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Chapter Text

 “Let her go”, Max said, his voice surprisingly steady even to him. All he could make out was Vincent’s dark silhouette against the ocean of light beyond the glass panorama. And there, in the shadows and held at gunpoint, was Annie. He could just make out her frightened face and hear her quick, erratic breaths over his own and those of Vincent. They were all looking the worse for wear.

 With a sluggish movement, Vincent turned his head towards Max and looked at the unarmed man. Despite the heavy heaving of his shoulders, his gun hung completely still in the air, aiming directly for Annie’s head. “Max?”, he asked. His voice sounded drowsy. The blood loss was probably getting to him. “Why? What are you gonna do about it?” He still managed to sound condescending, even with the shock from the car crash still coursing through his veins.

 Before this night, Max had never had fantasies of violence. But suddenly the thought of shooting this bastard right in his smug face alone made a strange feeling of satisfaction wash through him. The same kind he had felt when he had sent his cab flying.

 A quiet whimper reminded him of Annie’s presence and made him snap back into reality. This wasn’t about his satisfaction or revenge against Vincent. This was about saving lives. Max didn’t care for his own safety anymore. Vincent had to be stopped.

 Just as Vincent’s attention was drawn back to Annie, Max realized he had but one card left in his hand, and it had to be played now. “I’ll come with you”, he said, his voice just as calm as before. For a moment he feared Vincent had not heard or did not care. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the dreaded sound of the gun going off, but it didn’t happen. A raspy, humorless laugh made him open his eyes again.

 “What the hell are you talking about?”, Vincent asked.

 “If you let her go, I will come with you”, Max repeated. “No struggling, no fighting, no more car crashing.”

 Another laugh. “Very funny. Now get out. I have a job to do here.”

 Max did not react. He could see Vincent shift from one leg to the other, struggling to keep the gun upright. He still hadn’t pulled the trigger.

 “And what would I want to do with you, huh?”, Vincent said.

 In fact, Max had no idea. But the proposal effectively kept Vincent from shooting Annie, who had snapped out of her initial rigor of fear and observed the men talking, her eyes still wide and confused.

 Max looked back at Vincent, and now the silhouette had turned his head towards him as well. He could not make out Vincent’s expression, but his voice was lacking the usual dismissive tone as he said: “You’re being serious.” It was no question, merely a statement.

 Max nodded.

Chapter Text

 The metro station was almost completely empty. 

 “It’s only a question of time before the first commuters are all over this place. Get your ass on the next train south and keep your head down”, Vincent commanded, his voice low, the gun still pointed at Max.

 “You can put that thing down now, you know”, Max said. “We have a deal. I’m not going to run away.”

 “And I’m supposed to trust you?”, Vincent hissed through clenched teeth and urged him into a train that had just arrived. “After what you just did with your cab?” He pushed the gun deeper between Max’ ribs and held him close with an iron grip on his shoulder as he maneuvered him through the car.

 “It’s either that or drawing unwanted attention to us”, Max replied.

 They came across two other passengers. One of them, an older lady, seemed to have noticed Vincent’s gun, as her eyes widened and she pressed herself into the backseat.

 With a frustrated grunt, Vincent replaced his gun into his holster and sat down on one of the benches. They didn’t talk the whole ride through, even when they changed trains, leaving behind nothing but a blood stain where Vincent had sat. Max didn’t dare think about what they had just done. He tried reminding himself that he had saved Annie’s life. He didn’t dare recall her face as Vincent had grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the office. He didn’t dare think about where they would go now.

 The color of the sky turned from deep velvet darkness to hazy blue, streaked with red and pink wisps of clouds near the horizon. Finally, it took on an almost gray lightness as the sun was climbing higher and higher. Its rays were falling through the train window right on Max’ eyes, so bright he had to close them. He still enjoyed their warmth. He had spent that whole last night afraid he would never see the next daylight again. Yet here he was, his fate still uncertain, but at least he was alive.

