The crisis averted, Michael turned toward Max, who stood frozen at the back of the Jeep, staring in dismay at his own open hand. He looked utterly crestfallen, a mixture of shock and remorse written all over his face, which had gone pale beneath its outer layer of sunburn. "Oh my God, Michael!" he exclaimed, hopping out of the Jeep and rushing across the pavement to where Michael stood, grimacing in pain. "Are you all right?"Well, I'm going to think twice about getting between you and a vendetta again," Michael said wryly. After furtively looking around to make sure no one was watching, he peeled up his T-shirt to inspect the damage, which turned out to consist of a nasty black-and-purple bruise concentrated over his breastbone. Most of his chest was sore and sensitive to the touch, but, thankfully, nothing felt broken or seriously injured. "I'll live," he stated.
The sight of the ugly bruise caused Max's face to collapse. "God, Michael, you've got to believe me, I never meant to-I mean, I didn't want " Guilt and horror rendered Max momentarily speechless, and his hands drooped limply at his sides, as if he was afraid to raise them at all. "I'm so sorry, Michael…"I know that, man," Michael said, letting Max off the hook. I don't know what's more amazing, he marveled, that Max would use his powers against me, or that he would do so in public, and in broad daylight, no less. Michael leaned against the side of the Jeep, taking some of the load off his feet. "Maybe now, though, you'll admit that you've got a problem." He gave his friend a knowing look. "The Max Evans I know does not go around blasting his buddies in motel parking lots."Max nodded soberly. He stared at the pavement, unable to meet Michael's gaze. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he admitted after a moment or two. "There have been a couple of times this weekend when, okay, I felt like maybe I was losing control." He looked up at last, letting Michael see the anguish in his eyes. "I can't help it, though. Whenever I see Morton, or even think about him, it's like I'm back at the Crashdown, watching Liz slip away right before my eyes."That's textbook, man." Despite his aching ribs, he smiled wolfishly, thinking that maybe a bruised chest was a small price to pay to get Max to listen seriously to what he had to say. "According to Maria, who learned about all this from Alex, who read about it in a book somewhere, you've got yourself a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder."Max frowned, disliking anything that impaired his ability to take care of his responsibilities, which included protecting both Liz and his fellow alien hybrids. "So what do I do about it?"Well, maybe you listen to your friends when they tell you that you're losing it. Let us provide a reality check for you whenever those Crashdown flashbacks start getting a little too intense. Beyond that,"-Michael shrugged his shoulders-"do I look like a shrink to you?"More like one-hundred-and-fifty pounds of freshly pounded ground chuck," Max joked, sounding more like his old self for the first time in over twenty-four hours. He nodded at Michael's black-and-blue torso. "Let's head back to the room and get that healed right away," he suggested.
"Aren't you afraid that Morton will sneak away while you're not looking?" Michael asked him pointedly. He looked past Max at the Motel 6 across the way.
Max hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the hated gunman's current lair. Clashing priorities warred behind his eyes as indecision caused his lips to twitch. Then he shook his head and turned his attention back to Michael. "Maybe if we hurry right back," he proposed uneasily.
Now it was Michael's turn to shake his head. "Not so fast," he said firmly. "I appreciate the thought, Max, old pal, but want to find out what's inside that damn briefcase, too." Moving slowly, to minimize the wear and tear on his sore ribs, Michael retrieved the binoculars from where they had fallen, a few yards away from the Jeep. One lens had cracked, but a moment's concentration repaired the glass, making the instrument as good as new. Next, he gingerly climbed into the back of the Jeep, gritting his teeth against the pain, and turned the binoculars on Morton's door, which appeared not to have budged an inch during the time Michael had knocked some sense into Max by letting Max knock the wind out of him. "Go get Alex or Isabel or somebody to take over the stakeout," he suggested, "and then we can apply some old-fashioned alien healing techniques to my ribs."Morton must be sleeping late, Michael deduced, after his late night hunting us through Slaughter Canyon. "So," he asked Max, before the other youth could go for reinforcements, "do you have a plan for getting at that case?"Of course," Max declared, as if that went without saying. "What do you think I've been thinking about out here, besides wanting to teach Morton what an alien abduction really feels like." His voice still held a trace of seething malice and resentment. "Don't worry, though, I'll run the details by you, just in case I've completely lost my mind, you know."Thanks," Michael said. "I'll let you know about that, after I've heard your plan."