Goodbye Old Friend

Chapter 1

Nicholas Black finished his drama class and dismissed his students with a warm smile.  He removed his reading glasses, pausing to rub his tired eyes with one hand.  Then he gathered up his things and headed back to his office.

As he reached for the doorknob, he noticed a yellow piece of paper, folded once, tacked on the corkboard he'd hung on his door.  "Professor Black" was written in messy script on the outside of the note.  Assuming it was one of his students, Nicholas waited until he was inside and sitting at his desk before opening it.

It was not from a student.

"Please call Bob Miller," the note said simply, along with an international phone number Nicholas did not recognize.  Intrigued, but also a bit nervous, he dialed the number.

"Bob Miller," the voice answered, its accent distinctly Australian.

"Mister Miller, my name is Nicholas Black.  I had a message to call you."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line - faint, but he clearly heard it.  "Mister Black.  I've been expecting your call.  I'm sorry to have to do this over the phone, but I'm afraid I have some unpleasant news for you."

He paused, waiting.  Nicholas steadied himself, did his best to swallow the lump in his throat, then said softly, "Go ahead."

"I'm from Silver Springs Funeral Service.  Your friend Max Harte has passed away," Miller answered, his voice filled with regret.  "I'm so sorry for your loss."

The dark-haired professor's breath shut off in his chest; for a moment, he could not speak as a handful of emotions coursed through him.  It was a moment too long for the man on the other end of the line, who grew concerned at the silence.

"Are you all right, Mister Black?"

Finally, Nicholas willed himself to speak.  "What do I need to do?"  he asked quietly, rather than answering Bob Miller's question.

"Mister Harte had everything arranged," Miller replied, "but he asked us to call you if something happened.  He wanted you to come."

"I'll be there," Nicholas assured him without hesitation.  "I just need a couple of hours to take care of things here."

"I look forward to meeting you, Mister Black.  Let me give you our address."

Nicholas took down the information, hung up the phone, and sat in stunned silence for a long moment.  He'd known that Max was ill; when he'd last seen him the previous year, he'd suspected his old friend didn't have much more time.  But even though the news hadn't entirely been unexpected, it still hurt like hell.

Max hadn't been part of the IMF in four years.   Nicholas wasn't sure if any of their other former teammates had been in touch recently; he doubted if they had, for he hadn't heard Max speak of any of them.  Regardless, Nicholas was sure they'd want to know.  And since he still knew how to get in touch with everyone, even though he himself had retired and returned to teaching two years prior, he decided to make some calls before he did anything else.

*******

"Jim Phelps," the white-haired agent answered when the phone rang.

"Jim," Nicholas responded simply, "Max is gone."

Instantly, Jim recognized both the caller's voice and the meaning of his words.  He let out an audible breath and dropped his head.

"Will there be a service?"  Jim asked quietly.

"Max didn't request one," Nicholas advised.

No, I can't imagine why he would have, Jim thought.  As far as he knew, Max didn't have any surviving family.

"But I thought it might be nice if we could all get together, have a drink, share some memories," Nicholas was saying.  "I think Max would approve."

"Australia?" Jim asked, knowing that's where Max had gone four years before but unsure if he had still been there.

"Sydney," Nicholas affirmed.

It was a long way from San Francisco.  Plus, Jim had a lot on his plate right now, helping several other IMF teams on missions around the world.  He shouldn't take the time.

But he knew it was the right thing to do.

"I'll catch a flight this afternoon," Jim promised.  "I'll see you soon."

Nicholas gave Jim information about the hotel where he'd be staying - where he'd stayed each time he visited Max.  Afterward, he asked the elder agent, "Have you talked to Grant recently?"

"As far as I know, he's between missions right now," Jim answered.  "You should be able to catch him at home."

After saying goodbye, Nicholas broke the connection with one finger, then dialed the next number on his list.

 

Chapter 2

"Hey, Nicholas!  How's it going, pal?"  Grant greeted, when he recognized the voice at the other end of the line.

Nicholas could almost hear the smile in his friend's voice, and cringed internally at what he was about to share.

"Grant," Nicholas said gently, "I have some bad news.  Max is gone."

"Max?  Gone?"  Grant repeated. "Where'd he go?"

Nicholas sighed heavily.  "He passed away, Grant."

"What?"  The question came out as a squeak, as Grant's knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed into a nearby chair.  "How?"  he asked incredulously.  "What happened to him?"

"I think he'd been sick for a while," Nicholas answered, as his mind went back to the moment he'd first suspected that something was amiss with Max...

The team had just returned from Paris and finished their post-mission debriefing, and they were leaving Jim's apartment.  Nicholas and Max had not seen much of one another during this mission; Nicholas, for the most part, was on his own, and Max was mostly working behind the scenes.  But during the times they were together, Nicholas had noticed a few things. 

For one, Max seemed a bit paler than usual.  For another, Nicholas could swear that he had lost some weight.  And perhaps most disturbing, Max had seemed preoccupied with something, and certainly wasn't his normal smiling, wisecracking self.  There was definitely something going on, something Nicholas couldn't quite put his finger on.  But he was determined to find out what it was.

"Wait, Max," Nicholas said softly, grasping his friend's arm and causing Max to turn and face him.  "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, buddy," Max answered.  "What is it?"

"Is something wrong?"  he asked quietly.

Max chuckled, blinked his blue eyes rapidly, and averted his gaze.  Nicholas had known Max long enough to recognize all three as clear signs that his friend was nervous.  "Of course not," he replied.  "Why would you ask?"

"You just haven't seemed like yourself lately," Nicholas ventured.

