?"

"I'm good," Max answered.

"Okay. Talk to you tomorrow."

*******

May 26 - 4:00 pm

Nicholas was startled by the ringing telephone. He'd just heard from Max, so he wasn't expecting anyone to call.

"Hello, Nicholas."

"Jim," he greeted, painfully recalling that it had been almost a week since he'd last talked to the other three team members.

"How are you?" Jim's tone was civil.

"I'm fine, Jim."

"How's Max doing?"

"He's okay."

Of course, Jim assumed that Nicholas would know how Max was. Nicholas' stomach lurched as he realized that he had inadvertently done what he'd assured Grant was not his intention.  

"Look, Jim, I never meant to take sides-"

"It's okay, Nicholas," Jim said hastily. "We're not angry - at either of you. As a matter of fact, we're relieved."

"I don't follow."

"We know we hurt Max deeply, and that's why he's shut us out. We're glad that he's had you to lean on." Jim sighed heavily. "We're not asking you to betray Max's trust, Nicholas. We just want to talk to you about what we can do to get through to him - to get our team back together."

Nicholas' heart came up in his throat. How could he answer those questions without breaking his promise to Max?

"Would you meet us for lunch tomorrow?"

Tomorrow. Friday. Max's endoscopy. He couldn't do it tomorrow. And he couldn't tell Jim why.

"I can't," Nicholas answered quietly. "Not tomorrow."

"What's going on tomorrow?" Jim asked.

"Um, there's a dramatic arts exhibition at the university. I'm going to be tied up most of the day."

"I see," Jim responded. "Maybe in a day or two, then?"

"All right," Nicholas agreed, and as the conversation ended he felt sick. It was the first time he had ever lied to Jim.

Chapter 17

May 27 - 7:00 am

"So how are you feeling?" Nicholas asked as he picked Max up at his apartment and headed for the endoscopy center.

"I actually feel pretty good," replied Max. "Not eating seems to agree with me."

Nicholas felt a pang of empathy. "Are you nervous?"

"Nah. Just anxious for it to be done."  Max looked at his friend. "Nicholas, I really appreciate you doing this," he said softly.

"Please, Max, you don't have to keep thanking me," Nicholas answered with a wave of his hand. "I'm glad to help. Besides, somebody's got to keep you straight."

Max chuckled, and Nicholas smiled to himself. The past few days had been good to Max. Ever since his doctor's appointment on Monday, when he'd decided to restrict his diet to just the two or three foods he knew for sure wouldn't cause a reaction, Max had had no evidence of the crippling symptoms that had plagued him for the past month.
Even though Nicholas was a little concerned about the weight Max had lost, he was starting to see traces of the old Max - the Max that wasn't depressed, anxious, or overly irritable - and that made him happy. Both men were sure that the biopsy would confirm the celiac diagnosis and then he would learn exactly what he needed to heal himself.

Nicholas' smile faded for just a moment. Maybe then, Max and the others could make amends and they could get back to being the close-knit team they used to be.

They pulled in at the endoscopy center, signed in, and waited until the nurse called for Max. Max thumped his friend's shoulder affectionately.

"Good luck, my friend," Nicholas said warmly. "I'll see you in a bit."

*******

"Mister Harte did very well," Doctor Wilson informed Nicholas after the procedure was finished. "He's waking up in recovery now. We got some good samples to send off to the lab. We should know the results by Tuesday or Wednesday."

Nicholas popped his head around the pulled curtain. Max was still lying down, but his eyes were open.

"Hey, there," Nicholas said softly, and Max smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Just a bit loopy from the anesthesia," Max replied, "and hungry. But I'm okay."

"Would you like something to drink?" the nurse asked as she came in to check his vitals.

Max gratefully asked for a soft drink and Nicholas gently helped him sit up. After another half hour passed, and the doctor was sure that Max was not going to get sick from the anesthesia, he was released to go home.

Nicholas stopped to pick up lunch for the both of them and made sure that Max had plenty of soft vegetables to eat for the next couple of days. He lingered at Max's place long enough to have lunch with his friend, and then he made his exit so that Max could get some rest.

*******

June 1 - 1:00 pm

It had been a strange Memorial Day weekend.

Normally, when they weren't on a mission, the team spent the holiday together, grilling out and picnicking in the vast backyard of the house Grant inherited from his father.
But this holiday had been different. Because of everything that had happened with Max, there had been no celebration. Max and Nicholas had each spent the day alone; if the rest of the team had done something together, the two of them hadn't been told or invited.

The mail hadn't run on Monday, of course. It had run on Tuesday, but the biopsy results hadn't come.  Nicholas and Max both figured that the holiday had delayed everything somewhat, and that the results would almost certainly arrive today.

The mail usually got to Max's place by noon. An hour later, when Nicholas hadn't heard from him, he couldn't take the waiting any longer and picked up the phone.

But no one had answered.

