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Upon hearing about the engagement Sam’s family invited The Freelance Police over for dinner.
Last night's events were still fresh on Max's mind, he was still readjusting to this slightly different version of his world. It's not everyday your fiance has to tell his parents that actually his partner who died but is not really dead anymore, well a version of him anyways, is alive again and with plans of getting married. Still Sam's parents seemed to catch up quick. Him and Sam were always telling them about the crazy stuff that went down during their cases. Of course Sam's family seemed very much relieved to hear that Max survived after all, having witnessed the destruction of Brooklyn on the news.
Plus they were excited by the prospect of their son finally getting married. Well maybe excited wasn't the right word. Max found it funny how frankly unsurprised Sam's family was by the news of their engagement. Their responses ranged from “No duh” to “You guys did know they made it legal already?”
As they gathered around the dinner table, Max hungrily dug into the different dishes, mashed potatoes, creamy jalapeno corn, collared greens, biscuits, barbecued ribs, gravy, lots of gravy; he desperately missed Sam’s family’s cooking. Back in his timeline Max had been living off of chips and microwaved corndogs for the past week. In fact he had barely moved from the couch all week, slowly rotting away his brain with garbage television and junk food, the usual, but without Sam there it didn’t feel the same. And while he enjoyed all his hyper processed artificially flavoured foods they did little to compare to the feast that they were currently being served up.
Over dinner Sam’s parents teased Sam relentlessly for waiting so long to make the move.
“That’s my little Sammy, ever the slow mover.” His mom said.
“What took you so long?” Sam’s dad asked his son. “You guys have been partners for what, over twenty years now?”
“Nearly forty if we’re counting the comics.” Max chimed in. “But yes go on, why did it take you so long Sam? Geez, been waiting FOREVER for you to pop the question.”
“Yeah right.” Sam shook his head sardonically.
“Mostly for tax reasons.” Max said.
“We don’t even do our taxes Max.”
“Oh yeah.”
“It hardly seems fair that I'm the one to blame here,” Sam responded, “Max was equally capable of proposing.” He said pointing to the rabbity thing pouring gravy directly down his throat.
“Yes but Sam, who wouldn't want to ask me to marry them?” Max batted his eyelashes, turning up the adorable lagomorphic charm.
“You know it would have been nice to not do everything for once.” Sam muttered as he loaded his plate with more food.
“What are you implying Sam?” Max said with an icy tone.
“Nothing little buddy.” He yawned.
“Do my ears deceive me, or do I hear ingratitude?” Max said, slamming down the glass of champagne in his hand.
The nerve of this guy, Max thought, I left my old timeline just to get interrogated about why I didn’t propose? I couldn’t have proposed what if he didn't feel the same way. I couldn’t lose him over being a mushy idiot. Being a mushy idiot is Sam’s job!
Of course instead of saying any of this Max grabbed hold of Sam’s ugly tie and said “I’ve blown up one Sam already. I'm not opposed to blowing up another!”
“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.” Sam said, narrowing his eyes.
“Well it’s nice to see they’re already bickering like a married couple.” Granny Ruth commented as they continued to throw down at the table.
Sam’s parents let them stay the night at their house and extended the offer until the building was "no longer a hazard”, but knowing their building that was impossible. Sam had filled Max in that the two had been crashing at Sybil’s place while she was on her honeymoon with Abe. Now that her freakish baby had been born into the world, Max figured it was for the best to avoid all the screaming, and those of the baby.
Sam’s childhood bedroom was small, barely fitting a queen sized bed with all the boxes of old junk. Sam wasted no time throwing his jacket, hat, and tie to the side before immediately collapsing onto his old bed. Max jumped in bed with him, cozied up by his fiance’s side. Their bickering over dinner like most memories in Max’s head, was completely forgotten in Sam’s warm squishy embrace.
For a while the two dozed off. That was until Sam’s snoring woke up Max. He groaned as his eyes opened, staring at the ceiling.