"I'm fine, Nicholas," Max assured him.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Nicholas asked, his voice barely audible.

Max sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair - another sign, Nicholas thought, as he reached again to take hold of Max's forearm.  "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

"It's nothing I can't handle," Max muttered.  Then, suddenly realizing he'd all but admitted that there was a problem, he felt a fresh surge of anxiety.  "And don't worry; it's not going to cloud my judgment and compromise the mission."

"Max, this isn't Jim you're talking to," Nicholas reminded him quietly.  "I know you're not going to let that happen."

"But if the others find out-"

"We've been friends a long time, Max," Nicholas interrupted, a flash of hurt in his eyes.  "Don't you trust me?"

Max cursed to himself as he saw the sadness on his buddy's face.  "Of course I trust you, Nicholas," he assured his friend.  Truth be told, he probably trusted Nicholas more than anyone else on the team.  "I just don't want to talk about this right now."

Nicholas looked deeply into Max's blue eyes and was frightened by what he saw looking back at him.  Fear was not an emotion he'd ever associated with his blond, muscular friend, but this - whatever it was - had Max terrified.  Nicholas knew that if he pushed too hard, Max would shut down completely.

"Okay," Nicholas finally responded, with a heavy sigh.  "I won't say anything to the others, and I won't push you.  But if you need me -"

"I know," Max cut him off gently, reaching a hand up to pat his friend's shoulder.  "Thanks, pal."

Just then, the two men heard Grant's voice drifting back from outside the apartment.

"Hey, are you coming or what?"

Max slung an arm around the shorter man's shoulders.  "Yeah, we're coming," he answered.  The familiar grin curled across Max's face as the two of them walked outside to join their teammates.

Max hadn't wanted anyone else to know about his illness.  But disclosing the truth, at least in general terms, was almost a necessity under the circumstances, reasoned Nicholas.  It wasn't going to hurt his friend now.

"Sick?"  Grant repeated.  "With what?"

"I don't know all the details," Nicholas sidestepped.  "Max never told me."

That much, at least, was true; Max had never shared the specifics of his illness with Nicholas; Nicholas had asked once, but had never pressed him further.  What did it matter, anyway?  he mused.  Putting a label to things like that only created fodder for gossip.  What had taken Max's life wasn't important; all that mattered was that he wasn't here anymore.

"There won't be a service, but Jim and I are going down, to honor Max in our own way."  Nicholas paused, and Grant heard his voice tremble slightly as he continued.  "It would be great if you could join us.  I know it's a long way-"

"I've got some leave coming," Grant interrupted quietly.  "Jim and I can fly down together.  What about Shannon?"

"I'm just about to call her," Nicholas replied.

"All right, man.  I'll see you tomorrow."

Nicholas said goodbye, and then dialed Shannon's number.

*******

"Reed-Martin Promotions, Hank speaking."

"Hank," said Nicholas upon hearing the voice of Shannon's husband and manager, whom he'd spoken to a couple of times previously, "it's Nicholas Black."

"Ah, Nicholas, it's good to hear from you," Hank smiled.  "I'm afraid Shannon is sleeping at the moment.  She just finished up a show.  Could I have her call you when she wakes up?"

Nicholas pondered that briefly, but ultimately decided against it.  "No, I'm not sure I'll be here.  I do have a message for her, but it would be good if someone told her in person."

Hank's face immediately clouded.  "What's happened?"  he asked sadly.

"Max passed away," he answered in the same tone, still not able to bring himself to say the word died.

"Oh, no," replied Hank.  "Had he been ill?"

"Yes," Nicholas responded without elaborating.  "The rest of us are meeting up in Sydney - just a little get together to honor his memory.  We'd love it if Shannon could join us."

"Gee, I don't know, Nicholas," answered Hank.  "We're in Europe right now on a world tour.  Shannon's headlining.  I know she'd love to see you guys, but I don't know if she can get away.  Australia's a long trip."

"I understand," Nicholas said, trying not to let Hank hear the disappointment in his voice.  "At least give her the message, okay?"

"I will," Hank promised. "Thanks for calling." 

Then Nicholas gave him the hotel address where he'd be staying - just in case - and said goodbye, then the connection was broken.  He had a plane to catch.

 

Chapter 3

As soon as Shannon awoke, her husband told her that her former teammate had called, and gently broke the news he'd shared.

"Oh, Hank," Shannon breathed, collapsing into a chair, tears stinging her eyes as her husband rubbed her back gently.  "I hadn't thought about Max in a long, long time.  He's just someone you thought would always be around, somewhere.  I can't believe he's really gone."

"I know you'd like to join your friends, Shannon," Hank said softly, "but we have five more shows before we get a day off.  I just don't see how it's possible."

"I know," she replied sadly.  "Maybe I can at least send my condolences."

*****

Jim and Grant were silent as they prepared to board a plane headed for Sydney, both men recalling the day four years ago when they'd found out that Max would not be coming back to the team...

It was a Saturday afternoon.  The agents had been summoned to Jim's apartment, presumably for a mission briefing.  It wasn't until they arrived that they discovered the truth.

"Where's Max?"  Nicholas asked, immediately noticing his friend's absence.

Jim sighed and dropped his head.  "That's why I asked you all here," He answered.  "Max is no longer with the IMF."

"What?" Grant demanded.  "He quit the team?"

"I wasn't given all the details," Jim replied quietly.

