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 Liz never hears Max come through the door. He sits on the floor with her, embracing her until the flood of her tears stop. When they do, she tries to push him away, but he tightens his grip and she hasn't the strength to pull away.
"Ummm," she says, her voice trembling. "This is so embarrassing. What are you doing here, Max?" She avoids looking in his eyes.
"I need to talk to you," he replies and tenderly brushes some errant strands of hair from her face.
Tremors run through her body. She wants to stand, wants to get away, wants not to reveal too much, but he holds her still, takes her bleeding hand in his and heals it. He feels her pain.
"Thank you," she says, her voice still shaking.
"You're welcome," he says softly, stroking her hair. "Are you eating?"
She nods, "I just can't keep anything down."
He feels her forehead. It feels clammy, but not feverish.
"Okay," he says. "Stay here. Don't move." He lets her go and gets up and heads for the Crashdown's kitchen.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"I'm getting you something to eat."
"No, really, Max, I can't eat anything."
Max ignores her and disappears through the door. Liz hears the refrigerator door open and close. She looks around her. Some scattered photos lay on the floor. She picks them up and wipes away the Tabasco and blood with a napkin.
When Max reappears, he has a bowl of canned peaches and a spoon. He sits on the floor beside her.
"Here, you have to eat," he says, taking the photos away with one hand and handing the bowl to her with the other. She plays with the peaches with her spoon. She really doesn't want to eat, she's so tired of retching.
"I promise. It will stay down."
She takes a small bite, then another. They tasted sooo good. It was the first food she had in days that tasted good. Max watches her to make sure she eats all of it.
"That's better," Max says, taking the empty bowl and placing on the table with the photos. On top is a photo of them dancing. "Do you feel strong enough to stand?"
She nods.
He gets up first and offers his hand. Liz takes it and starts to get up, but her knees wobble and she's not steady. Max's arm folds around her and he lifts her easily in his arms.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm taking you upstairs," he says as he begins to walk towards the back of the Crashdown.
"Max, I can do it," she protests.
"No, you can't."
"My parents are here."
"I know."
He quietly lifts her up the stairs, to her room. He sets her down in front of the bathroom sink and mirror where she watches him through the mirror. Her feelings, which she has kept buried for so long, begin to surface. Max stands behind her, reaches around her body to turn on the tap. He lathers his hands with soap, then takes her hands, washes the traces of Tabasco and blood from her hands and wrists then gently dries them. He sees the blood on her shirt and touches it. He flashes to the day he heals her at the Crashdown. Liz stays perfectly still as he slowly unbuttons her shirt from the bottom to the top. Max stops as her blouse falls slightly open. He watches for signs of protest, but none come. He places his right hand on her stomach, two inches below the ribs, the very spot he had healed over two years ago. So soft, so ...
His touch. How she had missed it. Longed for it. She leans her back into his chest and feels his breath upon the nape of her neck. She has a flash of Max and her in Michael's apartment. Her muscles begin to relax as she remembers Max's gentle caresses. She feels Max's warm hands brush past her breasts to her shoulders beneath her blouse. She closes her eyes as she feels her shirt sensuously slide down her back. Her arms tingle under his touch and she opens her eyes as she remembers how her skin glowed under his fingertips ... and now too, just as real, luminescent and electric as it had been, as if it had been yesterday. She follows the trail of his touch down the length of her arms to her midriff, to the top of her jeans where his hands join. She feels the tug at the waist as the snap gives way, the zipper as it splits away from her body; watches his hands upon her hips as the jeans slip to her ankles. She steps out of the legs and kicks them away.
He studies her carefully, she is so beautiful to him. This is the only destiny that he knows is true. Liz turns to face him and he lowers his head to receive her lips, to feel her tongue dance against his. His fingers drown in the rivers of her soft, dark hair. How could he have ever questioned this? How could he have ever not believed in this? He hungrily begins to feast.
Her urgency matches his. Liz pulls at Max's shirt and peels it over his head to get to his skin. She runs her fingers across his chest and surprisingly, her fingertips leave a cosmic glow that equals his own. She smiles and Max delights in her smile. He playfully bites at her lower lip. Liz hungers to get even closer. She drapes her arms around his neck and pulls nearer to him; he folds both arms around her and reels her in as close as two people can be without becoming one. He turns her away from the mirror and waltzes her to her bed. They fall, splash into the bedclothes. They swim in the warm oceans of body surfing, breaking through the waves occasionally to catch their breath.
"We shouldn't being doing this," says Liz.
"I know," he says. He pushes away from her, his hands set inches from her shoulders ... so he can see her better. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," she says in a whisper.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she confirms and raises her head and body to meet his. She wants, yearns, needs to be closer. She can't bear to have even that little space between them. They struggle with the rest of their clothes and the sheets until she feels the length of his hard body against her own, her fingers locked in his, his legs entwined in hers. The heat rises between them as their heartbeats become one and the rhythm of passion takes hold. They receive each other and their whole histories -- births, deaths, resurrections open unto to them in a stream of flashes. A white glow spreads from their centers to envelop them. They become one; they become whole. The plague lifts from their hearts.
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