Strange, Nicholas thought. He hadn't mentioned going anywhere.   Maybe he was on his way over here, he surmised. But that did not make sense. Not once since he'd been ill - and especially since he'd been watching his diet and taking his medications - had Max visited Nicholas at his place. Max just didn't want to get too far away from his apartment.

Something wasn't right.

Leaving a note in case Max did show up, Nicholas got into his BMW and headed for Max's. The closer he got, the more nervous he felt.

When he arrived, he noticed Max's car was still in the driveway, and a sick feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach. He tried the doorknob but the door was locked. He knocked hard on the door and yelled Max's name, but he got no response.

Nicholas noticed the front curtain was open, so he peered into the window, framing his eyes with his hands in order to cut out the glare. On the table he saw an envelope and some papers - had the results come? And there was a book of some sort that Nicholas couldn't quite identify. Beside them was a
cardboard box. It looked like...but it couldn't be...a pizza box?

Oh, Max.

Nicholas quickly dug the spare key out of its hiding place - thank God Max had told him where it was! - and opened the door. He hustled from room to room, calling Max's name, envisioning him lying unconscious on the floor somewhere.

But Max was not there.

He must have taken his motorcycle then, Nicholas reasoned as he raced back downstairs. But where could he have gone?

Nicholas picked up the paper lying on the table and quickly read over its contents.

Dear Mister Harte,
Your pathology results were negative for celiac disease. Based on these findings, you have been given a diagnosis of leaky gut syndrome. Attached please find some reading materials which will help you understand what this means and how to care for yourself during your recovery. If our office can be of further assistance to you, please do not hesitate to call us.

Nicholas cursed to himself as he flipped to the second page and skimmed its contents.

Once you have eliminated all of the offending foods from your diet, you must test a single ingredient at a time. Consume the ingredient two or three times in a single day, then chart any reactions that you experience. If you have a significant reaction, you must leave that ingredient out of your diet for at least three months to give your system a chance to heal before you try again.  It is important to wait at least three or four days before attempting another ingredient in order to make sure that all reactions have been thoroughly charted.

Poor Max, Nicholas thought to himself. He must have been thoroughly overwhelmed - and starving. He glanced at the pizza box. It was most likely a medium, sliced into eight pieces. Six were missing.

Nicholas felt sick to his stomach in empathy. He knew that wherever Max was, the symptoms had almost certainly started.  But where in blazes could he be?

Nicholas looked around frantically for a clue as to where Max could have gone. Finally, his eyes fell on the book and he went to pick it up.

It was a scrapbook, full of clippings from the Vietnam War and photographs of Max's older brother  Raymond. Nicholas, deep in thought, glanced up at the framed flag that hung on the wall and suddenly snapped his fingers.

"I know where he went!" he exclaimed to the empty apartment, and rushed out the door. He climbed into his car and sped off almost before the driver's door closed.

Chapter 18

June 1 - 11:45 am

Max was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper, when he heard tires crunching the gravel outside.

The mail's here, he reasoned.

He was awaiting today's mail with eager anticipation. He was almost certain that the biopsy results from last Friday would arrive, and finally he would receive some guidance - some hope that this horrendous condition would end soon.

The past few days had not gone as well as he had led Nicholas to believe when he'd called, as he did daily without fail. After several days of eating only green beans and sweet potatoes, even those foods had started to make him sick when he'd consumed them. Max no longer felt as if there was anything he could eat that wouldn't cause a reaction. Of course, he hadn't told Nicholas this; he fussed over Max
enough as it was. But he hadn't eaten any solid food since yesterday.

He hardly waited until the mailman pulled out from his mailbox until he dashed outside and jerked the envelope he'd been expecting out of the box. He ripped it open and whipped out the contents.

He couldn't believe what he read.

Leaky gut syndrome? What the hell kind of diagnosis was that?

Celiac disease; now that was a diagnosis that people recognized, understood, even respected. But this? This sounded more like a diagnosis of "oh, we don't really think anything is wrong with you, but if you say this is what's bothering you, we'll play along. And we'll give it a name that sounds like something that happens when you go to the bathroom."

Max could just picture himself at a restaurant with his friends:
"I'm sorry; I can't have that."

"Oh, you must have celiac."

"No, I have leaky gut syndrome."

He could already hear them laughing behind his back.

He flipped to the second page of the report and hastily read the protocol provided. He snorted. One ingredient at a time? Three or four days between? Waiting three months if there's a reaction? At that rate, it would be months, perhaps years, before Max could eat like a normal person again. After six full
weeks of taking medicine and continuing to get progressively worse, he wasn't sure he had the strength to keep fighting.

And he was starving.

But what was he going to eat? It was like trying to pick your poison. Should he eat meat or cooked vegetables or dairy, and end up with crippling digestive symptoms; or should he choose grains or raw produce, and endure that plus the frustrating allergy symptoms to boot?

