Disclaimer: Not mine; no profit being made; no offense.

Author note: Bart, you troublemaker- I love it! Here's my swing of the bat at your curve ball!

The Show Must Go On

by

Dafni Laurel
(dafnilaurel@yahoo.com)

Max was tormented. Torn; anguished at his conflicted feelings. His heart, mind, and body wanted such very different things at any given time. Well, he had to admit that his body was the most consistent in its desires. It was just that he couldn’t reconcile the deep-rooted, gut-wrenching, often paralyzing fears in his heart with what the duo of body and soul so very much craved.

It wasn’t that Max hadn’t enjoyed his little outing with Fran to the countryside of Connecticut. In fact, he hadn’t really cared where their car trip had taken them; just being together and discovering more about each other had been wonderful; even in spite of the shocking revelation of Fran’s high school marriage. And hiking up to the spectacular lookout point over the waterfalls had been magnificent. He’d been so very pleased that they could just as easily be friendly and close outside of their "natural habitat" – more so, even. Though, in the end, that had been precisely the problem.

Max almost wished that they’d never left the mansion. Things were easier in the more familiar environment. Their roles and the boundaries between them were so much more clearly defined. The complications that had arisen out of their shopping excursion, their "non-date" to the movies, and the ghastly way their day trip to the countryside had ended were stark illustrations of that very fact. And Max was still clinging hard and fast to the tattered shreds of his "friends" plan with Fran. He had to; it was the only thing keeping him sane.

Three days had passed since they’d returned to the city, messy with dried, caked-on mud from their misadventure. Niles had furrowed his brows and given Max a suspicious stare when his employer had tried to explain exactly what had transpired – leaving out the minor detail that Barney Fife and his deputies had come in just as he and Fran had been about to make love. And Fran got a disbelieving wink when she told Niles that, no, in fact, "mud wrestling" hadn’t taken place, and to mind his own business.

Avoidance, fake smiles, and overly compensatory politeness ruled the days following their jaunt to Connecticut. Fran would greet the merrily children when she joined them for breakfast, a tiny bit late, as always. Max would glance up, hoping not to meet her eye, but when he did, they would put stiff grins on their faces and offer one another glasses of orange juice or another waffle.

Max retreated to his office as much as possible, much to CC’s delight. Though, the mood he was in was hardly delightful. CC had even commented on his state of mind. "Maxwell, I haven’t seen you in such a foul mood since Andrew Lloyd Webber had the ‘fastest fingers’ on ‘Celebrity Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.’" Max grumbled; and CC knew better than to push the matter. Whatever it was – and she was sure it had to do with Nanny Fine – she was confident Max would get over it. He always had, why should this bump in the road be any different?

Tonight, the fourth since spending the night hours with Fran in his arms, Max was up unable to sleep, tormented as he was with the thoughts and memories of being in bed with Fran after their dash in the rain to the vacant hunting cabin and their little game of Truth Or Dare. They’d been getting along so well, even in the face of his own possessive reaction to Fran’s confession of marriage. It wasn’t as if they’d even known each other at the time. Not to mention the fact that he’d had a life of his own; a marriage of his own. It was just that, somehow, when it came to he and Fran, Max wanted to believe that no one else had meant anything to her. Not even Danny Imperiali.

Oh, he was well aware that Fran and Danny had lived together and were "pre-engaged" – whatever that meant. He did know that it meant sleeping together; and in spite of his best efforts, the idea of Fran with another man set his blood boiling. The very notion inspired Neanderthal-like urges in Max and produced visions of himself coming to her rescue, whisking her away from Danny, sweeping her away to his own bedroom, and claiming her as his own, in a rather ungentlemanly way.

Suppressing those visual images, Max’s thoughts turned back, once again, to the night spent with Fran in the cramped cabin in the woods. On the surface, it’d seemed the perfect illustration of the success of Max’s "let’s be friends" plan: ending the evening with Fran in his arms, comforting her, the very picture of what best friends should be – a source of strength and protection in the face of the other’s fears.

And, in that moment of vulnerability, Max had been given a glimpse into the innermost insecurities of Fran Fine – someone he’d always considered indomitable. But her ability to confess her need to be held and comforted as the storm thundered around them had simply captivated his heart.

So rare were those moments when Fran showed anything but tenacity and a lust for life. It was one of the things she’d brought into his household that had been so lacking. Max and his children hadn’t ever known anyone like her, so sure of herself and enthusiastic about almost anything that she faced. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever seen her experience doubt – there’d been several times when her self-confidence waned, and he’d been happy to be there to bolster it for her. But in the moment when Fran admitted her need for him to help her through the stormy night, it stirred something within him.

