AN: This is my first fic for anything outside of Harry Potter. I absolutely love the character of Max and wanted to explore him more. This is set in the mind of Max after the army, around the time of "Blackbird." There are three more chapters planned, which will be about his experiences in the army, in the hospital, andtowards the end of the movie. Enjoy.

1. Then

These days, all of Max's life before Vietnam has faded into the blur of Then.

Then was a time of happiness, of pranking and joking with friends. Everything was a joke; the next laugh was always waiting on his lips. He spent Then running through the days, just searching for the next bit of fun, never worrying about the future or the past or anything beyond the shallow feeling of the moment.

He had liked to fancy himself more mature than his peers, in that he supposedly didn't buy into their adoration of status, but of course now he knows he was pathetically immature, always just running away from anything unpleasant. Or maybe that's the epitome of maturity--being able to do exactly as you please and hang the consequences, and have near-perfect happiness. Is that a childish escape of responsibility, or a wise attainment of the best goal?

Max doesn't know, and he can't even begin to try to figure it out. Not now. Now all he can do is try to relive all the old times:

Tormenting Lucy and Julia with all the little pranks an older brother has the right to perform on his baby sisters--hiding their toys, teasing, pulling their pigtails. (Not too much, though. Never enough to really hurt them, for he would always, always stop as soon as the merest hint of a tear appeared in their eyes. He was such a sucker for an adorable pout. His sisters might not have guessed it, but they had him wrapped around their fingers like the old vines that seemed to choke the apple tree in the yard.)

Joyfully pushing his parents as far as he dared, pulling away when they called him, casually dropping his jacket on the floor, sticking his tongue out behind their backs, just for the thrill of getting away with it.

Going apple picking with his friends in the fall, an activity that always descended into far more apples being thrown at each other than brought home in sacks. All the images of an idyllic New England childhood.

Although, he always thought he had a bone to pick--a running current of discontent, which as he grew up, manifested itself as relatively innocent rebellion. Especially in high school, when his slacker tendencies overcame any remaining desire to please his parents. With his fairly abysmal grades, he's certain the only way he got into Princeton was through a generous donation from his parents.

Rather than being grateful for that, he became more resentful of their expectations and turned college into the ultimate party--a nonstop frenzy of beer, pot, and girls. And those two and a half years were the best of his life. Just friends and fun, no parents, no worries. Of course, eventually it caught up to him, but no matter. Under threat of being kicked out of Princeton, he turned the tables by dropping out. And that escape brought what he had really been chasing all along--freedom.

Yes, more than anything else, Then was the time of freedom. There was nothing between him and whatever he wanted to do.

The Thanksgiving he dropped out brought the two best things that ever happened to him: Jude and New York. Of course, the two were inextricably linked. Both were exotic, something he'd never experienced in his sheltered youth. New York was the ultimate experience, with all the freedom he could ever want. And Jude was a friend who really seemed to care, not about his money or sense of humor or ability to make everything a party, but about him. As he completed the break from his own family, Jude and Sadie and all the rest became a surrogate family, which was just what he needed. Jude meant the heady feeling of escaping to New York, immersing himself in all the chaos the great city had to offer. And New York meant getting to know Jude, becoming incredibly close friends in just a few months, trusting him to be something of an anchor through all the wildness.

Now, Then looks to Max like a time utterly free from sadness. Even the great tragedies of his youth--his parents' constant bitter disapproval, that lingering sense of a lack of fulfillment, and worst of all, Lucy's pain when Daniel died--now seem like nothing more than a scrape on the knee. Even the arrival of the Letter didn't change much. He can't comprehend how he could ever think this, but he vaguely remembers (nearly everything is vague these days) telling everyone he didn't care about going to war, that he would be fine, even believing it himself. It did lend a slight dark shadow to life in New York, but only because it meant those joyous days were going to end sooner than he would have liked, not because he was dreading war. The early tragedies just can't compare to what was to come. Smaller pains aren't even remembered.

Looking back on Then brings the most intense nostalgia imaginable. Max wants nothing more than to be able to go back to that time, wants it so much it hurts to think about it and sucks up all his motivation to attempt to enjoy today. Again and again, he is drawn to the time when everything was innocent and good, before it all went to shit.

Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Any sort of feedback will truly make my day!