The cavern inside his stomach growled insistently, and he knew what he was going to do.

He was going to order a pizza.

What was the use being careful now? He had been careful for weeks, and all it had managed to do was reduce the number of foods he was able to eat.

Even as he dialed the number of the closest pizza place, Max knew he was making a big mistake. He almost dialed Nicholas instead. Nicholas - who'd been so supportive during this journey, who would be so disappointed in him when he found out what he was about to do; if anybody was capable of understanding, it was Nicholas.

But the gnawing emptiness inside his stomach trumped any rational thinking, convincing Max that Nicholas, too, would soon tire of coddling his ongoing food issues. He'd already expressed - several times - his desire to once again be part of the team, and Max knew that it was for his benefit that his
friend was holding back. Max told himself that once Nicholas figured out how long Max's recovery would be, he wouldn't hesitate any longer.

After he had placed the order, Max paced the floor for a while, in anxious anticipation. Desperate to pass the time faster, he pulled out his old war scrapbook and leafed through it, staring at photographs of his late brother who'd served there.

"Oh, Ray," Max mumbled aloud. "I wish you were here to help me figure things out."

Twenty minutes later, pizza delivered and most of it devoured, Max started his motorcycle. He knew that his symptoms were probably only moments away, and would almost certainly be worse than ever, but he couldn't think about that now. All he knew was that he had to get someplace to try to clear his head.

*******

Max traveled wordlessly along the highway, feeling the wind whipping his plaid shirt that, thanks to the weight he'd lost, now hung loosely on his upper body. He wasn't sure what part of him originally thought this was a good idea; he sure wasn't thinking that now.

Despite the speed he was traveling, Max was having trouble focusing on the road. He felt light headed, and his chest felt tight. Absently, the thought crossed his mind that he might crash the bike and die right here; right now, he wasn't sure if he'd even care.

At the point where the highway became a gravel road, the bike jostled and Max almost lost his balance.  The jostling didn't make his stomach feel any better, but his only thought was that he had to get to the falls.

Max felt the hardtop under his bike wheels change, and he knew he'd hit the dirt road. The falls were only a few yards away. The tightness in his chest was now searing pain, and his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hang onto the handlebars.

At last, Max saw the waterfall, and the familiar rock formation jutting out from the side of the bank. This was it: the place he always went to be close to his brother.  He had made it.

Max reached up to remove his helmet and the pain in his right shoulder nearly took his breath away. He felt the heaviness descending onto the back of his neck, but he concentrated on breathing deeply and putting one foot in front of the other. Finally, he made it to the rock and sat down.

"Ray," he gasped, his head spinning violently. "I need your help. I feel like I'm dying, and I don't know what to do anymore."

A sudden wave of nausea, along with stabbing pain, suddenly hit his stomach and took away his breath for a moment. Max closed his eyes until the worst of it passed, causing a disequilibrium that made him sway slightly. Then, taking a shaky breath, he continued, wincing as his head began to pound.

"I've been to doctors, I've taken medicine, I've changed my diet...nothing's working, Ray. And they're saying it could be months before I'm better. I don't know if I can keep doing this. I'm so tired of being sick. Maybe I should just end it."

*******

Nicholas sped toward the falls, completely unaware of how fast he was going. He had to find Max. It had been long enough since he'd eaten that pizza; Nicholas was sure that by now Max was violently ill.

All the while he was trying to get to his friend, the voices in his head kept asking why? Why hadn't Max called him? Why had he eaten the pizza? And why, knowing how sick he was likely about to be, had he rushed off on his motorcycle towards a dangerous place like the falls?

A sudden pang of fear stabbed at his heart as he pondered this thought and considered the antidepressants he'd found in Max's apartment several days before. Surely Max wasn't thinking of jumping....

Nicholas shook his head involuntarily, consciously chasing that thought from his mind. It was quickly replaced by another question, almost equally terrifying: What if he was wrong about where Max had gone? What if he was somewhere else entirely, horribly sick or, worse, having wrecked his bike and lying hurt somewhere? Nicholas wouldn't let that thought continue, either.

At last, Nicholas reached the end of the road and was within sight of the falls. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he spotted Max's motorcycle; he had guessed correctly then.

But that relief quickly turned to horror as he glanced up ahead and to his right - to the rock where Max often sat when he came up here. He saw Max's body sway slightly, and for one terrifying moment Nicholas was afraid he was going to tumble into the falls.

Or was that the plan?

Nicholas scrambled out of the car, desperate to reach Max as quickly as possible but trying hard not to startle him. He walked up to the edge of the falls, the rock Max was sitting on about thirty feet to his right. He was just in time to hear the last words Max had uttered: "Maybe I should just end it."

Heart in his throat, he looked over at Max, who was gazing at the water and the rocks below. His blond hair looked shades darker where perspiration had flattened it against his head. His face was deathly pale.