He’d never known her to admit to needing anyone that way. Seeing her devotion to the children was the closest she’d come to showing a similar emotion. But the raw confession of such a simple request to be held and comforted through the night was such a contrast to her usual brash approach to everything.

As he pondered the moment, Max wondered if, perhaps, it wasn’t solely about the thunder and lightening. Something told him that while on the surface the storm was the reason for her fear, perhaps the deeper meaning behind her phobia was more metaphoric. With the world outside seemingly crashing all around her, Fran needed to know that someone was there for her – to help her weather the symbolic storm, no matter what it might be.

The notion both frightened and excited him. To be needed that way was something he could barely remember. Certainly his children needed him, but that was different. To have a woman need him for emotional and physical comfort wasn’t something he’d experienced since Sara. And, blast it, he liked it. Or he was petrified of the notion. Max couldn’t decide.

Fran’s softly uttered words, "I love you" made him feel as if he were plunging down the steepest roller-coaster drop of his life. Exciting, frightening, and adrenaline pumping. The words wrapped around his heart and clenched it in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Had she meant it or was it just a sleepy sentiment, slipped from an incongruous dream? Max had sensed a sincerity in her words, and just as the haze between waking and sleeping had probably caused him to be so bold with his touches in the morning, Fran had perhaps let her guard down as well; the truth had been allowed to come out. He’d uttered those words to her on the plane from Paris, but he’d not heard them returned from her lips – at least not without the aid of anesthesia. Again, excitement and trepidation mixed equally in his heart.

Would his fears of intimacy and Fran’s fears of being alone simply compound into some horrible dysfunctional relationship, more destructive than nurturing? Or could their fears cancel each other out; forming a perfect resolution to their emotional shortcomings?

Max’s gut reaction to his confused emotions was to turn to Fran herself for a friendly ear and good advice. And he fervently wished he could open up to her about his plaguing doubts regarding his inability to carry out his own friendship plan. That night on the front stoop, when they’d struck their deal to be friends, he’d been able to analytically outline his fears about becoming involved with her. But now, the stakes were higher. Instead of becoming mere friends, this whole plan was only serving to bring them closer together. They’d shared more moments of true intimate attraction in the last few weeks than they had in the last few years.

Employer and nanny hadn’t been enough. And, now, "friends" was proving to be too much, just as he’d feared something more physically intimate would’ve been. What was the solution? There had to be one. He’d been so proud and confident about the merits of his "friends" plan to the conundrum of a few weeks ago – but it’d been proving to be such a disaster.

It was just the way he’d been so naively proud of the fact that, with that kiss atop the waterfalls, he’d been able to exorcise from his system the urge to kiss Fran. Later that night, with Fran in his arms, so beautiful and close, Max realized what a bloody fool he’d been to think that playing with fire could serve as the extinguisher for the conflagration that erupted in him every time their lips touched.

That damned kiss, with the water roaring in the background, the heady feeling of the physical exertion of their hike, and, in spite of knowing full well it was foolhardy, his arrogance driving him to believe that a final kiss would do the trick. Max was lost the minute their lips touched, the moment their tongues tasted one another, the second his hands slid over the womanly contour of her waist and hips. His body had reacted in a way he wanted to recreate over and over again; with her.

Max was, as a rule, cautious by nature, but she managed to make him want to let go; to really let loose his passion, both body and soul. But this was perhaps truly the thing in his life that he needed to be cautious about. And, in a way, he was glad that his damned fears, insecurities, and those other hikers kept him from following through on any wild fantasies about Fran and the soft underbrush of the Connecticut woods.

The whole bloody thing was such an awful conundrum. Max needed to think. Needed to get his usual clear headedness back. He didn’t want to hurt her, though; and he knew their fragile friendship wouldn’t withstand another "taking back" of anything. Besides, the last thing he wanted to take back was a kiss shared with Fran. Maybe it’d been a mistake to take back his declaration of love, as well. That there was love between them wasn’t in dispute. It was the being in love that was the issue, and Max just couldn’t face all that those words, those feelings, entailed. So, easy enough – he simply took them back in order to avoid truly dealing with the feelings they represented. Not so simple a plan, he was discovering.

He’d known real love with Sara – but they were so young. And Max had more experiences in life now, things that shaped how he viewed life and love – like the very loss of Sara herself. He was coming to realize that he really did long to share his life’s experiences and outlook with someone – other than Niles, that is. He was a man with needs – emotional and physical – and they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. He wanted what he had with Sara again –and more, now that he’d lived more of his life and had more to share with someone.

