It wasn't the same, not the same at all. The entire ordeal was declared taboo even to speak of it; the look in Max's eye said it all. But that didn't mean it wouldn't eat at him, from the inside out.
Little by little, he almost earned her father's trust back, over time; at least he liked to think so. It took a mountain of avoidance, and some civil, often monosyllabic conversations, but at least they could be in the same room, as long as she was there to keep her father at bay. Which, throughout the years, she had strangely become good at...
And eventually, she started asking for those favors again, inviting him to dinner, or a night at the pub, especially after a few extremely difficult cases they had liaised on... again, all Macy.
But he found that his heart wasn't in the same place it once was. Something was sitting on it, squeezing the passion for life out of him drop by drop. It wasn't an instantaneous thing, as such changes rarely, if ever, are. And, it wasn't like he could make everything right by hiding in a shell again, emerging later—free as he once had been. No, nothing was the same exactly... and little did anyone realize that his metamorphosis had yet to be complete.
He often found himself simply going through the motions, trying to remember what it was like before... to be around her without reservation, sans inhibitions. He struggled to recall a time when the smell of her hair, her hand across his back could send goose-bumps down his spine... in a good way. Sure, these days the goose-bumps and butterflies were still there, every time she touched him, whether it be intentional, or entirely by accident. But the looming disquiet ate at the pure genuineness of the feeling. He couldn't help it. The past haunted him.
Yes, he loved this woman, but she didn't really love him back, and probably never would. At least that's the best he could gather.
And she too, noticed the sparkle in his eye fade one night, when she asked if he'd like to dance off the horrors of the day. More often than not, he'd make up an excuse; pull away slightly, before she could bait him and reel him in. But that night he hadn't the heart for being cheered up. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to forget. He just sat there, expressionless, trying to make sense of his choices, his world.
Resorting to physically getting him off the bar stool, she led him to the dance floor... realizing that simply holding onto him seemed to make him relax. What she didn't notice however, was that the sparkle in his eye never fully returned.
He often felt like he was drowning in the past; never having really made the right decisions in his life. So he worked. He solved case after case without ever really resolving the one case that mattered most. Ironic, it seems.
But that night... that night would be forever etched into his memory...
Satisfied that she had made him feel at least a little better (it always worked, why wouldn't it tonight?), she let go. However, strangely he hadn't looked into her eyes and smiled like he used to. He whispered a curt "thanks" and headed back to the bar, contemplating in drowning himself in another shot of whatever the hell he'd been downing for the last hour.
He left her standing there... alone. And it took her a moment to follow him. She suddenly felt angry... as if he had cheated her out of something, like her own peace of mind. She just about reamed him one for acting so short, when he turned to her and asked, "Do you ever wonder that hypothetically, y-you took the road less traveled, beaten your own path... and it ended up biting you in the ass, was it worth it. The freedom? No. That's not w-what I w-wanted to say... I-I just. I wonder sometimes... if I should have stayed home, been all my parents wanted me to be... would it have all been better somehow?"
He was talking too deep for what she wanted to get into, and she really didn't have an answer.
So they sat. In relative silence... her hand over his.
What she didn't know was that he needed more than that. He needed her to tell him he was wrong... that he was a better person because of the choices he made. That he mattered to her, more than for simply some transient comfort after a rough day at the office.
He needed to know that his parents would have been proud of him... for taking the initiative to change his basic situation, and look for something that made him happy somewhere.
He had gotten the most disturbing call you can get when you're off on your own, and he couldn't tell her. God damn him, he couldn't tell her. So he pulled himself up, whispered a "g'night", and slipped away silently into the night, for not the first time.
She was left at a loss, and so figured she'd let him sleep it off and ask him to join her for breakfast in the morning. She never thought he would run.
Little did she know his reasons why...
He was gone, all of a sudden, and that's all she knew... which can eat at a girl to the point of resentment. She wasn't any different.
On the whim that he would have had the strength to ask her to accompany him, he had purchased two tickets earlier that same day. He now found himself returning one, and going about his way alone.
He took his seat inside the aluminum bird, requiring it for the wings he had once held in such a high state of regard. After all, they were once the very same wings that had allowed him to fly free in the first place.
