The Anniversary

Cold.

The first thought that entered Max's mind as he awoke that morning was that he was cold.  He opened his eyes to the hazy brightness of the sun and reached for the comforter, which had all but fallen down beside his bed.  He pulled it snugly around him and tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use.  His bright blue eyes had already seen the daylight, and the rumble in his stomach was telling  him it was time for breakfast.  Sleep would not be returning.

Still, he dreaded leaving the warmth of his full size bed, especially now that the comforter was starting to feel warm against his body.  Twice he gingerly pulled the blanket back; twice he quickly wrapped it back around him.  Finally, he steeled his nerve and scrambled to his feet, hastily grabbing the navy blue robe that was draped across the back of his chair.  Then he plodded toward the kitchen, stopping along the way to kick the thermostat up a notch - to knock the chill off the house.

He glanced at the calendar in the hallway as he passed by, while contemplating the thought of bacon sizzling in a skillet.  I guess it's supposed to be cold this time of year, he mused.  After all, it is November.

November.  The twentieth.

Suddenly, a chill went through Max's body that had nothing to do with the temperature. Today was the third anniversary of his brother's death.

Max stopped in his tracks and sank to the floor, and his stomach felt as if it had sunk to the floor with him.  Breakfast was forgotten as thoughts of his brother returned to his mind.

Max and Raymond had always been close, despite their six-year age difference.  When Ray decided to join the Army, Max couldn't have been prouder of him. But then he ended up in Vietnam.  And when the rest of the troops had returned home, Ray hadn't been with them.

Max's mission to rescue his brother from the POW camp had been what brought him to the IMF's attention, and it had changed  the course of his life forever.  Unfortunately, the war had done the same for Ray. The easygoing guy with the gregarious personality was gone, leaving a shadow of a man in its place.  There were demons - unspeakable demons - which hunted him in Saigon, and haunted him long after he came back.

Over the next ten years, Max watched his brother struggle against the demons, a struggle that grew harder with the deaths of first their father, then their mother.

Max tried to help - oh, how he tried!  But in the end, no amount of medicine, or therapy, or brotherly love could keep the demons from winning.

Max was jolted out of his memories by a harsh, loud sound.  It took him a moment or two to realize it was the ringing of the telephone.  Max was still on the floor, and by the time he finally rose to his feet the answering machine had already picked up.

"Hi, Max, it's Jim," came the voice of his team leader.  "You're probably still asleep.  I'd like to meet with everyone here at the condo about ten o'clock this morning.  Just something we need to talk about.  I'll see you soon."

The answering machine clicked off, and Max glanced up at the clock hanging above the calendar.  It was eight-thirty. 

Max sighed heavily.  He was already dreading this meeting.  True, his teammates were also his closest friends, and he usually looked forward to spending time with them.  But right now he didn't feel like seeing anyone.  Still, he knew he didn't have a choice; it was part of the job.

I need to take a shower, Max thought to himself.  But instead, he sat down on a kitchen chair and let his mind wander back to thoughts of his brother.  Memories flowed like photo albums inside his head - memories of Ray.  Mom.  Dad.  Family gatherings.  Happier times.

It was almost an hour later when Max suddenly remembered the meeting.  His head snapped up and he glared at the clock.  Blast!  Nine twenty-five!  No time for a shower now; it would have to wait.  Max hustled to the bedroom, threw on something quickly, then emerged from his apartment and headed toward Jim's condo.

Chapter 2

Max was the last to arrive at Jim's condo.  Everyone else was already there and seated in their customary places, and all eyes were on Max as he entered and sat down on the sofa beside Nicholas.

"Glad you finally made it, pal," Grant said by way of greeting, his mouth curled into a half-grin.  "You look like hell," he added, and Max couldn't tell if he was just teasing or if he was truly concerned.

"You're not so bad yourself, buddy," Max countered, forcing a smile.

Nicholas and Shannon chuckled softly at the banter that had become commonplace between the two agents.  Jim smiled slightly as he began the meeting.

"The reason I asked you all here is to pass along an important message from the Secretary," he advised.  "Because of the tremendous work that you all have done this year, he's decided to give us Thanksgiving off."

"No missions over Thanksgiving, guaranteed?" Shannon asked excitedly.

"That's right," Jim confirmed.  "We've been taken off the rotation from now through the first of December.  Enjoy your time off."

"I can actually visit my sister in Portland this year," Shannon grinned.  "I can't wait to tell her!"  Then she threw her teammates a hasty goodbye and rushed out the door.

Grant smiled as he watched her go, then he sighed slightly.  "I guess I'll invite the family here for a change," he remarked soberly, referring to the house he'd inherited after his father's death last year.  His brown eyes found Jim's ice blue ones.  Jim had been Barney's best friend, and had known Grant and his siblings practically since birth.  "You're welcome to join us, Jim.  You're family, too."

Jim smiled at the invitation, his eyes twinkling.  "Thank you, Grant, but that's all right.  I've got some nieces and nephews in Florida that I haven't seen in years.  That's probably where I'll end up.  Nicholas?" he inquired, continuing what had become an unofficial survey of what everyone would be doing over the newly-acquired Thanksgiving break.

Nicholas cast a wary eye at Max.  "I haven't decided yet," he answered vaguely.  The team knew he didn't have much family, but he kept in touch with several friends from his acting days.  Plus, in his spare time he loved to cook.  "I'll probably just fix something and have some friends over." Nicholas now turned his full attention to the blond agent sitting beside him. 

"What about you, Max?" he questioned, unable to hide the empathy in his voice.  He knew that both of Max's parents and only sibling were all deceased, so the blond agent didn't have any surviving immediate family.  Ever since Nicholas had known Max, the team had always been busy running missions during the holidays, and he suspected that without the distraction this year things would be very difficult.  Besides, he reasoned, judging by Max's slightly disheveled look this morning, he was doing too much thinking already.

Max glanced back toward his teammate, and he didn't miss the worried look on the dark haired agent's face.  Max wasn't surprised at all by his friend's concern, but in an effort to diffuse it he allowed his face to curl into his trademark grin.

"I'll think of something," he quipped.  Then he quickly got to his feet and started toward the door before Nicholas could say anything more. 

He was almost there when he felt someone grab his arm from behind. "Max?" The voice was gentle but firm, as was the touch.

Max sighed as he turned around slowly.  His eyes were blinking rapidly, which Nicholas knew was a sign of nervousness.

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Nicholas," Max replied.

Nicholas wasn't convinced, and was pretty sure Max knew it, but decided to let things go for the moment.  Choosing his words carefully, he spoke again.  "I was just going to say if you need... anything... feel free to call.  Come by.  I'll be around," he advised, trying but failing somewhat to sound casual.

"Thanks, buddy." Max slapped his teammate's shoulder fondly, then he quickly climbed into his car and pulled out of the parking area before Nicholas could say anything more.

*****

Max drove back toward his apartment at a snail's pace, but his mind was racing.  Thanksgiving didn't even feel like a holiday, hadn't felt like a holiday since three years ago.

That November twentieth, when he'd lost Ray, had been a Monday.  There hadn't been a service; nobody but Max had been left behind to mourn.  So Ray had been cremated, and Max had been the one to scatter his ashes.

On Thanksgiving Day.

Shortly after Ray's death, while the grief was still fresh, Max had been dragged kicking and screaming back into the land of the living when he was asked to join Jim Phelps' IMF team. 

Max knew that being part of the team had probably saved his life - in more ways than one.  His teammates were his friends.  They were there for him. And running missions kept the ghosts away.  At least it had for the past two years.

But this year would be different.  And Max didn't know what he was going to do.

This year, the anniversary of Raymond Harte's death had come on a Friday.  Thanksgiving Day was still six days away.  And the team would have four days after that before they could be called back up. Max wasn't sure he could take it - being cooped up with the demons and ghosts for that long.  And he couldn't impose on Grant's family, or Nicholas' friends.  It wouldn't be right.

Max pulled slowly into the parking space in front of his apartment, without any recollection of how he'd gotten there.  The only thing he was aware of was a sudden, tremendous sense of exhaustion.

Fingers trembling slightly, he struggled to unlock the door.  Barely remembering to lock it behind him, he walked straight to the bedroom and fell into bed without even bothering to take off his shoes.

Chapter 3

Max slowly opened his eyes and immediately noticed two things: he was in his bedroom, and it was twilight outside.  He blinked his eyes once, twice, three times.  He grimaced; his head hurt.  He squinted through the pain to look at the illuminated digital clock beside his bed.

Five forty-five.

But was it five forty-five in the morning or five forty-five in the afternoon?  It was November, so it could be either. 

Max was confused. He sat up on the bed, mildly surprised to notice that he still had his shoes on.  Then he suddenly realized that he was wearing his wristwatch.  He looked at it.  It was still Friday.  Afternoon, then.

Max got up off the bed, went to the restroom, and then walked toward the kitchen.  As he passed by the calendar in the hallway, he realized again what day it was.  His head pounded anew.

He went into the kitchen and stood still for a moment.  His stomach growled, as if to remind him that he hadn't eaten anything all day.  Max opened up the cabinet, looked inside for a bit, and closed the door again.  Then he opened up the refrigerator. Nothing looked appetizing.  So he retrieved a bottle of water and downed some painkillers, then he went into the living room to watch television.

As he mindlessly flipped from channel to channel, his eyes fell on the blinking red light from his answering machine.  Blink, pause. Blink, pause.  So there was only one message.  He ignored it at first, but eventually the blinking light began to get on his nerves.  With tremendous effort, he got back up off the sofa and checked his phone.   

Four missed calls, all from the same person - no doubt, the one who'd left the message.  Max pushed the blinking button, and the message began to play.

*******

Nicholas pulled into his parking space, killed the engine, and sat still for a long moment.  He'd spent the entire twenty-minute drive from Jim's condo thinking about Max.  Something had been off about him today, even before the team learned about their holiday break; the dark-haired agent had noticed it the moment Max walked in.  And Max had all but run to his car after the meeting to avoid having a long conversation with Nicholas.  That wasn't like him at all.

