Camp Baron Omg ribs

Outfit

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Just like last time, she’d set the table. Unlike last time, she’d remembered about drinks. Beers for both of them. Maxine was being a pain of a presence in the background, wandering around the living area until she stopped by the window and looked at his view of the street.

”Do all the houses on this street have a million rooms too?” she mused aloud. Not trying to judge. She just... wondered.

One arm was crossed, the other holding her beer as she sipped it.

The pretense of this dinner was anything but casual, but he was determined to make it as much. This was normal. Just him and Maxine, hanging out as they always did. They just both knew there was some amount of awkward conversation ahead of them. But, it would only be awkward if they let it be. They were both adults, who knew how they felt about things. Or, at least, knew how to use language to communicate complex feelings. Because as much as he didn't want it to be, it felt complex to him. Maybe it didn't have to be. Hence why it was best that they were going to try and discuss it.

Anyway! Ribs! Omg! He didn't mind Maxine roaming, finding it better than her hovering as he cooked. Not that he didn't appreciate her company, but she didn't have to feel like she had to help. Which he was glad she didn't. Anyway! The question had him glancing over to her. A million rooms? "I think so?" He answered, having never thought of that. "Is three rooms a lot?... Plus a basement?" He grimaced sheepishly. Okay. Well, maybe that was a lot of space for one person. But he also bought this house with the Sleuth in mind. In case anyone needed to crash or something. He didn't like making people sleep on the couch. Eh. At least it wasn't two, since the fourth bed was an office.

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so i don't forget

Yes? That was the definition of a family home? Maxine kept her back turned for another moment, affording herself the opportunity to look confused without him seeing it.

”I mean... for me it is,” she offered up gently, turning back around. ”What was your place in Ouray like? I’ve seen photos.” Not of his dad’s house- ”Of Ouray. Apparently it’s the Switzerland of America.”

It was for her. Hello, priveledge alert. Shut up, Cliff.

She'd seen pictures of- oh. Ouray. He huffed softly at the description. "Ah, it was a big cabin like thing. He admitted, glancing back over his shoulder. "Built in the eighties, so it was pretty ugly inside." Weren't most people around his age's childhood homes built in the eighties and ugly inside? He felt like that was sort of universal, no matter the size. "Even when it was all four of us, it was a lot of space." He guessed he just... inherited the habit? Was it a habit or just privilege? Yikes.

Four of them? Right. Maxine remembered something about a sister.

”Sounds like bad interior, not an ugly build,” she laughed, huffy and in good, easy, spirits. Maxine slid onto the barstool with one leg. Then the other. ”You’ve decorated this place nice, though. But my place is better. Not that you’d know.” She clicked her tongue, grinning on just one side.

"True enough." His parents had decorated when they moved in, then never again. Whatever his mother left, his dad kept. Sure, he'd filled the big empty spaces, but even those items were of questionable taste. Apparently, he had a better eye for decorating. It all felt pretty basic to him, but he did try and not live up to the stereotype that single men would be complacent with a folding chair and a ping pong table as home decor.

Apparently, though, he had nothing on her own place. "Yeah, cause you haven't invited me over yet, madame." He countered with a roll of his eyes before he glanced back to the food. He was making sides on the stovetop, green beans and macaroni nearly done. The ribs were finished, just sitting in the oven to stay warm.

Shaky topic. She felt anxiety choke at her just... a little everywhere. Cliff rolled his eyes though, which was enough to keep her smile in place.

”I haven’t wanted to bother you,” Maxine confessed, placing the beer between her hands. She drummed her nails lightly against it.

She what? He looked to her again, actually kind of confused! Since when did asking to spend time with him ever make her feel like she was being a bother? There was impulse to snort, make some sarcastic joke about how asking your best friend to hang out was the most bothersome thing you could ever do. But, he thought better of it.

Didn't want to make her feel stupid for feeling a certain way. Plus, he actually wanted to know the answer to this question, "What makes you think it'd bother me?" Posed casually, not incredulously or defensively. As conversational as he could be about it.

”I don’t know!” she sort’ve exclaimed, but it was casual, too! Sure! Maxine bounced her leg some. ”That’s the thing. I don’t even know what we’d do. We used to be sort’ve obsessed with each other.”

Company-wise. And... they’d both done a whole lot of individual growing since then.

”That made things simpler.”