"Max," Nicholas said softly. He waited for Max to meet his eyes, and was frightened by the glassy look in Max's own.

"Nicholas," Max acknowledged, his voice weak.

"Max, please. Don't do this." Nicholas tentatively extended his arm toward his friend, palm upward.  "We'll fight this together. Take my hand."

Nicholas inched closer to his friend.

"I can't," Max responded quietly, and Nicholas gasped at the words. Did that mean he didn't want to?

Or that he wasn't able to?

"Yes, you can, Max. Come on. I'll help you," he encouraged, inching a little closer as he spoke. Fifteen feet now.

Max slowly reached his left hand, which was shaking violently, toward Nicholas, when he suddenly stopped mid-motion as a fresh wave of pain hit his stomach. He felt the intense heat in his groin and the world began to spin around. His eyes glazed over, then fell closed as his body pitched forward toward the rocks and water below.

Chapter 19

June 1 - 2:00 pm

Nicholas watched Max's hand reaching for his own with hopeful anticipation, drawing closer still. Less than ten feet separated them now.

By chance he happened to glance up at his friend, and instantly he recognized the look on Max's face as the pain hit. It was the same look Nicholas had seen that night they were all together...the first time Max had lost all awareness of where he was.

Horrified, Nicholas realized that Max was losing consciousness. He's going to fall! he thought in a blind
panic.

Nicholas moved with lightning speed, whipping around behind Max and hurtling himself against the rock to grab Max's upper body. He wrapped both arms around Max's chest, stopping him from pitching forward.

The impact with the rock took Nicholas' breath for a moment, but he forced himself to fight through it. He would need every ounce of strength he could summon. Max already outweighed him; the fact that he was now unconscious just made him seem that much heavier.

Nicholas waited for a moment, catching his breath. Once he was sure that Max's body was no longer in danger of falling off the rock, he adjusted his grip, pulling his tall friend slightly backward and slipping his hands under Max's arms. Then, as gently as he could, Nicholas slid Max's body off the rock, silently apologizing for the scrapes he was causing, until Max was lying on his back in the soft dirt.

Nicholas could see that Max's breathing was coming in shallow gasps, and hastily felt for a pulse. It, too, was far too rapid for his liking. Whatever this was, things had turned very bad in a hurry. Max needed medical attention, and now. But Nicholas had no way to contact anyone.

Nicholas glanced up toward his BMW. They were still too far away from it; there was no way that he could drag Max that distance. He would just have to wait until Max woke up.

The dark-haired agent whipped out his handkerchief and began to gently wipe the sweat from his friend's forehead. Max was still deathly pale.

"Come on, Max," he whispered tensely. "Wake up."

After what seemed like an eternity, Max began to stir.

"That's it, buddy," Nicholas soothed, smiling slightly despite his worry. "You're going to be okay."

Max opened his eyes slowly.

"Nicholas?" Max said weakly.

"Yeah, it's me," he replied softly.

"What...happened?" Max asked. He started to sit up, but a fresh wave of dizziness and nausea hit him and he fell back down again.

"Take it easy, Max," Nicholas cautioned, frowning as he observed the tiny beads of sweat that had once again popped out. He gently rubbed away the sweat until Max's blue eyes opened again.

"Max," Nicholas began, his voice barely above a whisper, "we need to get to the car. I'm going to need your help. Are you with me?"

"I'll...try," Max answered bravely.

"All right. Easy now."

Nicholas slipped his arm behind Max's broad shoulders and slowly helped him to a sitting position. "You all right?" he questioned.

"So far, so good," Max replied, though his teeth were clenched.

"Okay, tell me when you're ready to stand."

After a couple more moments, Max signaled that he was ready. Slowly, he got to his feet, leaning heavily on Nicholas. His body felt like lead, and it was all that his friend could do to support him.

Finally, they made it to the car just as Max's weight buckled underneath him and he collapsed into the passenger seat. Nicholas made sure his legs were inside the car, closed the door, then dashed around to the driver's side.  He cast an anxious glance at his friend.

"Hang in there, buddy," he encouraged. "I'm going to get you to a doctor."

Max just nodded, and the fact that he didn't protest caused Nicholas' stomach to lurch with worry. They drove in silence for a few moments at breakneck speed, Nicholas occasionally taking his eyes off the road to cast an uneasy glance at his teammate.

Suddenly, Max spoke.

"Nicholas?"

"I'm here, Max," he answered, wincing at the edge of panic he heard in Max's voice.

"I feel hot."

Nicholas knew what that meant. He took his right hand off the wheel and placed it upon Max's broad left shoulder, steadying him as he lost consciousness again.

"Stay with me, Max," Nicholas ordered desperately, though Max could not hear him. "We're almost there."

*******

Max was barely clinging to consciousness when they finally arrived at the hospital. The nurses whisked him away, bypassing triage completely, and much to Nicholas' chagrin he was not allowed to follow.