As the perky raven haired flight attendant waved her arms about in mad gesticulation, he sat there, stoic. Why the hell did he care about the dual nature of the seat cushions? Hell, let the sea swallow me whole, he thought. But then again, the only water they'd be flying over were the Great Lakes... at least that's what he'd imagined, not knowing the particulars of flight paths and all.
The stewardess simply continued her spiel, making a seemingly solid effort to indicate the emergency exits and so forth to anyone who bothered to listen. He wasn't paying much attention... and he found his mind immediately went to the woman he left behind. He should have asked her to tag along... he should have said something... told her somehow. But what was he supposed to say? Um, I really need you to come with me, back home... to meet my parents before it's too late... the clincher is, they're dead. No, no. That wouldn't have worked... how about Hey, my parents died, I'm going home to bury them, care to keep me company? Hell, that wouldn't have gone over well either.
He didn't want to do this alone, but he couldn't have dragged her into it; even if she was the only one he wanted to be there... for him this time. Regardless, this was his burden to shoulder; he reminded himself that was strong enough. Besides, she didn't feel for him the way he felt for her. He knew that, deep down somewhere; they were simply friends, a little more strained in the past year, but still friends. That's all they'd ever be. She made that point loud and clear, more times than he could count. But he still loved her, so much so that it actually hurt. How sad is that?
Butterflies have minds of their own, always and forever. His mind simply didn't mesh with his heart.
As the airplane taxied, and readied for takeoff, he took in a few deep breaths in effort to calm his shot nerves, awaiting his wings to lift him into the vastness of the atmosphere once again. He had never really minded flying; it had always felt refreshing somehow. Liberating. But he couldn't get comfortable this time, not comfortable at all, and for good reason. He was headed home, to let go of his childhood... for good. Whether he was ready or not, he didn't have a choice.
An hour into his journey, an odd feeling suddenly washed over him. He had been sitting there aimlessly, when the spontaneous desire for the plane to fall to the earth in a flaming mass of metal reached his conscious mind. Looking around in alarmed discontent, he wondered that his thought wouldn't go unnoticed... as if each and every other passenger could read his mind somehow. Still slightly paranoid, he immediately felt guilty for thinking it in the first place. But that didn't stop him from nursing the sensation in the farthest recesses of what one may call the subconscious mind.
The weird part was, the more he tried to suppress this particular thought, the more he began to care less. Even as he looked to the small child across the isle trying religiously to simply form a bubble from his chewing gum, he couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted the whole lot to go down, himself included.
He shook his head, running his hands through his hair, not noticing the odd, yet genuinely concerned stares from the old woman seated directly to his left. He didn't even hear her, "Are you all right, son?" over the noise his torn and confused inner monologue had become.
He was a cop damn it; he was supposed to help people, not sit there wishing for their demise. He simply couldn't make sense of it... of life... of anything. He didn't even feel human.
Another few moments passed, and the old woman gave up her inquiry, brushing off what she took to be sheer rudeness on his part. It wasn't until the perky flight attendant with the raven hair came by and placed a slender hand upon his shoulder that he was jolted out of his internal melodrama. For a moment there, he saw her... but after a few blinks, he decided he was hallucinating again, and reminded himself that the stewardess was in fact, not her.
He graciously thanked her for a rather sparse package of peanuts, thinking that airlines were getting cheaper these days. He took another glance to his right, noting that the young boy had given up on his chewing gum adventure and was now happily munching on salty airline peanuts. He found solace in the thought, if only for a moment, that he was once quite similar to that boy himself—not a true care in the world.
He had been staring, and he hadn't gone unnoticed.
The child's eyes glistened slightly, in what can only be described as youth. He was eyeing the bag of peanuts...
Surprised that he'd been discovered, but owing it to the child's keen desire for more than five pieces of a salty snack, he then proceeded to give them to the kid across the isle, as if to repent for the sin of wishing for his death.
And as the eagle landed, he followed that little boy and his mom out into the world he had once considered home.
He scanned the lot for a familiar face, wondering how this could all seem so surreal. This wasn't happening; his parents weren't really just gone. It couldn't be; someone made a huge mistake.
But the look on his brother's face made it all dreadfully real.