The three younger team members sat in silence for a moment.  It was no secret among them that Max had been reprimanded by IMF leaders before for his occasional impulsive, even reckless, behavior.  It was in his nature, even part of what had made him so good at his job, but it didn't sit well with the higher-ups.  And during their last few missions together, Max had shown more and more of that impetuous behavior; Jim had verbally reprimanded him in New York, and Nicholas had physically restrained him at New Belgium.

Nicholas looked at Jim, and the elder leader wouldn't meet his eyes.  It was clear that Jim knew more than he was telling, and he knew that Nicholas knew it.  A subtle distance had grown between Jim and Max in the past few weeks, even as Max and Nicholas had seemed to grow even closer than before.  If the other team members had noticed it, they hadn't said anything.  But Jim and Max hadn't spoken to one another unless it was essential to the mission, and occasionally a hardened look would pass between the two of them. 

What's more, the subtle physical contact -- an impromptu back thump or his arm across a shoulder -- that Max used to express affection and friendship with the other team members was noticeably missing with Jim.  Even in Louisiana, when Morgan's men had grabbed Nicholas and Jim had found Max waylaid in the back alley, the two men had not touched.  Jim had not always approved of the younger man's choices, and it was something that had increasingly become more difficult to conceal.

"What's he going to do now?"  Shannon mused aloud.

"I don't know," Jim replied honestly, "but I don't think he'll be coming back here, and I wanted you all to hear it from me."

"Is that all, Jim?"  Nicholas asked, trying but failing to conceal his impatience.

"That's all," Jim answered.  "Why?"

Nicholas quickly got to his feet.  "There's somewhere I have to be."  And without another word, he bolted out the front door.  Seconds later, the others heard his car start up and speed away.

Jim and Grant knew that Nicholas had gone after Max, and had found him, though it hadn't occurred to any of the others to try.  But Nicholas had never spoken of what had taken place between Max and himself that day. Even now, Jim and Grant both wondered about that.

 

Chapter 4

Thousands of miles away, Nicholas was already in the air.  As he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, the memory of that day was also heavy on his mind....

Nicholas pulled into the airport parking lot, jumped out of the car, and moved inside at a rapid clip.  He hadn't seen Max's car as he'd passed the apartment; in fact, the place had looked empty.  He just had to be here.  Nicholas had to catch him before he disappeared forever.

He gazed toward the ticket counter and caught sight of a familiar shock of blond hair.  He let out a sigh of relief.  As soon as he was sure it was Max, Nicholas approached him and called his name, and the taller man turned around.

"You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?"  Nicholas asked in a half-whisper.

"I'm not part of the team anymore," Max muttered, looking away, his blue eyes blinking feverishly as they often did when he was nervous.  "I didn't think it mattered."

Nicholas laid his hand gently on Max's upper arm.  "You're still my friend, Max," he replied softly.  "Of course it matters."

Max's blue eyes met the shimmery brown ones of his now former teammate, and he was moved by the genuine worry and affection shining out from them.

Suddenly, Max felt a little guilty.  "I'm sorry, Nicholas," he said sincerely.

Nicholas smiled. "Don't worry about it," he said dismissively.  "I'm just glad  I caught you."  Then he sobered.  "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Max felt his knees buckle at the sudden burst of anxiety, and he quickly found a chair.  Nicholas plopped down beside him.

"What did Jim tell you?"  Max countered.

Nicholas shrugged.  "He didn't.  He just said you were no longer with the IMF and he wasn't given any details."

"Did he send you here fishing for them?"  Max sneered bitterly, then immediately bit his lip as he saw the hurt look on his friend's  face.

"You know better than that," answered Nicholas quietly, and Max knew he was telling the truth.  Despite what he may have known or suspected about the reason Max had left the team, it was clear that friendship was his only motive for coming here.

Max sighed and ran a hand through his hair but said nothing for a long moment.  Nicholas remained quiet, waiting patiently for his friend to respond.

"Let's just say it was a combination of things," Max said finally, and the subtle flatness of his tone told Nicholas that he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Nicholas nodded slightly.  So it was probably safe to say that both Max's health and his history had influenced the decision, and that it was probably a mutual one.  He'd settle for that; he wouldn't push his friend any further.  "So where are you headed?"

"Sydney."

The word was like a sharp knife that pierced Nicholas' chest and abruptly shut off his breath.  For a moment, he focused his attention on willing his lungs to work again.  When he was finally able to make air go in and out, he spoke.  "Why so far from home?"  he asked.

"Sydney is home, Nicholas," Max reminded him gently.  It was the place where his adoptive parents had raised him, and the last place his older brother had lived.

"You have family there?"  Nicholas ventured, knowing that the only family members Max had ever spoken of had died years before.  The thought of his friend being all alone on the other side of the world - seven thousand miles away - shook Nicholas to the core, especially if his health was a concern.

"I have friends."

"You have friends here," Nicholas said quietly, averting his eyes for a moment.  When he looked up again, Max's baby blues grabbed his friend's brown ones and held on.

"I have a friend," he clarified, placing a slight emphasis on the singularity of the article.

"Come on, Max, we've worked together for a long time," Nicholas answered in quiet protest.  "The others care about you, too.  You know that." 

It wasn't until the words had escaped his lips that Nicholas shuddered slightly at how easy it had been to admit to Max that he cared about him.

"Maybe," Max conceded cynically, "but I don't see them here."

He paused for a moment, letting that settle, himself trembling slightly both at Nicholas' overt admission and at how much it meant to him.

"Besides," he continued, suddenly staring at the airport floor.  "I'm not sure I can face them again.  That's one reason I want to get outta here."

"But this has been your home for years, Max," Nicholas reasoned.  "You have a life here."

