At fourteen years old, Max was more than certain he was capable of looking after himself, even when he was sick. Curled up in bed, his stomach hurting and churning, he really wanted nothing more than for David to leave him alone and let him get on with his miserable day.

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?" David asked, for what felt like the nineteenth time that day. He had been wringing his hands together the entire time he'd been sat on the edge of Max's bed, but he separated them again to reach and feel Max's forehead. "I can take a day off work, Max, it's no problem," he insisted.

Max grunted and pushed his foster dad's hand away. "David, I'll be fine," he assured him. "It's just a stomach bug."

David bit his lip, still looking anxious. "You need to make sure you take the paracetamol at the right time," he said, tapping the first aid kit he had left on Max's bedside table. "And I'll call throughout the day, okay?" He reached to briefly ruffle Max's hair. "Feel better."

Max only gave another grunt and tugged his blankets tighter around himself.

As David left the room, Max let out a sigh of relief, glad to have finally been left in peace. He didn't dare unfurl, in fear of his stomach hurting even more. He knew that if he had told David just how bad the pain was, he would have insisted on staying – and Max wouldn't be responsible for David missing work, not when he loved his job so much and hadn't had it for all that long. A small whimper escaped him as he shifted slightly and a bolt of pain shot through his right side.

When he was stationary again, the pain gradually faded back to an ache. Somehow, he managed to drift off to sleep again, despite the fact he couldn't stop thinking about the pain in his side.

A few hours later, Max awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. He slowly opened his eyes and risked moving, regretting it instantly as pain radiated through his body. It took all of his strength to keep down a yelp and he reached for his phone, slightly breathless from the pain, then answered without needing to look at the caller ID. "Hey, David," he greeted, his voice rough from being asleep.

"Hi Max! Just checking in," David chirped down the phone. "Is everything okay? Do you feel any better? Have you taken your tablets?" he asked, all in quick succession, giving Max no chance to answer in between.

"Still ill, guess it's slightly better, and I was just about to take some," Max told him, gritting his teeth as his body protested loudly about him sitting upright.

He heard David give a slight hum down the phone. "Okay. You don't need me to come home?" he asked.

"No, David, I don't need you to come home," Max said, his stomach giving a nice twinge at the same time, as if to remind him that he probably did need David back home. "Have a good day at work," he added.

"Call if you need anything!" David managed to squeeze in, just before Max hung up and dropped his phone onto his beside table.

Max groaned loudly as he let himself relax back against the bed, his abdomen feeling as if it was screaming. He was ready to curl back up in a ball when he felt an unpleasant feeling crawling up his throat. He groaned again, struggling to drag his legs free of his blankets. Then he managed to stumble his way to his bedroom door and out onto the landing. Every part of him was yelling at him in agony.

It took more effort than Max ever thought possible to reach the bathroom, desperately swallowing down the contents of his stomach all the while. He near enough threw open the door and found himself crawling across the cool linoleum to get to the toilet.

As he finally began to hurl, the pain in his abdomen increased by what felt like tenfold. The world around him turned dark at the edges. Only moments after he finished vomiting, Max collapsed to the floor, unconsciousness claiming him.

"Max? I'm home!" David called, his voice as cheerful as ever. After seeking sympathy by playing the 'my-kid-is-ill' card, he'd been allowed to go home early for once. The fact he didn't get a reply didn't concern him immediately; after all, Max was probably just asleep.

David trotted upstairs and straight to Max's bedroom, where the door was already wide open. The boy's bedsheets were all tangled and trailing onto the floor, but Max himself was nowhere to be seen. "Max?" he called, worry creeping into his tone as he left the bedroom again. His eyes moved to the open bathroom door, then he broke into a run as he saw Max's feet peeking out from around the corner.

A low groan escaped Max, who barely even turned his head as David entered the room. There were tear stains on his cheeks and his body was shuddering from the pain. "Dad," he said weakly.

"Hey, hey buddy," David managed to say, kneeling down next to Max. He ignored the tears welling in his eyes, knowing that it had to be bad if Max was letting himself call him 'Dad'. His hand moved to touch Max's forehead and he had to stop himself flinching back at the searing heat, which was far too hot considering how cold the floor Max was lying on was. "What happened?" he asked, pushing back Max's damp curls. Panic and concern had nestled deep in the centre of his heart, or so it felt.

Max continued to shudder. "Pain's real bad," he admitted in a whisper.

Carefully, David tore off some tissue and wiped the vomit around Max's mouth away. "I'm going to call an ambulance, okay?" he explained, keeping his voice gentle as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Everything's going to be just fine," he soothed.

Max didn't risk nodding, knowing it would only make the pain worse. Instead, he shut his eyes tightly, and willed for everything to go back to being the way it had only a few days before.

It wasn't long before his body went limp again, despite David's worried voice ringing in his ears.

"Hey, buddy."

David's voice was annoyingly reassuring and familiar. Max grunted in response to it as his eyes began to open. "Hey," he greeted, his voice hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in days. He was pleased to find that shifting slightly didn't cause anywhere near as much pain as it had done before. There was a newer, more dulled pain in his abdomen instead. He wrinkled his nose as he registered the fact David's face was stained with tears. "This isn't some fucking cliché movie, David," he huffed out. "I'm fine."

"You nearly weren't," David said, his tone matter-of-fact. "The doctors said it was lucky you got to the hospital when you did. Your appendix was perforated," he told him.

Max blinked at him.

David sighed. "Your appendix basically exploded inside of you, Max."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. I wish you'd told me how bad it was sooner," David said. Max bit his lip, repressing a wince at how sad David sounded. "You'll have a cool scar across your stomach now, if that's ever been something you were interested in having," he added, managing to give Max a weak grin.

Max shrugged. "Guess I'll have to make it work," he said. He averted his gaze. "Guess I'm sorry, as well. Didn't want to make you worry." He frowned slightly and picked at the clinical bedsheet covering him, pulling a face when he saw the IV in the back of his hand.

"Don't be silly. You don't need to be sorry. If anything, I should have seen how bad the pain was." David sighed and shook his head. "It's my job to worry about you, Max. I don't think I've ever been more worried than I was when I saw you on that bathroom floor. I'm your foster parent. Please, don't think you're being a pain or a bother or anything by being truthful with me. I'm here so you can be truthful with me."

Looking ashamed, Max nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, raising his eyes to look at David again.

"Okay? Truthfulness from here on out?" David asked.

"Truthfulness from here on out," Max agreed. "...so I think I'll go to sleep, 'cause I'm pretty exhausted," he said, nestling back against the pillows. "Thanks, David."

David smiled softly at him. "Any time, Max."