Sighing, Nicholas exited his car and unlocked the door.  As soon as he hung his keys up, he reached for the phone, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with his friend.

He dialed Max's number.  It rang several times, but Max did not answer. Absently, Nicholas wondered where Max was.  But in the next instant, the dark-haired agent chuckled to himself.  Max was a grown man, for heaven's sake, and Nicholas was not his keeper.  He was probably just fine.

Nicholas avoided leaving a message, then he forcibly tried to take his mind off Max and focus on other things. It worked, for a little while.  But eventually, Nicholas found himself dialing his friend's number a second time, then a third time, still with no success.

The fourth time Nicholas dialed Max's number, it was nearly five in the afternoon.  It had been six hours since they'd left Jim's place.  Where the hell could Max have gone?

Nicholas considered the possibilities.  Max was a very active individual and was always doing something outside - climbing rocks, riding motorcycles, flying planes.  He supposed Max could be doing something like that. After all, his friend didn't have to sit by the phone for the next ten days waiting for a mission - and he didn't have to worry about showing up for anybody's Thanksgiving dinner.

But even as he pondered this explanation, Nicholas knew that it wasn't right.  It didn't feel right.  And when Max's greeting kicked on after five rings, Nicholas realized how dramatic the difference was between Max's cheerful recorded voice and the voice he'd heard today.

So this time, Nicholas left a message.

*******

"Hey, Max, it's me." Nicholas' voice was halting.  Hesitant.  "I was just... wondering if you'd decided what you're doing for the holiday.  I thought maybe... you'd like to join me.  If you don't have any other plans.  Just call me back and let me know, so I can figure out the menu." A pause.  Then, "Call me when you get this message, okay?  Goodbye."

The concern in his friend's voice was obvious.  Nicholas had an uncanny ability to read people, and, besides that, he was a good friend.  

Max knew that he should call him back.  He knew Nicholas cared about him and would understand.  But he didn't have the energy to pick up the phone, and he just couldn't make himself talk about his brother.  Not yet.

Max returned to the sofa and sat down, eyes fixed on, but not  seeing, the picture in front of him as his mind raced with thoughts of Raymond.  After a while, his head began to pound again and the exhaustion from before descended upon him like a torrential rain.  Lacking even the energy to return to his bedroom, Max lay down on the sofa - too small for his six-foot, three-inch frame - and fell into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 4

It was a long and restless night.  Max was awake for most of it; every time he would fall asleep, he would relive the day he rescued Raymond from the POW camp.  As soon as Tran and his men would start shooting at his helicopter, Max would wake up in a cold sweat.  Sometime during the night, he'd managed to make his way from the couch back to his bed, but it hadn't helped matters at all. When the sunlight finally started peeking through the curtains in Max's bedroom, he decided he'd better get up. 

As he got to his feet, he staggered sideways a little.  His head didn't hurt at the moment, but he felt a little dizzy.  It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't eaten anything all day yesterday.  He would have to fix that, he decided.

Slowly, he trudged to the kitchen, deliberately casting his eyes away from the calendar and its nasty reminder.  He took out a skillet and began to scramble a couple of eggs.  Just as they finished cooking, the telephone rang, startling him. 

Max froze in place, unable to move even if he wanted to, until it stopped.  There was no click from the answering machine, so the caller didn't leave a message.  Probably Nicholas again, Max thought, and by this time he was probably worried.  Max felt a little guilty about ignoring his friend's calls.  But the truth was, he didn't feel like talking, or being fussed over, or answering the many questions he was sure Nicholas would have for him.

Max finally sat down and forced himself to eat his eggs.  They felt as if they stuck in his throat.  As he laid his empty plate on the kitchen counter, he felt the heaviness of the room wrapping around him, constricting his chest.  How was it that his brother had never been to this apartment, yet Ray's memory was all over this place.  Smothering him.  Squeezing the life out of him.  Making it hard to breathe.

He had to get out of here.  Now.

Max hurried to the bathroom, taking just enough time to wet his unkempt hair and run a comb through it.  Then he grabbed his keys from the nightstand where he'd tossed them the day before.  He didn't know where he was going, but at the moment anywhere sounded better than here. He jerked the front door open, and was shocked by what he saw on the other side.

*******

Nicholas woke up early that morning.  He, too, had slept fitfully the night before.  He'd waited up until nearly midnight, hoping Max would call him back.  But he never did.

As soon as his eyes opened, his blond friend was once again foremost on his mind.  He knew it was still early, so he waited a little while, until he was fairly sure that Max should be up.  Then he tried to call again. Still no answer.

Once again, Nicholas found himself wondering where Max could be.  There really wasn't anywhere around here that Max could have gone. Unless....

Except for mission work, Max hadn't been back to Australia since his brother's death three years before.   As far as Nicholas knew, there was no reason for him to go back there - nobody was left there that he would know.  He supposed that Max could be planning a trip back home, but preferred to think that's something Max would have told him. Yes, I remember, I'm not his keeper, Nicholas thought to himself with a wry grin.  But I am his friend.  And Nicholas certainly hoped Max wasn't planning on spending the next ten days out of touch and far away from his friends - especially given the shape he was in yesterday.

That idea was enough to trump any thought Nicholas might have had of waiting for the phone to ring.  He hastily gulped down the rest of his morning coffee, climbed into his BMW, and headed in the direction of Max's apartment.

As he approached his friend's residence, Nicholas could see that both his car and his motorcycle were parked out front.  Nicholas frowned, his feelings jumbled.  Apparently, Max was home, and that was good.  But if he was home, then why hadn't he returned Nicholas' phone call, and why hadn't he answered this morning? He hoped Max was all right.

He jumped out of his car and lifted his fist to knock at the door, when suddenly it jerked open.

"Max!" the dark-haired agent cried out.

"Nicholas!" said his friend at the same time.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" demanded Nicholas.  He gazed at his friend, and what he saw troubled him deeply.  There was a hollow look to Max's eyes, and his cheeks were slightly sunken in.  His hair was just slightly combed and slicked down with water, and Nicholas was fairly sure that his friend was wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before.

"Out," Max answered evasively, and he brushed by Nicholas' right side and started toward his car. Nicholas grabbed his arm with both of his hands. 

"Hold it, Max," he said, rather firmly, for he now knew that Max was avoiding him on purpose and he was desperate to know why.

"Let me go, Nicholas," Max growled, not meeting his teammate's eyes.

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on," Nicholas answered, with an edge to his voice that Max had never heard before.  The dark-haired agent pushed Max up against the doorjamb and gazed into his eyes.  "I know something's wrong, Max.  Tell me."

Max knew that he was the stronger of the two men, and even though the past two days had addled him slightly, he was fairly certain he could still overpower his teammate if he wished.  But as he looked into Nicholas' worried brown eyes, he couldn't bring himself to do so.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Max murmured, averting his gaze once again.

"Then I'll wait," Nicholas replied instantly.

"Nicholas-"

"Look, we can go back inside, or I can take you anywhere you want to go," Nicholas offered, his grip still firm on Max's arm.  "But I'm not giving up until you talk to me."

Max sighed heavily but said nothing.  Then, playing a hunch, Nicholas asked, "Can I buy you a drink?"

Max's tired blue eyes locked with his.  "Yeah, sure," he answered quietly.

"McGregor's, then," Nicholas smiled slightly.  He took one hand off Max's arm and reached for his friend's keys.  To his surprise, Max did not fight him as he took the keys out of his hand.  "I'll drive."

Nicholas led Max to the passenger side of his BMW, just to make sure he got in and didn't try to bolt.  Then he locked Max's apartment door, climbed into the driver's seat, and with one last worried glance at his teammate, took off toward the local pub.

Chapter 5

The two men rode to McGregor's in silence, a silence that continued even after they arrived at the pub.    

Max was known to down a beer or two with the guys on occasion, but was typically not a heavy drinker.  Nicholas was mildly surprised when Max ordered a shot of whiskey, downed it in one gulp, then immediately ordered another. 

Nicholas himself stuck to Irish tea; from the way things were going, he'd not only be driving Max home, but he'd probably have to help him inside once he got there.

Max drank the second shot just a little slower than the first, and ordered a third.  He wasn't used to the harder stuff, and he felt his lightheadedness threaten to return.  Still, it was good to feel the slight buzz, good to feel the sharpness of the pain fading out, along with his inhibitions.

Nicholas bit his lip.  He wanted to tell Max to slow down before he drank himself senseless, but he fought the urge, fearing it would cause his friend to shut him out completely. 

Max finished his third shot and nodded to the bartender to pour another.  Nicholas could stand it no more.

"Max," he began, tentatively,  "you really should take it easy."

The bartender set the fourth shot glass in front of the tall blond.  He drank half of it, then looked at Nicholas coldly. "I'm fine," he grunted.  Then he turned his attention back to his drink.

As Nicholas contemplated what to say next, Max ordered shot number five.  When the bartender set it down in front of him, he looked again at Nicholas, then lifted his glass in the air.

"A toast," he said quietly, and his voice was ethereal.  "To Raymond.  May he haunt my Thanksgivings for years to come." Then he downed the shot in one swallow.

Nicholas gasped audibly, and a river of guilt washed over him.  He should have made the connection sooner.  Max had lost his brother a few months before they had met, before their first mission as part of Jim Phelps' team.  Max never talked about it, but Nicholas could tell that the holidays troubled him.  He was always just a little quieter, a little more melancholy.  Not really anything that anyone other than a very intuitive agent would have noticed.

"Max," Nicholas breathed, knowing he needed to say something but not sure what to say.  "I'm so sorry about your brother," he managed, wincing at how trite the words sounded.

Max looked at him again, his expression unreadable.  "Yeah," he answered.  "Me, too."

"You've never talked about him," Nicholas said carefully, gently trying to pry Max out of his silence.  "What was he like?"

