[There's no argument to be had, if Ash doesn't say anything. Max can argue indefinitely. Not well, but if it's just a matter of being mad and yelling back... This, he can't yell away, can't punch away, can't write away.

That sound out of Ash is primal in how painful it is to hear; Max had surges of protectiveness over his wife, his child, and most strongly over Ash. It drove him to seek Blanca himself before. Now, it hits a nerve, some part of him deep and buried and numbed enough that it had seemed deadened, and yet that struggling hold, that sob, demands something in him, that something that pushed through having his hand stabbed, through gunshot wounds, come back. It's as if he's on the verge of having the gun pulled at his temple again. Only thing time, it's not okay. This time, Ash won't be free to fight. Ash won't be okay. Ash isn't okay.]

Fuck it.

[His voice his low, gravelly, but sure, as he pulls Ash into his lap.]

It's gonna be fine. Everything. I was stupid. I won't even say sorry or ask you to forgive it. I'll just make it better. All of it.