Sam’s snoring was one of his more annoying habits. Max had gotten used to it back when they lived together but since they had been apart the sound took Max off guard. He had unfortunately become accustomed to the quiet of their building in his absence. Not that it was ever truly quiet, with the scurrying of rats, the sound of Flint next door slamming another glass of whisky, and the honking of cars across the city that never sleeps. But none of those were nearly as loud as Sam was. Max’s eyes darted to his partner, he was blissfully unaware of his own noise, his mouth half open and drooling a little. Max’s natural instinct was to bite Sam for his nocturnal indiscretion but he stopped himself. He wondered how long it had been since Sam slept, even when he saw him from out of the elevator he could see how tired he was. He questioned if Sam had even slept at all the week of his alternate version’s rampage. No, he thought, I’ll get back at Sam some other way.
Still Max couldn’t sleep like this. He squeezed his body out of Sam’s tight embrace taking a seat on the very side of the bed, the only part Sam didn’t take up. He looked across the room, aside from the boxes labeled Toys and Comics, it was just like he remembered it. Sam’s dorky posters still hung from the wall, Dick Tracy, Indiana Jones, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, a few old crime flicks and westerns too. He could still see the old electronics that littered the surface of Sam's old desk, back before he abandoned that techy phase of his. Mixed in with those electronics were some extremely damaged action figures that didn't quite make it into the toy box. Max picked up one piece of plastic, it was a nondescript 80s action figure missing his head, he had lost it of course in a fiery explosions from one of their model rockets that Max had added "extra" power to. He smiled thinking back to how the neighbours screamed like bloody murder at the sound of the loud blast. It was nice to see Sam’s taste hadn’t changed all that much.
Even in the dim light of the moon, Max could see the spot on the carpet still stained from the time they cut open glowsticks. Him and Sam had covered their hands with the likely toxic green liquid in an attempt to give themselves super powers. And well it did work in a way. Who knows maybe that was the source of the psychic powers of mysterious origin that other Max had acquired. Max lamented that he wasn't the one to get powers in his old world. But maybe that was for the best considering the outcome. Still some part of him stubbornly thought that he wouldn't have gotten himself killed. What a softie that version of him was, sacrificing himself to save Sybil. Of course Max couldn't fully convince himself that he'd be okay with Sybil getting hurt either. He groaned, maybe he was getting soft. This was surely Sam's fault somehow.
Max spotted an old photo album, it was filled with pictures of Sam’s family as well as plenty of the two of them. He flipped through the pages looking at the photos.
There was one with the soft marketable baby version of him throwing sand in Sam’s face on the playground.
Him biting Sam’s arm.
Sam pushing him while they were playing video games.
Sam’s head being squashed into a birthday cake by him.
And finally him and Sam posing on the stairs in a cheesy way before prom.
Max took a moment to look over that last one. He felt a strange sensation in his chest as he studied the photo, remembering that day where he and Sam had been each other’s first kiss, when he came out to Sam. Ugh, must be a bad case of heartburn, Max thought.
It’s funny that somehow Max never realized just how much time he spent with Sam over the years. He practically lived here with how much he hung out and stayed over after school. Of course Max liked Sam’s family, despite all his chaos Sam’s family weirdly seemed to like having him around, which is more than he could say for his own family. They were good people, sweet and boisterous, the type of family you’d see on those old sitcoms, somehow more grossly mushy than Sam. Max bet they’d all be crying at the wedding like the way people did that he would never understand. And his side would be… Who would he have on his wedding side? It wasn’t something he’d considered before. It’s not like he talked to his parents. No, he didn’t want to ever call up those assholes.
Sam had brought it up to him once in their early days working as Freelance Police.
“Hey Max, we’re a bit short or rent this month, do you think maybe you could scrounge up a bit more cash?”
“Sam, are we broke?”
“Well you know how we’ve been short on cases this month…and you bought that anti aircraft weapon—“
“That was a completely necessary purchase!”
