Re: log: dylan & max
Dylan would have argued that everyone hid their family, especially with the kind of work that the two of them did. But maybe the main reason for that was undercover safety precautions, something that with Max would have been unneccessary because he trusted her completely not to be some double agent. All this hotel business and after all of these years, that would have been some deep, deep cover. And that wasn't Max. He'd always thought she was more about strapped kevlar and kicking in doors than fake names and fake smiles. He'd thought he knew her, in that distant FBI operative way that study could let you know anyone. What exactly does somebody's pin number or the way they hold a beer say about someone? Dylan used to make lists, he used to check off which theories were true. But that was a lifetime ago, and these days he didn't much care for figuring people out. Picking brains, understanding, that wasn't for him anymore. Now, he was strictly about machines, they were less complicated. Less compromising.
Max pulled her hand away, and Dylan chased after it. Buzzed reflexes made it less immediate, it wasn't a snatch, it was fingers fumbling after, curling around her knuckles and not her wrist. "Hey," he said it like, look at me. His dark hair wasn't in his eyes, even with the way that he cocked his head, some kind of product kept it brushed back. "I'll tell you." If she wanted to know, he'd tell her. "But its not good, I want us to talk about good things."