A Farewell to Arms, part fourteen
by Angela
August 2007

Eiji looks thin. That was the first thing that popped into Max's mind as he watched his two friends coming off the plane. He was glad to see them, though he was sure that everyone would agree that it was too soon. Eiji wasn't wearing the sling, but his gait was the sluggish walk of someone who was obviously in pain.

"Shunichi! Eiji!" he called, raising his hands in the air. Both men looked up, but the smiles they gave weren't anything like the beaming grins he'd seen the previous week. Eiji looked strained and nervous; Shunichi was just plain tired.

"I'll bet you two are worn out," Max said, taking Eiji's shoulder bag from him. "Do you have any luggage to pick up?"

Shunichi shook his head, his fingers reaching to touch the leather strap of his own carry-on bag. "We won't be staying so long this time," he said softly.

Eiji set his jaw and said nothing, his gaze skipping away from them and onto the wall of windows behind them.

Max was surprised; he'd never seen Eiji and Shunichi so out of synch with each other. "Okay then." He suddenly desperately wished that Jessica were there to help him out. "Let's go back to my place."

In the taxi, the three of them made polite conversation. Eiji asked about Jessica and Michael. "They're in California," Max explained. "Michael has only a month to go in school, so we decided to let him finish second grade there. They'll be moving back to New York this summer." He couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice. He was happy to note that Eiji responded with a genuine smile. "She says she's really sorry she can't be here to see you."

Apparently relieved to have a safe topic to discuss, both of his guests brightened, asking about the impending wedding and how Max was dealing with not being single any more. By the time the cab pulled up outside his building, they were all laughing. Max could tell – anyone who looked could tell – that it was only on the surface, but it still felt better than nothing.

---

A few hours later they were well fed and winding down in front of the television. So far, no one had mentioned Ash's name. It was starting to feel awkward, dancing around the subject the way they were. Max was tempted to bring it up himself, but he chickened out every time he tried. The idea of talking about Ash with these two – with Eiji especially – was somehow much more difficult than dealing with it himself. He glanced at Shunichi, hoping he'd get the ball rolling.

His Japanese friend dropped his gaze. Biting his lip, he shook his head. I don't know what to do with him, he'd said over the phone. I'm exhausted from trying.

Eiji was curled up at one corner of the couch, an empty coffee mug cradled in his hands. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and for the past ten minutes his eyes had been locked on Wheel of Fortune as though it held the cure for cancer. Max was startled, then, when he spoke.

"He is not buried yet?" Eiji asked in a low voice.

"Eh?" It took Max a moment to realize what he was asking.

"Ash." Eiji turned his straightforward gaze toward Max. "If he is not buried yet, you will show me, right?"

Shunichi stopped drinking his coffee mid-sip, his mug still hovering near his lips.

Max had been dreading that moment since that final click of Eiji hanging up on him all those days ago. He'd hoped that he'd be reasonable, that all those hours since then would wear down his resistance so that he could accept the truth. Shunichi had warned him to be prepared for anything from Eiji, but somehow it wasn't enough. Nothing could have prepared him for this quiet, direct, almost cold version of Eiji Okumura.

He licked his lips, suddenly longing for a glass of water. Better yet, a cold beer. "There's a bit of a problem with that," he hedged.

Eiji wasn't put off. "Is he in Cape Cod, then?" he asked, clearly having already sorted out the possibilities. "Did his fatherwant to bury him there?" His voice was slightly mocking, and Max understood. Jim Callenreese was never father enough to Ash to have that right. "We can go," he explained. "I have brought money to travel."

Max shook his head. He wished it were that simple. "It's not that, Eiji," he said, looking to Shunichi for support. His friend only shrugged and offered a helpless expression. "His body – it's gone. It disappeared from the morgue the night he was killed."

It took a moment for the information to sink in. Shunichi's eyes widened. Eiji blinked. He looked like he was about to speak, but stopped. Max's heart thudded in his chest. It was hard for him to talk about Ash at all; trying to convince Eiji of a fact that they all wished was untrue seemed beyond him. "I told you not to come," he mumbled.

"Ei-chan," Shunichi began in a voice raspy with feeling. "Let's go to bed. Let's go home tomorrow and start dealing with –"

"No!" Eiji's voice was sharp. "Do you not understand what this means? A dead body can't walk away. Don't you see?"

