A/N: Has ties to Act I, Scene IV of this story... It's what gives it it's meaning :) Hope you all figure it out ;)

Part Twenty-One

Max slammed the screen of his laptop down with a little too much gusto but he was up on his feet and moving across the room to his cupboard in search of his sneakers before he even thought about it. He jammed his feet into his sneakers and quickly tied a double knot, grabbing his sweatshirt on the way out the door. He didn't even bother warming up and set off down the street at a pace that was much too fast.

An e-card. A fucking e-card.

Who the fuck sends e-cards?

And a jingly one at that. Not even a cute one. Not a sentimental one. No, no. One that jingled and would have been as well coming from one of the receptionists at the University rather than someone who was supposed to have been his best friend for the best part of two decades. Fucker. Who the fuck did she think she was? At least he'd had the decency to write her a proper Christmas card, with little kisses under his name and everything. And what did he get for his trouble? A fucking electronic, jingling card, signed 'Liz' that was so impersonal it had been sent to his fucking junk mail folder.

Fucking e-cards.

It was only when he put his hand in his pocket to press play on his iPod that Max realised he hadn't brought it, and then a further ten seconds to realise that it was absolutely pouring with rain and given how far he was from his home, he had been out in it for a good twenty minutes. He was surprised that rain was even landing on him rather than evaporating given how hot his face probably was from his anger.

He slowed to a stop outside of a building that could maybe be a library, possibly a museum and sank down onto the steps outside the main door. He was already soaked; there was no need to try and keep dry now. He swiped the soaked bangs from his forehead and cradled his head in his hands for a few minutes as he regulated his breathing.

He was annoyed. That was a given. He'd been on the verge of deleting his junk box without even looking but something had told him he had better check just in case. He almost wished he hadn't because then he wouldn't have known that she'd sent that hideous, impersonal message to him and he'd have been spared the cold he was no doubt going to get from his almost midnight run. He just... couldn't believe it. He'd decided to be the bigger person and send her a card the week before. He hadn't expected anything in return; he just wanted to let her know that he'd been thinking about her and that he still cared about her, despite everything that went down.

And she had pretty much just thrown it back in his face with her ridiculous e-card-of-nothingness. He was sure that, despite everything, he still meant something to her. Even a tiny thing. Even if it was just a shared past and not a present or future. But, apparently he'd been wrong. Or rather, he'd been right in guessing that she hadn't felt the same way he had about her.

A fucking e-card.

Abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous.

He shook his head and rose.

He'd did his part. She had said her piece. Maybe he could finally let it – let her – go.

--

"An e-card, Michael! A fucking e-card! I mean, who the hell actually sends those? Is that all I mean to her? A quick glance through Hallmark for the tackiest piece of tack she can find? I mean... Fuck!"

Michael sighed on the other end of the line and Max dropped back into his recliner.

"I don't see what the big deal is. At least she sent you something; she could have just ignored you completely."

Max sighed.

"I think I might have preferred that."

Michael chuckled darkly and Max closed his eyes, scrubbing his hand down his face as he stared out at the dawn.

"You're a sick fuck, Maxwell." Max didn't respond. "But I think you know that already."

"Whatever, Michael."

"Look... Liz obviously has her reasons. But to me, the most obvious one is that she doesn't have your address."

Max let out an incredulous laugh at that.

"Really Michael? That's the best you could come up with?" He didn't wait for a response. "I sent her a card, Michael."

"Yeah, with no return address."

Max paused.

Oh. Yeah. Right. He hadn't added his address to any of the cards he'd sent out, mainly because everyone knew his return address. Well, almost everyone.

"Yeah," Michael drawled and Max growled. "Look, I get that maybe an e-card wasn't the best idea but she's just as stubborn as you are and since you haven't given any indication that you want her to contact you, I think it's pretty fucking miraculous that she sent you anything at all."

"But an e-card, Michael?"

There was a long silence and Max could imagine Michael lifting his eyebrow as he glared at Max. Max huffed.

"Was it at least funny?"

Max tried to remember. He hadn't really thought about it, too pissed off to even acknowledge much about it other than its impersonal nature and tacky design. He winced and sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't know." Michael snorted. "Shut up, Michael," he grumbled and hung up amidst Michael's raucous laughter. He dropped his phone onto the sofa beside him and looked over at his laptop on the desk in the corner. After a moment of thought, he was over at it, powering it up. As he waited, he tapped idly on the keys, rubbing marks off the screen. Typing in his password, the screen opened up as he had left it. He took a breath, his finger hovering over the scroll button. Would it be funny? Did he want it to be? He sighed and pressed down, scrolling back up to the top of the screen and pressed the 'Play' button in the corner. The video box opened and he choked out a laugh at the jiggling Christmas tree on display in front of him.

He watched for almost a full minute as the tree danced around the screen, jingling Christmas tunes to him. At least it was funny.

He was about to click the "X" to close the window when the screen changed again and his heart skipped... quite a few beats. The smile that spread across his lips kick started his heart and he let out a strangled laugh and stared at the screen for a few more minutes before closing it down.

"To my husband, at Christmas."