 Eventually, they reached the end of the line. Max got up and was about to step out of the train, when he noticed that Vincent was not following. He sat in his seat, head sunken to his chest. Indecisively, Max watched him for a couple of seconds. He couldn’t be dead, could he…? Max stretched out one trembling hand to nudge Vincent. Immediately, the man bolted upright, his eyes darting around the train wagon until they found Max.

  He tried to hide it, but his breathing had become labored. His face was covered in bruises and cuts, his suit coat was ripped and he was bleeding from what seemed to be a gash to his shoulder. Clumsily, Max almost reached out to steady him, but a piercing glance of Vincent’s eyes kept him at distance. “We need a car”, Vincent murmured as they left the train and were engulfed by the cold, windy air of the January morning.

Chapter Text

 Being caught in a small, confined space with Vincent was nothing new for Max. But having him on the front passenger seat right beside him took some getting used to. Then again, at least he didn’t have him in his peripheral vision anymore. When they had been in the cab, the urge to constantly check on Vincent in the rear view mirror had almost driven him mad.

 As long as they drove through the outskirts of LA, Max still had a pretty good orientation. So when Vincent demanded a stop at a drugstore, it didn’t take long until they had found one. When Max returned to the car, he half expected Vincent to have fallen asleep again. He found him wide awake, studying a road atlas he seemed to have pulled out of the glove compartment, if the mess to his feet was any indicator.

 “Did you pay with plastic?”, Vincent asked without looking up from the map.

 Max closed the car door and held him his bag with drugs and gauze. “Still had the three-hundred cash, remember?”

 Vincent made a grunting noise and threw the map on the backseat.

 “What’s your plan?”, Max finally asked.

 “Getting away from here.”

 “Where?”

 “Tijuana. And from there to La Paz.”

 A resigned sigh escaped Max. “Mexico? Really?”

 “We’ll be out of reach of the police, for the moment at least”, Vincent contemplated, carefully pulling his jacket off his shoulders, exposing his blood drenched shirt, which he quickly got rid of as well. The wound on his shoulder was not deep, but long. It reached almost down to his shoulder blade. Vincent poured some of the disinfectant solution on a gauze pad and cleaned what he could reach of the wound. Which wasn’t much. The pain and indignity that would have resulted from desperately trying to get to the rest kept him from going further. He took out a gauze bandage and wrapped it around his shoulder with trained, quick movements.

 Max had watched the whole process, torn between lending a helping hand and pushing his fingers deep into the wound to tear it open as far as he could.

 “And what about the FBI?”, Max asked.

 “We have bigger problems than the FBI”, Vincent said curtly and reclined in the car seat with a light groan. “Now drive.”

Chapter Text

 They followed the San Diego Freeway south. It had been a while since Max had taken a few days off to get out of LA, he mused. As much as he liked the bright, wooden jetties and the white ships and yachts around Long Beach, the sight of the coast away from the city was just breathtaking. Long, graceful cirrus clouds arched over their heads along the coast line, as if they were guiding them. Vincent had leaned his head against the window and seemed to be staring outside as well.

 Crossing the border had taken some time, and as Vincent organized a small room in a motel south of Tijuana, it was late afternoon.

 Vincent sank down on one of the two beds to shed his jacket and shirt. “Come here”, he said, his back turned to Max. As Max didn’t react, he looked over his shoulder with an exasperated expression. “I thought you wanted to play Maria Theresa so badly. Now’s your chance. We have to get this wound dressed properly.”

 Max approached Vincent with hesitating steps until his knees touched the mattress. He knelt down on it, crawled over to Vincent and reached for the disinfectant Vincent held out. He could feel the heat of the wound beneath the gauze pad. At least the bleeding had stopped for the moment. Vincent did not move under the treatment.

 “How did you know I was going to agree?”, Vincent said, his voice unusually low.

 “I didn’t”, Max answered truthfully as he wrapped Vincent up. He still had no clue where the idea had come from. He was still lost in thought as Vincent turned around, pulled up one leg on the bed, grabbed his wrists and shoved him down into the mattress.

 Their faces were only inches apart and Max felt Vincent’s shallow breath on his cheek as the man stared down on him, brows furrowed and teeth bared. In a gut reaction, Max kicked up against Vincent and hit him with his knee. The only response he evoked was that Vincent got even angrier. He swung one leg over Max’ hips and straddled his thighs, never letting Max’ wrists escape his iron grip.