Max looked down at his now-empty glass.  "There's not much to tell," he answered coldly.  "He died.  I couldn't save him." He signaled the bartender for a sixth shot.  "Hell of a way to spend Thanksgiving Day, pouring ashes over the Pacific."

A chill ran up Nicholas' spine as he realized the implications of Max's words.  No wonder his friend had always been so glum around the holidays.  Thanksgiving wasn't just a reminder of his brother's death.

It was the anniversary.

Max clearly blamed himself for what happened to Ray, for not being able to save him from whatever horrors had gripped him when he returned from Vietnam - even though he had saved him from a lifetime of imprisonment in a POW camp. 

Nicholas felt a sense of desperation in the pit of his stomach.  He had to do something to help Max, before his friend slipped any further into what he already recognized as the murky depths of depression.  But he didn't know what to say, and he was terrified of saying the wrong things.

"Max," Nicholas half-whispered.  He reached out timidly to lay a hand on Max's broad shoulder, and was pleased that his friend didn't pull away.  "I know this is hard, and I can only imagine what you're going through.  But I'm your friend, and I want to help you in whatever way I can."

Max downed the sixth shot, slower this time, and it was several moments before he responded.  Then he grinned widely at Nicholas.  He reached out his right arm and wrapped the dark-haired agent in a crushing sideways embrace, then thumped him so heartily on the back that Nicholas almost fell off his barstool.

"Good old Nicholas," Max said heartily.  Clearly, the effects of the whiskey had hit him like a Mack truck.  "You're a real.... pal," he slurred.

Nicholas smiled slightly as he plunked down several bills for the bar tab, then rose to his feet.  "Come on, buddy, let's get you home," he crooned, as he grasped Max's right arm and draped it across his shoulders, then helped the taller man to stand. 

Between the whiskey, the dizziness, and the four-inch height difference between the men, it was no easy task, but slowly they made it to Nicholas' car. Max was only half conscious by the time Nicholas settled him in and slid behind the wheel.  There's no use taking Max back to his apartment, the dark-haired agent reasoned to himself.  He can sleep it off at my place.  That way, I can keep an eye on him.

Nicholas pulled his BMW in front of his apartment, got out, unlocked the front door, then circled around to the other side. "Come on, sleepyhead," he coaxed, as he helped Max to his feet.  The blond agent roused just enough to make it inside, only to collapse once again on Nicholas' couch. 

Nicholas fussed over him for a moment, making sure Max was comfortable.  Then he took a seat in the recliner across the room, reaching for a book while keeping watch over his friend.

Chapter 6

Six hours later, a slight groan from the couch caught Nicholas' attention, and he quickly rose from his seat.  He gathered some things from the kitchen, then knelt by Max's side as he gingerly opened his eyes.

"Ooooh," he groaned.  Thankfully, the overhead light was off and only the floor lamp shone in the darkness. 

As he regained his senses, it was clear that he was not at home.  For a couple of seconds, he looked around anxiously.  Then he heard a familiar voice and knew exactly where he was.

"Easy, Max," Nicholas soothed, as he laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.  "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," Max quipped, raising both hands to his head.  "Ooooh, my head."

"Not a truck," Nicholas smiled in sympathy.  "Just a half dozen shots of whiskey." He retrieved a bottle of painkillers from the coffee table and shook out a couple into his hand.  "Here, take these."

Max sat up cautiously, and Nicholas offered gentle assistance.  He gratefully took the painkillers, and Nicholas quickly handed him a glass of water to wash them down.

"I need to get home," Max said urgently, and he started to stand up.

"Relax, buddy," his dark-haired friend cautioned, gently pushing his shoulders back down onto the couch.  Max wanted to resist, but his effort was stopped by a wave of dizziness, and he allowed himself to lie back.  "You're not going anywhere just yet." Nicholas picked up a white dishcloth, dampened with cool water and folded in half, and placed it across Max's forehead.

"Thanks, pal.  That feels good," Max smiled weakly.

Nicholas returned his smile.  "Good.  You rest awhile.  Let those painkillers take effect.  I'll be here when you wake up."

Max sighed heavily.  He wasn't happy about being fussed over, but he had to admit, he was touched by Nicholas' concern.  So he would tolerate things for a little while - at least until this blasted headache went away.

*******

By the time Max woke again, night had clearly fallen, and Nicholas was still sitting in his recliner, watching his friend.  Max sat up slowly, checking for any lingering trace of the headache that had plagued him earlier. It was still there, but had faded to a dull ache.  That was good.  He was still a little lightheaded, but he could deal with that.

"Hey, there," Nicholas said fondly, as he removed his reading glasses.  "Are you feeling okay?"

"Much better," Max answered.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Max," Nicholas returned.  "You hungry?  I saved you some dinner."

Max didn't answer his question.  "What time is it, anyway?" he asked absently, rising from the sofa and walking toward the window.

"It's nearly eight-thirty," Nicholas responded.

"I need to get back home," Max said suddenly, heading quickly for the door, only to be stopped in his tracks by a bout of dizziness that caused him to pitch sideways.

Nicholas, who'd just gotten to his feet to go heat Max's dinner, was at his side instantly, catching him as he swayed.

"Max!" he hissed, as he guided the taller man back to the couch. "Easy, now.  Easy," he soothed, as Max sat down.  His head rested in one hand, his eyes cast downward.

"You all right?" Nicholas asked anxiously, plopping down beside him, a hand still resting on Max's shoulder. 

Max nodded, not yet trusting his voice.

"You sure?"

"I'm okay," Max finally responded.  "Just got a little lightheaded, that's all."

Nicholas frowned.  Then, playing a hunch, he asked carefully, "Max, when was the last time you ate anything?"

Max looked up at his friend, his eyes weak and bloodshot.  "I had some eggs this morning," he answered.

"And yesterday?"

Max said nothing, which told the dark-haired agent everything he needed to know.  He squeezed Max's shoulder a little tighter.

"Max, you need to eat something," he pleaded.  "You're going to get sick." As if on cue, Max's stomach growled loudly.  "I know you're hungry, Max.  Come on."

Max stared at his shoes.  "My stomach's upset," he mumbled.  "I'm not sure I can eat anything."

Nicholas' own stomach lurched.  "You might feel better," he said hopefully.  "Can you at least try?  I'm worried about you."

Max looked up into his friend's dark brown eyes, moist and brimming with concern.  Nicholas was always worrying about him, he thought to himself.  Just like a big brother. His big brother.....

Suddenly, the tidal wave of anger, grief, and guilt that had been tucked away just beneath the surface all day, kept at bay by the alcohol and by his friend's compassion, welled up in Max's stomach all over again.  For a moment, he thought he really was going to be sick.  While grateful for Nicholas' help, in that instant Max wanted nothing more than to be left alone.  To not have to do anything, or talk to anyone.

Max ran his hand through his hair nervously.  "Look, Nicholas, it's getting late.  Why don't you just take me home?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "Not until I'm sure you'll be all right, Max.  And that means you have to eat something."

Max sighed heavily.  There was no getting out of this; Nicholas was not going to give up.  "Okay," he finally relented.

Nicholas grinned.  A small victory.  "Good.  Just let me warm it up.". He started toward the kitchen once again, then turned back toward his friend.  "Don't go anywhere," he warned gently.

Once Nicholas disappeared around the corner, Max contemplated his options.  It would take a couple of minutes for Nicholas to warm up dinner.  Max would have time to grab the keys, take the BMW, and drive home. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized how irrational it was.  For one thing, he wasn't sure he was capable of driving.  He didn't feel drunk anymore, but he wasn't sure about these damned dizzy spells. 

With his luck, he would wreck the car on the way - which wouldn't be fair to Nicholas at all, not after all he'd done to help. Perhaps the best thing Max could do right now was to give in and eat something.  If the dizziness really was from hunger, as Max suspected, it would go away.  Then Max could convince Nicholas he was fine and go from there.

Chapter 7

As soon as the aroma from the steaming plate of food hit Max's nostrils, his stomach growled anew.  He really was hungry, he realized.

"Smells delicious," Max smiled. 

"What is it?"

"It's a lemon chicken and potato bake," Nicholas replied.  "My mother's recipe." He carefully set the plate in front of Max, along with a glass of freshly-brewed sweet tea.  "Careful; it's hot."

Once the dish had cooled a bit, Max took a bite, and immediately he smiled. "Man, this is really good!" he exclaimed.  "I knew you were a good cook, buddy, but you outdid yourself."

I'm just glad you're eating something, Nicholas thought to himself, but he bit his tongue.  "I'm glad you like it," he said instead.

Max finished almost the entire dish.  He couldn't help himself.  He waved off Nicholas' offer to take his nearly-empty plate back to the kitchen.  He wanted to see for himself if the dizziness had subsided any.

It had.

So moments after returning to the living room, Max approached the subject again. "Nicholas, would you please take me home?" he asked.  "I promise I'm feeling better.  And you need to get some rest; you've sat here with me all day."

Nicholas frowned.  "It's after nine, Max," he protested.  "Why don't you just stay here for tonight, and I promise I'll take you home in the morning."

Max felt the anger seize him as he got to his feet.  "Look, I appreciate everything you've done, Nicholas," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "but I just want to go home.  Can't you understand that?"

Nicholas also stood up.  "And I just want to help you through this hell you're going through, Max," he responded, his voice deliberately calm.  "Can't you understand that?"

Max's face turned blood red and the veins stood out in his neck.  "Fine.  If you won't take me home, I'll call a cab to take me there." He walked over to the end table and grabbed the receiver of Nicholas' telephone.

Nicholas dashed over and thrust his hand on top of Max's, holding the receiver in place.  "And do what, Max?" he demanded, raising his voice in an attempt to get through to his friend.  "Shut me and everyone else out?  Starve yourself?  Keep everything bottled up inside?"

Max looked at Nicholas.  His normally soft brown eyes were like daggers flying back at him.  His friend was very angry now, and very worried. 