She didn't know! Didn't even know what they would do. Did they have to really do anything? Other than just... be in each other's company? Maybe that was boring, but that never sounded like a bad time to him. But, they'd also once been obsessed with each other. He laughed at that as he took the macaroni from the stove and moved toward the sink, where the strainer was waiting. It sloshed wetly into the metal as he thought briefly over that.

Obsessed was a strong word, but it wasn't too far off. They just spent a lot of time together. Mostly, because they were the only sane ones in Graupel. But of course, it went beyond that. They'd been pretty close even before Levka came along. Lee'd been close, too, but not entirely the same way. Still, he guessed he could see where she was coming from. They'd been a lot closer then, before time and life had changed things. Now, she wasn't sure if things would be as easy.

He turned the faucet on over the steaming noodles as he nodded, "Guess you're right. But I don't think it'd be a bother for me. I still like you just as much, you know." Surprise, Maxine, two years hadn't done that much damage to their friendship. At least not to him. Maybe he'd grown unlikable. Just some old saggy King now.

What he said didn’t really reassure. Mostly because Maxine didn’t need it. She just needed to grow used to things being different this time around. This wasn’t the same suffocating environment they’d once been in. No wonder things were different.

Maybe the next time they properly saw each other it’d be Christmas.

”Sure,” she replied sarcastically, huffing through it with a smile. Another sip. ”Alright.”

Maxine glanced in the direction of the front door, thinking about everything and anything else as she let the beer linger for a moment.

Well, he'd thought maybe they would get finished with dinner before stepping right into it. But that response sat wrong with him, so he turned to look at her fully, letting the pasta cool for a moment as the green beans sizzled on. "Whad'you mean 'sure, alright.'?" He questioned, palms against the edge of the counter behind him. "What's convinced you otherwise?"

Oh my gosh. Maxine hadn’t meant much by that. She wanted to throw her head back and groan freely in his presence. Preferably until the roof of his house came off, because she’d clearly misstepped.

But he looked serious, there, with his hands on the kitchen counter and expecting an answer. She calmed her leg.

”I don’t know. Sorry. Nothing’s convinced me otherwise.” She paused. ”Sure, alright, just means... sure, alright.”

They'd already established that they were awful at talking about anything that wasn't just... stupid shit. But it also felt like both of them were making it harder for themselves here. She was claiming she didn't know, she hadn't been convinced otherwise, and the sarcasm in her response was nothing. But it just. Was something.

"Okay." Cliff ehxaled, nodding softly as he turned around again to pull the strainer up from the sink, and dump the pasta back into the pot. He moved it back to the burner, set it on a lower temperature, and grabbed for the small bowl of half a block of velveeta. "I think I fucked up a bit." He admitted. Wasn't really the way he thought he'd go, but here he was. "When you came back, I think I did the opposite of what I wanted to do." In went the cheese, and he reached for a wooden spoon to help in mixing it all together.

Maxine found herself increasingly nervous around his questioning. She wasn’t sure if it came naturally from the shift in power dynamic. He was so strong, now, whereas she’d always been the strong one. Talked his bear down that day he’d broken his porch.

She liked to think that was why she was nervous, anyway.

Anyway.

She couldn’t even begin to guess what he’d wanted to do, so Maxine just hummed in question. ”Mmm?” Or something like that.

Yeah.

"Well, like." He said, poking the cheese further into the depths of the macaroni, "You coming back here, I wanted you to feel at home, you know?" He glanced to her, but he couldn't linger long. "Just. Comfortable. But I didn't want to come off too strong." He shrugged. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. But be it King sense or just being in the same fucking room as her, he could tell she wasn't comfortable.

"So, I think I made it seem... I don't know." He didn't know any more than you did, Maxine! "Different. Like, our dynamic... or, friendship. Just too distant." And the worst part was, he wasn't even sure if he'd done the exact opposite. Maybe he had come off too strong. And that was the problem. There was no denying that the wavelength they'd been riding on together two years ago had changed. It was harder to read her now. But he didn't think that wasn't something that could be fixed. He could find the wavelength again. If she wanted him to.

Couldn’t... argue with that. He’d been distant, that was true. Mixed signals, too. Almost dying and then stroking her hair and then telling her to leave was... something!!

But Maxine was no better, either.

”Can I tell you something,” she didn’t really ask, eyes dropping to the counter. She wiped a hand over it as if to get rid of any crumbs that might’ve been there, even if there were none.

Telling him something was better than just saying she didn't now. So he looked to her as he set the pot of cheesy pasta onto a cool burner, and reached to turn the one the beans were sitting on off. "Course you can." He assured with a nod. Not really... know what to make of the response.