 “Don’t make this worse for both of us, Max”, Vincent growled. “I’m just trying to talk to you!”

 “Talk to me?”, Max gasped, now pretty irate as well. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

 “There is a reason you wanted to come with me, isn’t there!”, Vincent snarled.

 Utterly confused, Max gaped up at him. “I… I just wanted to save Annie…” Though that was not all there was to it, and Max knew that. The grip around his wrists tightened and the weight of the man on his thighs was starting to hurt.

 “And?”, Vincent prompted, leaning over him again.

 "And I wanted to stop you”, Max said defiantly. “But that’s not the real question, is it? Huh, Vincent?” He lifted his head off the mattress as far as he could. “The actual question is why you went with it!” He could read the reaction in Vincent’s face like an open book by now. The slight twitch of the corner of his mouth, the way he raised his brows just the slightest bit. He had him. “You said the FBI isn’t our worst problem. If neither the police nor the FBI bother you on your high and mighty throne, than the only people left to make you shit your pants like you currently are can be Felix and his gang. Am I right?”

 “No shit!”, Vincent bellowed. “So tell me, what’s your goddamn point, Sherlock?”

 Max did not want to ask that question. Since before the sun had risen on this day, he had been too afraid of the answer. But the fantasies were boiling up again. Shooting Vincent in the head. Making him bleed. “Why are you risking your life for this?”

 Vincent’s gray eyes stared right through Max. They were bloodshot and looked wet. His mouth was slightly agape. With the light of the setting sun shining through the blinders, it threw red stripes over his whole right side. He almost looked like a young boy with his face so motionless and clueless. 

 Before he got up, he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and chained Max’ wrists against the bed frame. As he checked whether Max was properly tied up, his touch lingered against Max’ wrists for a few seconds longer, not as a strong grip, but just his fingers forcefully brushing from the inside of his wrist to his palm. It tingled weirdly in Max’ belly and he squirmed.

 “We are in this together”, Vincent all but whispered absentmindedly.

Chapter Text

 Vincent had left after this little dispute and didn’t come back until late at night. He freed Max from the shackles for a moment so he could go to the bathroom and eat something, but afterwards, he tied him up again before going to bed himself.

 Max couldn’t sleep. The question what would become of him now did not stop echoing in his head. He reminded himself that actually, it should not matter. He should have been dead five times by now, but he had been able to buy Annie’s life with his own. So actually, every second he survived was one second he was lucky to have, no matter the situation. Nevertheless, his brain would not stop thinking and hoping that Annie would come and save him. He chided himself. Annie coming near Vincent would mean she had to risk her life again.

 And even though he could think of better ways to spend the rest of his life than being tied to that man, he reminded himself that it could be worse. At least Vincent had dropped it with the snide comments, he tried to cheer himself up. But the memory of his mother kept creeping back into his mind.

 He rolled to his side, the shackles cutting into his skin. Every now and then he heard Vincent mumble in his sleep.

 They were back on the road not long after sunrise. It was a two-days-trip to La Paz, and they had to hurry. Vincent hadn’t eaten anything. He was unusually quiet as well. At some point, Max just switched on the radio to listen to the news. There were still some Californian channels here. Maybe he was already reported missing, Max thought.

 But there were no reports except of war in the Middle East and the occupation of Iraq.

 “Turn that off”, Vincent said.

 Max switched the channel. Accordion music accompanied by Spanish singing filled the car. “That better?” A grin tugged at Max’ lips as he shot Vincent a glance, but he did not react.

 It was weird to see Vincent like this. Constantly absentminded, impassive. They spent the night before their arrival in La Paz not in a motel, but in their car because Vincent decided it would be safer that way. They reclined the seats and laid down. The car had a small skylight that they could see the stars through as they turned the light off. The desert was stretching out to every direction as far as the eye could see.

 “What are we going to do in La Paz?”, Max asked.

 “I know people there who owe me some favors. Gonna get us out of here. To Europe, I suppose.”

