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“Thank you for coming,” Max says quietly, cutting through the dark and the silence.
“Of course,” Alex says plainly.
“Nah, we all know it’s not that simple,” Max says regretfully. He turns to Isobel for backup, but she’s gone limp to sleep beside him on the loveseat, so he continues. “He didn’t want us to call you-- I mean, he wanted you. You’re all he wanted. Well, you and his mom...” Max rubs his hands over his face wearily, trying to shake the memory of how Michael’s voice had repeatedly broken over the single syllables. Mom. ‘Lex. “But he just kept saying it would be selfish.”
Alex gulps against what tastes like guilt in his throat, which he’s not sure is deserved. “It’s good that you called.”
Max nods. “When Iz couldn’t settle him -- and, shit, it’s dangerous to go without sleep for that long -- we had to. And I knew it would work, because you’re his Liz,” Max says, voice heavy with understanding.
Alex chews on his lip pensively, cricking his neck to gaze down at the mass of curls on his chest, Michael half lain on top of him and half wedged between him and the back cushions of the couch, fast asleep.
Michael seems even hotter than usual; Alex’s skin feels like fire where Michael’s fingers have slipped between his shirt buttons, unconsciously seeking touch.
Where Michael’s palm is now flat on Alex’s chest, only some minutes before his balled fist had clung to the fabric of Alex’s shirt for dear life as he’d fought to keep his eyes closed despite the terrors he saw in the dark -- Alex’s voice the only light strong enough to protect him.
Close your eyes, sweetheart. It’s okay, I’ve got you.
As Alex absently coils an errant curl around his finger, he realizes his hand is shaking, excess adrenaline still lingering in his system.
“You and I, we’re a lot alike, you know,” Max pipes up.
Alex turns his head to look at him, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re an alien who recently came back from the dead.”
Max smiles a little sadly and shakes his head to the obvious deflection. “Come on, Alex.”
Alex sighs. “I’m tired. And he’s--”
“You’re totally wired, and he’s out cold,” Max retorts. He isn’t wrong on either count.
“Fine,” Alex says, a hint of a wry grin on his lips, “But I thought that I was Liz in this comparative analysis?”
“Touché,” Max says, then takes a deep breath. “I just think we could relate in a lot of ways, when it comes to Michael,” he explains, his hands waving about, tracing a meaningless path through the air. “The details are all different of course, but the fundamentals?”
“Such as?” Alex asks. He’s usually smarter than this, he thinks, but for the moment, the world seems narrowed to the space of the couch, and everything beyond that is foggy.
Yet Max’s voice comes through clear and steady.
“I know what it’s like to be loved by Michael.”
It takes Alex’s breath away.
“And I know what it’s like to love Michael and never be sure if he really believes it,” Max continues. “I also know what it’s like to be pissed as hell at Michael, but at the same time be pissed at myself, knowing I’m at least partly to blame for him pushing me away.”
“That does sound... familiar,” Alex admits slowly.
“You think we could try to help each other out?” Max suggests gently.
But Alex doesn’t get a chance to respond -- Michael suddenly shivering rather violently against him steals his focus for a moment, and by the time he looks back towards Max, he’s on his feet, coming at them with a blanket.
“Oh, um,” Alex starts, “He’s actually really warm.”
Max frowns. He bundles the blanket under one arm and reaches a hand to Michael’s forehead. “So he is,” Max agrees, “Even for us. So, then, can I get you something cool? Water?”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“Sure thing, partner,” Max says. Alex can’t be certain in the dark, but he thinks there is a wink there. Max’s smile though, he can plainly see.
Alex finds himself smiling back. It will be nice not to go it alone.