Alright.

”I um. I came back here for you. Not- Not like that, or anything. But that phone call. And.” She let her palm rest flat on the counter, angling her head as she stared at it. Tried to make sense of her thoughts.

She knew what her thoughts were, really. It was expressing them that was the issue.

”My point is if you weren’t here, or. I don’t know. If you’d moved on, or if you hadn’t wanted me back, then I would’ve gone somewhere else.” Which maybe wasn’t as comforting as telling him she would’ve stayed put, but it was the truth. So was the fact that: ”I wouldn’t... you know. Be here.”

Which for the record, wasn’t a confession of anything other than that she cared for him. So. Right.

Maxine chanced a glance at his face.

That was... well. It was something he'd easily talked himself out of assuming. Why would he assume that she would come back just for him? Yeah, they'd been close. Very close. And it was clear they'd both cared a lot about one another. But... well, maybe it was just him being humble. And not exactly thinking he was anything worth moving to another state to be around. But here she was, saying that that was the case. That if he'd turned her down bout coming back around, or had moved on somewhere else after she left... she wouldn't have come back here. Wherever she'd have gone, it wasn't here.

She'd come back for him, but not like that, or anything. He couldn't decide how to take that. Couldn't decide how he felt. He didn't expect her to have come back to fall at his feet or anything. That was fine. It made sense, still. She wanted out of Kansas, where time stood still. And where better to go than somewhere where you knew you'd have a friend? And how'd he repay her? By holding her at arm's length with the intentions of making her feel comfortable? Stupid.

He met her eye as she looked at him, nodding. "I'm sorry if I made it feel like... I don't know. Made it feel like you came back for nothing." He didn't know if he'd actually done that, but it felt like he had. "Can... I tell you something?"

He hadn’t. That wasn’t how she felt. He had no obligation even when it came to being her friend, really. She’d walked out on him in the worst way possible. Under some pretence that it was temporary, that she’d come back. Which was what she’d thought would happen, it just hadn’t panned out that way.

Maxine didn’t say or correct any of those things, because he’d let her say her piece without interrupting. Only right to do the same back.

”’Course,” she nodded, brows softly furrowed as she looked at him.

Heavy conversation before dinner. But they were in too deep now, he guessed.

"Part of it, I think... Hm." He paused to grasp for words, feeling stupid for not having them. He wasn't bad with words. He was usually a good problem solver. But for stuff like this. It was peeling at scabs. His brows stitched slightly in the middle. "I cared... well, I care a lot about you." Duh. Yes. They'd established that. "But back then, there was more to it than that. Or, I could see there being more to it, if you wanted that."

Pitiful, that he couldn't find better words for it. But what could you say about it when commitment was such a daunting thing? When you'd both agreed that something more wasn't entirely the goal, but feelings were betraying that agreement all the while? It was something he should have told her before she ever left. A discussion that should have been had after they left the Sleuth together. Some part of him had wanted it to be easy, and be some kind of unspoken thing. But, well.

He carried on with, "I think the thing is I didn't expect it to feel so fresh when you came back." It hadn't really ever gone anywhere.

Had there been more to it back then for her? Maxine wasn’t sure. Even if there had been, she’d been an utterly loose cannon. Emotional, with a head that was screwed on the wrong way. Sometimes when she let herself look back on things, she felt like she’d taken advantage of Cliff. Of his generosity, his kindness, how grounded he was. And she’d just walked in and turned all of that—forgive her—to shit for him.

Because the Maxine that’d lived up in Graupel Canyon hadn’t been right for anyone. In any capacity. She’d been awful to Levka too, even if he deserved it.

Guilt came in hot and heavy at her neck. Mostly because here he was, standing and saying he used to have clear feelings for her? Or? Maybe? Confusing in and of itself, because he’d never...

”I don’t really know what you mean by fresh,” she sort’ve apologised, still frowning. ”Is that... negative?”

She was close enough in proximity that he could have sworn he could feel the wave of emotion coming off of her. King things, right? Some tug within himself that was telling him one of his bears was in distress. Or maybe it was just because he knew her, and Smokey knew her. The bear in him urged to grab her, squeeze her, do something. But he kept himself planted there. She questioned what he meant, and he wasn't even sure.

"It's not bad, no." He could answer for sure. One hand moved to rub idly at the back of his neck, careful of the scabbed wounds at the side of it. "It just... somethings didn't fade. Not as much as I thought they would. It was a weird time, really emotional, but..." He shrugged. What was he saying. He wasn't confessing his undying love for her, or anything. Just trying to explain that things had so easily picked right back up where they'd left off. And that was alarming to him. And precarious because, "I don't want- I guess I just don't want to ruin anything. I don't want you to leave again. So I don't want to overwhelm you, or make you feel like... I don't know. Anything is expected of you except you being happy. None of it's your fault." Had to make that clear, but he shut up after that. Let her talk. It was a conversation, not a fucking monologue.

Everything felt hot, and Maxine still didn’t know what he was saying, really. Something hadn’t faded. But, what?

”You don’t- You don’t need to do that,” she found herself saying. ”I’m not breakable. I just.” Maxine shook her head, because that was so, wholly, rude of her to claim when she’d never proven otherwise to him.

What the hell could she say, then?

Maxine put her elbows on the counter, hands locked with both fingers to her lips. Just stared at him, dumbfounded. Her gaze was heavy. Conflicted.

Her gaze was sorry. So. So. Sorry.

”All of it’s my fault, you know. It’s not yours.”

He hadn’t meant it that way. He knew she wasn’t breakable. She wasn’t some delicate little flower petal he could crush if he held it too hard. But she was a human being; or human adjacent; with real emotions. She was entitled to feel overwhelmed. It wasn’t an intrusion on her part.

So that’s what was frustrating. That no matter what, she was so willing to take the blame for everything. For the sleuth, for leaving it, for leaving him. Or leaving... yeah. Leaving him.

Did she think she was at fault for life just... happening?

His tongue clicked lightly as he exhaled, head shaking as he finally moved. Just closer to the island, keeping it between them, but leaning a bit closer. A hand came out imploringly, but he half expected her to pull away. He wouldn’t be upset if she did.

”How? I don’t understand how you could be at fault for everything.” His head shook subconsciously. ”You can’t be responsible for things just happening. Sometimes that’s all they do. They just happen.” She didn’t make them happen. Some things weren’t anyone’s fault.

Could he just, for once in his life, let her take the blame?

Heat turned to frustration at how stupidly blind he could be when he wanted to be. ”Gosh,” she cried, without the crying part. Maxine did pull the hand away, utterly incapable of maintaining any tender moment he’d set out for. That was her fault, too. Because look at her. ”Don’t you get it? The reason Levka hates you is me. The reason he gives you hell is me. Lee’s car accident was on me. The reason you stuck it out up there or didn’t was me. The reason you went to Lauderhill was me.”

The only good thing Maxine had ever done was not roping him into that murder.

She was pleading with him here, really, speaking fast. ”Then I left you. Like... wh-why can’t you see any of that? I wasn’t even here and Locke and Emmett and Nat suffer anyway, because if they step foot in Graupel, Levka’s going to give them hell and that’s because of what I started up there.” She took a breath, face one enormous, emphatic, frown. ”And poor fucking Espy is stuck between it all.”

The conversation’s compass had broken, whirling.

He didn’t interrupt or jump through a window because he respected her, Anna.

He listened to her piece, no matter the fact that she was immediately just so wrong. How on earth was it her fault that Levka hated him? That Lee had been upset at both of them, and gotten himself into a crash? She was willing to take the blame for all of the problems they’d had in Graupel.

She wasn’t wrong on one thing. He knew he wouldn’t have left without her, and he knew he wouldn’t have stayed without her. But the way she understood that fact was twisted. How could she think he resented that fact? What had he ever done to make it seem to her that wanting to be with her; the one person he’d ever truly cared that much about; was somehow a bad thing? Why was she guilty for him loving her? Loving, even if it wasn’t in the romantic, story book way. He loved her as a friend, as a person, as someone he trusted entirely.

His head shook lightly as he brought Espy up. That one was no ones fault but Levka. He was a poison that Espy had been too kind to decline when offered a sip of it. And Levka hated both him and Maxine because they had.

He was quiet when he spoke again, imploring but hurt, “How can you take responsibility for anything that piece of shit has ever done?” He questioned. “All you or I have ever done is refuse to let him play dictator. And that’s why he hates both of us.” Forever, the first meeting would stick with him. How did they not see it to begin with? How had he not been smart enough to call it right then and there?

“But that’s on me as much as you. You never forced me into anything. I chose everything as much as you did.” Just like she wasn’t breakable, he wasn’t brainless. He didn’t blindly follow anyone. That’s how they got into this. He hadn’t been willing to shut his eyes and let Levka lead the way.

