The rain still hasn't stopped…

Mike heaved a sigh as his car sped down the highway, raindrops plunking away at the windshield. To put it mildly, he felt as if someone had their palms on his temples and was slowly pushing inward. The night before was rough. Getting into a fight with his brother, running off to Max's apartment, kissing her…

He clenched his jaw in frustration. How could he be so stupid? Max probably thought he was a lunatic for showing up at her doorstep, inebriated and emotional and physical and incredibly stupid. He would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. Their initial relationship was rocky enough as it was.

As soon as he woke up, Mike prayed to the Lord above that Max was not awake (after the initial confusion of being in an unfamiliar bedroom, of course). Fate was on his side that day, as the detective was still curled up on the couch, blissfully slumbering away. His gaze lingered on her sleeping form and the way her hair framed her rosy face almost perfectly before getting embarrassed and tiptoeing out of the apartment. Maybe he would have stayed for a bit longer, if not for the plans he made to see his mother that morning. A definite shower was in order before the meeting. And a couple of aspirin.

How convenient that he would get into a fist fight with his brother the night before. Either his mother already knew about the fight, or she would ask questions about the bandage over his eye. Enough time had passed since the funeral so that his mother could live her life smoothly, yet the pain was still fresh, still real. The last thing she needed was her sons fighting. Mike had disappointed too many people in his lifetime, and he didn't need his mother to be disappointed in him, too.

The anxiety bubbling in his gut threatened to rise into his throat as he approached the driveway of his mother's house. Mike pulled the car into the driveway, trying to calm down, noticing that it was empty besides his mother's blue coup. He relaxed a little, thankful that none of his brothers were there.

He killed the engine and climbed out of the car, slowly approaching the front door. As he reached knocking distance, the door swung open without warning. Mike jumped backwards, cursing loudly.

"Michael Emerson, you know how I feel about that kind of language." a stern, familiar voice rang out.

"Sorry, Mom. You just scared me, that's all." Mike responded bashfully, a smile pulling at his lips. His mother, a petite, blond woman with bright blue eyes, gathered her son into a hug.

"It's good to see you, sweetheart." she murmured, rubbing his back. Any anxiety left lingering in Mike's stomach instantly was washed away by his mother's soothing words. She pulled back and held him at an arm's length. "Are you hungry? I've made us lunch."

Mike hadn't realized that he didn't eat breakfast, what with sneaking out of Max's apartment and rushing home to get changed and freshened up. "I'm famished."

She smiled at his answer and inclined her head. "It's waiting for us in the kitchen." She turned on her heel and retreated into the house. Mike followed his mother into the small foyer and was struck by the scent of grilled chicken, causing his stomach to growl. They entered the kitchen, an open and airy room, and settled into the breakfast nook, where two heaping bowls of Caesar salad were waiting, topped with cucumbers and chicken, with a bowl of French onion soup on the side. His hangover craved something juicy and greasy, but the soup and salad would have to do for now.

As Mike began to dig in to his salad, a sudden feeling of dread pressed down on his shoulders. The anxiety was coming back, prickling apprehensively at his skin. He glanced up to see his mother studying him intently. No, studying the bandage above his brow. He set down his fork and pressed his lips together.

"I know what happened between you and Matthew last night." his mother stated softly after a pregnant silence, her eyes dropping to meet his. Mike's heart began to sink. He couldn't tell if her eyes were sympathetic or full of blame, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. He pulled his hands into his lap and lowered his head in shame, negative thoughts beginning to bounce around in his head. It's your fault, you know. You got your father murdered. You failed. You couldn't save Debra. You murdered Lily, and what good did that do you? Useless.

"I threw the first punch," Mike admitted quietly, trying to ignore the lump in his throat that threatened to cut off his words.

"That's what Mattie said." his mother confirmed, taking a sip of coffee. Mike glanced up and saw how tired his mother looked, and he felt guilty. So guilty. She pressed on, "I also know what Mattie said to you." She set her coffee cup down. "To be frank, he needs much more than a fist to the face."

Her words rang in his ears as Mike felt his jaw slacken. She didn't blame him? She thought Matt deserved it?

"Let me tell you a secret, Mike." his mother said, leaning backwards in her seat. "I know you feel at fault for your father's death, and I know that you were still at odds with him when… when he passed. Your brothers may have pushed you out by calling you the black sheep of the family for avoiding a military career, but your father was nothing but proud of you."