A few minutes later, Nicholas was called back to a family room, where the doctor on call quizzed him about Max's illness. He answered the questions the best he could, trying to recall what he'd seen for himself and heard from Max as well as what he'd read about Max's symptoms in the notebook he'd shared.

Finally, he was told that they would be running some tests, they would keep him updated on Max's condition, and they would let Nicholas know when he could come back to the room.

Nicholas sighed heavily. He hoped that Max wouldn't be angry at him for what he was about to do.

He stopped at the nurse's desk and asked to use the phone. When permission was granted, he dialed Jim's number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jim."

"Nicholas." Jim instantly detected the tension in his friend's voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's Max," the dark-haired agent answered. "We're at the hospital."

"Is he all right?"

"He's pretty bad," Nicholas admitted. "I don't know exactly what's wrong yet. The doctor should know something soon. I thought you'd want to know in case you wanted to be here."
"I'll call the others. We'll be there soon."

Chapter 20

June 1 - 2:45 pm

"How's Max?" Shannon demanded as the three agents dashed through the sliding glass doors that marked the emergency room entrance.

"He seemed okay when I poked my head in the door just long enough to let him know I was here and that I'd be back once his tests were done," Nicholas replied. "Beyond that, I haven't been updated since I called you." He looked at his teammates, saw the lines of worry there, and knew that his own face must look very similar.

"What happened?" Grant asked, in a voice that was almost too quiet to hear. Nicholas couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy for him; he was no doubt feeling at least partially responsible for the gulf that had separated the team. On the other hand, he could not absolve Grant completely for the things he'd said.

Nicholas explained how he'd suspected something was wrong when Max didn't answer the phone, how he'd found the half-eaten pizza and figured out where Max had gone, and how Max had lost consciousness and almost fallen off the cliff. He purposely omitted the part about the test results, since the rest of the team hadn't known about the endoscopy.
When he was done, Jim gave a low whistle. "He's lucky you were there," he said softly.

"Luck, gut feeling, divine intervention, whatever it was," Nicholas agreed, "without it, we could have lost him."

Grant's eyes grew moist. "It's all my fault," he whispered.

Shannon laid a hand on Grant's arm. "It was all our faults," she argued. "None of us offered him much sympathy. Except for you, Nicholas."

Nicholas shrugged. "I don't think any of us knew how serious this really was, myself included."

"But you were there when he got sick in Guatemala," Jim reminded him gently. At Nicholas' nod, he continued. "You should have told us about that."

"Fair enough," Nicholas conceded, "but I made a promise."

"We know," Jim nodded, silently admiring the dark-haired agent's loyalty to his friend, "but hopefully we can convince Max that he doesn't have to hide anything from us again."

Just then, the doctor emerged. "Mister Black?" he asked, his raised eyebrow indicating his uncertainty at the three strangers who were now present.

"These are Max's other friends," Nicholas explained hastily.

"How is he doing?"

"He's stable, for now," the doctor replied. "When you first brought him in, his blood pressure was extremely low. That's what caused the loss of consciousness. We're giving him some medicines through his IV to help with that, and the fainting spells have all but gone away."

"So would allergies cause something like that?" Jim asked.

"I think Mister Harte's condition is allergy related," the doctor conceded, "but I think it's quite complicated."

The doctor looked at Nicholas. "Based on what we've observed, what you've told me about his symptoms, and the blood tests we've run, we suspect that he has a mast cell disorder."

The four agents were silent for a long moment. Finally, Nicholas spoke. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Mast cells are a type of white blood cell that live in different organs in the body. When the body is exposed to a foreign substance, mast cells fight off the allergen by producing various chemicals, including histamine. It is the histamine that causes the symptoms that we typically associate with a
classic allergic reaction - itchy eyes, runny nose, et cetera.

"Now, a certain amount of histamine is essential to life," the doctor continued, "but with mast cell activation disorder, the body's mast cells are overactive and there's actually too much of it being produced. So even the most innocuous of allergens can result in massive, systemic reactions involving
multiple organ systems."

"So all of Max's symptoms...even the digestive issues...they were all versions of an allergic reaction?" Nicholas asked.

"Yes, basically," the doctor nodded. "We suspect that his known environmental allergies are the trigger.  We believe that he has had mild allergic reactions for years without realizing it, and with each subsequent exposure to the allergen his body produced more and more histamine until now his entire system is filled with it."

"So can this be cured?" Shannon wanted to know.

The doctor shook his head. "This is a chronic condition. There's no cure, but he can learn to eat foods that are low in histamine, and there are also medications that he can take to reduce histamine levels."

The doctor looked somberly at the team. "He'll want to get started on those right away. If left unchecked, there is a very remote possibility this could evolve into something called mast cell leukemia, which is a particularly aggressive form of cancer that is almost universally fatal."

Seeing the four terror-stricken faces staring back at him, the doctor smiled. "Oh, don't worry; he's not nearly there yet, but you all can help make sure he sticks to his diet and medication regimen to reduce that risk. And, please remember that mast cell leukemia is extremely, extremely rare."

As the team visually relaxed, the doctor concluded, "You can see him now. One at a time at first; he's been through quite an ordeal. He's probably resting."

Nicholas looked at the rest of the team. "I should go first," he suggested, "to let him know you guys are here."

Jim nodded, and Nicholas followed the doctor as far as Max's room. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the open doorjamb.

Max looked up and smiled.  "Hey, there," he greeted warmly.

"Hey, yourself," Nicholas smiled back as he approached his friend. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Max replied. "Thanks to you."

Nicholas waved his hand dismissively. "I told you, somebody's got to keep you straight."

"Guess I shouldn't have had that pizza, huh?"

"On the contrary," interjected the doctor, who had popped in to check on his patient. "Its probably a good thing you did."

Max raised his eyebrow questioningly.

"Oh, there's no doubt that's what caused your critical reaction," he explained hastily, "but if it hadn't, you might have continued on for weeks and months without a diagnosis, getting sicker and sicker. At least, this way, now you can get better."

Max grinned. "See, Nicholas?" he quipped. "Even when I mess up I do it well."

Nicholas chuckled. It was nice to hear his teammate cracking a joke.

Suddenly, Max threw back the blanket that had been covering him. "Shew," he said, "is it hot in here or is it just me?"

Nicholas saw that Max's cheeks were flushed and instantly went on alert. "Do you feel faint?" he asked, casting an anxious look at the doctor, who was still in the room. The doctor also turned to look at Max.

"Not this time," Max quickly assured his friend. "I just feel like it's too hot in here."

"Histamine can play havoc with your body's ability to regulate its temperature," explained the doctor. "So don't be surprised if you alternate between hot and cold for some time longer."

The doctor turned to leave the room, then he turned back around. "As a matter of fact, until your histamine levels normalize, you may continue to have some of the same symptoms that you've had for the past couple of months - though they shouldn't be as severe. So just be aware of that." Then the doctor was gone.

"Max," Nicholas said nervously, "there's something I need to tell you."

Max looked at his friend expectantly.

"I called the others," he confessed.
Max continued to look wordlessly at Nicholas, who felt his stomach tighten and started to pace.

"I know you asked me not to," he added quickly. "I hope you're not angry-"

"Nicholas," Max interrupted gently. Nicholas stopped mid-step and caught Max's gaze.

"I'm glad you called them," he assured his friend, smiling slightly. "I'm not sure how long you could have hidden this." Max held his arms out, palms up, indicating the hospital surroundings. "Besides," he added, his voice lowering slightly, "I'm ready to talk to them. To make this right."

"Are you sure?"

Max nodded. "Go get them, and then all four of you come back here."

"But, Max," Nicholas protested, "the doctor said one at a time."

"I know what the doctor said," Max answered, "but I've got to speak my peace and I only want to say it once."

Chapter 21

June 1 - 4:00 pm

Nicholas stepped out into the waiting room, and his three teammates immediately got to their feet. "How is he?" Grant asked tensely.

"He's doing better," Nicholas replied, and relief spread across their faces. "He wants to see you."

They looked at Nicholas, each wondering who he was referring to.

"All of you."

"But the doctor said just one at a time," Shannon protested.

Nicholas shrugged. "I tried to tell him."

The four agents paused just outside of Max's door, simultaneously dreading and anticipating what was to come. Finally, Nicholas rapped on the door by way of introduction and they went inside.

Shannon was the first to speak. "How are you doing, Max?" she asked softly.

"I'm feeling much better, Shannon, thanks," Max replied. His voice, though tense, was gentle.

"I'm sorry-" Max and Shannon both started to speak at the same time.

"Me first," Max requested.

"But, Max, you have nothing to apologize for."

"Hear me out, Shannon," Max pleaded. "I want to apologize to all three of you for how I acted in Guatemala right before I left." His eyes were on Grant.

"But it was the truth, Max," Shannon said quietly.

"And I'd say justified," added Grant in the same tone.

"It was disrespectful," said Max vehemently, looking at Jim this time. "And I never should have left my team."

"I'm afraid we weren't really acting like much of a team," Jim sighed. "Yes, our job is to run missions; that's why we were brought together in the first place." Jim walked toward Max's bed, patting Nicholas' shoulder as he walked by. "But someone wise reminded me that friendships are more important than missions." He stopped at the head of Max's bed and laid a warm hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"I forgot that for a moment. I'll not do it again."

Jim squeezed Max's shoulder, and he smiled and reached up his hand to touch Jim's in return. Jim smiled back, and then his face clouded as he turned toward the dark-haired agent.

"Nicholas, that day when you called about the flight, I said some things that were very inconsiderate.  Now I know you were trying to tell me how serious Max's condition had become. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

"Jim," Nicholas responded, holding up his hand, "to be fair, I'm not sure that either of us even understood how serious things were."

"Maybe not," Shannon chimed in, "but the signs were all there, and we all saw them. And, what's more,  Max tried to tell us himself. But you were right, Max," she said sadly, turning to the blonde agent. "Even though you told me that you thought bread was making you sick, I made you a cake and brought you cheeseburgers for dinner. I didn't listen, either."

Shannon walked to the other side of the bed and took Max's hand in hers. "I'm sorry I made you sicker."

"Apology accepted, Shannon," Max answered warmly, and she gratefully gave him a soft hug.

Grant gazed at the floor. "The two of you can talk about being inconsiderate and not listening all you want," he said quietly. "I was the worst of all."

For a moment, Grant said nothing more, as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he spoke again.

"I just couldn't keep my mouth shut," he chided himself, still avoiding everyone's eyes. "Had to crack a joke at every turn, even when I saw first-hand what was happening to you. If anyone is to blame for splitting up the team, for forcing Nicholas to choose sides, it's me."

"Grant," Nicholas interjected, "I never-"

"I know you never meant to," Grant interrupted quietly, his soft brown eyes finally lifting to meet Nicholas', "and I was jealous at first. But I'm glad you were there for him, because I wasn't."
Grant's eyes grew moist, and he turned to Max. "I wish you had knocked some sense into me the day you left Guatemala."

Max's stomach lurched as he remembered the confrontation. "Look, Grant, about that-"

"I deserved it!" Grant interrupted forcefully. "Of course, I was angry. But it made me realize how much I hurt you."
Grant's eyes locked with Max's. "I'm sorry, man," he said sincerely. "I hope you can forgive me. But I wouldn't blame you if you didn't."

"Grant," Max said softly, extending his hand, "come here."

Grant took three steps to clasp Max's right hand, and the handshake evolved into a back-thumping embrace.

Jim and the others smiled in satisfaction. Max was safe, and the team was back together at last.

*******

A few moments later, the doctor came back in to check on Max. He was a little distressed that Max had four visitors instead of the one-at-a-time that he had suggested, but sensed that everyone's presence at his patient's bedside was important. He ultimately gave his blessing, but cautioned them that Max still needed lots of rest.

"Mister Harte," the doctor questioned, "I recall your friend telling me that your environmental allergies were discovered via a transdermal test. Is that correct?"

"That's right," Max answered.

"Any particular reason he didn't do a scratch test?"

"He did, but it was inconclusive," Max replied. "Apparently there was too much histamine in my skin cells."

The doctor sighed. "That makes sense. I wish he had tested your histamine levels that day," he said.  "We might have diagnosed this sooner."

"So, doctor, the allergist said I have something called oral allergy syndrome and might need allergy shots, and the gastroenterologist said I had leaky gut syndrome. And now you are telling me that I have a mast cell disorder. I'm not sure what to believe."

Shannon gave Nicholas a pointed look, as this was the first they had heard about the gastroenterologist.  Nicholas wordlessly signaled that he would explain momentarily, but wanted to listen to the doctor's response.

"Well, those two would each explain part of your symptoms, but the two conditions are largely unrelated to one another. We believe that all of your symptoms are related, and the mast cell disorder would explain them all. And, for the record, allergy shots tend to make mast cell patients worse, because the exposure to the tiny amounts of allergen in the shots just causes their histamine levels to spike further.”

The doctor frowned. "Unfortunately, Mister Harte, you do have several true significant food allergies - wheat, corn, soy, and rice among them – and your body is in such bad shape from ingesting these that it needs time to heal. So we are going to put you on what's called an elemental diet for at least two weeks."

"What's that?" Max wanted to know.

"When you have an allergic reaction to a food, it is actually the protein that your body reacts to," the doctor explained. "An elemental diet is essentially a formula in which all of the proteins are broken down into easily digestible amino acids. It's nutritionally complete, so there's no need for solid food. And if you stick to the diet as it's intended, don't cheat, and stick to low histamine foods when it's over, good results
are pretty much guaranteed."

"Can you guarantee I won't be hungry?" Max quipped, pretending to grumble as a sideways grin crossed his face. In truth, he had been through so much that he was prepared to do whatever it took to be well again.

The doctor shook his head and returned the grin. "Now that I can't guarantee, but I'm told that it's not so bad after the first couple of days."

"Well, doctor, we will all make sure he doesn't cheat," said Shannon with a wink, as she smiled at the rest of the team. They would all have his back from this point forward.

Chapter 22

June 5 - 10:00 am

Max remained in the hospital for 72 hours, both to monitor his blood pressure and residual side effects and to make sure he was adjusting to the elemental diet. The first day hadn't been so bad; Max's body was still worn down from his ordeal with the pizza, and he wasn't especially hungry.