“I followed you, yeah. I made the decision because you did. But that wasn't you forcing me. I did it because I knew it was best for me." How did that turn into everything bad being her fault?

He was quiet. And hurt. She didn’t think to remedy it, even as the bear urged her feet otherwise.

“Because him being a piece of shit doesn’t make me flawless, Cliff!” exasperated and at her wits’ end, she raised her voice. Maxine was at a loss of how else to drive that point across to him. “And it doesn’t change the fact that all those things happened because of me. That if I hadn’t made a scene before we left, Lee never would’ve gotten into that goddamn car!” Look, evidence. She had it for each point she’d just said.

Each. Point. Because she knew what she was talking about. But what she didn’t know was what she was hoping to subconsciously achieve by arguing this through with him for a second time. Maybe it was about how far she could push him. Maybe she was making sure he didn’t have any reason to feel anything freshly.

Gosh. Freshly, he’d said. She still didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean. She wanted him to spell it out. Show her. But take it all back at the same time.

Maxine glanced at the food behind Cliff. Ruining dinner, because she couldn’t not be reactive. Congratulations. She wasn’t even discouraged, but her voice did lower.

“It wasn’t the best for you. And I never said I forced you,” she exhaled slowly, finishing her beer and moving around the island so she could throw it out. “But if you can’t see how I’m to blame for any of that then-“ Maxine pointed between them, face set. “This.” Them. ”It’ll never make any sense.”

The bear was restless and the woman sick to her stomach for having just said that. It was a horrible, hurtful, thing to tell him. But it was also true. In the big picture, it was true. And if Cliff couldn’t look back on hindsight with twenty-twenty vision, she needed to in order to save him a god forsaken repeat of Graupel.

Maxine opened the trash and threw the beer away.

When had he said that she was without fault? No one was. He'd just said that whatever had happened, whatever had caused Levka to be so awful, whatever had caused Lee to be so reactive, it wasn't just on her. She wanted to take the blame for all of it, but where was that fair to her?

Some things couldn't be fair, he knew that, but this wasn't a matter of just her poor decisions creating a domino affect. He'd fucked up plenty. He'd fucked up the cafe in the first place. He'd agreed to something to keep Levka off their case, and it ended up being the breaking point to what Maxine could deal with.

So yeah, maybe she did make a scene. Maybe it had gone absolutely out of control. But it wasn't just her. His mind was blown by how she couldn't see that. He watched her as she moved, his chest hammering, frustration seeping in to flush his cheeks and lift his shoulders.

She claimed that leaving wasnt' the best for him. His head shook at that, but slowed as she approached her point. If he didn't let her take the blame for any of it, then... what? He didn't entirely know. This would never make any sense. Whatever This was. Them.

Yeah. That did hurt. Because it felt like not only whatever feelings he'd had for her were at stake. Their friendship, what they'd had before, that was at stake. So. Just. He needed to make it make sense. Take a fucking second and work it out. He wasn't letting it slip.

"Maxine, I'm not saying you're flawless." He countered, an edge to his voice where there hadn't been before. Hard to keep the calm. "I know there were choices you made you regret now, and have shitty results because of them." He sure as fuck had his own.

"Maybe if we'd stopped to talk it out, things wouldn't have ended the way they did in Graupel. Maybe Lee wouldn't have felt like he needed to go driving after us." A stupid fucking choice on his part, and no one else's.

"It was messy, all of it. You made impulse decisions based on the things you were being put through. So you're not blameless, but you're also not the only one to blame." DID THAT MAKE SENSE HE DIDN'T KNOW!!!

He wasn’t saying she was flawless, but he sure was acting it. Had there been a single moment where he’d ever been critical of her? No. Not one. Not even that day when she’d put him through grief all night only to show up on his back porch in the morning with a smile and a: “surprise! I’m not dead!”

”I don’t understand,” Maxine turned back on him, hand on the counter. She was frustrated. Confused. Her head felt full as she tried to sift through the crumbled remnants of logic she had left in her. ”Why’re you justifying my choices still? Why? That’s not your job.”

She stood there, other hand on her hip. However flushed his face was, so was hers.

”I’m not flawless... dadadadada... but I have this reason and that reason to explain myself. I don’t. I don’t have a reason. I acted like an out of control kid up there just because I couldn’t take no for an answer. I could’ve left cleanly. Apparently I had no problem doing that when I did it to you.”

Her breaths were shallow.