But, Max didn't want to have any damn needs. He knew he could adequately muddle through the physical ones – but he had more desires than the relatively easily remedied physiological ones. The emotional gratification that can accompany the physical was what Max truly wanted. So why, then, did he need to always keep his distance?

Why, why, why? Max repeated the mantra in his head. Fear of intimacy and the pain that could result? That was the easy answer. And he’d told Fran the truth – he’d only been in love once. The painful blow that Sara’s death had dealt was unbearable. He would never be the same; neither would his children. Using logic, Max knew that he couldn’t shelter them from ever experiencing emotional pain the rest of their lives, but his gut reaction told him that he could protect himself. It was self preservation in the form of self-imposed isolation. He had loved and lost; and he believed that the best way to guard himself against that was to never love again.

It was all so mixed up in his head. The emotional, the physical… all tossed together made it so difficult to sort out. He’d come so close to abandoning his cautious emotional course for one of irresponsible reckoning. It was ridiculous to steal that final kiss – that was his downfall. Later, when she had asked him to comfort her and he did, it seemed so easy and comfortable; then, in the morning, his damned hormones had taken over, spurred on by the previous afternoon’s interlude.

In that early morning moment, Max’s heart raced with the certain knowledge that kissing Fran was just the tip of the iceberg. There was so much else to discover about her; about what they could be like together. But like the Titanic, "just the tip of the iceberg" was all they could see – it was what loomed hidden, beneath the surface that had sunk the ship. Thank God those officers had come into the cabin when they did.

The memory of shifting Fran’s body to cover her nubile form with his own desirous one had been so sharp in his mind when they had returned home. But now, it seemed so unreal and far away; ridiculous almost. Out of their usual milieu of locales in the city, the memories now had a mystical quality to them. Max didn’t know how to treat any of it. Ignoring what had happened – almost happened – seemed like a good idea; but there was no denying what they’d come so close to doing. How do you go back to "real life?" Perhaps that lesson was the most important one he’d missed out on by not going away to summer camp. What do you do when camp is over and you have to resume your regular life?

If they were to ever couple, physically, Max was positive there would be such a burning heat of passion between them; fireworks and all the clichéd images of making love would pale. His desire for her burned in his blood – boiling just below the surface; images of what might have been in that little hunting cabin filled his mind…

Max shook his head to clear away the conjured images of Fran’s body coupling with his own and decided he needed to fetch a glass of milk in an at least half-real attempt to get some sleep.

Donning his robe but forgoing slippers, Max slipped quietly down the stairs and navigated his way into the kitchen, knowing the lay out of his home even in the black of night. The dark, however, was split by a shaft of light under the kitchen door. Probably Niles, Max assumed. But when he swung the door open, it was Fran’s countenance who greeted him.

"Miss Fine!" "Oh, Mr. Sheffield!" came their simultaneous and matching startled greetings.

Holding a glass of milk in one hand and the carton in the other, Fran intuitively inquired, "Can’t sleep either, huh?"

"Um, no. There’s no thunder or lightening, Miss Fine – you should be sound asleep. Or is there something else you’re afraid of?" Max hadn’t meant the remark to come out so snippy, but it did. And, he realized, it was a question much more suited for himself.

"No, Mr. Sheffield. I’m fine, thank you very much." Fran’s defensive and ill-humored tone was punctuated by the way she shoved the milk carton back into the refrigerator and slammed the door shut. "Now, unless you want to drive us around the city, get lost, and force us to sleep in an abandoned apartment, I’m going to bed!"

Marching up the back steps, leaving an astonished Max Sheffield in her wake, Fran retreated to her room. He hated himself for being sarcastic with her; hated the circumstances that were forcing them to be this way with each other. Glumly reaching for the milk that she’d put away, Max resolved to simply steel himself against her and the urge to let his emotions get the better of him. He knew how to turn off his emotions – as a boy, he’d learned to do it well – emotions of any sort weren’t something his parents approved of for a young English gentleman.

Max knew he had to deal with his feelings internally, but he would simply not involve Miss Fine in his internal struggle. It might hurt her at first, he feared; but he was positive it would result in a far better outcome in the long run than the pain of giving in to one’s carnal desires and then regretting it later. Mounting the steps back to his own room, milk in hand, Max was convincing himself that this whole "night in the woods" thing was something they could recover from, given time. They just had to. He wouldn’t know what to do if they didn’t.