The second day, however, had been rough. Max had experienced the last of the side effects, and he hadalso been ravenously hungry. Several times, he had insisted that he couldn't do this, but all four of his teammates had been there for him. Each of them, in their own special way, had helped him through the worst of it.

By day three, the doctor was satisfied that Max's blood pressure had stabilized, the worst of his symptoms was over, and he was going to be just fine with the new diet. So, papers had been signed for Max to be discharged.

On discharge day, the entire team came to escort Max home. As they waited for the appropriate paperwork, Jim made an announcement.

"Max," he began, "we have notified the IMF that we will be taking a three-month hiatus from team missions, effective immediately."

"Why is that?" Max wanted to know.

"Let's just say we all need to take care of some things at home," Grant answered, "to get back to what's important."

"And we think that you should take advantage of this break to work on your new eating plan," Nicholas chimed in, putting an arm around his friend's broad shoulders. "Who knows? By the time we get ready to go back to active mission status, you could be ready to join us."

Suddenly, Max understood, and he tried somewhat unsuccessfully to conceal the grin on his face.

"Listen, guys, you don't have to do this on account of me."

"Who says we're doing it on your account?" Grant needled. "Got the big head now?"

This time, Max could not hide the grin. Things were finally getting back to normal, and even Grant's joking was welcome.

"We're a team, Max," Jim said seriously. "We're supposed to look out for each other." He smiled at Nicholas, then turned his attention back toward Max. "Some of us lost sight of that for a while, and we almost lost you because of it. So from now on, we're in this together."

Max smiled at his four teammates, who all offered wide smiles in return.

*******

June 21 - 2:00 pm

It had been nearly three weeks since Max's hospitalization. He had finished his two-week elemental diet and was beginning the slow process of trying new foods to be put back into his diet. Max had remained a trouper throughout, and his teammates had taken turns visiting him at his apartment every day.

Today it was Nicholas' turn, and he and Max went for a walk after lunch, as had become their custom.  Normally quite talkative, Nicholas had been more subdued today. Something was definitely bothering him.

Max eyed his friend carefully. "What is it, Nicholas?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Nicholas returned absently.

"You've been quiet today. Unusual for you," he jibed. Then he turned serious again. "What's on your mind?"

Nicholas sighed. "I need to ask you something," he said tentatively. "That day, at the falls..." His voice trailed off uncertainly. "Did you....?" he started, hesitated, then, "Would you have....?"

He couldn't make himself say it, but Max read him loud and clear.

"I honestly don't know, Nicholas," Max replied. "When I opened up that letter, there were so many things going through my head. When I thought about how many different types of foods there are, and how many ingredients, and how long it was going to take to get back to normal...I just didn't know if I could do it. And I could just hear Grant and the others saying 'I told you so' all over again."  Max sighed. "But I don't want to die," he said, his voice nearly a whisper, "and I don't think I ever did. I guess I just wanted Ray to give me some advice."

Nicholas smiled slightly and let out a little sigh of relief. That was good to know.

Max looked down at the ground, and after a pause he spoke again. "It doesn't matter, anyway," he said quietly. "If you hadn't known where to find me, if you hadn't caught me when I passed out at the falls...."

"Shhhh, Max," Nicholas soothed, impulsively throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's all right. You're safe, and you're getting better, and that's what matters."

"That's not all that matters," he countered. Nicholas turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow, inviting Max to continue.

"Nicholas, I owe you my life," Max said quietly, his eyes stinging, "but I owe you so much more than that.  You have been a source of strength and support for me during this journey. I know I couldn't have gotten through this without you." Max stopped walking and turned to look Nicholas dead in the eyes. "Thank you."

"You're a great friend, Max," replied Nicholas, warmly but dismissively. "You'd have done the same."

"You bet I would," replied Max instantly. Then the two men shared a warm, back-thumping embrace.

Epilogue

September 6

"So, Max," Jim began, winking at the others, "why'd you ask us all here?"

Max grinned. "The doctor gave me the all-clear to resume my regular work duties."

"Oh, really?" Jim questioned slyly. "Well, let's see it, then." He held out his hand expectantly.

Max chuckled and rolled his eyes, causing Shannon to shriek with laughter. "What is this, high school?"

He reached into the pocket of his plaid, button-up shirt and dragged out a folded piece of paper.  

Jim unfolded it, read it, smiled, and folded it back. "It looks to be in order," he said, nodding at Nicholas, who smiled at Max.

"What about food?" Nicholas chimed in, himself stifling a grin.

"I officially have ten safe foods in my diet now," Max answered, "and eight of them come in a can. So, pack me a few cans, a can opener, and a couple of bowls, and I'm good to go." Max grinned at his friend. "I don't even need a microwave."

"Well, then, there's just one thing left," smiled Jim, his blue eyes sparkling as they locked with Max's.  "Welcome back, partner."

The End.

(c) 2016

'