"This is not my home anymore," replied Max, "and it really never was." Max smiled slightly at his friend.  "I'm just tired, buddy.  Tired of jet-setting to a different country every week.  I'm ready to sit still for a while."

Max's words echoed in Nicholas' head, filling his heart with worry.  The Max he knew could never have been accused of being tired, or sitting still.  When he wasn't running missions, he was off living life to the fullest - flying, surfing, rock-climbing, waterskiing, hang-gliding...the list was endless.  Nicholas began to wonder how much his buddy's health had factored into his decision after all.  And it frightened him.

Suddenly he felt a desperate urge to somehow convince Max to stay.

Nicholas reached for Max's upper arm a second time and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You don't have to go, Max," he said softly.  "You can stay here, and I'll...."

Take care of you, he thought.

"Look after you," he said aloud.

Max was taken aback by his friend's offer, knowing what he really meant, and his own heart came up in his throat.  He put one arm around the dark-haired agent's shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Nicholas," he said gently, "I appreciate the offer, more than you'll ever know.  You've been a great friend to me - the best I could have asked for - and I will miss you a lot.  But I need to go back to the place where I grew up, where the memories of my mom and dad and brother are.  Surely you understand."

There was a long pause before Nicholas answered.  "Yes," he finally replied, sadly, realizing he wasn't going to change his friend's mind.  "I understand.  That doesn't mean I won't worry about you."

Max's cheeks flushed slightly.  "I'll be all right, Nicholas," he insisted.  Then his lips curled into a sideways grin.  "Besides, you're welcome to visit me anytime you want."

"You bet I will," Nicholas assured him.  "And keep in touch, okay?  I know you've got my number."

"I promise."

"Take care of yourself, my friend," Nicholas ordered, as he and Max stood to their feet.  Nicholas offered his right hand to Max, who took it, and the handshake evolved into a hearty, back-thumping embrace.  They lingered there for an extra moment, neither man willing to let go.

"You do the same," Max returned.  "And thanks for coming to see me off."

Nicholas smiled slightly in reply and waved one last time at Max, who then returned to the ticket counter.

Nicholas stood several yards away as Max checked his baggage and walked to the gate.  He watched until his friend's blonde hair disappeared in the surrounding crowd.  Then he returned to the parking lot, got into his vehicle, and sadly drove away.

The pilot's voice jolted Nicholas out of his reverie.  He reached over to buckle his safety belt.  The plane was about to land.

 

Chapter 5

Nicholas pulled up in front of Silver Springs Funeral Service, pausing to take a deep breath before getting out of his rented vehicle.

A slender man with sandy hair met him at the door.  "Hi, I'm Bob Miller," he greeted in his distinct Australian accent, with a thin smile and a warm handshake.

Nicholas returned both. "Nicholas Black."

"Ah, Mister Black, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.  Please come in."

The funeral director stepped aside to let Nicholas enter the modestly furnished facility, then Nicholas followed him back to a small office.

"You made good time, Mister Black.  I wasn't expecting you for a few more hours at least."

"Nicholas, please.  And this was important."

Miller smiled for the second time.  "I can see why Mister Harte spoke so highly of you."  Then he sobered.  "I suppose you knew that he was...ill?"

Nicholas sighed.  "Yes," he answered quietly, "but the last time I saw him was almost a year ago."

Miller nodded.  "He came in about six months ago, made all the arrangements, and paid for everything.  His wish was to be cremated and his ashes scattered, and he specifically asked that I contact you."

"I'm honored to do it," Nicholas assured the man, "but I'm not sure I understand.  Surely he had friends here that looked after him, that would have liked to be a part of this."

"You have family there?"

"I have friends."

"You have friends here."

"I have a friend."

"Come on, Max, we've worked together for a long time. The others care about you, too.  You know that." 

"Maybe, but I don't see them here."

The statement came out as a question, and Miller shook his head.  "He had some friends...perhaps acquaintances is the better word...but my understanding is that the closer he got to the end, the less often they came around.  His landlord sort of kept a check on him, and that's who called us."

Nicholas felt a fresh surge of grief at the realization that his friend had been alone when the end had come.  I wish he'd have called me, he thought.  I would have come, taken leave if I'd had to.  But that hadn't been Max's way.  He'd never wanted to be a burden - not that he ever would have been, but that's how Max would have seen things.

"You don't have to go, Max. You can stay here, and I'll...."

Take care of you.

"Look after you."

"Nicholas, I appreciate the offer, more than you'll ever know.  You've been a great friend to me - the best I could have asked for - and I will miss you a lot.  But I need to go back to the place where I grew up, where the memories of my mom and dad and brother are.  Surely you understand."

"Nicholas?"  Bob Miller was saying.

"Yes, sorry," he apologized hastily.

"I was just saying that Mister Harte's cremains will be ready tomorrow morning.  That isn't too late, is it?"

"Not at all," Nicholas replied.  "I'm meeting some of our other friends here later today.  I know that Max didn't ask for a service, but we're sort of doing our own.  Here's where I'll be staying if you need anything."

"Thank you," Bob Miller smiled as he reached across the desk to take the outstretched card from Nicholas' hand.  Then he caught the same hand in a warm handshake.  "It was so nice to meet you, Nicholas.  Enjoy your stay in our city, and I'll see you in a day or two."

Nicholas nodded at the gentleman and made his exit.  The others should be arriving soon.

 

Chapter 6

Scarcely more than two hours later, Nicholas was sitting in the hotel lobby reading a newspaper, when Jim and Grant entered.  His friends didn't see him at first, so he allowed them to get checked in before greeting them warmly.

