10. BURIALS AND ROSES!

*Edited

This chapter has brief mention of strong language

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Maxwell's POV

A week later. 

He didn't plan on going, but he had to. Steve and the rest of the guys went too, they had to stay far away, but they were there, honoring the lives of those who passed on that awful night.

He didn't like to think about it much, but when he saw her in the black dress, holding a bunch of white roses, the blank distant look in her eyes as the service commenced  it rushed to him like ligthning.

He knew she was not okay and for some reason, no matter how he tried to shake the feeling that he could help. That he should help. He just couldn't.

He was never like this, he was usually glib, but this time, it was some what personal. He began to imagine all the other people that died, how they meant something to their families, but now they were dead, gone to never return.

His stomach churned.

"Fuck!."

He had not felt like this since his grand dad died, he never wanted to relive that day, but this was coming pretty close.

"We'll get them man." He felt Steve clap his back and walk away. He looked up and realized that the service had ended and rain was coming.

He turned to leave, when he noticed her frail looking self standing still as people became scarce, every one trying to hide from the rain, but she didn't move. He frowned. 

He knew something was wrong, his first thought was that she had collapsed or fainted while standing and nobody knew, it had happened to him before. He was leaning on a wall in his case.

"You coming?." He heard on of the guys call out to him, he turned to see them fill up in the van they arrived in. With his car parked behind the van.

He wanted to leave, that was what he would have done on any normal day. But as he looked back at her, he knew he couldn't leave, she needed someone. And he wouldn't say he was the best candidate.

He also knew her car was bad, so she would probably take a bus which was quite a walk from the cemetery or hail a taxi. He didn't notice a purse or a bag with her, so there was a possibility she had no cash. 

As much as he would have wanted to leave, he couldn't leave her stranded, he could do that much.

But he knew he shouldn't get too close - anymore and he would be too involved, but there was no one around, not a single person stayed that could give her a lift. He couldn't blame them either, he wanted to leave too.

"No, you guys go, I'll catch up." He told them, but even after they all left, he didn't move. He didn't go to her, he only stood watching. Promising himself that he wasn't going to go up to her till he was sure she absolutely needed help. 

Then the rain started and she didn't move still. Finally fighting his better judgement, he cursed again and walked to her slowly. He had barely taken two steps forward when she suddenly fell to the ground crying loudly. 

She began to fist the ground, trying to dig with her bare hands. He ran to her.

Not knowing what to say, he tried to lift her up. He was usually at the receiving ends of sympathy and condolences himself, so he didn't know how to do the comforting.

It also didn't help that he never really dealt with his own hurt, he just bottled them up, punched every thing he could for a few years and moved on.

He cleared his throat slowly, "Its okay, let it go." He practiced what Petra used to say to him. But he, being the stubborn person that he was, never really let it go.

"He's gone." Her voice came in a small quiver. The rain pouring around and on them, he tried not to think off pneumonia and the germs, he pulled her closer, trying to use his body to shield hers. He could almost feel the pain in her voice when she said she couldn't live without Jack.

He had once said those words too, but in an entirely different scenario. A scenario where he was stupid.

He watched her scream and shout in the rain, till she was completely worn out and her voice was hoarse.

Slowly, he led her to his car, both of them drenched in the rain, but he didn't care. He had more cars anyway.

They got to her house and she thanked him for his help, but he didn't feel like he had helped at all. He was a man of a few words, but he found himself blurting that she didn't need to repay him.

He didn't want her to think that she was indebted to him in any sort, or that he did it for some ulterior motive. But she reminded him of something that had slipped his mind momentarily.

"But you're my Professor." She said. 

He wasn't her dad, or her uncle, or any of her family members, he wasn't a friend, or a personal tutor, he didn't have a personal relationship with her or any of his students. He was just a professor, he had no obligation towards her. 

'Why am i so bothered?.' He asked himself. He had not felt 'guilt' in a long time, he was used to being always right, like an arrogant idiot that he was, he felt like he had done her and almost every other person that died, some injustice.

Making a mental note to find the families and back story of every victim of that night and help out in any way that he could, he sighed.

"I know its hard coping with loss," He paused, remembering on his grand dad's death, how it tore him apart, he was his grand dad's favorite. That alone made Martha very mad, because their grand ma had passed before they were born.

"I understand what you're go……." He was interrupted.

"Don't!, don't say, you understand what I'm going through please!." Her voice wavered, she was pushing down her tears, he could tell. "........it doesn't make me feel any better in any way!."

'Shit!.' He didn't mean to upset her. 

'"How on earth am I supposed to go on with life?, get a job?, like nothing has happened at all when I'm continuously haunted by the look on his face when he breathed his last!, he died in my arms! In my own arms!, I watched as life slipped away from him!." She screamed shaking.

He bit his lip, remembering the said look on as he pulled her away from Jack that night. It would haunt anyone, but he had seen enough dead people in his life to become immune to it. But he couldn't imagine what it felt like for her.

"Don't tell me you know what it feels like!......it doesn't make me feel the slightest better." She growled.

Even though he had the experience of his grand dad, it still wasn’t' identical to what happened to her, his grand dad died of natural causes and old age, Jack was murdered in cold blood, right before her eyes.

He may not know what it felt like, but a professional would, not just a psychology professor, as himself, but a real therapist.

He tried to pitch that to her, but she flipped. "It might help if you talk about it, to a professional……"

"I don't need therapy, Professor." She cut him off again.

"I didn't say you did, I just thought…."

"Stop thinking about my problems!, I'm not your responsibility, find someone else to be your charity case!."

'Charity case?.'

It was far from it, he wanted to tell her, but she was heated at the moment. He tried telling her not to bottle her feelings, it was never worth it. He knew that all too well. It wasn't pleasant.

All the feelings just kept swirling in his mind, hanging over his head like a dark cloud. It shrunk him.

"Wilson." He called out, to stop her train of words, but she ignored him.

"I'm very grateful for your help but stop meddling!." She screamed, her throat popping with veins. He looked at her wide hazel eyes, red from crying, her hollow cheeks, like she hadn't eaten in days, her dry chapped lips, quivering from the wet clothes and from staying under the rain.

Her clipped finger nails, she had been nervously picking at it the entire ride. Her eyes dark and sorrowful, with huge bags under them, her nose red and swollen, twitching.

It was then he knew. He couldn't leave her alone, she couldn't be alone right now. She would hurt herself.

'Fuck me!.'