i'm not your problem anymore | {mackenzie/maxine

[dars]

He can't really even remember what it is he's angry at anymore, but he needs something to blame the hurt on, so he's settled on thinking it's his fuckwad dad. Walking with one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other clutching a tray containing a pair of coffees like he'd float away without them there to anchor him down. His eyes are half-lidded, red, and swollen beneath his sunglasses, chewing on chapped lips until they're pressed pink. Each step is anxious but intentional- guiding him to a precise location. He's been begging Marley for the information for months now, to no avail, which figures. But last night at dinner, he fucked up and mentioned it by name and now Mackenzie can't stop thinking about it. He's warred with himself over it, started the trip over and turned back three times already, and it's still midday. The last time, he'd almost made it all the way there before deciding he couldn't show up empty-handed. He'd detoured all the way to the square and picked up two coffees. Except, here's the thing. By this point, he's decided she doesn't deserve coffee. OR maybe neither of them do. Whatever, she's the one who ran away, and that's been her problem since they were kids, and she doesn't get to keep doing it over and over and expect people to be alright with it. It's like sisters are programmed to be dramatic at the drop of a hat. His exhale comes out as a cloud and chills crawl down the nape of his neck. Back in the good days, they'd probably be setting up for lunch about now, each mocking the other's snare setups and betting whose will catch rabbits first. Or they'd be stuffing garbage into the mailbox of a certain ex-mayor, or drawing up plans to hijack a hovercraft and fly the two of them and their mom far, far away from here. "Never look back?" she asked, and he smiled. "Never." If their dad had been around, they would've probably, hopefully had a more normal relationship with him. And if that were true, it'd mean the large bulk of what bonded Mackenzie and his sister would be drastically different. Maybe they wouldn't have been as close as a result, or maybe they were always meant to be yin and yang and if they'd had a stable upbringing they would've just bonded over their mutual love of gardening or some shit. But this is what they were dealt, and he's decided that somehow that is his Dad's fault and so that's why the first time he made this trip, he stopped by to throw a rock through the window. He wonders if the old man has ever put it together, or if he's still just as much of a clueless prick now as he was then. "I need to speak with Max." It's all he can do to sound polite. He thinks of a thousand mean and cruel things he is going to say to her. He thinks of how angry he'll be when she walks out, how he's gonna pour her coffee out while she watches, how Mom agreed that she was being ridiculous at dinner last week and anything else he might think up in the moment. He wanted their old friendship back, too. He wanted his old life back, too. He wanted it so, so bad. He's practically hyperventilating with rage by the time she makes her debut, and he's surprised to instantly feel a weight being lifted from his shoulders. All the rage he felt before takes a rest on his tongue, rendering it too heavy for him to use in the moment. "Marley can't keep his god damn mouth shut for five minutes, huh?" He just stares, grateful as ever for the sunglasses to hide the welling up of tears within his eyes. "Or was it Elena? Those two are something else." He blinks them away as they come, gritting his teeth so that he has time to muster the courage to speak. "You're a dick, dude. For leaving. That's a dick thing to do to your family." He hates how much it sounds like I miss you. "And my life is complete ass right now, for the record," a pause as he takes in the truth of it, "I have... no idea what I'm doing. I'm- I'm grasping at straws." He pushes his hair from his face, now more annoyed because it's grown out because he only ever let's Max cut it. He shoves one of the coffees over to her. "So, congrats, I guess. You win. I'm sorry if I made y-" he stops himself, "No, that's not a real apology. I'll try again: I'm sorry for checking out. It just- It was easier? But you're right. I'm... I'm different, Max, and I-" He doesn't even know who he is. "I'm losing my shit, here. And I could really use my sister."

[✨ zozo.]

m a x i n e .

tell me what you want from me
why you gotta act so needy?
maybe you were what i'm missin'
maybe i crave your affection

Lord there are so many things she could say to him right now. So many things she wants to say. So many things she might have said were she not older and wiser now. The younger Maxine, so selfish and full of her own grief, would have spat his first sentence right back at her brother. She can feel the fire against her lips, sizzle-pop and full of rage.

"No, you're a dick for leaving--" but she knows its useless, so the thoughts fade out to echoes before they can force their way out of her mouth. Instead she just sighs, relaxing her shoulders to lean against the door, knowing that it's not his fault that this is his life. That she would've been just as angry if he had died in that arena. That she would have been worse off. That the loneliness was the price she paid for having at least some of him back.

She still sees him, her brother. Not just standing here, weary and older with a five o'clock shadow and little lines etched into the sides of his eyes. He's still there in the coffee, his cologne, the way he still wears their matching plaid jackets and boots on his days off duty. The way he cares far too much. The way he won't ever stop trying to save the ones he loves.