If it wasn't his job, then what was his job? To just stand by and watch her tear herself down? Let her be guilty forever?

Maybe she'd overracted, maybe things had been knee-jerk and messy, maybe things had ended as badly as they could have. But what good was there in refusing to forgive herself? She'd already fought him on forgiving her. He'd never fucking questioned it. He forgave her as soon as they got to Lauderhill. Because he knew she was just the product of what was placed before her. She hadn't been prepared to have to deal with any of it.

But whatever justifications he had for it, she didn't have them for herself. She was ashamed of how she'd acted, and what it caused, damning the circumstance around it. He didn't think much would have been different wether the break was clean or not. Levka would still be Levka. And Cliff would still have followed her out. He'd wanted to when she left him, but he knew that even that was crazy.

He inhaled heavily, and moved toward her. Not trying to rush her or anything, in some ways like approaching a startled animal, "Okay." He said with an exhaled, "Alright. Then what is my job? What- I don't know. What do you think I should be doing? Resenting you? Constantly reminding you of bad decisions? I don't... I don't think I can do that, Max." He really just. Fucking couldn't. No matter what she'd done, how she'd reacted, he couldn't hate her. There was no way that's what she wanted from him. She'd said herself she came back for him. That she wouldn't be back here without him. So why was she asking him to chase her right back out?

He was so, utterly, frustrating. In the worst way.

In the way where she couldn’t really find it within herself to be genuinely frustrated with whatever this tactic of his was. “Max.” Or whatever. Only frustrated by the knowledge of it. The undercurrent.

She worried her lip, eyes shining with the threat of tears. An incredibly weak hand tried to punch his chest. ”I don’t know. Tell me what you felt when I left you. When I hurt you. When you realised I wasn’t coming back,” she somehow managed to request, searching his face.

Those were tears. Or almost tears. God, how could he have fucked up this bad by not being mean enough to her? He'd been so worried about making her so comfortable and happy and just-

The punch wasn't expected, and he moved a hand instinctively to grip her by the wrist. The bear in him bristled, Smokey aware that this wasn't play, but it wasn't a challenge either. This was complex, human emotions. Things were much simpler as a bear, you see. So that part of his brain kindly checked out. She was demanding that he tell her how he felt when she left. For what? To hear how she'd hurt him? To feel more guilty? Of course he'd been upset, even angry, but what good was there in letting her know that?

But what choice did he have otherwise?

He didn't let go of the wrist, unless she pulled away, in which case he'd let it slip easily from his fingers. His eyes stung, despite himself. "I told you. It hurt." He reminded her, head shaking as he moved a palm to rub over the center of his brows, though that did little to smooth the crease there, "It- I don't know. It was lonely. Being rogue isn't easy, I-" He exhaled heavily, throat choked and chest heavy. This was pointless! All it was going to do was make her feel worse.

She felt his grip like she’d felt Levka’s before. Powerful. Unbeatable. He didn’t hold tight but he could crush her wrist if he wanted to. The bear knew it, too. It was awful.

So awful.

But none of this was pointless for her. It served as validation, a ringing alarm and recognition he otherwise refused to give her. A version of her he refused to face. “And?” she prompted him to dig deeper, not knowing when this would end.

For her? Never, probably. Which was why he needed to face it. This was Maxine, in all her glory, back from the land of destruction and here to sever the only relationship that meant anything to her anymore.

“Do you really want me to do all that to you again?”

And, what? What did she want him to say? That he hated her? That he would never forgive her for what she did? How could he be so full of himself to be upset that she had things to do with her life? God fucking forbid she have an existence outside of him. No. Fuck that.

And what was that question? How was it a question?

"What? No." He said, face scrunching as his chest chilled. "That's the opposite of what I want. That's what I've been trying to make sure doesn't happen since you came back!" And obviously, he'd done the worst fucking job of it.

"I just- I don't know what you need to hear." He exhaled, head shaking as his eyes searched her face, "That you hurt me? You hurt me! I was sad, and lonely, and angry about a lot of things including you for a while." Why did she need to hear that? Why couldn't she accept that he'd forgiven it?

She heard it, alright. But the satisfaction she was supposed to have felt was overridden by one thing. Him.

It was enough. Enough when he exclaimed his second point at her, and she realised that it wasn’t just her that was slipping. Fast. It was him, too. Worse than any of this masochistic agenda she seemed so driven to achieve, was that she could see that he didn’t want this. It was in his eyes. Kind eyes. He didn’t want to say any of those things, and she was hurting him more by making him revisit it at all.

