"Goodnight, sweetheart."
Max leans over to kiss his daughter and breathes in the sweet smell of her skin stirred with the relief of having her home with him. He's tempted to wrap himself around her as she drifts to sleep, as though that closeness could possibly prove to the world that he's fit to be her father. As though it could make up for the chaos of the past year and the ways he's failed as a single parent. As though there's anything he can do to change the minds of the two people trying to take her away.
He knows they lost their daughter, but it's not right to make him lose his, too.
Not for the first time, he worries about everything that could happen in the coming weeks and months, what kind of toll it will take on his family and his work at the hospital. The toll it will take on the fragile beginnings of anything else.
A knock at his front door startles him before he is swallowed by another wave of grief and fear, and he bends for one more kiss before he hurries to answer it. It's too late in the evening, he thinks, for it to have anything to do with the custody battle being waged by his in-laws, but he braces himself all the same.
"Helen, I—I wasn't—I," he stammers, shaking his head as he refocuses. "Sorry, I was—I just put Luna to bed and didn't realize you were coming over. Uh, come in. Please."
She hesitates in his doorway and it strikes him how small she is, how much more delicate she becomes away from the hospital. Her strength shines in her eyes, but there's an affection they haven't quite named, and it keeps her still for a few seconds longer than he'd like.
As he steps aside to let her in, she smiles apologetically. "I know I should have called first, but I wasn't sure whether you would want—wait, did you say Luna's here? You were able to get her back?"
He nods in response to her wide-eyed question. "I was. Thanks to you."
They're silent for another moment and she doesn't pretend not to know what he's talking about, barely glancing downward before she meets his gaze again. Max knows she has more to say and takes the chance to press his palm to the middle of her back as he guides her toward the sofa. She turns to sit and offers him a shy smile when he settles next to her.
"So, the attorney was able to help?"
"Cassian's attorney?" he smirks, any annoyance in his question easily smothered by his gratitude. "Yes, Cassian's attorney was able to help."
A crease appears between her brows, a beautiful line he wants to erase with his fingertip or a kiss; it signals her uncertainty and he's ready to smooth it away. Whatever is happening between them, he's tired of the near-misses and it's only his concern for his daughter that slows him now. He nods for her to explain how she'd managed to secure him a family attorney only hours after Georgia's parents had called and broken his heart.
"When I was trying to get to Iran to see my brother, Cassian had an immigration attorney for me within seconds. And I know you're not his biggest fan, but I thought there was a chance he might know someone for you, too." She takes a shaky breath and shrugs. "I guess he did."
"And I'm incredibly grateful for that. For you—for both of you. And I'm sorry for whatever awkwardness I inadvertently caused there. I mean, I was prepared to call every damn lawyer in New York and beg for a way to bring my daughter back home to me, and suddenly my phone was ringing instead. Honestly, the only reason for me not to like Cassian was—" He doesn't finish the sentence, but it doesn't matter. "Anyway, I still have a big legal fight ahead, but at least Luna's with me for now. I'll work on cleaning up the apartment, buying more groceries, and asking for some character references in preparation for whatever comes next."
Helen can't hide her smile as she glances around the apartment. "Well, I don't know how much help I would be with cleaning and food shopping, but I'm actually here because of the character references."
"Do I need to grab a pen for you?" he laughs. "Again, I'm grateful, but do you really want me staring at you while you prepare a dissertation on my most admirable qualities?"
"Careful, Max. I would hate to leave before giving you this." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper, handing it to him before he can start asking questions. "It's the password to a cloud file with your character reference letters, plus a list of the people who have responded so far. I'm working on getting more, but I wanted you to know how many people are ready to help you."
He scans the page to find the names of several of his colleagues, a few members of the Board, past patients, and the families of some he's lost. "I don't understand—there's just so many. It's only been a day."
"They love you."
His eyes catch hers before he can help himself, but another name draws his attention back to the paper in front of him.
"Alice? How did you find her? How did you even know who she was?"
"Sometimes people pay closer attention than you'd expect. And if you think my conversation with Cassian was awkward—" She stops herself and takes a deep breath. "Alice was incredibly kind and had nothing but wonderful things to say about you. I thought it might be a good idea to reach someone outside of the hospital, and what judge could possibly argue with the praise of an ex-girlfriend?"
"I'm not sure 'ex-girlfriend' would be the best way to describe her," he countered.
Helen's eyebrows arched sharply. "Well, I'm not sure I'm prepared for a more detailed explanation. I'm just glad to have accomplished something today. I felt so helpless after you left."
He shifts immediately, her words unfathomable. "Helpless? Are you kidding me? You've done nothing but help me for a very, very long time. You've always been the most—I tried to tell you last night, but—"
No more words find a way out, the letters tangled on the tip of his tongue, so he turns toward her with a frustrated sigh and carefully brings his fingers to her neck, just as he had the night before in his hospital room. He pauses to feel the way both doubt and hope flutter in her throat before he traces careful lines to her heart, then settles there and waits for her to join him. He wants her hand pressed to his again, keeping him close even when he has no intention of going anywhere at all.
She does just as he wishes, but only for a moment.
Max hasn't looked away from the darkness of her eyes – he has no desire to and probably couldn't if he tried – so he catches the second her gaze finds his own throat. It's no surprise when she touches him there, but he feels stripped bare by the reminder of his illness, everything he could have lost and everything he did. The tenderness is too much, but she knows almost everything, and he gives her the time to learn even more. Her fingertips trail along his skin as he swallows more lost words, and when her hand finally rests against his heart, no secrets remain.
There are no phone calls interrupting them tonight, nothing to stop their bodies from falling forward until their foreheads touch, and they share one last shaky breath. He thinks he hears her start to say his name, but he catches it with his mouth open against hers. The kiss has been inevitable for a while now and there's some relief in no longer wondering about the when or where, celebrating the how instead.
How warm she is, both where his hand still lingers and where his tongue begins to move.
How a subtle hum seems to connect them, even when he doesn't know who made the sound first.
How they pause just long enough to look at each other, anchoring themselves before connecting again.
How easy it is to lift her into his lap, now that being next to her is too far away.
This thing between them won't go much further tonight, but he needs her embrace; tentative fingers reaching for something new aren't enough anymore. She straddles him gently, even as their hands have become anything but, all too aware that she'll eventually pull away. Each minute brings a deeper kiss, a tighter grip, and a quiet moan that betrays them both.
He wishes he could remember more of the day before, and everything that had happened in that decon shower. He wants to carry some of that weight for her, to shoulder the heaviness of the pleas she must have made. To feel the way the water had coursed over their bodies while poison and adrenaline streamed within. Someday he'll ask her for all the details, terror and intimacy intertwined and completely out of his reach. For now, he'll stay focused on the renewed sharpness of his senses, the wonder of what he sees, feels, and tastes.
When they finally slow, it's together, their rhythm undeniable. Max cradles the side of her head in his hand and she finds his heartbeat once more.
"How many more times are you going to save me?" he whispers.
She tilts her head and see all the answers in his eyes – every fear, every dream – but asks him anyway. "What do you mean?"
"My cancer, a toxic chemical spill, custody of my daughter."
"It's a lot," she agrees.
"And I think my fight for Luna is going to get worse before it gets better."
"It will."
"But you're still here," he says, his voice tinted with awe and uncertainty, and he repeats his question. "How many more times are you going to save me?"
She shakes her head and carries the slightest smile forward until she's kissing him again, barely able to press her words against his lips.
"As many as it takes."
A/N: This is my first New Amsterdam fic (and my first of anything in quite some time). I've been tempted for a while and finally caved after 3x12.