“Sure it was little buddy but we appear to be short on funds. Maybe you can ask your parents if—“
“My parents? Samuel, you are funny.”
“I mean it Max, don't you think they’d be able to help out a bit? I’m going to ask my folks if they can spare some of their hard earned dollars. Just so we have enough to cover this month. Otherwise I’m afraid we’re gonna be hunting roaches for dinner.”
Max made a face. “We can figure it out Sam, maybe I could take up some shifts at the strip club.”
“We’re not slutting you out Max.”
“But Sammmm…”
“Come on, why don’t you just ask?”
“No.”
“But—“
“I said no okay! I’m never speaking to them again.” He cheeks flushed with anger, “Got it?” Max yelled. For once he didn’t mean to yell, but the mention of them he couldn’t control the hatred that coursed through him.
Sam nodded sheepishly. “Sorry little buddy. I didn’t mean to peeve you.”
“It’s fine Sam just don’t bring it up again.”
And like that they didn’t talk about it.
When he was a kid Sam used to ask about Max’s parents more, he would ask him why they never showed up to school events, or how the signatures on every school form looked like Max’s writing. Max always used to make up some lie. He once told Sam that his dad was a pilot who was always travelling to remote islands. He told him that his mom stayed home and made all those fancy recipes you see on TV cooking shows. It was better that way.
It was better in the reality he’d make.
It was better than the truth, which was that on the rare occasion his dad did come home he was never sober and always testing to see how fast Max could dodge a beer bottle.
It was better than saying his mother laid on the couch all day, and when she would talk to Max she would talk about their financial situation, and how much better her life would have been if he hadn't been born.
It was something that Sam would never understand, raised in his middle class perfect suburban household. Of course Max alluded to his upbringing not being the greatest from time to time but he never wanted to go into it with Sam, it would just bring him down. Besides, Max figured if he wasn’t so traumatized he wouldn’t be nearly as funny as he was.
Suffice to say Max didn’t want his parents at the wedding. Still it was tradition he needed someone to walk him down the aisle, he speculated who could be a good candidate, obviously not Sam, Bosco would be a weird pick, Stinky was way past old enough to be his dad, Superball maybe, Flint Paper also a maybe, of course he could always get a future version of himself to walk him down but that might be confusing for everyone involved. Flint or Superball, hmm he could get them to fight each other for the role, that would be entertaining.
Max's imaginations of a showdown were interrupted from a sudden noise from the bed.
“Max! No Max!” He heard his partner’s panicked half conscious cries.
Max quickly jumped closer to the bed.
“Sam.” He shook his arm.
“Max. Please.” Sam’s voice was strained.
“Wake up dummy!” Max chomped into his partner's arm.
Sam jolted awake. He was panting for air, his lungs heaving. His eyes were unfocused.
“Sam?” Max asked, reaching out for his shaking hand.
Sam’s eyes quickly darted to the lagomorph. His breath was still ragged.
“Don’t leave me Max.” He hugged his rabbity partner tighter than what was comfortable.
“Now you’re talking crazy Sam.”
Sam let go as he seemed to come back to reality.
“What happened?” Max asked. It was odd seeing Sam so shaken like this. He didn't quite know how to react, it wasn't that Sam never freaked out, but his partner could stare the destruction of the world in the face with a casual attitude but of all things a dream messed him up? He found it hard to understand him sometimes. So he just waited for Sam to respond. Must've been something crazy hellish to see him react like this.
Sam sighed, bringing his legs towards his chest,
“It felt so real.” Was all he said for a while.
Then slowly he painted the picture of the nightmare. It seemed to be a mix of the recent events in Sam’s timeline that ended in his Max being gone.
“You were taken again.” Sam said in a noir voice.