But he was doing it. For her.

For her, who instead of treasuring the fact that he hadn’t died that night at Zipper’s, was doing what? What even was this. Convincing him to see her through her eyes? For herself? Not taking no for an answer? Again?

Maxine didn’t flinch, but her gaze did look increasingly lost as reason filtered back in. She averted her eyes slowly, blinked hard, and kept them screwed tightly shut as exhausted tears broke the barrier. Swallowed. “S-Ssorry,” she exhaled in a quiet tremor, dipping her head towards the hand that held her already weak fist.

She’d thought she’d been ready to come back. Clearly, not.

He didn’t like it. She wasn’t breakable, but she was asking him to sit where a pole holes in her until she was. Tear her down, instead of building her up. It was the perfect opposite of the thing he set out to do for her. Make her happy, make her feel appreciated and valued. It hurt him to see her reject like somehow she wasn’t worthy of it.

She softened; or was it just shattering; into tears. Heart aching, he sought to pull her toward him by the arm she hand removed. If she let him, he’d wrap her up against his chest and hold her there. Wishing for the life of him, for the hundredth time, that he could heal the hurt inside of her.

One hand stayed on the countertop, steadying her, as she carefully pressed her cheek against Cliff’s shoulder. She didn’t weep uncontrollably or anything. But... she did sob in stiff, restrained, shudders.

In those quiet moments, she felt guilty for taking up his warmth and using it to shield herself from her own blasting winds.

Meanwhile, he wondered if he squeezed her hard enough, he could burst that bubble of guilt she was trying so hard to protect. He moved his good arm to lay along her upper back, his hand cradling at the back of her head. The arm in a soft cast hooked around her waist, pressing despite the dull ache from it. Smokey leaned in, snuffling fondly over the little bear.

He wished he knew what else to do. He wanted to beg her to let him forgive her, to tell her she had to forgive herself, too. But she was so reluctant, he knew it would only hurt her more. So instead he just held her, and tucked his chin after a moment to press a kiss against her temple.

It grounded her. Undeservingly. Gave her calm. Undeservingly. Sorry, she wanted to repeat, but there weren’t enough sorries to plaster over the old wounds or the new ones she’d just inflicted upon him.

And her, by way of him.

Maxine whimpered pathetically as he kissed her temple, bear reluctant to part but she saw it as the perfect opportunity. So she would try to do that, blurry-eyed and puffy as she avoided looking at him. Wiped the tears she’d just left on his shoulder.

”Sorry,” she mumbled despite herself. Again.

She pulled away, and of course, he let her. He didn't want to. He wanted to keep her locked there until things felt alright again. But he let her pull back. She was sorry, again. He hated hearing it. She had nothing to be sorry for, and she still wasted the word. Sorry wasn't something he said often. When he did, he meant it. This just felt... he didn't know. It felt like she just didn't know what else to say.

"I know." He assured her, looking over her tearful face. "Just... I'll let you be sorry, if you let me accept that you are." Bargaining for some sense of a middle ground to use to climb back into normalcy again. "You said things won't make sense if I don't let you take the blame, but things can't get better if neither of us are allowed to heal from it." Please, just... there was no way she wanted to keep all those wounds open.

It was so cruelly easy to step into acceptance after she’d defeated herself. He wanted to move on. Heal. She almost huffed tiredly at the word.

How were they meant to heal when the threat of all her shortcomings lived just on the other side of town. Paranoid? With every right.

Still, she nodded. Then, she admitted. “Think I’m scared,” Maxine murmured coarsely. Scared or worried? Where did the roads cross when they seemed to run so parallel all her life? “Scared of things catching up. That you’ll die, of running into him. Of others running into him. Espy said, um-” Maxine wiped her under eyes with her thumb, before her hand went limp against his waist. Just because he was so close—where else was it going to go. “Espy said it’s never going to get better. Levka’s not...” There was no solution. No reconciliation. No hope.

And as if she’d just been reminded, and in a bid to not be cryptic with him, she threw another thing in. “Also... fresh, or whatever.” Maxine frowned. “Don’t. Because this isn’t happy. For you.”

She’d never been more sure of it until now. Even if her heart squeezed in silent disagreement.

Now, that made sense. Everything she said about fear, about Levka, about the danger... he got it entirely. He was terrified of the consequences of what he'd helped to start. But she'd agreed herself, Levka had been the one that turned it all murderous. Until then, he was happy to live his life far from Levka's scope. But he'd started that fight. And now Maxine was rooting it all to her. God fucking dammit.