"Jim, it's good to see you," he said, catching the elder agent's hand in a firm shake as the two men patted one another's shoulders heartily.  Then he turned to his companion.

"Grant."

"Shame it takes something like this to bring us back together, eh?"  Grant smiled, as he grabbed Nicholas in a warm, back-thumping embrace.

"Where's Shannon?"  Jim wanted to know.

Nicholas' smile faded.  "Headlining a world tour in Europe," he answered.  "I'm not sure she'll be able to come."

"Her singing career really took off after she left the team, huh?"  mused Grant.

"It really did," agreed Nicholas.

"So where are we going?"  asked Jim.

"There's a little open air cafe Max would take me to when I'd come visit," Nicholas explained, "before he got really bad," he added quietly.  "It's got a deck with a spectacular view of the ocean."

"Sounds like a great place to reminisce," smiled Grant.

"Give us a couple of minutes to freshen up, and then we'll meet you back down here," said Jim.

Moments later, the three men were on their way.

*******

"You're right, Nicholas.  This place is great," Grant stated, as the three men clinked their glasses in an unspoken toast to Max before beginning their meal.  They were sitting at a table with a clear view of the ocean, as he had described.

"Max rather enjoyed coming here," smiled Nicholas.

"How often did you visit him?"  Jim asked.

"Four times in all," Nicholas replied, "about once a year since he left the States, with phone calls in between.  But the last time I was here, he wasn't really able to do anything."

"And he never told you what it was?"  pressed Grant.

"Never," affirmed his friend, "but I never pushed him because I promised I wouldn't.  I suppose I could find out now, but somehow it doesn't seem right."

"At least you came to visit him," murmured Grant.  "That's more than I did.  And we were supposed to be friends.  I never even called him, not once, from the time he left."

Grant's mind drifted back to some of the times that he and Max had worked alongside one another on a mission.

He recalled when they'd infiltrated Christie's chemical weapons compound disguised as soldiers of fortune, and when they'd planted the anesthetic gas in Hong Kong to bring a corrupt Navy Admiral to justice.  He remembered when the two of them had done a scuba dive together to pull off a heroin substitution and bring down a corrupt drug smuggling organization, and when they'd scaled a tower together in the Baltic region to rescue a priest held captive by the evil Savidge.

When the pressure was on, the two of them worked in sync with one another - so well together that it was as if one could read the other's very thoughts.

But in every case, once the mission was over, Grant's relationship with Max went back to being as casual as with any of his other teammates.  It was as if intensity was the only chain that bound them together.  Even during the scuba mission, when Grant had thought that the Prince's men had murdered his father, Max had been there for him, offering comfort, encouragement, and support - and Grant had all but pushed him away.

When Max left the IMF, Grant hadn't known that he was ill, but he had known the blond man was troubled and could have used some support himself.  But Grant hadn't been there -not the way Nicholas had.

"You were busy, Grant," soothed Nicholas, seeing how upset his friend had become.  "It's much easier to make time to do those things when you're teaching drama at a university than when you're off running missions in a different country every week."

"Four years.  I guess time got away from me," mumbled Grant.

"Time gets away from us all, my friend," agreed Jim, laying a hand on Grant's arm in sympathy as his thoughts turned elsewhere.

Jim knew he had been a damn good team leader, with qualities he was proud of - stoic, calm, level-headed, and even-tempered.  He was a man who cared about his team, but could also keep his emotions in check.  Emotions cloud your judgment, he'd preached to his team. 

In fact, he'd come close to losing his cool only twice.  The first time was when he'd come face to face with Tom Copperfield's killer - and only Nicholas had seen the anger peeking through.  The second time was when the team had confronted the woman who'd been responsible for Casey's death, and nearly the whole team had been witness.

Jim had always felt closest to those team members whose personalities were most like his own.  Copperfield, the man he mentored, who was like a son to him.  Nicholas, who reminded him most of his fallen protege and who could have led his own team if he'd been so inclined.  And Grant, the second-generation IMF agent and son of Jim's best friend.  Jim had known him his entire life.

But Max....Max was a different creature entirely.  He was more high-strung and impetuous than the others, and sometimes made decisions that were impulsive at best - some would say downright reckless.  Max had been a good agent, and had complemented the others well.  The team was richer, more effective, because of him.  And while Jim cared deeply about him, as he did the others, it was Max that Jim found it hardest to get to know.

If Grant hadn't known Max well, working side by side with him so many times, then Jim hadn't known him at all.

 

Chapter 7

"The man was a work horse," Grant was telling Nicholas, jolting Jim out of his reverie.  "He was always doing something; even when the rest of us were talking strategy, he was always scurrying around, building things."

"Oh, I don't know," Nicholas retorted, with just a hint of defensiveness.  "Max could keep up his end of a serious discussion, too."

"Oh, like the one about the Byzantine Rite, when you were both pretending to be priests?"  Grant teased.  "You guys sure had Hamidou going.  He would have done anything you'd asked just to get rid of you."

Nicholas chuckled out loud.  "Everybody saw Max as just a strongman, but he was a hell of a lot sharper than that.  Remember how he pulled off that homicidal psycho in Hawaii?  I couldn't have done it."

"How could I forget?"  Grant said wryly.  "I'm the one he 'killed'!"

"He did nail that one," Jim agreed, "and any other role I ever asked him to play."

"Even when his heart wasn't in it," Nicholas said sadly, "Like playing Berazon's boy toy."

All three men fell silent as they remembered the mission that had cost Casey her life.  Max's role was to get close to the woman who'd murdered her, and once he'd found out about Casey's death he hadn't wanted to continue.  But he'd done it, because his team needed him.