Back in bed, sipping his milk, a puzzled expression taking over his features, Max’s emotions quite suddenly turned from anxious and frustrated to rather angry. How dare she make him face his demons that way! Luring him to those waterfalls, then tempting him with her body through the night. Knowing well and good that his anger was misplaced, Max rather enjoyed the feeling of empowerment his ire produced.

Max half-heartedly cursed Fran for stirring up all these questions in him. If it weren’t for her, he never would’ve had to face the petrifying issue of if his own suitability for another relationship. No matter what the answer, even being faced with the question was terrifying.

Stewing until his eye lids were unable to bear their own weight, sleep finally took Max over. And, save for a five minute sleepy haze in which Max felt no burden of his conflicted emotions, he awoke just as confused and perturbed as he’d been the night before. Unable to analyze his feelings any longer, as it’d gotten him exactly nowhere last night, Max simply began to withdraw into himself. And, putting on a false sense of confidence, Max was determined not show his bitter or frustrated feelings to his children; and he knew he needed to save face with Niles and CC as well.

See? That illustrated the whole point of his friends plan. Others could get hurt; not just he and Fran. Suddenly feeling quite vindicated, a bit silly for his late night hours of worrying, and just a little haughty, Max showered and dressed, whistling all the while. Yes, he was feeling back in the game again. More like his usual assured and confident self. He’d demanded friendship, and unlike his previous failed attempts, friendship was what he was going to give her!

*************************

Oy, of all the people to run into in the middle of the night!

Fran practically ran up the stairs back to her room after meeting Max in the kitchen, where they’d both sought the soothing elixir of a glass of milk. While Max was frightened that he would’ve hurt Fran’s feelings if he tried to take back his words "screw being friends," he needn’t have worried.

Fran knew that what had been about to happen in that dusty cabin would’ve been a great flash of physical electricity – but it also would’ve been a grave mistake. That wasn’t how Fran had wanted it to happen. She knew what a summer camp romance was all about – accelerated and heightened emotional states driving your libido while far from home. And that was exactly what had happened to she and Max in the Connecticut woods. Not that she feared the desire she’d felt from Max wasn’t real – she absolutely knew the way his body was beginning to react to hers wasn’t an illusion – but Fran didn’t want any progress in their relationship to stem from mere circumstances.

True, it’d been her plan to steer his "friends" solution into a more romantic and physical direction. But it needed to happen when they were both ready; and Fran was sure Max still needed to deal with his feelings before he’d be able to make love to her freely, without holding something of himself back or simply running away from the encounter the next day.

What had happened was reparable; Fran felt that they could move on from it. Thank God for Connecticut state troopers – and their tight-fitting Highway Patrol pants -- if they remained uninterrupted, disaster would’ve surely followed.

Besides, Fran mused philosophically, she and Max were already emotionally intimate; it was the physical part of the relationship they had yet to explore. She suspected that, for Max, the physical aspect was a material representation of the emotional permission to love her – to truly let her into his heart.

Her mother had always told her that 99% of being a couple was deciding where to have dinner and 1% was sex; but Fran feared that while they could have a 99% fantastic relationship, they’d never get to experience the 1%. And she knew that without that particular 1%, their relationship would forever be incomplete.

That they were comfortable with each other there was no doubt; being mistaken for a married couple on more than one occasion settled that matter. That there was chemistry between them was obvious; the searing kisses that elicited palpable, sensual zings of electricity between them illustrated the attraction. But what, in the face of those undeniable facts, could still be so frightening to Max? The hurdle of his fears frustrated Fran to no end.

They already had so many things necessary for a successful relationship: sharing, loving, laughing, learning about each other… but there was always something missing. The lack of that "something" was what Max wasn’t willing to give in to. Fran knew that they both felt the absence of it – and "just friends" wouldn’t feel that.

Real friends wouldn’t have suggested testing out a kissing legend while at a waterfall in Connecticut. But Max had. And what a kiss it had been. Fran swore that as long as she lived, she’d never experience a kiss like that again – unless it was another kiss with Max. The feel of the fresh air warming them, invigorated from the hike; and the powerful way he’d grabbed her to him, his hand holding her head in place, then his hands wandering purposefully down her back, to just graze at the top of the curve of her rear. And, oh, he smelled so good – a little tangy from his sweat, but musky and masculine as it mixed with his cologne and freshly laundered shirt.