He was formulating words to say, but she wiped them from his mind with the last bit. Whatever was fresh; a stupid way to have described it; don't. Just. Don't, because apparently she knew if he was happy. And she was right, in this very moment. He wasn't happy. But not because of any other reason other than she was being so cruel to herself. But with her, in general, any time around her, he was happy.

His head shook, and he exhaled shakily. "I don't think I can do that, either." He admitted. This wasn't him... he didn't know, trying to force it. Convince her of anything. Just an acknowledgment that he couldn't just turn it all off because she didn't think she was worthy of anything.

He didn’t budge. She squinted her watery eyes as she properly looked at him, trying to understand.

What could Maxine think. Say. She could tell him she was serious. This was ill-fated. It wouldn’t change a damn thing. And she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to repeat herself. Or that it was right to. She’d just established how much it wasn’t right to.

”Okay,” was all she said, shaky back. She rubbed her thumb against the side seam of his top before remembering to pull her arm back. Looked to the stove. ”Don’t um. Let your dinner burn.”

He didn't know how she'd take it. He half expected her to yank away and raise her voice in opposition again. But instead, she quietly accepted it, but started pulling away. Reminding him of his dinner. Maybe he read too much into that, but it felt like she was distancing herself. And while he wanted to give her her space, he'd fucked up enough thus far with being too distant, too indrect. There was fear in ruining their friendship, but there was also fear in losing whatever part of her she'd let him keep.

So he shook his head with hardly a glance over his shoulder at the food on the stove (it was the beans that were at risk of burning), moving his hand to catch her by the hip, keep her where she was. Pulled her closer, even. "Let it. I just. I want you to understand something." He implored.

Let the food burn, Maxine. What? Why couldn’t he just turn it-

Oh. Her breath caught as he made a move for her hip, eyes flickering back to his. It was a lot closer than they should’ve reasonably been.

She held true to her apparent resolve for a few moments. Felt the dread of butterflies somewhere in her stomach, not unlike that first day she’d come back. Felt her cheeks go hot.

And then she went soft, older for it. The one hand stayed loyal, holding to the edge of the counter. The other went flat against his chest.

”Cliff...” Maxine warned him—asked him—gently.

Incredibly close. Probably closer than they'd been since she got back. The bears were pressed together, Smokey rumbling with content at having access to his favorite little bear. She flushed, looked him in the eye, but didn't push him away. He felt imposing, in some ways. Forceful, but in a way that was desperate.

He was going to say something. Tell her that nothing had felt the same without her. That for however happy he was with the others in the Sleuth, it'd felt empty without her there. That there was a light in her he saw, no matter how many curtains she tried to pull tight around it.

Instead, if she didn't pull away and slap him for being an idiot who didn't ever know how to do or say the right thing, he'd lean in to kiss her.

He’d catch her, not that she would’ve ever made that troublesome for him.

The hand travelled further up his chest, resting at the bottom of his neck as Maxine pushed back ever so slightly. Reciprocating, clearly, as she kissed him in return with soft surprise.

Her jaw ached from equal parts upset and desire. She tasted like beer, probably. Most likely. Miserable beer, as emotions tumbled beneath her chest in a way they never really had before. It felt meaningful. It felt overdue. It felt missed.

The hole his absence had left in her heart was great, but it was also slowly working to mend itself up as the bears pressed into one another. She wanted to say none of it was painful, but there was too much history for it not to be. Good, bad, ugly, and...

Well, this.

Distantly, some part of him was surprised that she didn't pull away. If only for the fact that she'd been so adamant that he ought to stop himself before he got to this point. But it was easy to let that thought slip into the universal sound of blood rushing past his ears, heavy crashing waves of his own pulse.

His eyes closed, his hands found her waist and hair again, and he let the last few minutes cease to exist. There were still sharp edges, unclean breaks, pieces that didn't quite fit together. But in the spaces in between, this was the gooey warm stuff that filled it. There were a lot of complex thing to feel, but there was a static to it all that ceased further thought for the moment he kissed her in a way he didn't think he'd ever kissed her before. The times before had been lustful, experimental. This was more than that.

When he pulled away, pulling in a breath that was her exhale, his cheeks were red as hers. Thankful for the hair that obscured most of his face. He let the kiss be just that; a single kiss; for the moment it took him to steady his breathing and let the weight of it all sink in.