 “You know, I always wanted to visit Europe”, Max suddenly said, on the spur of the moment. “Another one of these failed plans of mine, huh? Guess I should be glad you made sure I don’t have to worry about those anymore.”

 Vincent was leaning over him, blocking his sight of the skylight. Then he crawled over on Max’ seat.

 “Why are you not wearing your jacket?”, Max asked and laid still as Vincent was cupping his face with both hands. Though it was not so much cupping as holding his head still. They were cold and dry.

 “Hurts when I move”, Vincent replied. He knelt over Max, in a crouched position due to the car roof. Max could see the intent in his eyes. “No struggling”, Vincent echoed his own words back to him. And Max didn’t.

 Vincent’s head was bedded on Max’ chest. It would have been so easy to reach up and just snap his neck. But Max’ hands stayed unmoved by his sides.

Chapter Text

 The next morning, Vincent finally ate something. He looked way more cheerful in general, talking about how they would be gone from this shitty half of the world soon. He would only have to run a few errands before. Even the car breaking down could not spoil his sudden lifted mood. He promised to look for a different one that they could take to the airport, maybe one of his accomplices could provide him with one, he prattled on, as he tied Max to a bench in the corner of a remote, empty parking lot with the handcuffs. 

 “Sir, is everything alright?”

 Max’d been dozing off, as the call of the man in the guard uniform startled him. After a quick glance to see if Vincent was still gone, he quickly tried to find some words.

 “Yes, I mean, no, I’m”, he replied in Spanish. It was so hard not to stumble over his words, to even formulate what had happened to him those last days, to assess his situation, and the rush of sudden hope mingled with panic was making his thoughts swirl. He needed to focus on the important things.

 “I’ll be alright”, he hurried to say, rather unconvincingly, as his agitated gestures made the handcuffs clank, “but you need to leave right now - this man, he’s a killer, he’s dangerous”, Max had to draw a shallow breath to even continue, but the sincere look of shock and concern on the other man’s face was encouraging. “Please, call the police and tell them, they need to-” 

 The man grabbed his arm, a both reassuring and assertive gesture. “It’s alright, calm down. Slow breaths.” The man fumbled for his phone. “Don’t worry”, he said as he dialed a number, “I’m going to get you–”

 A fast sequence of muffled gunshots, and he stumbled forward, eyes wide, before he collapsed on the ground.

 "No, you won’t", Vincent said matter-of-factly as he stepped over the body, his gun still in his hand, and up to Max, who had recoiled on the bench. Not in panic, more as a precaution, because he knew the frown on Vincent’s face. It felt somehow like he had already known this would happen. The sound of this gun and the sight of dead bodies had become all too familiar to him.  

 Vincent quickly and rather roughly opened his handcuffs and pulled him to his feet. For a second, Max saw the anger that had flared up in Vincent’s eyes, and the old fear of Vincent’s gun took hold of him again. But then Vincent grabbed him by his shirt and pressed his lips on Max’s mouth.

 It was a short contact of teeth and tongue, hard and claiming, and not at all what Max had expected to happen, but Max hardly found it in him to react. He had feared worse, and Vincent had only ever been confusing in his treatment of him. Still, Max couldn’t help but briefly wonder if this was what Vincent thought kissing was like. It seemed only appropriate that he tasted blood.
“What are you doing, chatting up people like this? You want the police on our asses?“, Vincent chided him as he urged him to move.

 “He came up to me-”, Max protested, but Vincent cut him short.

 “Don’t give me that bullshit. Next thing, you’re gonna be pissed at me for shooting him again.”

 “You did shoot him”, Max insisted as they hurried to the car, Vincent constantly checking the environment and probably barely noticing how upset he was. It had become a pattern by now. As soon as Max thought he had a ticket out, it was gone. It was a hard pill to swallow.

 "It’s easy, Max. If you don’t like me shooting them, don’t get too friendly with strangers”, Vincent said pointedly and opened the door to the front seat of the car he had just acquired, “And don’t go running off with the next best guy like that.”

 There was accusation in his tone. Max tongued at his lips. They still felt bruised from the viciousness of Vincent’s teeth as he had kissed him. Max sabotaging attempt had been a violation of their deal.

 Vincent dropped onto the passenger’s seat with a sigh. “You really are a whole lot of work, Max.”

 The door closed with final certainty. Max did not respond. They were back in the car, not his cab, but closer to what it could have been. Max shook his head. His far-fetched dreams seemed to belong to another person, to another life.

 “Now stop sulking.” Vincent had put the gun back in its holster and turned on the radio to go through the frequencies. “How about some smooth jazz?“

 As they were about to board their flight, Max hesitated before entering the narrow hall.

 “What is it now?”, Vincent groaned.

 “There is something I want to add about our deal”, Max said.

 “And we have to discuss this here, of course.”

 But Max didn’t let Vincent’s derision discourage him. “As long as I am with you, you are not allowed to kill.”

 Max could see Vincent’s jaw clench.

Chapter Text

 The weather in Berlin was a lot colder than what Max was used to. Vincent had gotten them a small, but neat apartment in a middle-class district. He didn’t like unwanted attention, as he said. Ironically, he still insisted on outfitting Max with a handful of Armani coats and suits.

 “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold”, he said with an almost affectionate nudge of his elbow.

 Max could only wonder what all this was to Vincent. He took Max to bars and restaurants, suddenly not caring about keeping his head low anymore. His wound healed fast, leaving behind nothing but a scar among many on his body. He did seem to have the time of his life. Sometimes it almost felt like they were back in Daniel’s Jazz club. Sometimes Max felt as if Vincent liked him. Then he laughed a lot, kissed him with soft, slightly parted lips, dozed off with his head on Max shoulder and his hand holding onto his wrist tightly.

 Unfortunately, as soon as something reminded Vincent of the reason they actually were here, he snapped back to being the aggressive, violent man who had almost killed Max on numerous occasions and who kept threatening to do so.

 “What will you do next?”, was a question that Max kept asking when once again his fear of Vincent’s fury war buried beneath apathy.

 “Probably cut your head off if you keep asking me these useless questions!”, Vincent barked, his fist slammed against the wall beside Max’ indifferent face.

 “Aren’t you afraid they will find us?”, Max asked. The fantasies hadn’t subsided. No, actually, they had gotten stronger. He still hadn’t dug deep enough to pull out the truth from under Vincent’s impervious armor. He was close though. He could feel it as Vincent shoved him up against the wall with his full body weight, biting his neck until he left dark marks. Like a cornered dog, Max thought, and he was not referring to himself.

 He hadn’t heard a single thing from Annie. Despite that he knew he should have been glad about that, he could not help feeling bitter. Probably because deep down, his actions had not been as selfless as he had thought they were, a voice reminded him that spoke with the same condescending tone as Vincent. In any case, he would not be rescued any time soon. Why not entertain himself with the means given.

 Usually, Max was not to leave the house unless Vincent was with him. Also, he was not allowed to talk to strangers, except when Vincent was with him. Throughout the first few weeks, Max had thought the grip with which Vincent often held him, that got more forceful when people passed them, was to keep him from running away. The more time passed, the more he realized Vincent was clinging to him for support. Max had planned on testing that theory for quite some time now.

 As they came across a large crowd, Vincent’s grip was turning vise-like. Max was lucky that his sudden yank came unexpected for Vincent. He freed himself and took a few steps backwards, watching Vincent’s reaction. Max felt the air being pushed out of his lungs and his heart contract with excitement at the panic that lingered on Vincent’s face for nothing more than split second. He didn’t care that back home, Vincent hit his head against the tiles in the bathroom until his vision went white.

 He had finally cracked Vincent open like a snail shell under his heel.

Chapter Text

 With a small, pleased smile, Max regarded the packed bags. They were mostly for show, but they did look quite convincing. He threw himself a last look in the bathroom mirror. He looked good in the white shirt, black tie and dark slackers. Almost like the owner of a limo company.

 The sound of the key in the lock of the apartment door startled him and he busied himself with his coat. As Vincent entered, Max halted for a dramatic moment, then kept going.

 “And what do you think you’re doing?”, Vincent’s voice asked behind him, already strained.

 “I’m leaving”, Max answered simply.

 First, there was no reaction. Max rummaged about in one of his bags so that Vincent would have time to make up his mind.

 “You can’t leave. We have a deal”, Vincent said calmly. Only god knew where he had gotten the gun from so quickly that he did a brass check on, from the sound of the clicking behind Max’ back. 

 Max was still kneeling next to one of the bags and could feel the muzzle of the gun pressed against the back of his head now. “You won’t shoot me”, he said without looking up. “You haven’t done it on the bridge, you haven’t done it before the crash, and you won’t do it now.”

 He could almost hear Vincent gnashing his teeth. “If you step out, you put your lady friend’s life on the line.”

 “You can’t go back to the States. Who knows how the case went for Felix with Annie still alive. At any rate, as soon as you set one foot on Felix’ turf, you’re a dead man”, Max said with a shrug and he could barely keep himself from smiling. “Besides, this has stopped being about Annie a long time ago.”

 The hard piece of metal pressed harder against his head, but still, nothing happened. Finally, Max got up and turned around. “Which reminds me, you still haven’t told me.”

 “What?”, Vincent spat. How he was standing there, his gun in a sure grip, steadily pointed directly at him… Max could only laugh at the thought that back in January, he had almost shat his pants at this sight. Vincent raised his voice. “What’s so funny?”

 Max calmed down a bit and shook his head, unable to stifle a grin any longer. “Oh, it’s just you”, Max answered.

 “Don’t fuck with me, Max”, Vincent growled, but Max only laughed harder.

 “Just look at yourself! Like an old dog with abandonment issues who won’t even let his master leave the house!” The fantasies were back. And now, finally, it was time to make Vincent bleed. To put his fingers into the one open wound that had not healed, that would never heal, and scratch and tear until Vincent begged for him to stop.

 At a lack of words and unable to do anything but point his gun at Max, Vincent bared his teeth.

 “Oh, I know you were lonely and all that”, Max said with a dismissing wave of his hand. “Never had a mother, never had a father, never had a friend.” 

 Over the ironsights, Max could see Vincent’s eyes narrowing.

 “But throwing away your whole life just for one single person who didn’t kick you off their doorstep immediately?” Max shook his head and clucked his tongue. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his slackers and let a few moments of silence pass, in which he watched Vincent’s growing distress. “Cause that’s what you did, wasn’t it?”

 The gun in Vincent’s hand trembled the slightest bit. “Shut up”, he croaked.

 “No, it’s alright”, Max said. “There’s no need to be ashamed of it, Vincent. That’s what’s been your problem for your entire life. You’ve been ashamed of your loneliness.” His hands still in his pockets, he took a step towards Vincent and the gun. Then took it with one hand and lowered it. Vincent stepped back, mortified, but Max did not stop until Vincent was with his back against the wall and Max was standing so close their bodies almost touched.

 “I didn’t know it, but I must have sensed it back then, that you would do anything just to stop this ridiculous, self-imposed pain of yours.” The grin on Max’ face was waning into an almost wistful smile. His voice had dropped to a whisper “And maybe I thought I could help you. That was pretty naive of me, don’t you think so?” Slowly, he lifted his hands to gently cup Vincent’s face. Vincent recoiled so hard that his head hit the wall. “I’m sorry, I know you hate being touched”, Max murmured and leaned his hands against the wall to the left and right of Vincent’s head. He looked a bit disoriented, probably from slamming his own head against the wall. The kiss Max gave Vincent was gentle and languid. He didn’t even have to hold on to Vincent’s hands. He was still clutching his useless gun with them. “You are never going to threaten me again”, Max said in between kisses.

 “Stop!”, Vincent gasped, his voice cracking. And once more, just that this time, it sounded more like begging: “Stop.” With a rush of excitement, Max saw tears streaming down Vincent’s distorted face. He could have sworn he felt Vincent mouthing a “please” into their kiss.

 “But you said it yourself”, Max whispered against Vincent’s lips. “We’re in this together.”