Fran closed her eyes at the sensory memory of having been even closer to him that night – first, it was the musty smell of the long-neglected blankets and mattress mixed with their rain-soaked clothes drying in front of the fire. But in the morning, the aroma of sleep clinging to them, enveloping them in a warm world of their own over took the other scents. Fran had dreamed that he was watching her – touching her; that was what emboldened her own sensual attack. And, for a moment it was still just part of the dream as she reached out her lips to taste his skin, illustrating her desire.

Max’s "screw being friends" declaration startled her out of the dream-world they were in, and she was more than ready to follow his lead. On the long and awkward drive home, Fran had mentally begged him not to take back the words. Not because she didn’t want to face the rejection, but because while she was positive he’d been earnest in sentiment, it wasn’t with a clear head that he had uttered them, and she didn’t want to face the embarrassment it would cause them both to re-visit the incident.

The emotions she knew were buried within him had finally been allowed to see the light of day, and they’d illustrated quite well the very point she’d been trying to prove: merely "friends" was something they simply could not be.

But it was all wrong; it wasn’t a decision they’d come to mutually. They were operating on hormones; and while there was nothing wrong with two adults giving in to their primal attraction for one another, Fran knew the consequences of a coupling under those circumstances would’ve ruined everything. Max would have regretted it, Fran would have felt guilty, and everything they’d built between them would’ve been obliterated. It could’ve been the biggest mistake of their lives.

Fran felt sure that while kisses here and there, and even Max’s "I love you" could be swept aside, awaiting the time when they were both ready to move forward with their relationship, making love would have irrevocably changed things between them. Once that barrier was crossed, there could only be two options: eventual marriage or a permanent parting of ways; and Fran was grateful that they’d been rescued from having to find out the hard way if their fragile, "more than friends" friendship wasn’t prepared for that step.

While Fran was still assured that the ultimate goal of her plan – and the theory behind it – to make Max understand that they could be, and were meant to be, more than friends, she had now come to doubt the path she’d plotted out to attain her objective.

Feeling a flush creep across her face, Fran realized the conceit in her thinking. Why did she have to be so damned sure and forceful about everything? It was what people seemed to like about her – or so she’d always thought – her surety and peppiness; her joie de vivre. The reality was that it hid an underlying and petrifying fear of the unknown.

Since childhood, Fran had gotten very good at covering up her insecurities with a brash and loud over-confidence. It was a great fit with her best friend, Val, who was never very confident about anything. And it was that quality of self assuredness that had made her invaluable to the Sheffields, who all seemed afraid of their own shadows since the death Sara.

Fran wondered now if maybe she’d made a mistake all those years – that maybe her forwardness didn’t leave enough room for other’s feelings.

Oh, God, I’m turning into my mother!

Though, for all her pushiness, Sylvia had been the one to give Fran the most insight into Max’s heart. She had helped Fran see the guilt and conflict within him. Flashing back to that conversation in her parent’s small kitchen, Fran knew her mother was right; Max’s fears weren’t unfounded. He was dysfunctional, confused, and terrified of loving again.

As much as she could sympathize with his inner struggles, Fran was going crazy with the back and forth – her confidence could only take so much uncertainty. She thought she’d known that it would only be a matter of time before Max would confront his demons and open himself up to loving her, physically and emotionally, but was it? Maybe the time would never come. Who could tell; she was no Dr. Joyce Brothers, after all.

Be careful what you wish for, Fran thought… She’d hoped to throw Max off his game – his "friends" game. But she hadn’t considered how it might all play out. She’d never anticipated this outcome; one where proving her point would bring more pain than pleasure.

Fran rustled her blankets and shifted uncomfortably as she faced her own inner demons. Ones that included confronting the fact that her long-held visions of being swept off her feet by a knight in shining armor and never having to be alone were probably not terribly realistic. The importance her family placed on marriage, kids, and family above all else had created in her the impression that her life would never be complete until she found a husband. Forcing Danny in to their "pre-engagement" and pushing Max to the limit with her ploy to combat his "friends" plan now seemed like embarrassing examples of how she’d manipulated the emotions of the men she loved.

Through the evening and late into the night, Fran’s emotions ranged the gamut from confusion to guilt to profound sadness. But what she realized was that if she were able to own up to what her own relationship failings had been, Max ought to be man enough to do the same.

Her initial notion to play on Max’s attraction to her was left by the wayside as Fran decided that if Max wanted to still be friends, she’d give him friends all right. She didn’t need the emotional aggravation of the game they’d been playing with one another. She deserved so much more than that. So, no games, no sexy banter, no kisses. Strictly friends.

See how he likes that! No more "Miss Fine" to chase you around, Mr. Sheffield. Let’s see how you like getting just what you’ve asked for!

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