The way he straight up refuses to let her go. The way she knows she doesn't want him to. And it's always been them, Mickey & Max, even when they were Mackenzie and Maxine and she'd thought they could never be repaired. Aries rising, they are both as stubborn as each-other.

"I told them," she replies quietly, smoke where flames once ruled. "I told you all. But you didn't--"

Hear. Listen. And it's true, she told Marley and then Mom. Elena, when she got too inquisitive for her own damn good. Angel probably knew too. Max is sure she tried to tell Mickey, but she's so exhausted she can't remember if he was even around. She'd stopped paying attention months ago. Better to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised instead -- but now she's standing here and remembers that she's hated surprises ever since Mickey came home. The shock was too much, a trauma reflex from when they picked his name from a glass bowl.

They could stand here like this, frowning and arguing and pointing fingers until the sun set. But Max is tired. So she just sighs, thinks of baby Violet, thinks about how she actually likes her job. Defensive, apologetic -- guilt is a funny thing. When you spend your life sharing everything with someone else it feels so wrong to make decisions for yourself - even when the other person started living their seperate life a long time ago.

Then there's a flare of anger again, an old friend swelling in her chest. Max has never been able to get a firm grip on one thing for long. The one doctor she'd seen as a child had looked at her mother with a quizzical look and shrugged, ADHD? scrawled on paper -- it seems her heart can't make decisions either. Like Max's life wasn't complete ass either. Like hers didn't matter, because Mackenzie fucking Pryce-----

Stop, she tells herself. Just stop and listen.

So she does. And he apologises, sort of, it's the same fucking bullshit again. The amount of times Mickey has apologised for taking off or checking out or for leaving his sister behind, like he didn't know damn well what being abandoned meant to the two of them. But she always forgave him, call it a bad habit. Call it a reflex. There was no Mickey without Max, no Max without Mickey, even if he wasn't around all the time.

But he is here now, so she shifts her weight and says "Give me a minute" before shutting the door. It's fucking freezing, goosebumps littering her freckles arms as she scrambles into a jacket and boots. Between the shuffling and muttering to herself her roommate pokes his head around the door and asks "You good?"

They're always looking out for her. The Woodshop crew are a family and they've welcomed her in with open arms, throwing out troublesome guys hitting on the girls every other week. They said from day one that they'd watch her back, even if Max says she doesn't need it. Secretly she likes it. It's a nice change to be looked after. To feel wanted. Protected.

"Yeah," she brushes it off, pulling her hair up into a lazy ponytail. "Family bullshit. I'm good - thanks though."

He nods, and its like her last name has lit up above her head in twinkly lights. Max has gotten good at pretending she doesn't know her brother, but some things you can never quite hide from. Luckily her coworkers don't seem to give a shit, but she still had to write a first and last on the employment form. Where there's a victor, there's always drama -- even if Max tries to hide away on someone's couch in the corner of Seven or behind the bar of some shitty old lodge. She changes the subject as she reaches for the front door -- "See you tonight?"

He just nods, turning back to the kitchen with a bleary wave. "Later Max!"

She swears under her breath one last time before opening the door and stepping out into the morning light. It's a beautiful day, she'll give the universe that, swiping her coffee without asking from Mackenzie's grasp.

"You need a haircut, dude," she notes with a frown, taking a swig and starting on their walk. Despite the tension already she's enjoying the silence of them, existing in each-other's atmosphere. Usually the twins don't need to speak, but today's different. There's a lot left unsaid, even after Mickey's half-assed apology.

Ain't it funny, Max finds herself thinking, as bitter as her coffee, that an apology always ends up about him?

But that's the reality of who he is, she realises as they begin their walk. Everything is always going to be about him. And he can't help that - for the most part.

"I'm workin' at The Woodshop," she starts. Best to give him some context as to what her seperate life is like at the very least. "Family get a discount but I bet you won't need to spend a dime."

She smiles at that, bites her lip to stop laughing, squints up at the sunlight. She can't quite look at him yet, but play-fighting's a good start. It feels comfortable. It feels like home. Just Mickey & Max, walking along the pavement, coffee in hands and taking the mick out of each-other.

"I'm just running orders right now, but in six months I can start training for my bar license."

The more she talks, the more relieved she feels. It's not been long but she's proud of what she's accomplished so far, and the thought makes her smile again. It's nice to be able to have a life outside of being Mickey's sister. But she can still be his sister and be her own person. It's possible, she's sure of it.

"And it's nice, y'know? I've made friends. Didn't have those before, ha!"

Please don't talk about Lex, she prays. Please don't say her name.

"How's Violet?" and Max's voice is tender now, fragile around her niece's name -- as if she were holding the girl in her hands, terrified of breaking her. She's still not seen Violet since the day she was born, glaring at that stupid baby and knowing she would never be Mickey's again.

Guilt stops her from saying anything more, suffocating and stinging with the warning of tears.

table by elegant !