So it was him who messed Sam up. He was about to start teasing his partner for being overly sentimental, but he just couldn't, not with the sheer abject terror plastered on Sam's mug. While Max could normally not empathize with people, in fact the whole empathy thing confused him severely, he knew the feeling of losing his partner all too well. Still the thought of Sam being so heart ached by his loss, it made Max feel like a fire was radiating from inside of him. Must've been the return of the heartburn. Max steadied his hand on Sam’s shoulder giving it a squeeze.
“Well you don’t need to worry about that Sam because the only person I’m taken by is you.” Max internally cringed at how cheesy that came out.
Even Sam couldn’t help but crack a smile at that line.
“Grody.” Max shivered. “Remind me to never reassure people again.” He took a breath, “But I mean it Sam, I ain’t leaving. Your ear bleeding snores woke me up is all.”
“I don’t snore that loud.”
“Sam I got a call from air traffic control saying they wanted their jet back.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s only loud for you because your ears take up half your body.”
Max clutched his ears, "Don't you sass me boy. These ears are the source of my precious lagomorphic charm.”
“You are a cute little bunny.” Sam’s voice was so soft and sincere it grossed Max out, calling him a bunny too, it’s like he was trying to get on his nerves.
“Now you're just asking for it!” Max said, slamming a pillow at Sam’s face. Then again.
Finally Sam fought back whacking him with another pillow and tackling him on the bed. His hands rested firmly on Max’s wrists to hold him still.
“Alright that’s enough.” Sam said.
“Oh Sam, trying to get into something are we?” He said with a seductive grin.
“This isn't that kind of fanfic little buddy.” Sam said.
“Aw come on.” Max said as Sam let go of his wrists.
The goofy smile Max enjoyed faded from Sam’s face. He sat up in the bed, staring aimlessly at the wall.
“Sorry little buddy I thought I’d be back to normal by now.” Sam said after a couple minutes. “Or whatever our baseline of normal usually is.”
“It was just a nightmare.”
“I know.” His partner said. “But what if it happens again?”
Max shrugged, “It probably will.”
Sam flashed him that look that told Max he wasn’t helping.
“We die all the time Sam, but if you think death will stop me, then I suggest you take a moment from atrophying your brain from all that garbage television and see the truth. You can’t escape me, even in my death I will come back to haunt you foreverrrr.” He said in a spooky voice.
This did make some of that signature goofy Sam smile come back to his face.
“You won’t even allow death to part us huh?”
“Not unless death can beat me in a cello contest.”
“I believe you mean a fiddle contest Max.”
“That’s even better, no one can out fidget me.”
“No one in their right mind would dare to try.” Sam yawned, lying back down on the bed. Max once again took his place by his side.
“Hypothetically who do you think would win in a fight, Flint Paper or Superball?”
“Like a fistfight? Or a fight with weapons?”
“Hm,” Max thought for a nanosecond, “Both!”
“I’d put my money on Flint Paper any day, you've seen the way he gets his perps to sing like a Spinus tristis at sunrise on a warm summer day. But Superball does have his mysterious and downright mind boggling ways.”
“See as much as I admire Flint, I’ve seen the way Superball mans a door and I doubt Flint would get through. Only one way to find out.”
“What reason would those two have to duke it out?”
“For my honour Sam, one of them will receive the honour to walk me down the aisle.”
Sam turned to Max, he could see that the dog had something on his mind.
“To answer your question, no, I don’t want my parents at the wedding. If I wanted someone who hated me to walk me down the aisle I would just ask Stinky.”
“Which Stinky?”
“Either.”
“Good point.” Sam retorted, “Hey Max, in your scenario did you ever think about asking the commissioner?”
“You don’t think he’d come all the way for our wedding?”
“I can’t think of a reason why he wouldn’t, we are his most successful and frankly chaotic employees.”
“Okay now who do you think would win in a fight between the commissioner and grandpa Stinky?”
“I think that’s enough with the hypotheticals.” Sam said, placing his hand over his partner’s big mouth. “Goodnight knucklehead.”
“Goodnight Max—I mean Sam.”