Max shook his head. "Charlie believes that Alex or another of Ash's gang stole the body. Maybe they wanted a private burial or something – we don't know. There are a lot of explanations." For the briefest instant, Max had almost believed the same thing, but reality set in hard. He'd seen Ash's body; he knew that boy too well to be mistaken. And he knew dead. "There's no way," he said softly.

Eiji shook his head violently. "Why can't you understand?" he cried. "Why can no one understand? This is something I know. Ash is alive."

"Eiji." Shunichi stood up, his voice a warning.

"And he is waiting for me to find him," Eiji continued as though Ibé hadn't spoken. His voice cracked with desperation. "What kind of friend would I be if I give up on him now?"

It hurt. Almost as much as losing Ash, it hurt to see Eiji like this. His voice was filled with passion and conviction, but his body language told a different story. He was still curled up against himself; the ceramic mug in his hands shook with the force of his trembling. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and Max wondered if the boy had cried at all yet. It was as though his body had accepted what his mind refused.

Unable to do say anything else, Max slid across the couch. Eiji's thin, shaking body reminded him of Michael after a nightmare, and his instincts kicked in. With a swoop, he gathered Eiji up against his chest and held him there. "It's gonna be okay, Eiji," he said soft enough to be mumbling only to himself. "It feels like your life won't go on without him, but I know for a fact that it's not true. You can miss him. You can cry. Ash won't blame you for accepting the truth."

For a moment Eiji sagged against him. His breath was shallow and gasping as he fought against tears. Max hoped he'd lose that battle. He'd learned the hard way, years ago, that crying was the first step to dealing with that kind of loss.

Beyond Eiji's shoulder, Shunichi had tears sliding down his cheeks.

But Eiji was stubborn. Just when Max thought he was finally giving in to his grief, he snapped back. He struggled in Max's arms, somehow breaking free despite the older man's superior size and strength. "You are wrong!" He insisted.

Before either of them could react, Eiji dashed into the guest bedroom and slammed the door. The whole place shook.

"I guess that means I get the couch," Shunichi said blandly.

Max didn't expect, it, but a chuckle rose in his throat. "I'm sorry," he said, horrified with himself.

Shunichi shook his head. "It's fine," he said, smiling a little. He glanced at his watch. "Any minute now, he will be asleep. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, he will be more willing to be reasonable. We can go to Ash's gang, get them to talk with him."

"Asleep?" Sure, Eiji had dark circles beneath his eyes, but Max didn't imagine that sleep would come quickly after such a display. "He's a bit high strung for that, isn't he?"

Shunichi picked up Eiji's abandoned coffee mug. "I put sleeping pills in his coffee," he explained, a guilty grin on his face. "He needed to relax."

Max nodded. It was a good idea. He guessed that Eiji hadn't slept well since hearing the news. Exhaustion threw your perspective completely out of whack. Tomorrow, well rested, he might be willing to listen when Alex and the others explained it to him. Hell, the gang might be able to produce a body – or at least a burial site. Couldn't get more convincing than that.

It would be good for Max, too, to know where Ash was laid to rest. Or to know that he'd been cremated, his ashes scattered to the New York wind.

Because he wondered, sometimes.

He'd never admit it, but part of him wanted to disbelieve, just like Eiji. Part of him really wanted to think that Ash was outsmarting him. Outsmarting the whole damn world. But all he had to do was look at Eiji's pale, shaken face and realize it couldn't be true. Even if Ash decided to lie to the entire world, he'd make damn sure that Eiji was by his side when he did it.

"So how are you holding up?" Shunichi asked suddenly, his face serious.

Max shook his head. "Not so great," he admitted, sighing. "I feel like I lost my own kid. It's not natural for a kid like that to –" He couldn't finish. He wanted a cigarette, and he hadn't smoked for months. He settled for a drink, getting up and pouring a generous shot of Southern Comfort.

Shunichi nodded, taking a long drink of his coffee. "Except that it is. The way he lived, it's amazing it didn't happen sooner."

Staring blankly out the dark window, Max considered his friend's words. They were true, but somehow not. Ash Lynx, no matter how dangerously he lived, was not supposed to die. There was something untouchable about the kid. Something strong. The universe felt wrong without him. It made his head hurt. It made his whole damn body hurt. "Fuck," he whispered, dropping his head into one hand. "If I feel like this, I can't imagine how poor Eiji can take it."

Shunichi was up a moment later, clumsily pouring the bourbon whiskey into a tumbler. "I don't even want to think about it," he said tiredly. He studied the amber liquid for a moment, then lifted his glass. "To Ash Lynx," he offered.