Max averted his gaze, but Nicholas kept talking. "Look, we've been dancing around this all day.  I know you're depressed, because you're missing your brother, and I'm worried about what's going to happen to you."

Nicholas kept one hand on top of Max's, which was still resting on the receiver, and gripped Max's upper arm with the other.  "I just want you to talk to me."

Max jerked his hand away from the phone, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere, and sat down hard on the couch, still seething with rage. "And what the hell do you want me to say, Nicholas?"

"You could tell me how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling?" Max asked bitterly.  "I'm pissed, Nicholas.  Pissed at Ray for dying, and for not letting me help him, and pissed at you for not leaving me the hell alone."

"That's a start," Nicholas said quietly, sitting on the coffee table directly in front of Max, so close to him that their knees almost touched.  "Tell me more."

Max looked at his teammate incredulously.  He hadn't expected that reaction.

"Max, it's okay if you're angry with me, but I'm not going to leave you alone.  That's not what friends do." Nicholas' gaze was softer now.  "You can say whatever you want.  I'm listening."

Max got up and brushed past the dark-haired agent as he walked back to the window and stood with his back to his teammate. Nicholas, in desperation, steeled his nerves and took a deep breath. 

"All right, if you're not going to talk, let me try," he suggested.  "You've already said you're angry.  But you also feel guilty.  Guilty that you couldn't save Ray, because he wouldn't let you.  Guilty that he died, and you're still here.  Guilty for being angry." Nicholas walked up behind Max and laid a hand tentatively on his shoulder.  "Am I close?"

Max turned his head to the side to glance at his friend, and from the look on his face Nicholas could tell that his guess had been correct.

"Max," Nicholas whispered.  "Talk to me."

"It's late," Max murmured.

"I've got all night," Nicholas assured him.

Max returned to the couch and sat down.  Nicholas plopped down beside him.  Max took a deep breath, and then he spoke.

Chapter 8

"They beat the hell out of him in that POW camp," he began, his voice low.  "He had at least a dozen broken bones, including some in his lower back.  The doctors put him on some powerful painkillers." Max looked down at his hands.  "Everything healed up nicely.  But Ray wasn't the same.  And he kept using the pills to numb the emotional pain long after the physical pain was gone."

"He was addicted," Nicholas concluded.

Max nodded.  "It wasn't hard for him to convince the doctors that he still had back pain," he said bitterly.  "They were glad to keep writing  the prescriptions, despite my objections. And over time, the dosages got higher and higher."

Max sighed.  "He started adding alcohol when our father died," he continued.  "And our mother's death was the first time he was hospitalized."

"So he sought treatment?"

"Not willingly," Max confessed.  "He was admitted to hospital three times, and I tried to talk him into getting help at least a dozen more.  And each time he would go to therapy for a while, or make a bunch of promises.  But he always relapsed.  And each time he needed more pills, more booze, just to kill the pain."

Max's voice was barely audible.  "One day, he didn't answer the phone, and I found him in his bedroom, with a lethal dose of pills and two bottles of Jim Beam in his system." Max looked up at Nicholas, and his blue eyes were moist.  "I couldn't save him."

"Max," Nicholas responded, squeezing his friend's forearm gently, "you've got to realize that you did everything you could.  You can't force someone to get help, no matter how much you care about them." Nicholas paused until Max's eyes met his again.  "It wasn't your fault, Max."

"I hate him so much for dying," Max admitted, "and then I feel bad for hating him."

"I don't think you hate him, Max." Nicholas reasoned.  "You're just angry.  And for good reason.  He was the big brother.  He was supposed to take care of you, Max, not the other way around.  And you were so busy taking care of him that you weren't really able to mourn your parents.  Then he left you with nobody."

"Until you guys came along," Max reminded him.

The comment was unexpected. Nicholas was silent for a moment as he recalled the mission that had brought them all together for the first time.  Their synchronicity even from the beginning had been uncanny - yes, part of that could be attributed to their extensive training and each agent's unique skills.  But there was something else.  And suddenly, Nicholas realized how crucial the timing of that event had been in Max's life.

"The IMF gave you purpose."

"Not only that," Max added quietly.  "It gave me a family."

Nicholas' mind wandered back to the first few days of the Scorpio mission, when it seemed that each agent sort of settled into a particular role from the very beginning. Max was always the bodyguard - not an official designation, but everyone knew it.  Now, more than ever, Nicholas understood why. He was still trying to protect his family.

When Casey was killed a few months later, it had hit Max especially hard.  Everyone assumed it was because he'd had to play such an intimate role with the woman who taken Casey's life - and that was true.  But now, Nicholas realized there'd been something more.  Something Max had never talked about.

It had to be like losing his brother all over again.

Nicholas moved his hand until it rested on Max's broad shoulder. "Yes, Max," he agreed, "we're family.  And I'm going to be there for you, the way you were there for Ray.  But you can't shut me out.  You know better than anyone how much it hurts to try to help someone when they won't let you."

"Yeah," Max admitted after a pause.  "I do."

"So please, let me help you." Max smiled and laid an arm across Nicholas' shoulders. 

"You already have."

Suddenly, Max yawned.  Then he grinned again.  "Geez, you would think a guy would be rested after sleeping most of the day."

Nicholas bit his lip, avoiding a comment about how the fatigue was a symptom of his depression.  "I'll get the guest room ready," he said, standing up.  "It'll be more comfortable than that couch."

Nicholas started up the stairs, then he paused and looked back at his friend.  "Are you going to be all right?"

Max nodded, smiling slightly.  "You were right, Nicholas," he said softly.  "Talking did help."

Nicholas grinned widely.  "Good," he said sincerely.  "We'll see how you feel in the morning."

As the dark-haired agent disappeared up the stairs, the idea of taking the BMW home briefly crossed Max's mind once again.  This time, he wasn't dizzy, and he knew he could make it home safely. But he couldn't do that to his friend.  Not now.

Max hadn't been lying.  The feelings were still there, lurking just below the surface, but talking to Nicholas had softened the edges till they didn't hurt as much anymore. Max would just have to make sure he was still feeling okay in the morning - or at least, that he could convince Nicholas of that.  Otherwise, he thought ruefully, the man might never let him go back home.

Chapter 9

Nicholas looked in on Max off and on during the night, but each time he checked Max appeared to be sleeping peacefully.  The next morning, as soon as he awoke, Max took a shower.   When he emerged from the bathroom, his blue eyes seemed to have a bit more sparkle than the day before.

Nicholas had woken almost an hour before and was downstairs cooking breakfast.  "Good morning, Max," he greeted as the tall blond agent reached the bottom of the staircase.  "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," he smiled.  "Really good."

"Well, you look better," the dark-haired agent observed.  "Want some breakfast?"

"Sounds great," Max answered. As they ate and made small talk, Max sensed that Nicholas was watching him carefully, looking for any indication that his friend wasn't doing as well as he seemed to be.  Max knew that the next few days were still going to be rough, and he still wasn't sure how things would be once he was home by himself.  But, for now, in Nicholas' presence, everything seemed better.  Easier.

"So," Max said tentatively, as the two men were washing up after a hearty meal, "are you going to take me home now?"

"So soon?" Nicholas teased, and then chuckled as Max cuffed him lightly on the upper arm.  "All right, all right.  A promise is a promise."

Max knew that it had been a test, to see if he would react like his old self.  He had passed.

A few moments later, he climbed into Nicholas' BMW, and the two set out for Max's apartment.

*******

Nicholas pulled into the apartment complex, turned off the engine, and looked at Max expectantly. 

Max took the hint.  "You want to come in for a while?"

"I'll walk you inside," Nicholas answered, his voice slightly tense. 

Max's stomach lurched, for he sensed that Nicholas had something else to talk about. They entered the apartment and closed the door behind them.

"Max," Nicholas began nervously, "why don't you come back over to my place tomorrow?  We can spend the day together.  I'll let you try out some more of my Eastern cuisine."

Max sighed deeply.  "Haven't I imposed enough?" he asked.

"You're not imposing.  I'm inviting.  There's a difference."

Max ignored the clarification.  "Besides," he reminded his friend, "tomorrow's not even Thanksgiving."

"Maybe not," Nicholas conceded softly, "but it's still going to be a hard day, and I don't really want you to be alone."

Nicholas gazed at Max, and his brown eyes could not conceal his lingering anxiety.  "If you're with me, I won't worry about you," he finished quietly.

Once again, Max was moved by his teammate's obvious concern.  Sensing the underlying, unspoken fear behind the words, Max laid a reassuring hand on Nicholas' shoulder.

"I'll be all right, Nicholas," he insisted.  "I'm not suicidal, and I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"Will you at least call me?" Nicholas pleaded.

"I promise," Max smiled.  "Thank you again.  For everything." And impulsively he grabbed his teammate in a warm embrace.

"That what friends are for," Nicholas responded, returning the impromptu hug and thumping his buddy's back fondly.

"No," Max disagreed softly.  "That's what family is for."

*******

Max's newly restored peace of mind continued throughout the day.  He ate, napped, and even tinkered some with his motorcycle.  From time to time, Ray would cross his mind and he'd feel a hint of sadness, but he was able to acknowledge the feeling and move forward.

For most of the day, Max's brain was replaying yesterday's interaction with Nicholas.  Max didn't remember much about being at McGregor's, but he knew that Nicholas had taken him to his home and had taken good care of him while he was there.

Max hadn't wanted to talk about his brother, had gotten angry at Nicholas for not leaving him alone.   Nicholas had gotten angry, too, but Max knew that his wrath was just veiled concern. 

In the end, the dark-haired agent had refused to give up, and had drawn Max out of his self-imposed isolation. And it really had helped.

Family.  Max had never really thought of the team in quite that way before, even given how close they were.  Still, most of the team members had actual families to think about.  Shannon and Grant each had siblings.  Jim had nieces and nephews.  The three of them would each have relatives to spend Thanksgiving with.

But not Max.  And not Nicholas.

