There was something else in her eyes, something that over shadowed the purity. Fatigue. The last two years hadn't been easy on any of them and definatly not her. He realized he was dangerously close to losing herand not to Valenti, or being shot at by the enemies they seemed to collect and not from him. From herself. Years of being faced by death and being chased by it had hardened her into something almost beyond recognition.

By the time Maria had died, she had already been numbed down by everything else already that Max really didn't think that Liz understood that her best friend's head wasn't attatched to it's body. Max didnb't think he'd ever forget the scene, he'd felt sick and horrified and Liz had just looked at it as if it were the morning paper. The first sign of emotion he'd found in her had been the night after the funeral. He had found her in the corner of the shower stall curled in a fetal position with bath water raining down on her mixing with tears.

The motion of her hand turning a page pulled him from his reverie. He caught the glint of her antique onyx and marcistite ring as it flashed in the candle flame. She raised her eyes to him, he was caught. No he'd been caught when he entered the hallway. She'd become adapt at sencing him. It didn't make good for lurking.

She was weary eyes, which was something he'd expect. Her skin had taken on a sickeningly pale complexion, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Something in him stirred, he was tired or holding down emotion, he was sick of resiting what he wanted.

He slid onto the bed, pulling her to him. Max expected her to pull back, resist him even being there, in the years since they'd met, they had gone from him being reserved about their relationship, to him pressing her for a single word, she simply kept him away from her. There was a time when he'd have understood her desire for restants. When they were kids they had needed to protect themselves, but kow what all of them needed was to stay together, even Micheal saw that, and he, until recently, had been the most reserved in the group.

Now that she was actually in his arms he began to realize how small she really was. She leaned against him, the material of her dressing gown shifted against his chest, making him even more aware of her body.

"I'm so tired" She whispered.

"I know" Max responded.

She shook her head, "No you don't, Max, because I wouldn't let you."

"Will you now?" He asked looking down at her ear, noticing a small scar there. The raised tissue ran a jagged line.

"I don't have any choice."

"You do."

"I don't," she said firmly. "I can't keep this walled up forever, I'm not a vault."

"No you're not, you're human."

"And you?"

"I'm Max Evans, that's all."

"I wish it were as simple as that."

"It can be if you let it," Max interjected.

"No it can't , you can't go back, there is no crawling out of the grave when your fucking head is doing a solo, there's no going back and changing what was said or done or who died." She paused, "Or who lived."

"No you're right, the only thing left to do is move on" She was silent for a while until he heard a soft sob and realized she was crying. He pulled her even closer, "Shh" he glanced at the book she'd been reading, Paradise Lost by John Milton. Max cleared his throat and opened to the page she had dog earred. "' Did I request thee, maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From Darkness to promote me?'"

The line fit, none of them had asked to be born into this, Max, Isabel, and Micheal hadn't asked to survive the crash. Liz hadn't asked Max to save her at the Crashdown that day, and none of them wanted the lives they had. All any of them wanted was each other. Some one to hold onto, someone to hide in.