Moving Forward

Open Eyes (42)

Four walls. Open windows. Smells that filled Max with nostalgia. Cushions strewn across the floor in a way that was both strategic and haphazard. Somehow, since almost drowning and being frozen to the core, Max had ended up in his house. His wonderful, bright, clean house. With all the scents of himself and Kyle and even Blake.

Seeing everything in order - no broken glass panel in the door, or sofa shoved against a wall, nor blood staining the wooden floor - threw Max. This couldn't be real - could it? No, Kyle was...

"Max?"

Max whipped around, seeing those gold, wolf-bright eyes watching him with amusement. They almost shone with how happy Kyle seemed to be.

Tilting his head, Kyle gave that smirk - the one that said that Max was being ridiculous. "Why are you shifted? You hate getting paw prints in the house. Shift back for me, Thiago."

Thiago. God, Max had missed being called Thiago in that tone. Ignoring Kyle's request entirely, Max loped toward his mate, not stopping until they were both on the floor, Kyle laughing wildly as Max rubbed himself in that scent. Kyle's scent. The one that called to Max, telling him he was home. Fingers buried in his fur, and Kyle's laughter calmed to a pleased humming as they lay there, basking in each other.

After a long few minutes, Kyle sighed. "Shift back, Kitten, I want to be able to kiss you."

That was an incentive Max could get behind. He shifted in record time, barely feeling the pain of the process behind the elation at seeing Kyle healthy. Still buck naked, Max didn't hesitate to launch himself at Kyle, pressing their lips together in what started as a gentle welcome home, but quickly devolved into a fierce expression of how much they'd missed one another.

Max pushed under Kyle's shirt, fingers curling as he felt Kyle's own hands roaming across his skin. He shivered, the slight chill of Kyle's hands mixing with the lust that raced through him in a potent mix. The burn of Kyle's stubble sent tears cascading down Max's cheeks.

He was real. Kyle was real. As pleased as Max was, he was hesitant to part from Kyle when the hands that had previously been caressing Max's skin cupped his chin.

"Thiago?" Kyle asked. "Is everything alright?"

Max nodded furiously. Everything was perfect now that Kyle was here, in Max's arms. "I'm alright, I promised. I just missed you."

Kyle raised a brow, as if the statement confused him, but he smiled regardless. "I've been here. Saw my mom earlier, she was complaining about Finn running her ragged."

The revelation that Amelia and Finn were safe had Max melting into Kyle's touch. He hummed. "You need a shave, darling."

That elicited a chuckle from Kyle. "With that dramatic entrance, that's what you have to say?"

"Afraid so," Max said, meeting Kyle's eyes.

And his smile fell.

"I'm just going to go put some clothes on," Max said, turning on his heel as he threw a grin over his shoulder. "You wanna make pancakes?"

Kyle huffed, already walking to the kitchen. "Pancakes it is, but nobody's coming round today, so I don't know why you think you need to get dressed."

Max chuckled, despite his stomach sinking. "I've been outside all day, I don't wanna get the cushions dirty."

From the kitchen, Kyle mimicked Max in the most annoyingly charming way, not even trying to hide it from Max's enhanced hearing.

The shower took far too long as Max turned the heat on high, trying to wash away the cold as he flexed his fingers and scrubbed at his face. Hate flooded him. So much hate.

Max had been dragged through one situation after another, from being kidnapped to watching Kyle die. And now here he was, filling with Max with a longing that was no less than expected after Max had almost frozen and drowned. It had taken all of twenty minutes for Max's salvation to be turned to dust and he hated that he couldn't simply live like this. With the man making pancakes downstairs and willing to love Max to the end of the earth. Whether it was fate or destiny or whatever... the fact that he'd been through all of this in the matter of weeks was simply unreasonable. It seemed every time Max thought he was about to get his Kyle back, his mate was just out of reach.

Didn't he deserve a happy ending? To go home to his mate and the one or two kids Max wanted for sometime in the future? To be loved?

No. His mind whispered. No, because he was the one that Lara had used to get to Kyle first. No, because Max wasn't able to get Finn to safety. No, because he'd let Gillespie get everything he wanted and now the River pack had disappeared. No, because he'd let Kyle die.

No, because all Max wanted was to stay here - everyone else be damned. He could. He could just stay here, with a man that would adore him until the end. Blake, Team Panther, the River pack... Max could just forget them all, stay here in his house with the scents that declared him home.

But it wouldn't be real, would it. Every evening, Max would go to bed with those cold hands cradling him, offering a false sense of security. And every morning, Max would wake to see those eyes...

Wolf-bright, golden eyes. Without even a hint of the darkness that smothered and blanketed Max's mind and promised him that if Kyle had his way, he'd never let anything happen to Max. The man downstairs... that wasn't Kyle. The initial surprise and joy at seeing Kyle had blinded Max to the discrepancy, but Max should've known.

What was it going to take to make Max understand that Kyle was dead? Dead dead. With no chance of ever coming back, because life only went in one direction.

Guilt struck Max hard enough that he had to sit down, letting the water cascade over his back. Max didn't deserve a happily-ever-after, because he had been tempted to sacrifice over fifty people's lives for his own selfishness. If that had been Kyle down there, cooking away in the kitchen with the smell of pancakes wafting up... or even a better illusion of the Kyle that Max knew everything about...

Max knew he wouldn't have hesitated to simply lie down and stay here pretending that this was his perfect reality. Really, he was no better than Gillespie.

Once dressed, Max strode towards the fake Kyle and stared into the not-right eyes once more. And despite knowing that it wasn't his Kyle, Max leant forward and kissed him once again. He could never have the real thing again, and if this was the last time he was going to be able to enjoy the fake, Max was at least going to take what his conscience would allow. A kiss, a deep, slow, lingering kiss that said all the things that Max hadn't had the chance to before Kyle died.

Panting, Max pulled away, and smiled. "I'm just going to go for a walk, dear. Don't wait up for me."

Max walked out the back door, ignoring the tears and biting his lip until he'd gone far enough that the man watching him leave couldn't see Max rubbing at his eyes, or hear Max's sobs.