[DYLAN]
Seeing Max with a brain injury disconcerted Dylan.
No matter how many times she tried to brush he or Danny off with the claim that she'd had worse (don't you remember that?), it was hard for him to watch. She leaned constantly against whatever was nearest to her, and her dark brown hair either stuck up at odd angles after she showered, or it was plastered to her forehead and poked into her eyes. Her short hair looked more like dark feathers while she was in this state, and when Danny once compared her to an exotic bird, Dylan saw the fog lift just enough from her eyes to be grateful that he had disarmed her.
The really strange thing was how quiet she was. Dylan was used to at least a handful of smart quips at any given moment, but right now, most of her waking moments were filled with nothing more than silence.
The bright side was, she slept a lot, so Dylan had time to kill.
One day, Max roused herself from her slumber and her bed, and emerged into Tessa's comfy living room.
Max was pale after having been down and out for a week, with dark circles under her even darker eyes. Her brown eyes looked almost obsidian. Her hair was almost normal this time around, smooth around her cheeks with her bangs shoved off to one side. She was in sweats that Tessa had lent to her, which had to be rolled up around the ankles, and a worn out AC/DC shirt that Dylan was pretty sure was Max's, which must've been left her by her at an earlier time.
Her eyebrows were scrunched together as she approached Dylan and shuffled to a stop just a few feet from where he sat.
When she didn't speak right away he cleared his throat and arched a brow. "Good morning, sweetheart."
Max hummed before she reached up and rubbed one of her eyes with the palm of her hand. She blinked sleepily before she fixed him with a gaze that had almost returned to its normal intensity. "You have my phone."
A smile twisted Dylan's slips before he could stop it. "I was wondering what could rouse the bear from her sleep."
"I'm not a bear," Max scoffed. She crossed her lithe arms over her chest and frowned down at him.
Dylan's smile widened. "A little one," he persisted. He got to his feet and watched as she tipped her chin up defiantly so she could maintain eye contact. "Yes, I have your phone," he agreed. He paused when he tried to gauge her expression. "Reznor practically blew it up with texts. I ended up having to text him myself not long after we got here."
Max seemed to consider this, a subtle frown on her lips, before she nodded. "Makes sense."
"Danny was really worried," Dylan continued; "Something about 'emergency protocols'? I think he thought one of those was a self-destruct feature." He smiled teasingly.
She rolled her eyes, though a fond smile ghosted her lips. "There's ... something like that." She shrugged, then focused back on Dylan's face again. "I need it."
"Need?"
"Yes, Dylan," Max huffed. "Need."
"Because of what Reznor was texting you about."
"Why are you fishing over this?" Max rubbed both hands over her face this time. Her fight with exhaustion was more visible with every passing second. "I just need it. I don't ..." She sighed heavily and frustration flashed in her eyes when she looked up at him again. "I don't want to do this right now. Just give me my phone." And then, the unthinkable: "Please."
Dylan had a hard time keeping his eyebrows from disappearing into his hairline at the last word she said. As it was he could feel when his eyes widened to a comical size. Had the great Max Destin just said "please"? Was the world ending? But he knew better, and he didn't voice any of those thoughts — though he was definitely tempted — because he knew she would shut down faster than her phone had when he'd finally reached out to Reznor.