At first Max was choked by his own emotions. He nodded, trying to speak. "Yeah," he managed at last. "To Ash."

They both drank.

---

Max was tipsy. Maybe just short of seriously drunk. He still didn't feel good, but the encroaching numbness was better than what came before. It was getting really late, and they had a lot to do the next day.

In the kitchen, Shunichi was prophetically laying out the ingredients for his sure-fire hangover remedy. "I'm not sure we'll manage to get it all together in the morning," he explained, setting the can opener on top of the can of tomato juice.

It was a good remedy. Max had the opportunity to try it on several occasions in the past, and while it didn't exactly cure a hangover, it sure took the edge off. He was already looking forward to sipping it alongside his dry English muffin the next morning. "Sorry the couch doesn't fold out," he apologized, unsteadily spreading a sheet over the sofa. There was a blanket and a pillow, too – not great accommodations, but clean.

His friend shrugged it off. "I'm gonna check on Eiji," he said, heading down the dark hallway.

He was gone for only a few seconds when Max heard a long string of loud Japanese coming from the guest room. He'd been around Shunichi enough to know that those weren't the nice words. Fear flickered through him, and he hurried to help.

The room was empty. More accurately, it still held a bed, a dresser, a nightstand with a lamp and a box of tissues, but what it didn't have was Eiji. The window was open – the curtains billowing with the too-cool night breeze. Shunichi was on the bed, his head in his hands like he was going to cry. "What the hell?" Max asked incredulously. He didn't expect an answer, of course, but he hadn't expected this, either. He looked out the window and down the rusted fire escape, as though looking for clues. But Eiji was long gone.

"He left a note," Shunichi said, holding up Eiji's return-trip plane ticket. On the back, the boy had scrawled a short missive: Looking for Ash. Don't bother following. Eiji. In tiny print he'd added: Your drugged coffee is in the ficus.

Max didn't know what to say; he didn't know what to think. His brain wasn't working well because of the alcohol. "Should we go look for him?" he asked.

Shunichi shook his head. "I'm done, Max," he said softly.

Incredulous, Max just stared at him.

"I'm serious," the Japanese man continued in a voice thickened by weariness and whiskey. "He's impossible. I know he's hurting, but this is too much. I can't handle him anymore." He stared at airline ticket. "I don't want to deal with this."

"Shunichi," Max soothed, sitting on the bed next to his friend. "You don't mean that. You're tired; you're sad; you've had too much to drink. You don't really want to give up on Eiji. Not really." Shunichi was dedicated to his young friend – Max knew that. He loved him like a little brother or the son he never had. He wouldn't just walk away from him.

The other man sighed. "A week ago I would've agreed with you," he confessed. "But even then, it was hard. Two years, Max! Two whole years of my life were spent indulging him – mostly wondering if he was okay and if there was any point in my staying in this country at all." He took a deep breath. Max noticed that his hands were shaking. In the darkness, he couldn't tell, but he wondered if his friend was crying. "He loved Ash. I get it. God help me, I understand. But there has to be a limit. There has to be an end to this madness."

Silence. Max didn't know what to say. He suspected that he'd have trouble with it even without the effects of the alcohol. Shunichi wasn't the type of guy who spoke from the heart very often. It felt too intimate to hear him now. "So you're leaving him?" he asked after a while, understanding but not quite accepting.

The other man only nodded.

Max closed his eyes. This was a disaster. He wished for the thousandth time that Ash was still alive. He longed to see that blond head and hear that sarcastic voice. What'chya cryin' about, Pops?

"I'll watch out for Eiji, then," he said resolutely. "I'm sure he'll come back here when he gives up."

Shunichi looked up at him, his eyes dry but rimmed with color. "Thanks," he whispered.

Shrugging, Max forced a weak smile. "Get some sleep," he urged, indicating toward the bed that was suddenly free. "We'll change your flight in the morning."

Max closed the door and went to his own lonely bedroom. He missed Jessica. He longed for Michael. He went to the window. Out there, somewhere in the dark night, Eiji was wandering alone, searching for a ghost.

It was enough to make Max want another drink.

Instead he dropped onto the bed and tugged the comforter over himself. It took him a long time to get to sleep, but once he did, he dreamed of driving to California with three rowdy boys in the back of his truck. Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine! He woke in the middle of the night, the heaviness in his chest magnified. Tears rolled down his cheeks as, inexplicably, he finally remembered the next line of the song. You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine.