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Max wishes Shunichi hadn't held him back.
Shunichi doesn't have a kid. That's never been so clear before. Anyone who has a kid—anyone who has a kid and cares, they wouldn't stand by while a father says shit like that to his son.
Max's blood is still boiling.
That's his son. That man was speaking to his son that way. If anyone—fucking anyone spoke to Michael that way, now or when he's Ash's age or ever, they wouldn't survive it. Max promises himself that much right now. If anyone ever ... god, he hopes this is only a hypothetical.
But it's not for Ash. It's not hypothetical for Ash. Ash is really—he's—this is his father. Or, the man who's supposed to be.
Max feels sick. The kind of all encompassing nausea that he's only felt a few times in his life. When he shot Griff. When Jessica asked for a divorce. And now.
Ash, on the other hand, seems totally fine.
Emphasis on seems, because Max knows this shit has to be affecting him. There's no way—no way it can't be. He may be Ash Lynx, but he's a kid. He's a kid.
He looks a little smaller now than he did when Max met him. He looks younger. He looks more ... human. And Max knows that it's all in his head, but he really seems like a different person.
He's seventeen. Max has to remind himself that, now. Ash is seventeen. He's not some elite hoodlum; he's not a devil in disguise. He's seventeen. At seventeen you're not much of anything else; you're just seventeen.
"My mother drove Griff's mother out," Ash is saying, "but the bitch left with a different guy once I was born."
Something hurts about that, already. Something in Ash's voice. He's talking about his mother, about a woman he's never really met, from the sounds of it. But—why does it sound like he's blaming himself?
"Then Dad began to live with Jennifer over at the diner."
Max almost speaks out right there. Almost stops Ash, almost places a hand on his shoulder and tells him to just stop. Because Ash called Jim Dad. Even after what Max just saw, Ash called that man Dad.
Max grinds his teeth.
"About Jim," Jennifer says. "He's actually happy that you're home."
Bullshit, Max wants to snap. Bull fucking shit. If he's happy that his kid is home, why did the word 'whore' come from his lips? Much less aimed at that kid?
But Ash just says, "You're so nice." He smiles. Ash fucking smiles.
Max wants to cry.
Ash notices.
"Why are you looking so sad?" he asks. "You're the one who brought me here. Stop acting like you didn't want to see all that."
"Sorry," Max mumbles. What else is there to say?
... A lot. There's a lot that Max wants to say, actually. But he ... he doesn't know how.
He spends the rest of the day thinking about it.
They spend the night at Griff and Ash's old house. It brings up a lot of emotions in Max. The way Griff talked about this place—he guesses that they all had rose-colored glasses on about their hometowns and what returning to the States would look like, but ...
The way Griff talked about Ash, too ... Aslan.
But now that Max is actually here, it feels empty. Empty, and yet full of ghosts.
Griff should be here. Griffin should be here, with Max, and with his little brother.
Ash should never have had to suffer the way that he did.
It's late, and Max wanders out into the family room.
Ironic.
Eiji and Shorter are passed out on the floor, but Ash isn't in the room. Eiji's hand is outstretched toward an empty spot on the blanket.
Ash.
Max can't help but smile. Does Ash know how much this kid cares about him? To reach out to him even in his sleep ...
But Ash isn't here.
As quietly as he can, Max exits the house. If being here brings up mixed emotions for Max, then Ash must be having a hell of a time right about now.
There's a pistol aimed at Max's head before he finishes opening the front door.
"Ash," Max breathes. "It's just me."
It takes Ash a moment to lower the gun. Something about his eyes, his posture, the hesitation to take the gun off of Max's forehead—Max can tell that his it's just me doesn't mean shit to Ash.
Ash doesn't trust Max, and Max doesn't blame him.
"What do you want." Ash's voice is deadpan. For some reason, Max expected him to be crying. Well, for a lot of reasons, actually.
"Was worried about you," Max says, trying to keep his voice calm and soft.
Ash snorts. "Why?"
"I know this is hard for you, and—"
Ash laughs, cutting Max off. "If you think this is hard for me, you don't know much about this world."
You don't know much about me, Ash is saying.
Max sighs. "Want to enlighten me?"
"Not particularly. If you've made it to your geriatric age without learning this shit, I'm not gonna be the one to ruin it for you."
"Want to walk with me for a bit?" Max asks.
"It's midnight," Ash mumbles.
"I'm a night owl." It's not true, of course—since Michael was born, Max woke up early to get him to daycare, and never fell out of the habit.
But if he can take one kid to daycare, he can take another away from the ghosts of the past. Just for a few minutes.
Max takes a few steps out toward the coast, and after an overdramatic sigh, Ash follows. Max can't help but smile to himself. Ash and Michael aren't all that different, really.
Except for the part where Ash keeps one hand on his gun.
Max gets it. He was like that for a while, too, after he got back from the war. The hypervigilance. He still ducks when he hears fireworks.
He doesn't know how to break the silence with Ash. He doesn't know what to say. A thousand thoughts running through his head, and none of them have words.
Ash talks first, surprising Max. But then again, maybe the kid just needs someone to listen.
"Griff was a good brother," Ash says quietly.
Max swallows. "He was a good person, so I don't doubt that."
"I was a brat," Ash says, and his voice is even quieter now. "I was horrible. I fought him every step of the way. But he still took care of me."
"He loved you. And if the way he talked about you is any judge, I don't think you were nearly as bad as you think you were."
Ash shakes his head, but doesn't respond. Max sighs.
"Ash, you know that your father isn't—he's not supposed to treat you like that. You know that, right?"
Ash blinks.
"That's not okay. The shit he was saying back there—that's not okay."
"It's just how it is, old man," Ash says. He shrugs, not making eye contact. "It's not worth talking about. It's always been this way."
"Just because it's always been this way doesn't mean that it should be this way."
"I ruined his life. It's only fair. It's—not even fair, actually. I deserve worse." Ash looks toward the sky. "Griff used to tell me about the constellations, but later I learned he just made them up."
Max follows Ash's gaze up. "The stars looked different in Iraq," he whispers. Then he shakes his head. "Ash, your father—"
"My relationship with my dad is none of your fucking business."
"I have a kid!" Max snaps. "I have a kid, and if anyone spoke to him the way your father spoke to you—"
"Well I'm not your kid, okay? I'm his. I'm—I'm his kid, through and through." Then, quieter, Ash adds, "I'm just like him."
"You're not," Max growls. "You're not like him."
Ash brings his eyes down from the stars to look at Max. They stare at each other for a moment.
"How would you know?" Ash asks softly. He breathes out a laugh. "How the fuck would you know?"
"Ash," Max chides. He sighs. "I'm sorry that your father doesn't love you."
Ash's eyes flash. "He—he—" His face contorts, and Max thinks they both might cry at this rate.
"You don't talk to people you love like that," Max whispers. His voice is strained. Everything hurts.
Ash is seventeen.
Ash is seventeen, and Max wants to save him.
Ash is seventeen, and Max might be seventeen years too late.
"I love him," Ash mumbles. "Regardless."
"Kid—"
"Shut it," Ash growls. "I shouldn't have—fucking—"
"It's okay. You can say what you need to."
"... He used to hit me. Before."
Max hisses out a breath. "Griff told me that."
"It got worse after Griff left. And then even worse, after ..." Ash trails off. They're still walking, out near the coast now. The stars reflected in the water.
How could you leave this kid behind, Griff? Max wonders. I know you wanted a better life for both of you. But how could you leave him here?
"Dad never really took care of me," Ash whispers. "When I say I would have starved without Griff—I mean that. And then, you know. When Griff left, I was ... Jennifer tried to step up a bit, but Dad would always get pissed at her. I got her hurt, too."
"It wasn't your—"
"Save it," Ash hisses. "We both know it was my fault."
It wasn't, kid. It wasn't.
But Ash isn't ready to hear that yet, apparently. Max doesn't blame him. It'd be hard to accept something like that, when you've been told the opposite your whole life.
"I was a stupid kid," Ash mumbles. "I was so—so fucking stupid."
"How old were you when Griff left?"
"... Six."
"You were—"
"I was a stupid, stupid six year old, Max. I was a fucking idiot. I got myself into trouble, and—I—I deserved everything I got. With Dad, and ..." Ash trails off.
"Did your coach groom you?" Max asks softly.
Ash's breath stutters. "I ..."
"Do you know what that means, Ash?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"I want to help you. I just—"
"Shut up!" Ash screams. It echoes into the night. "It's none of your fucking business, okay? My relationship with my dad, with my coach, none of it fucking matters to you, so just stay the fuck out of my life!"
"... It matters to me," Max whispers. His stomach twists. "Because I care about you."
"We were threatening to kill each other not long ago," Ash says, scoffing.
"A lot's changed," Max agrees. He takes a breath. Tries not to cry. How is he going to get through to this kid?
He's seventeen; he's seventeen; Ash is seventeen.
And Max is not enough to fix everything that Ash has ever been through, but he's going to try his best to patch the wounds.
How could anyone hurt you? Max wonders. He thinks about the photo of Ash and Griff back in the house, of baseball uniforms and brotherly smiles. How could anyone hurt that child—this child?
Max can't imagine Ash without a gun on his person.
Max can't imagine Ash with a carefree smile on his face.
"I care about you," Max repeats.
"Shut up," Ash mumbles.
"I care about you, and you didn't deserve any of this shit."
"Shut up!" Ash shakes his head, and he's crying now, from zero to sixty in a heartbeat, tears running down his face and his voice breaking and Max doesn't know what to do. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"
Max hugs him.
It's impulsive, and it could get Max shot. Max knows that, but—he hugs the kid anyway.
"Let go of me!" Ash screams. He thrashes against Max's arms, and—Max never realized how weak Ash is. "Let me go! Let me go."
"Shh," Max murmurs. "It's okay, Ash." Max isn't bleeding out, so that's a good sign. Ash's arms are free; he can reach his gun. "It's all okay."
"Let me go," Ash sobs, and he's asking for more than just for Max to loosen his physical grip on him. "Let me go."
"I'm not going to let go of you, Ash," Max whispers.
"Leave me alone ..."
"You're not like your father."
"I'm—I'm—"
"You didn't deserve any of that pain."
"You don't know me! You don't fucking know ..."
"I know that you're a kid. And I know that it wasn't your fault."
Ash is shaking in Max's arms. Ash is falling apart, and Max wants to hold him close enough to glue the broken pieces back together.
And then there's a gun to Ash's head.
Ash's gun. To his own head. Pressed against his temple, and Max can practically feel the metal against his own skin.
"Ash," he whispers.
"Let go of me," Ash orders, but his voice wavers.
Max releases him and steps back.
Ash's eyes are wild, desperate, but he slowly lowers the gun.
"I don't know what to do," Ash admits. The gun is at his side, now, but he's gripping it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
"You're not doing anything wrong. You're okay, kid."
Ash shakes his head. "I want to—be the kind of person that—the kind of person who he could love."
Eiji. "You're—"
"I'm not," Ash interrupts. "I know I'm not, and I know I won't ever be. But I'm trying, Max. I'm fucking trying. I—I don't want to be my father's son."
Max blinks back tears. So much for getting Ash to believe it's not his fault; if they can make it out of this without either of them getting shot, Max will count that as a victory.
And right as Max thinks that, Ash drops the gun entirely.
It thuds against the grass.
"Kid," Max murmurs. "You're okay."
"I wasn't groomed, okay?" Ash insists.
Max doesn't respond.
"I mean, that implies some level of, like—" Ash shakes his head. "I seduced him. That's all there is to it."
"A seven year old can't seduce anyone."
"Tell that to this town's police," Ash breathes.
"You deserved better."
Ash laughs, a little hysterical. "I deserved every ounce of what I fucking got," he spits. The stars are too bright; Max doesn't want to see this. Doesn't want to see the honesty on Ash's face. How much he truly believes this. "I—I—"
"Can I tell you something?" Max tries.
Ash shrugs.
"I don't think your father loves you."
Ash gasps softly, reacting to the same information anew. But then, "No one loves me. That's always been clear."
"Ash."
Ash just glares at him.
"You don't talk to your kids that way. You don't talk to people you love that way."
"I know that," Ash mumbles.
"Do you?"
"I'm not stupid!"
"That's not what I said."
Ash's eyes are piercing. The tears make the green look even brighter in the moonlight.
"Your coach didn't love you, Ash."
"Shut up!"
"Kid."
"Don't fucking—You think I don't know this shit?"
Max looks at the gun in the grass. "Do you?" he asks.
"I—" Ash cuts himself off, and there's a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
"I'm sorry, kid. You really deserved better. I wish I could have given you better."
"You don't know me," Ash growls. "You don't—you don't understand."
"What don't I understand?"
Ash is silent for a long moment. Max would speak, but he doesn't know what the fuck to say anymore. But eventually—
"If they didn't love me, who ever could?" Ash whispers. "If that isn't love, t-then ..."
Oh. Shit.
"That's not love, Ash," Max hisses. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Don't apologize to me."
"You deserve an apology from the world."
"Well that's not happening any time soon, now is it?"
"... Tell me about the constellations?" Max asks softly.
Ash blinks.
"The ones Griff told you about," Max clarifies. "I don't give a shit about the real ones."
And despite the tears in his eyes, Ash half smiles. "It was—dumb shit. I mean, you knew Griff."
Max laughs. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
"He'd work whatever my current favorite thing was into the stars, like weaving the very galaxy to fit me. He was—he was a really good brother."
"He loved you," Max says quietly. He's expecting Ash to protest, but ...
"Yeah," Ash whispers. "Yeah, I think he did." Ash picks up his gun, but he slides it back into his waistband.
They keep walking for a bit. Silence, but—peaceful, not threatening.
"It gets cold out here at night, even in summer," Max muses. Griff painted such a beautiful image of the Cape, and—
Ash stops walking. "I think I'm in love with Eiji."
Max laughs. "I think you're in love with Eiji too."
Ash pouts. Seventeen. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
"I—I don't know what to do about it."
"Tell him?"
Ash seems to mull that over. "I dunno," he says eventually.
Max smiles to himself. Young love.
"What did you do when you fell in love with your ex-wife?" Ash asks, and Max winces.
"Way to hit where it hurts, kid," he mumbles. Then he winks. "I wooed her."
Ash makes a face. "Never mind."
"I wooed Griff, too, by the way," Max adds.
"I said never mind!" Ash says, pressing his hands to his ears like a child. "You're gross."
Max laughs. "Come on, you've seen the movies, right? You've got to win Eiji over." Though I think you already have.
Ash averts his eyes, dropping his hands. "Most of what I've learned about love is—not anything I'd want Eiji to see."
... Right.
Max takes a breath. "Well, want to talk it out? I was quite the charmer in my day."
"That is not what I want to hear," Ash grumbles. He pauses. "But—uh, yeah. Yeah. I'd like to—maybe—"
Max smiles. "Let's talk, Ash." And judging from the way you look at him? You know more about love than you think you do.