"Max gave the team everything he had," Jim mused, breaking the lengthy silence, "even when it hurt. He was the only one who could have pulled that off."

"The ladies always did have an eye for him," Grant quipped, forcing a smile in an effort to bring some humor back to what had quickly become a dark conversation.  "Although in the last few missions we did together I think he was more into Shannon."

"Don't tell me you're talking about me behind my back!"

The three men turned around at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Shannon!"  Nicholas cried, as he stood to his feet and caught his former teammate in a warm embrace.  The other men followed suit.

"This is a pleasant surprise," said Grant.  "We thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't," Shannon answered, "But I had to be here, if only for a few moments.  It wouldn't have been right otherwise."

"What about your concert?"  Grant asked.

"I had tonight's show postponed for a day," she replied, "and chartered a flight here.  But I have to leave in a few hours because now I'm playing both shows tomorrow."

"That's a grueling way to rearrange your schedule just for us.  What did Hank say?"  Nicholas questioned, a knowing look on his face.

Shannon sighed.  "He wasn't happy about it," she admitted, "but he'll get over it.  Max deserved this."  Then her face broke into a wide grin.  "Besides, I haven't seen you guys in forever."

"How did you find us?"  Grant wanted to know, as Shannon took the fourth chair at the table.

"The hotel receptionist heard you guys talking earlier and told me how to get here," Shannon replied.

"For once, I'm thankful for nosy receptionists," Nicholas smiled.

"So what were you guys talking about?"  she asked, as the server brought her a drink.

"Max's luck with the ladies," Grant answered with a wink, "and all those times when it seemed like you were the one he was into."

Shannon smiled at the recollection.  "Max was always a gentleman," she said fondly.  And always so openly affectionate, she added to herself, as she thought of the many times she'd found his arm slung casually around her shoulders or at her waist.

"I don't know, Shannon," said Grant with a sideways grin.  "There were a couple of times when he didn't act much like a gentleman.  He was all over you back at New Belgium."

"But he only did that to keep the other miners away from her," Jim reminded him.  "He was worried about that."

"He sure pissed Bull off," Grant recalled.

"Max was always tangling with someone."  Nicholas smiled at the memory.  "Remember Christie's goon, Carl?  Max had to fight him twice."

"And Drago and Ball from the Golden Serpent mission," Shannon put in.  "Max told me they were both pretty rough customers."

"And don't forget Muhkta at Orambaq," Jim added.

"Taking one for the team," Nicholas recalled with a smile.  "Do you remember when Duvall was persuading him to take Usher to meet his long lost son?"

Grant chuckled at the memory and picked up his glass.  "Man, it took days for those bruises to fade!"

"Yeah, but it took several men, a pair of handcuffs, and a weapon to subdue him."  Jim smiled and shook his head.  "Just like at the War Games."

"And don't forget Cairo," Shannon remembered.  "It took half a dozen of Selim's men and a knife."

"Max was tough, all right," Grant agreed.  "If getting caught hadn't been part of the mission, the bad guys would have never stood a chance against him."

"Yes, but it wasn't just the bad guys that Max had to worry about," Nicholas reminded them, flashing a wide grin at Grant.  "Remember that time in Kangji when you shot him, Grant," he teased, "and stabbed me to boot."

"Yeah, and he got back at me in Ireland.  He shot me twice, remember?  And that was after I had to fight him in the pub.  Besides, it wasn't just me. Jim did his share, too. Remember Berlin?"

Grant shot a glance at Jim, and his blue eyes sparkled as he winked at Nicholas.  "I got both of you that time, too," he remembered.

"Maybe that's why Max did such a good job at beating you up in Valance, Nicholas," Grant needled in retaliation.  "He was finally able to dish it out for a change."

"Yeah, well, he didn't have to be so convincing," Nicholas grinned, rubbing his cheek at the recollection.  "I'm sure he tried to be gentle, but he was as strong as an ox.  It still hurt like hell."

"Tell me about it," Grant mused.  "Even though he took a dive during our fight in Ireland, he still made me feel like I'd been run through a meat grinder."

Shannon and Jim laughed gently at the memories and the playful banter between the former teammates.  "I'm sure Max would never have intentionally hurt either of you," Jim said softly.

"You're right, Jim," answered Nicholas soberly.  "Max was always the one lagging behind, making sure that the rest of us got out safely."

"He was so protective," added Shannon quietly.

Then the server came to refill everyone's drinks, and in the ensuing few moments of silence the team paused to remember.

 

Chapter 8

"Max cared about all of us," Jim remarked, breaking the heavy silence that had befallen them. "We were his team."

"It was more than that," Nicholas bristled at the implication, as if Jim's words somehow undermined Max's feelings, made them seem more superficial.  "Max cared about people." 

Nicholas paused, pursing his lips and searching for the right words.  "I think Max spent his life caring about people, searching for that same kind of unconditional love that he always gave to others."

"But surely he knew how we all felt about him," insisted Grant.

"Oh, I'm sure he knew," agreed Nicholas. "Max told me once that running missions with us - with his team - those were the happiest times of his life.  The only times he felt like he truly belonged somewhere."

Nicholas lifted his wine glass to his lips, took a slow drink, then continued.  "We should all take comfort in knowing we were able to give him that."

"I wish I had known that Max was sick," Shannon said sadly.  "I would have made the time to visit." 

Seeing the pained expression that had crossed Nicholas' face, she reached over to touch his arm.  "Oh, Nicholas," she added hastily, "I'm not blaming you for not saying anything.  I know it wasn't your place.  But I wish he had gotten in touch with the rest of us.  I wonder why he didn't?"

Nicholas' mind went back to an exchange he'd had with Max on their last visit together, when he'd realized how bad Max's health had gotten.

"Max," Nicholas said gently, "why don't you let me call the rest of the team?  I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"No, Nicholas," Max replied instantly.  "There's been no phone calls, no visits from anyone except you in over three years.  If they came now, it wouldn't be out of friendship.  It would be out of pity, and I don't need that from anyone."

"I guess he just had a lot on his mind," Nicholas answered quietly.  He couldn't tell them what Max had told him, not without hurting their feelings.

"Yeah," said Shannon, sensing that her friend was holding something back but choosing to let it go, "I guess so."

"So what happens now?" Grant asked.

Nicholas sighed heavily.  "Well, I'm going in the morning to pick up his ashes," he answered quietly.  "He wanted them scattered somewhere over the ocean.  I know the ideal spot."  He looked at his three companions.  "I know Shannon has to fly back tonight," he said, with an apologetic glance in her direction, "but the three of us could do this together."

Grant shook his head, and his eyes were sad.  "No, man," he declined gently.  "You're the one he asked to do this, because you knew him better than any of us.  The honor should be all yours, pal."

Jim nodded his agreement, his blue eyes mirroring the soft brown ones of the young Black agent seated next to him.  "He's right, Nicholas.  Besides, I probably need to head back first thing in the morning.  Too many irons in the fire, so they say."

"Yeah," concurred Grant.  "I should head back, too.  You never know when the next mission is going to show up."

Nicholas nodded almost imperceptibly, not at all surprised by their responses but reluctant to part company just yet.  "Can we at least share breakfast before you go?"

"Sure," Jim replied warmly, after catching a nod from Grant.  "I think we can manage that."

Then, after hugs and well-wishes all around, Shannon departed to catch her chartered flight, and the trio of men returned to the hotel to get some sleep.

 

Chapter 9

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, it was time for Nicholas to bid goodbye to his two former teammates.

"It's going to be a tough day, partner," Grant sighed.  He felt torn.  On one hand, he hated that Nicholas would be alone; on the other, he knew that being part of it wasn't his place.  For all the loyalty Max had given to his team, Nicholas is the only one who'd truly returned it - the only one who deserved the honor of carrying out Max's final wish.

"Yes," Nicholas conceded.  "But a promise is a promise."

"Will you be all right?"  Jim asked softly.

"I'll be fine, Jim."

"Take care of yourself, Nicholas," he smiled, as their handshake evolved into a strong embrace.

"You, too, Jim," the dark-haired professor returned.  Then he turned to Grant, who grabbed him in a bear hug.

"And don't be such a stranger from now on, all right?"  he asked.  "None of us are getting any younger, you know."

"I promise," Nicholas assured him.  "Have a safe trip home, both of you," he ordered, as he patted their shoulders one last time.  Then he watched through the glass doors of the hotel as they got into the rental car and drove toward the airport, and his mind wandered back to the last time he'd said goodbye to Max.

It was time for him to go.  The plane home would be leaving in less than two hours.  But Nicholas did not want to say goodbye.

This visit had been a tough one.  Max had clearly declined in health since the last time.  He'd wanted to walk the beach with Nicholas and take him to the Cantina, but had been too tired to do so.  He had picked up an occasional dry cough.  His skin was pale, and his clothes hung loosely off his frame.  Nicholas absently wondered if he would now outweigh the once-muscular blond.

Max was running out of time, and Nicholas knew that this could be the last time he'd ever see his friend.

"I guess you'd better get going, pal," Max advised from his resting place on the couch.

Nicholas stood to his feet, glanced at the door, then looked back at his friend.  "Look, Max," he said nervously.  "Why don't you let me stay here and look after you?"

"Your students need you, Nicholas," Max replied quickly.

"And what about you, Max?"  asked Nicholas, his voice barely audible.  "What do you need?"

Max bit his lip, unsure how to answer the question without upsetting his friend.  After a lengthy pause to collect his thoughts, he finally answered.

"What I need is for you to go and do the job you were born for, and make a difference in those kids' lives the way you've made in mine."

Nicholas felt his eyes mist over at Max's response.  "Why are you pushing me away?" he asked.

"I don't mean to," Max responded softly.  "This is just something I need to do on my own.  I know you don't understand that, but I don't know how else to explain it."

"But shouldn't someone be here with you?  Just in case something were to happen?

"Whatever happens," Max said gently, "I'll never forget what you've meant to me."

Max slowly got to his feet and stood beside Nicholas.  He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and his baby blue eyes met Nicholas' soft brown ones.

"Please, Nicholas," he said quietly, "this is how I want it.  It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Nicholas wrapped his arm around Max's shoulders and pulled him close.  The embrace was gentle but firm, with neither man wanting to loosen his grip.  Finally, Nicholas pulled away, and both men had misty eyes.

"I'll call you soon," Nicholas promised, not being able to bring himself to say goodbye.

"Have a safe flight," Max returned, avoiding the finality of the word for the same reason.

Nicholas waved to Max for the final time, and he managed to hold back the tears just long enough to get into his car and close the door.

 

Chapter 10

"Good morning, Nicholas," greeted Bob Miller as he met the dark-haired professor at the door and took him back to his office.  "I hope you have enjoyed your short time in our country."

"Yes," answered Nicholas.  "Some of Max's friends came down yesterday, and we had a very nice time sharing memories down at the Cantina."

"Ah, that's a great place," smiled Miller, causing Nicholas to absently ponder the fact that he didn't seem the type for a place like that.

Then Miller's smile faded slightly as he carefully picked up a glass container with both hands.  "I believe this is what you came for."

Nicholas took the container into his own hands and studied it for a moment.  It was shaped like the doorway of a church, minus the steeple.  It was earthy colored, with various hues of green and brown intermingling amongst an ornate, but not especially fancy, overlay.  It could almost have been described as rugged looking.  Nicholas smiled to himself.  Fitting.

In the center was a simple square made of brass, imprinted with Max's name and the dates which represented his life.  Seeing it written that way, with such finality, caused a sudden feeling of sadness to pass over Nicholas.  It took a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

"There's something else he asked me to give you," said Miller, interrupting Nicholas' thoughts to hand him a brown manila envelope.  It was sealed, and Nicholas could feel something bulky inside.  Nicholas quickly placed it into the pocket of his suitcoat.

"What about his...personal effects?"  Nicholas ventured quietly.

"It's my understanding that most of them were sold or given away months ago," Miller replied.  "The landlord is taking care of the few things that remained at his place."

Nicholas nodded.  "I guess that's it, then."

"I suppose so."

Nicholas stood to his feet.  "I should be going.  I have something important to take care of."  He reached out his right hand to grasp Miller's.  "Thank you for all you've done for Max."

"It was my pleasure, mate," Miller replied with a smile.  "I'm glad he had such a good friend out there.  He seemed like a good old bloke."

"He was," agreed Nicholas.  "The best."

"Have a safe trip home, Nicholas," said Miller, and Nicholas waved in response and got back into his car.

*****

Half an hour later, Nicholas was parked on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a large waterfall which spilled into the ocean below.  This was also a place Max had taken him to, on one of his previous visits.  It was where the remains of his brother had been scattered, and it seemed appropriate for this to be Max's resting place as well.

Nicholas carefully rested the urn on the dirt beneath his feet while he took the brown envelope from his pocket.  He unsealed it, and a metal object slid into his hand.  He recognized it instantly; two engraved silver rectangles held together by a thick silver chain.  His hands trembled as he unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Nicholas,

If you're reading this, I guess I'm finding out what's on the other side of this life, and you probably traveled halfway around the world to get here.  I hope you're doing all right.  I'm glad you came; I knew you would.  You always did keep your promises.

"Nicholas, I need you to do me a favor," Max said suddenly, his eyes pleading, his voice urgent.

"Name it," responded Nicholas instantly.

"If something happens to me-"

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Max," Nicholas interrupted, not sure who he was trying to convince.

Max held up his hand in protest.  "Just hear me out, all right?"  When Nicholas finally nodded in acquiescence, he continued.  "If something happens to me, I want you to come down here.  Take care of some things for me.  Will you do that?"

Nicholas reeled at the surprise request.  "I don't know what to say, Max.  Of course, I'd be happy to, but I figured you'd have other friends who could do that for you."

"You're my friend, Nicholas.  I want you to do it.  Promise me?"

"I promise."  And his word was sealed with a firm handshake.

I want you to know that I made peace with a lot of things.  My Maker.  The IMF.  The team.  I hope you forgive me for coming down here, and for not letting you stay the last time I saw you.  I know you would have taken care of me if I'd have let you.

Ray's dog tags were the one thing on earth that meant the most to me.  I want you to have them.  No, I don't expect you to wear them - totally not your style.  They'd clash with that suit and tie you're always wearing.  But please keep them to remember me by.

Nicholas chuckled out loud.  Like I could ever forget you, Max, he thought, as he impulsively put the chain around his neck.  The tags fell awkwardly against the knotted fabric of his tie, but at the moment he didn't care.  It was like a part of Max was still with him.  He reached up absently and wrapped one hand around the tags, holding them while the other continued to hold the letter.

It's fitting that you should have a part of Ray.  In so many ways, you reminded me of him (except for the suit and tie).  You were very much like a big brother to me, and other than Ray you were the best friend I ever had.  Thank you, for making me feel like I belonged somewhere.

Nobody knows what's on the other side, but I'm confident that I'll always be somewhere close by, watching out for you.  Take care of yourself, my friend, until we meet again.

Max.

Suddenly, a host of memories like movie scenes flashed through Nicholas' mind:  after being shot by Graff at the crypt in Zurich, and again by Doyle in the parking garage; the moment Westerly died and his brainwashing wore off; and when Nicholas had feared his life would be taken by Selim's men, only to realize a split second later who was holding the setant.

In all of those moments, Max had been there, and even now Nicholas could swear he felt his blond friend's strong arm lying across his shoulders.   He stood still for a moment, savoring the feeling, before picking up the urn at his feet.

Nicholas slowly unscrewed the lid and held the small container to the sky.  There was a soft wind blowing across the skyline today, and it didn't take long for it to pick up the contents and begin to scatter them to the heavens. 

 

Epilogue

"Goodbye, old friend," Nicholas whispered, his soft brown eyes misting over as he watched the gentle breeze carry the ashes away.  "I hope you finally found the peace you spent your whole life searching for."

Nicholas felt the hot tears course down his cheeks, powerless now to stop them.  "And I hope you realize how very much you were loved."

When the urn was empty, Nicholas carefully removed the dog tags from around his neck and placed them inside the container.  Then he replaced the lid.  Drawing in one more deep breath of Australian air, he turned to walk back toward his rental car.

He set the urn on the passenger seat, already visualizing the place on his mantle where it would soon make its home.  Then with a final glance toward the heavens, he whispered, "Say hi to Casey for us."  Then he smiled sadly and drove away.

(c) 2017