His father… proud? With every word that his mother spoke, Mike felt the weight pressing on his heart lessen. She reached across the table and took his hands in hers, squeezing them reassuringly. "And what's more, you saved a life that night."

Images of finding a terrified and muddy Max underneath that footbridge in the woods behind Kurt Bowlen's house shot through his mind. He and Ryan had foiled part of Lily's plot. Had they been just a couple minutes later, Max could have ended up… like Debra. But she didn't. Max was alive. Mike had saved her. He didn't fail.

"Speaking of…" his mother continued, eyeing him slyly. "Her name was Max, wasn't it? Could she possibly be the Max that gave me a call a couple months back?"

Mike frowned, confused at her question. Someone had called his mother? Why would Max call…?

"Hey, you didn't have to lie about where you were. You don't have to tell us where you are, but you don't have to lie about it, either."

Heat began to creep into his cheeks as he mulled over Max's words. He pulled his hands away from his mothers, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He had completely forgotten that Max had called his mother because she was worried about his wellbeing. He cleared his throat and picked at the last of his salad. "It may have been, I can't be sure."

Max had always worried about him, he realized. It was quite easy to forget, with her tough demeanor, but she worried quite a bit. He had nearly forgotten about the day he stole away to see Claire, and she was concerned enough about his whereabouts to call his mother. He had intended to ask his mother what she had said, but the stress of the Carroll case had made him forget.

"What did she say?"

His mother raised an eyebrow as she took a long sip of her coffee. Mike knew she was eyeing the flush in his cheeks and probably already hearing wedding bells ringing away in her ears. "She was simply wondering where you were." she responded with a smile. "If a woman's worried enough about someone to call their mother, I would say that she's a pretty good catch."

"Mom…"

"So what's she like? I've seen pictures of her in the paper, she's awfully pretty. Ryan's niece, right?"

Mike began to squirm in his chair. He felt like he was in high school again, the way his mom was interrogating him. She had always been ridiculously invested in her sons' love lives, and the only brother that had married was Matthew. He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to stall as much as possible in hopes that his mother would change the subject, but the way her eyes bore into his told him that she wasn't about to do that any time soon.

"She's…" Mike began, rubbing at the back of his neck, "… she's a spitfire."

A grin broke out over his mother's face. "Wonderful! You've always gone after the nice girls, Mikey. I've always said you needed a challenge. This one would be good for you."

"Yeah, yeah." Mike muttered, pushing the last bits of his salad around with his fork. Max certainly was a challenge, of course, if she wasn't furious at him. I should probably apologize.

His mother kept chattering away about how she never liked his first girlfriend, Katie, because she was far too sweet and simple, and Mike used this moment to take out his cell with the intention of shooting Max an apology text. Much to his surprise, however, he had an unread text waiting for him. From Max.

"Is everything okay? Did you make it home safely?"

A smile quirked at his lips. Max may be a spitfire, but she sure worried a lot. With Ryan as her uncle, Mike honestly couldn't blame her. Aggressive, stubborn, beautiful, perfect, worrying Max…

Mike's thumbs made quick work typing out a response.

"Everything's fine. Thanks, I owe you big time."

Mike and his mother finished their lunch, chatted for a bit longer, and soon she was seeing him to the front door. She gathered him into a hug and planted a kiss on her son's cheek. "I love you very much, Mikey. If you ever need anything, remember that I'm just a phone call away."

"I know, Mom." Mike reassured her with a smile. His mother always knew how to make him feel better… worthy. His smile fell, however. He knew that damaging thoughts lurked in the darkest corners of his mind, and he knew they wouldn't stay there. He wasn't through the woods yet.

After saying their goodbyes, Mike walked briskly to his car, feeling the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Another text from Max, he realized, a thrill shooting through his heart.

"Buy me a pizza and we'll call it even."

Mike paused, glancing at his mother's house, watching her bustle around the kitchen through the window. He thought about what his mother had said about Max, and he thought about last night. He knew that she would probably still be a little upset about the events that happened, yet Mike couldn't deny that there was something there. He could wash and scrub as hard as he wanted, but he wasn't sure if he could get the feeling of Mike's skin out of his hands. She had some sort of grip on him, ever since that day he barged into her office at the police station.

He sent her a text.

"How about pizza at 7 tonight?"