Max did not know much about Nicholas' family, only that both his parents were deceased and he had been estranged from the rest of his extended family for several years.  Although he had friends that he spent time with occasionally, Nicholas knew more than any of the others what it was like to be alone, especially during the holidays.

Suddenly, Max understood the reason that Nicholas always fussed over him like a big brother, and why it was so natural for Max to think of him that way.  Each, to the other, was like the brother he didn't have anymore. 

And in that moment, Max realized he didn't want to be alone tomorrow, after all. He wanted to be with his family.

Nicholas called at lunchtime and again at dusk to check on his friend.  During the evening call, Max accepted his teammate's invitation to spend the following day with him.  Nicholas was overjoyed, and Max made plans to arrive at his friend's apartment by breakfast time.

Chapter 10

"Ray!"

Max was running down the street, calling his brother's name.  It felt like he was running through molasses.  The faster he tried to run, the longer it seemed to take to get there. Max's heart pounded hard in his chest, hard enough that he could feel it in his ears.  His muscles ached.  He felt like his lungs were full of glass.  He couldn't get there fast enough.

"Ray!" Max ran up to his brother's house and fell against the front door.  He jiggled the doorknob but it was locked.  With one fluid motion he kicked in the door and raced upstairs to Ray's bedroom.

The bedroom door was open, and Max could see his brother there, lying in bed, drinking a bottle of whiskey.  Ray did not acknowledge his brother's arrival.

"Stop, Ray!" Max raced toward his brother's bedside, but he was stopped in his tracks by an invisible wall; he could see and hear his brother, but he couldn't get to him.

Max stood in desperation, first pounding on the wall, then throwing his body against it repeatedly, trying to break through.  But it wouldn't budge.

Finally, Max, bruised and bloody, watched in horror as Ray screwed off the top of his medicine bottle and poured out a handful of white pills.

"No, Ray!  Stop!" The words stuck in Max's throat.  "Please, stop!"

Raymond Harte turned his head to look at his brother.  "Goodbye, Max," he whispered, then he tossed the pills into his mouth and lifted the bottle to his lips.

"NO!!!"

The sound of Max's own voice woke him from his nightmare.  He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping, his face dripping with sweat, his heart thumping wildly.  He looked around him in a near-panic. 

The nightmare was gone. Ray was gone.  And Max hadn't been able to save him.

Max squinted through the darkness at the digital clock, whose digits shone back at him.  It was 2:45 a.m. on the twenty-third.

The twenty-third.  Three years ago, it had been Thanksgiving Day.

And, just like that, the pain and grief and memories slammed into Max like a freight train, harder and stronger than it had been before, knocking him off his feet.  He collapsed to the floor in a heap, sobbing loudly.

Max cried until no more tears would flow from his eyes, until his chest was sore from heaving.  Still, the pain continued unabated.

Max knew that he should call Nicholas.  He knew that Nicholas would listen, and understand, and help.  With tremendous effort, he got to his feet and reached for the phone.  His hand wrapped around the receiver and picked it up.  Then he stopped, and set it back down in its cradle.

There were two problems with calling his friend.  First, it was three in the morning, and Max was sure that Nicholas was asleep.  He didn't want to wake him in the middle of the night, even though he knew Nicholas would want him to.  He had burdened his friend enough.

The other problem with calling was that Max knew that Nicholas would ask questions, and expect explanations.  And not only did he not want to answer questions about the nightmare, he didn't feel like talking at all.  He didn't even feel like thinking.

Right now, he just wanted to forget.

Max trudged to the kitchen, opened up the refrigerator, and looked in the door.  There, on the bottom shelf, on the right side, he found what he was looking for. A bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, one he'd bought when he'd had that terrible sinus congestion a month before that no medicine would touch.  He'd used it to make himself a hot toddy.  He reached and pulled it out of the shelf.  It was almost full, and the date was still good.

Max didn't bother with finding a clean glass.  He opened the bottle and took a swig.  Then he went back into the living room, turned on the television, sat down on the sofa, and began to drink.

*******

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and Nicholas was worried.  Max had promised to come over in time to help prepare breakfast.  But he wasn't here.

Nicholas picked up the phone and dialed Max's number.  The phone rang once.  Twice.  Maybe he's on his way, Nicholas thought hopefully.  Maybe he's just running late. Three times.  Four times.   And on the fifth ring the answering machine kicked on. 

Nicholas waited impatiently until the end of Max's spoken greeting. "Max," he said, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the urgency in his voice.  "I was just wondering where you were.  I hope you're not trying to weasel out of working on breakfast."  His attempt at lighthearted humor failed somewhat, for he wasn't feeling lighthearted.  "Anyway, I guess you're on your way and I'll see you in a little bit."

Nicholas hung up the phone and glanced at the clock.  It was ten after eight.  It was a fifteen-minute drive to Max's place.  Assuming that he'd just missed him, and he was on his way, Max should be here by 8:25.

The dark-haired agent tried to busy himself with preparing breakfast - tried to focus on anything but the clock.  But he couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong.  Almost against his will, he found himself watching the minutes tick by.

At 8:25 he could stand it no longer.  Abandoning his breakfast preparations, he grabbed the keys to his BMW and sped toward Max's apartment.

Chapter 11

Max awoke to the sound of church bells clanging inside his pounding head.  What the hell was that noise?

"Turn it off!" he yelled, to no one in particular, as it continued to ring.

Max contemplated trying to figure out how to stop his head from spinning long enough to get out of the chair and go find the source of the noise when suddenly it stopped.  A click, and he heard a familiar voice.

Blast.   He was supposed to go see Nicholas today.  Ah, hell.  It didn't matter anyway.

Max glanced toward his right, and his eyes fell on the whiskey bottle that was now almost empty.  He reached for it once, missed, and then grasped it on his second try.  He lifted it towards the answering machine.

"Cheers," he said aloud, and drained the bottle.  He set it back on the end table, his head spinning, and lapsed back into unconsciousness again.

*******

Nicholas raced into the parking spot in front of Max's apartment, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.  Both Max's car and his motorcycle were still here.  He was still in the house. Something was definitely wrong. Nicholas rushed to the front door and knocked hard.

"Max!  Max, it's me.  Let me in!" he said, his urgency increasing by the second.

For a moment, Nicholas thought he heard a voice call out from within.  He tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked.  Not willing to wait any longer for Max to open the door, he dropped to his knees and fumbled for the spare key that Max had shown him months before.

It was gone.

Nicholas knocked hard a second time.  "Damn it, Max, open up!"

This time, Nicholas definitely heard Max's voice, followed a few seconds later by a hard thump.  Nicholas called out again, but there was no answer. 

Sheer panic gripped him now, as he summoned all of his strength and lunged against the door.  Once, and he heard a crack.  Twice, and the door began to splinter.  Three times, and it finally broke through.

And Nicholas nearly collapsed in shock at the scene before him.

*******

A hard thumping sound jolted Max out of his stupor.  His eyes opened slightly, then closed again in protest of the daylight.

"Max!  Max, it's me.  Let me in!" came the muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Max didn't know who "me" was, nor did he care. "Go away," he slurred.

But the knocking came again.  And then the voice.  Whoever this was was not going away.

"Ah, hell," Max swore aloud.  He would just have to make them leave. 

He stood up quickly, and the room spun violently. Max felt himself pitching forward, and then his head hit something hard and sharp and he knew nothing more.

*******

Nicholas recovered quickly from his initial shock and rushed over to his friend.  Max was lying on his back, bleeding profusely from a gash on his right temple.

Nicholas quickly laid two fingers on Max's neck and felt for a pulse.  It was weak and slow, and his breathing was very labored.

"Hang on, Max," Nicholas urged, as he reluctantly left his friend's side to use the phone. 

While he summoned emergency services, he looked around frantically for a clean cloth.  Finding one, he rushed back to Max's side and applied firm pressure to the wound on his head. 

It was then that the strong scent of whiskey attacked his nostrils, and he caught sight of the now-empty bottle of Jack Daniels lying in the floor in front of the sofa.

"Oh, Max," Nicholas whispered sadly.  "What did you do?"

Nicholas heard a gurgling sound, and instantly realized that Max was about to throw up.  Knowing that he was at risk of aspiration, Nicholas quickly turned the blond agent on his side, just in the nick of time. 

Suddenly, Max's body began to jerk spasmodically. "He's seizing!" Nicholas exclaimed to himself worriedly, knowing that was not a good sign. With lightning speed he cleared the area around Max as best he could, while his friend's body continued to jerk and convulse. 

After what seemed like an eternity but was only about a minute, the spasm ceased, just as Nicholas' ears picked up the sound of emergency vehicles approaching the building.

Nicholas hastily resumed pressure on Max's head wound while checking his vital signs, sighing in relief that he was still alive at the moment.

"Stay with me, partner," he pleaded, as the emergency medical technicians rushed in.  Then the dark-haired agent stepped aside to let them do their work.

Nicholas answered their questions as completely as he could, while they started their lifesaving treatment.  When Max was as stable as possible, the EMTs ushered him into the ambulance.

Nicholas desperately wanted to ride with his friend, but he knew that in doing so he would be left without transportation.  So he closed Max's apartment door as securely as he could and reluctantly climbed into his BMW.  Then the ambulance screamed off toward the hospital with Nicholas' car speeding close behind.

Chapter 12

On the way to the hospital, Nicholas' mind was racing along with his car.  Max seemed so much better after they'd talked the day before; what could have possibly set this off?

Nicholas cursed to himself.  I never should have let him go home, he thought sadly.  I never should have let him out of my sight.  And I'll never forgive myself if he... He forced himself to abandon that thought as he and the ambulance pulled into the emergency area. 

Nicholas jumped out of his car and rushed to be with Max, but the triage nurse stopped him to ask a bunch of questions.  Afterward, he learned that medical staff were still working to stabilize his friend, so he was led to a private waiting area and advised that the doctor would come out to talk to him soon.

It felt like an eternity later, but finally the door opened and a young man in a white coat stepped inside. "Mister Black?"

Nicholas stood up.  "Yes?"

"I'm Doctor Travis.  I've been treating Mister Harte," he greeted, grasping Nicholas' hand in a warm handshake.

"How is he?" Nicholas asked anxiously, as they both sat back down on the couch.

The doctor sighed.  "He's stable," he answered grimly, "but he's certainly not out of the woods yet. Based on his blood alcohol levels and the information you provided, we estimate that he polished off almost an entire bottle of whiskey in about five hours.  That's about three times faster than the body can metabolize it.  So he's suffering from acute alcohol poisoning.  We're pumping his stomach and giving him fluids to help dilute the concentration of alcohol in his system.  The good thing is, I understand that he's normally not a binge drinker."

"That's correct," Nicholas confirmed, "although he did have half a dozen shots of whiskey a couple of days ago."

The doctor paused for a moment, pondering this information.  Then he asked,  "Do you know how he got the gash on his head?"

"My guess is he passed out and hit it when he fell," Nicholas answered.  "I saw blood on the corner of the end table next to him."

The doctor nodded.  "That would make sense," he agreed.  "We stitched him up, and he probably has a concussion.  The CT scan didn't show any swelling or obvious signs of damage, but we won't know for sure until he wakes up and we can do a neurological exam."

Nicholas' stomach lurched.  "So he's still unconscious, then."

"Unfortunately so," Doctor Travis answered, "and that's not good for either condition.  That's why we're trying so hard to reduce his levels so that hopefully he wakes up soon.  We don't want him to slip into a coma."

Nicholas could not stifle a shudder, and the doctor patted his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.  "There's no doubt that you saved his life, Mister Black.  You've given him a fighting chance." The doctor's eyes narrowed.  "Do you have any idea why he would do this?"

Nicholas sighed heavily.  "His brother died three years ago, right around Thanksgiving."

Doctor Travis nodded again.  "So he's definitely suffering from depression, then," he noted.  "May I ask the circumstances?"

"It was a mixture of pills and alcohol," he answered.

The doctor's expression sobered.  "If that's the case, then surely Mister Harte understood the risks of drinking so much alcohol," he said gently.  "Could he be suicidal?"

The question hit Nicholas hard, and his breath shut off in his chest. He hadn't even considered that possibility until this moment. 

"I don't know," he replied honestly, once he could breathe again, his voice barely audible.  "He said he wasn't, but now I'm not so sure."

Doctor Travis saw how upset Nicholas had become, and he reached out to squeeze the dark-haired agent's shoulder.  "I know you're worried, Mister Black.  As soon as we've got him stabilized, we'll work on the depression."

"Thank you," Nicholas responded, biting his lip to keep at bay the tears that were stinging his eyes.

"Do you need anything?  Can I call someone for you?" he asked.

Nicholas considered that for a moment.  Jim and Shannon were both out of town already.  Grant was here, but had no doubt already begun to plan holiday festivities with his family.  There was nothing he could do - nothing any of them could do - except sit there by Max's bedside and wait for him to wake up.  Even though they would all be angry at Nicholas for not letting them know, he decided it was best.

"No, thank you," he answered.  "I'll be okay.  Can I see him?"

"You can see him," Doctor Travis responded, "but just for a few moments.  He'll be in intensive care until he wakes up.  I'll take you to his room."

Nicholas followed the doctor down the hallway and into the intensive care unit, stopping outside Max's room. "If you need anything, let us know," he urged, and then with a final pat of Nicholas' shoulder the doctor took his leave.

Nicholas took a moment to steel his nerves before entering the room, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.  His friend was lying on his back, so still, with an IV tube in his arm,  an oxygen tube in his nose, and another tube in his mouth which was connected to a stomach pump.    He looked so weak and frail - so different from the Max he knew that was so strong and full of life.

Nicholas walked over to Max's bedside, sat down on a stool, and gently laid his hand on Max's arm.  It felt so cold.

"Max," he whispered, feeling a tear roll down his cheek but powerless to stop it, "please wake up soon.  I don't want to lose you."  He paused.  "I can't lose you.  You're family, remember?"

Before he knew it, a nurse was gently ushering him out, telling him he could come back in two hours.  Nicholas couldn't bring himself to go home and leave Max, so he wandered down the hallway aimlessly until his eyes settled on a sign that said "Chapel." He pushed the door open and entered the tiny room, complete with a stained glass window, a podium, and a couple of pews. 

Nicholas sunk down on one of the pews and bowed his head, and he couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

Chapter 13

Nicholas was at Max's bedside every two hours for the rest of the day.  Max remained unconscious, and there was little Nicholas could do other than touch his hand and urge him to wake up.

At the six p.m. visit, Nicholas noticed that they'd removed the stomach pump.  Max's nurse noticed him noticing, and smiled.

"He's doing better," she advised him. "His stomach contents are clear, and his bloodwork is normalizing.  We did a repeat head CT an hour or so ago, and there's still no obvious signs of brain damage.  The doctor believes he'll wake up soon."

Nicholas smiled broadly.  "Thank you for everything you're doing."

At the eight p.m. visit, Nicholas talked to the doctor on duty, who confirmed that Max was probably going to survive, though his emotional recovery might be challenging.

"You really should go home and get some rest," the doctor advised Nicholas.  "You look worn out."

"I can't leave him," protested Nicholas.  "I want to be here when he wakes up.  I'll nap in the waiting room."

The nurse gave Nicholas a couple of warm blankets.  He thanked her, and then made himself as comfortable as he could on the waiting room couch.  Almost against his will, he fell asleep.

Less than one hour later, he awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. "Mister Black?" whispered a female voice.

Nicholas jerked, mildly startled.  "What's wrong?" he demanded, instantly fearing the worst.

"It's okay," she said softly.  "Mister Harte is awake.  He's asking for you."

*******

Nicholas couldn't get to Max's room fast enough. He stopped at the door and peeked in.  Max's bed was inclined, and the nurse was giving him some ice chips. 

Nicholas waited until Max turned toward him before stepping into the room. "Welcome back, partner," he said softly, squeezing Max's hand and biting his lip slightly.

Max's blue eyes were weak and sad.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Nicholas squeezed his hand again, a little harder this time.  "Shhhh, none of that," he soothed.  "Right now, you just need to focus on getting better.  We can work through all the other stuff later.  I'm going to be right here."

Max smiled slightly, then his expression sobered.  "Nicholas..."

"Max, you should rest," he cautioned.

"No, you should rest," Max chided gently.  "I know you've been here the whole time.  Go home, buddy.  Get some sleep.  I'll be okay."

"But, Max.."

"He has a point, Mister Black," agreed the doctor, who had come back into the room.  "We'll be busy running some tests for the next few hours anyway.  We'll take good care of him."

"Besides," Max teased, a shadow of his trademark grin curling his face, "you look like hell."

Nicholas chuckled softly.  It was good to see a flicker of the old Max peeking through.  "All right," he conceded reluctantly, "but I'll be back early in the morning."

The dark-haired agent squeezed Max's hand once more.  "It's good to have you back, pal," he smiled.  "I'll see you in the morning."

To the doctor, he said, "Call me if anything changes.  You should have my number in his chart."

"I will," the doctor replied.

"Be careful, buddy.  See you tomorrow."

With that, Nicholas left the hospital and drove to his apartment.  As he entered, he noticed that the kitchen still held evidence of where he had prepared to cook breakfast with Max this morning.  His heart came up in his throat for a moment.  Then he quickly disposed of the spoiled food, fixed himself a snack, and went upstairs to bed.  Exhausted, he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, his last thought a whispered prayer of thanks that Max had survived and was hopefully on the road to recovery.

*******

The next morning, Nicholas couldn't wait to get back to his teammate's bedside, and was back at the hospital before eight.  The ICU nurse had been watching for his arrival and met him at the door, advising him that Max had been moved overnight to a private room on the fourth floor.  Nicholas smiled.  This was good news.

As he got off the elevator on the fourth floor, the doctor from yesterday morning was sitting at the nurse's station.  He glanced up, spotted Nicholas, and intercepted him before he could get to Max's room.

"How's he doing, Doc?" Nicholas asked urgently.

The doctor smiled slightly.  "Physically, he's doing much better than we expected," he replied.  "We did some more neurological testing overnight, and everything checks out well.  He does have a concussion, but it's mild, and with a little more rest he'll be good as new.  His blood sugar levels are a little off, due to the alcohol binge on a relatively empty stomach.  But we're dealing with that through diet and medication."

"What about emotionally?" Nicholas asked nervously.

"It's hard to say," the doctor admitted.  "I mean, he seems fine, he's interacting appropriately with our staff, and not showing any obvious signs of depression.  But three of us have tried to talk to him since last night, about mental health services, medication, things like that.  He just says he's fine and refused to talk any more.  I'm not sure if he's in denial or if he's just not ready to deal with it yet."

Nicholas nodded.  "Should I try to talk to him?"

The doctor shook his head.  "Probably not," he answered.  "If it does come up, let him initiate the conversation.  Mister Harte doesn't need to think we're breathing down his neck or rushing him into anything.  What he needs right now is a friend."

"He has that," Nicholas smiled.

"I know." And the doctor patted Nicholas' shoulder fondly, then returned to the nurse's desk.

Chapter 14

Nicholas walked to Max's room.  The door was open, but Nicholas knocked softly on the open doorjamb to announce his presence. Max looked up at his friend and smiled. 

"Hey, buddy."

"Hey, yourself, partner," Nicholas returned, taking a seat on the stool beside his friend and gripping his hand.  Max's handshake was firm, which pleased Nicholas greatly.  "How are you feeling?"

"Much better than this time yesterday, or so I'm told," Max quipped with a sideways grin.

"It's good to see you smile," the dark-haired agent said fondly.  "Have you had breakfast?"

"Are you kidding?" Max exclaimed, rolling his eyes.  "I've had three meals just since you left last night.  I think they're trying to fatten me up."

"They're just trying to stabilize your blood sugar," Nicholas told him with a chuckle, though he was certain Max already knew that.  "Other than that, the doctor says you're healing up quite nicely."

"Yeah, I guess the old noggin is pretty tough after all," grinned the blond agent.

"Well, thank God for that," Nicholas said gratefully.  "We've been in some pretty rough situations before, Max, but this one really scared me." His voice dropped to a whisper.  "I thought I'd lost you."

"Not a chance, thanks to you," Max responded, then his expression sobered.  "Look, Nicholas, I need to apologize about what happened yesterday."

Remembering what the doctor had said earlier, Nicholas held up his hand in protest.  "We don't have to do this now, Max," he disagreed gently.

"Yeah, we do, Nicholas," Max countered.  "It's important."

"But the doctor said you might not be ready."

"Why?  Because I didn't want to talk to him, or the shrink, or that social worker they sent up here?" Max asked.  "Nicholas, I just wanted to talk to you."

"But, Max," Nicholas protested, "I'm no professional."

"You're my friend," Max said quietly.  "And you were there.  And I'm sorry that I put you through all that."

Nicholas reached for Max's arm.  "I'm not angry with you," he promised softly.  "I just wish I hadn't left you alone."

"I didn't give you much choice, remember?" Max answered.  "Besides, I was doing all right.  I was even okay with spending the next day with you."

"So what happened?" Nicholas asked gently.

Max sighed.  "I had a damn nightmare," he mumbled, his eyes cast downward.  "I watched Ray die right in front of me, and I couldn't get to him."

Nicholas scooted his stool closer to his friend and gripped his shoulder in sympathy.  He opened his mouth to reprimand Max for not calling him, but closed it again, not wishing to sound accusatory.  Instead, he said quietly, "I wish you'd called me."

"I started to," said Max in a half-whisper, his voice full of emotion, "but it was the middle of the night." He gazed at Nicholas, reading the look in his eyes.  "I know that wouldn't have mattered, and you would have been right there.  But all I wanted to do was get that picture out of my head.  And I knew the booze would do it.  I just didn't mean to get so carried away."

Nicholas eyed Max closely, and it was obvious that he was reliving the nightmare even now.  Nicholas could feel the slight tremor course through Max's body where his hand still touched his friend's shoulder.  He squeezed a little tighter.

"Max, it's okay," he soothed.  "We can stop if you need to."

"No," Max protested.  "I'm all right.  Just give me a minute." As Max took some deep breaths and forced himself to regain his composure, Nicholas held onto his shoulder in a steadying grip, replaying the words Max had said - words which gave him hope. I didn't mean to get so carried away.

Max's trembling finally stopped, and his breathing evened out.  "I'm good now," he told his friend.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Max smiled slightly, grateful for Nicholas' steady, calming presence.  "I really didn't mean to drink so much," he repeated.  "I just wanted the memories to stop."

"So it wasn't...intentional?" Nicholas asked carefully, half afraid of the answer but unable to stop himself from asking.

"Of course not," Max replied instantly, reaching up to touch Nicholas' hand where it gripped his shoulder.  "I told you, Nicholas, I'm not suicidal.  And I don't have a drinking problem," he added.

"But you are depressed," Nicholas suggested gently.

Max grew quiet, and for a moment Nicholas was afraid he'd made Max angry or caused him to shut down completely.  Just as he could stand the silence no longer and was about to say something, Max spoke. 

"Yes, I suppose I am," he conceded quietly.  "This time of year has been a challenge ever since he died, but I've always been distracted because we've been working.  But this year..." His voice trailed off.

Nicholas released Max's shoulder and touched his forearm again.  "There are treatments that can help you," he said quietly.  "And, of course, I'll be here."

Max smiled, then tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

"That's enough for now," Nicholas chided softly, patting Max's arm fondly.  "I've worn you out.  You should rest."

"Okay," Max conceded, "but on one condition." Nicholas raised an eyebrow questioningly.  "Stay here with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Nicholas promised, and he reached for a nearby magazine as Max tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Chapter 15

Max woke from his nap a couple of hours later feeling refreshed, and relieved that Nicholas was still sitting nearby.

"It's about time you woke up, buddy," Nicholas teased.  "It'll soon be time to eat again." Max chuckled and rolled his eyes.

The two men purposely avoided revisiting the earlier discussion, instead making small talk until Max was finished with his meal and the nurses had come in for more blood work.  Presently, they were interrupted by a soft knock on the open door.

"Well, Mister Harte, I have good news," announced Doctor Travis.  "Physically, your levels have completely stabilized, and it looks like you're ready to get out of here." The doctor sat down on Max's bed and patted his leg.  "Emotionally, I don't mind telling you, I still have some concerns."

Max shot a glance at Nicholas and nodded imperceptibly, spurring the dark-haired agent to speak on his behalf. 

"We've talked some," Nicholas informed him, "and I think we'd both like to hear about what treatment options are available.  If you've got a minute, that is."

Doctor Travis smiled.  "I've got all the time you need." The doctor offered explanations and answered questions for the next several minutes. Then he stood up.  "I'll leave you two to talk things over," he smiled.  "Just let me know what you decide.  I'll take it from there." And with that, the friendly doctor departed to finish his rounds.

Nicholas gazed at his teammate's pensive expression.  "You okay?" he asked softly, as he scooted his stool a bit closer.

"Yeah," Max replied, in the same tone.  "It's just a lot to think about."

"Well, you're certainly welcome to stay with me as long as you need to," Nicholas advised him.

"I know, buddy, but I can't expect you to babysit me all the time."

"It's not babysitting, Max," Nicholas disagreed gently, "but I would feel better if you weren't by yourself."

"You don't trust me," Max challenged.

"I didn't say that," Nicholas said quietly, his voice defensive.

"It's okay, Nicholas," Max smiled reassuringly.  "The truth is, I don't really trust myself." Max sighed and ran a hand through his hair nervously.  "Look, in less than a week, the team is going to be called back to active duty." Nicholas opened his mouth to protest, but Max held up his hand.  "I know before you even say it that you'd be willing to take time off for my sake, and I appreciate you for it.  But you know as well as I do that's neither fair nor feasible."

Max smiled slightly and laid a hand on Nicholas' arm.  "I think it'll be best if I just stick around here for a while.  That way, I can kind of get used to things, and I'll be here just in case they need to make some medication adjustments or anything."

Nicholas returned Max's smile.  "I'm very proud of you, you know."

"I know," Max replied, and his grin widened. "But, hey, that doesn't mean you have to sit here with me all the time.  Not that I don't enjoy the company.  But don't you have things to do?"

"Actually, I do," Nicholas suddenly remembered.  "I guess I'll go back to your place and get some things together for you."  He smiled wryly, and his voice grew quiet.  "And get you a new door while I'm at it."

Max raised an eyebrow.  "A new door?  What happened to the old one?"

"I busted it in," he answered apologetically.  "I couldn't find the spare key."

"Remind me to put that back," Max murmured sheepishly, "or just give it to you instead." Max looked up at his friend, whose cheeks had turned a faint shade of pink.  "Hey, Nicholas, don't worry about the door," he soothed.  "It's pretty damn lucky for me that you broke it down."

Nicholas patted his friend's shoulder affectionately.  "You want me to be here when you talk to Doctor Travis?"

"Nah," Max answered.  "I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Go on, mother hen," Max teased fondly.

"Fine," Nicholas grinned. "I'll be back later."

*******

By nightfall, Max had spoken with Doctor Travis, who had made all the arrangements for Max to transfer to the fifth floor the next day, for a stay of undetermined length.  Nicholas went home to spend the night, but was back at the hospital the next morning to help Max get moved upstairs. The two men found Max's room, and the orderlies left them alone to get settled in. 

Nicholas couldn't help but notice that Max's mind seemed a thousand miles away.  For a moment, he feared that Max was about to change his mind.

"Having second thoughts?" he questioned gently.

"Of course not," Max scoffed.

"What's on your mind, then?"

"It's Thanksgiving." Max's voice was quiet.

"So it is," Nicholas smiled.  Then, suddenly, he realized the significance of the date and immediately bit his lip with regret.  "I'm sorry, Max," he said apologetically.  "I know this is tough."

"It's not that," Max protested quickly.  At Nicholas' raised eyebrow, he sighed heavily.  "You were supposed to have a big get-together with some friends.  But instead you've been stuck with me." Max's blue eyes locked with his teammate's brown ones.  "I'm sorry I ruined your holiday."

Nicholas' heart came up in his throat.  The last thing he wanted Max to think was that he was a burden, or that he had ruined anything!  Exasperated, but desperate to let Max know how he felt, he found himself pointing his finger at his blond friend.  "You listen to me, pal," he hissed, his voice low.  "No more of that.  I have everything I want for Thanksgiving.  You're here, and safe, and you're going to be just fine.  Right here with you is exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Max smiled warmly at his friend; though he did not answer, he knew exactly what Nicholas meant. Nicholas smiled back, briefly, then his smile faded. 

"I do have a question, though," he said nervously, his voice quiet.  It was a question he'd been dreading.  "What do you want me to tell the others?"

Max pondered the question for a long moment, as he considered how each of the other three team members would react to knowing that Max was receiving mental health treatment.  Grant would be the most likely to be dismissive and to minimize what had taken place.  Shannon's reaction would be the opposite extreme; thanks to her maternal instinct, she would insist on fussing over Max to the point of smothering him.  And Jim...if he knew the truth, he would almost certainly second-guess Max's competency to rejoin the team after treatment, regardless of what the mental health professionals said.

Nicholas was different - compassionate and caring, but also rational and level-headed.  He was the only one Max wanted to know the truth.  But verbalizing that felt wrong, somehow.  Like he was betraying his family.

When Max didn't answer, Nicholas guessed what was going through his mind.  "You'd rather they not know, huh?

"I'm not sure how it would be possible to keep things from Jim," Max shrugged.  "You know how it is."

But the wheels in Nicholas' brain were already turning.  "I think I can pull it off," he smirked confidently.  "Leave it to me."

Chapter 16

For the next week, Nicholas visited Max every day at the hospital, though he kept his visits short in order to give his friend time to work on his recovery.  Max, for his part, was staying busy with medication adjustments, counseling, and group activities.  It was not the most comfortable of situations, but he was adjusting well.

The Thursday after Thanksgiving, Nicholas arrived earlier than usual, and Max could tell that there was something on his mind.

"We've got a mission," Nicholas announced, his voice tense.  "We're meeting Jim in an hour, then heading out.  Somewhere in Central America."

For a long moment, there was an awkward silence.  Max was the first to break it. "Nicholas, I'm going to be okay," he promised, sensing his teammate's thoughts.

"Yes, but you had that issue with your medication," Nicholas reminded him, referring to an incident that had taken place a few days before.  The doctors had tried Max on a new drug which hadn't been right for him, and had caused Max to become so volatile and combative that Nicholas had to help staff restrain him.

"That was days ago," Max said calmly.  "I'm over that now."

"It just feels wrong to go without you," Nicholas said softly.

"This is where I need to be right now," Max advised him, matching his tone.  "And you can come see me when you guys get back."

"I won't be able to call you."

"I understand," answered Max.

Nicholas sighed heavily.  "This is hard," he murmured.

"It's hard for me, too," Max confessed quietly.  "But right now this is how it has to be." He forced a smile.  "Relax, pal.  I'll be out of here before you know it."

Max held out his right hand, and Nicholas gripped it firmly.  "Be safe, buddy."

"You take it easy, Max," Nicholas replied, and the two men shared a warm embrace.  "I'd better get moving," he said reluctantly, and with one last forced smile at his teammate he headed out the door.

*******

Forty minutes later, Nicholas pulled his BMW in front of Jim's condo.  Grant and Shannon had already arrived.  Nicholas exchanged greetings with the others.  Everyone discussed how they'd spent their extended holidays; Nicholas stuck to some vague comments.  Presently, Jim commanded their attention and got set to begin the briefing.

"Wait a minute.  Where's Max?" Nicholas asked, looking around for his missing teammate and feigning ignorance as to his whereabouts.

Jim sighed slightly.  "He's been sent to Sydney to help out another IMF team on a highly classified mission that needed a pilot," he answered.  "The Secretary called me last week."

Nicholas smiled to himself.  He hadn't had many opportunities to learn the Secretary's voice, but apparently his impression had been close enough to fool his team leader, at least over the phone.

"How long will he be gone?" Shannon asked.

"It's anybody's guess," Jim replied.  "This mission is so classified that even I'm not able to find out any details about it.  But hopefully he'll be home by Christmas."

"Will we be picking up another team member?" Grant questioned.

"Not for this mission," Jim responded.  "It'll just be the four of us."

Nicholas forced himself to focus as Jim went over the details of the mission.  Almost against his will, he found himself identifying areas in their scheme which would have been well suited to the tall blond agent.  Nicholas sighed inwardly.  This was going to be harder than he thought.

The briefing ended, and the agents piled into the Land Rover to head toward the airport.  Suddenly, Nicholas heard Jim call his name.

"Yes, Jim?"

"I'm surprised Max didn't call you to tell you he was going out of the country," Jim said thoughtfully, as he studied Nicholas' features.  "I know you two are close friends."

Nicholas shrugged and smiled through his poker face.  "I guess he didn't have the time," he mused.

Jim tilted his head slightly.  "No, I guess not," he agreed.  He scrutinized the dark-haired agent for one more moment, then he climbed into the driver's side near Grant as Nicholas took a seat in the back next to Shannon.

*******

Six days later, the mission was over. The team went straight from the airport to Jim's condo for debriefing.  Normally extremely patient, today Nicholas was antsy, and he had to work very hard not to let it show.  It had been a week since he'd seen or spoken to Max, and he was anxious to know how his friend was doing.

The final goodbye was hardly out of Jim's mouth before Nicholas was in his car and headed toward the hospital.  When he arrived on the fifth floor, Max was settling back into his room, having just come back from a group session.  The blond looked tired, but managed a warm smile as he reached out his hand in greeting.

"Hey, buddy!  Welcome home!"

Nicholas returned his smile, gripping Max's hand and throwing his other arm across his friend's shoulders.  "It's good to be back," he responded.  "How've you been?"

"Good.  Really good," Max answered.

Nicholas wasn't convinced.  "You look tired."

"I'm okay, really," Max assured him.  "Today's just been kind of rough."

"What happened?" Nicholas asked gently, his eyes never leaving his friend as he pulled up the stool and sat down.

"Group therapy," Max explained.  "It was my turn to talk about how I got here.  There was a Vietnamese man in group who started talking trash about the war.  There was a lot I wanted to say, but I held my tongue." Max smiled slightly.  "It just wore me out.  I'll be fine."

Nicholas patted his shoulder in empathy.  "How's your medication going?"

"It's going well.  I know it's only been a week or so, but the dosage they put me on right before you left has worked wonders.  I swear, I already feel the difference." Max's voice dropped an octave in pitch.  "It was probably the reason I didn't beat the hell out of that guy in group."

Nicholas smiled.  Clearly, the medication hadn't taken all of the impulsiveness from Max's character.  That was a good thing.

"So are you going to let me talk long enough to ask how the mission went?" Max teased.

The dark-haired agent chuckled softly and gave Max a brief summary of the team's adventures in El Salvador.  "Everything went exactly as planned," he finished.  "No complications, no surprises.  But I really missed you being there." Then a slight twinge of worry crossed his tanned features, and his voice grew quiet.  "How was it for you, Max?" he asked softly.

"The first couple of days were  tough," Max admitted after a pause.  "It was hard, knowing you all were away and I couldn't be with you."  Nicholas laid a hand on his friend's shoulder in support as Max continued.  "I just had to keep telling myself it was only temporary, and I'd be joining you later." Max's blue eyes locked with Nicholas' soft brown ones.  "I guess the hardest part was having you here every day for two whole weeks and then not having you here at all."

Nicholas features darkened.  "Max..."

"But it's all good, buddy," Max smiled reassuringly.  "It kind of forced me to come out of my shell a little bit, and make friends with some of the other guys here.  I'm doing really well, Nicholas.  I promise.  And I'll be ready for the next mission."

Chapter 17

It was a little more than a week later.  The team hadn't been called out on any more missions, and it was starting to look like they might get to spend Christmas at home.  So Jim had made some rare holiday plans.

When Nicholas showed up at the hospital for his daily visit with Max, there was clearly something on his mind.  Max noticed right away and asked him about it.

"We're having a company Christmas party in two days," he answered.  "I wish you could come."

"I don't see any reason why he couldn't," came a male voice from Max's open door. 

The two men looked up to see Max's doctor standing in the doorway.  The doctor smiled at them. "I know you've only been here three weeks, Mister Harte," he continued, "but you've made significant progress.  If you're ready, I would be willing to consider discharging you."  He looked at the two agents thoughtfully.  "Two conditions.  First, you continue your medication and outpatient therapy as your schedule permits."

"Done," Max smiled.

"Secondly," the doctor continued, pointing his finger at Max, "no alcohol, and you have a safe person you can call if things get tough."

Max shot a glance at Nicholas, who smiled warmly.  "I think we can manage that," Max replied.

"Very good," the doctor said, with an air of satisfaction.  "I'll get your orders ready." He shook Max's hand firmly and then left the room.

When he was gone, Nicholas looked at Max, unable to hide his concern.  "Max, are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I'm sure, pal.  I can't wait to spend time with my family again." With that, Max made his way down the hall to bid his new friends goodbye.  In less than an hour they were headed home.

*******

The first night away from the hospital, Max had asked Nicholas to spend the night at his place, just in case the nightmares returned.  The dark-haired agent had willingly agreed, but Max hadn't had any problems.  The second night, Max had stayed by himself, and while Nicholas had worried about him most of the night and checked in early the next morning, Max had done well.

That evening, Max had surprised his other teammates with his appearance at Jim's condo for the Christmas party.  Jim, Grant, and Shannon each greeted the blond agent fondly, not having seen him in nearly a month.  Nicholas, of course, had his own fond greeting for Max; though he had seen much more of his friend in the past few weeks, the other agents were none the wiser.

The five agents stood around talking, wine glasses in hand - except for Max's, which was sparkling water.  Max appeared to be having a wonderful time catching up with everyone; the smile hadn't left his lips all evening. 

At one particular moment, Grant eyed his blond friend closely, and then he spoke. "There's something different about you, man."

Max grinned at his teammate and raised an eyebrow.  "How so?"

Grant shrugged one shoulder.  "I don't know.  You seem happier.  More content." He punched Max's shoulder playfully.  "Maybe a little calmer.  More settled.  That must have been some top-secret mission."

Nicholas glanced at Max, who winked at him, not missing a beat.  "Well, I'd tell you about it, buddy," he quipped, "but then I'd have to kill you."

Nicholas smiled to himself.  All evening, he'd been looking for an opportunity to pull Max aside, to ask him how he was doing.  Now, he realized he didn't have to.  Max was doing just fine.

*******

On the twenty-third of December, Max's phone rang. "Max, it's me," said Nicholas tensely.  "We have a mission.  I told Jim I'd let you know."

Max knew without asking why Nicholas had wanted to make the call himself. "I'm all right, Nicholas."

"I know," his friend answered.  "I was hoping you'd get to spend Christmas at home, since you didn't spend Thanksgiving there."

"It's okay, pal.  Look at it this way.  At least I get to spend Christmas with family."

Nicholas smiled.  "Pack a bag for Europe, buddy, and I'll see you in a little bit."

As Max broke the connection, Nicholas chuckled softly.   It was good to have his teammate back.  He hadn't been this excited about a mission in a long, long time.

The End

(c) 2017