Max was faithful, that could never be argued or denied. He had been with Norma since she was sixteen, in one way or another. He started as her director, the one who made her a star. After that he was her husband, and after a fall from grace kept tabs on her by playing minimal roles in the pictures she starred in. And once the talkies were in full swing and she was no longer working, he came back as her butler, having realized he couldn't bear to not be with her.

And she accepted him back into her life as if all their interactions in the past had never happened. It was a seamless and easy transition, going from up-and-coming director, to husband and magnificent director, to a two-bit actor, to her butler. It felt as if it was meant to be that way, just the two of them together in that huge mansion. He had fired the staff not long after he returned, finding them incompetent and unwilling to truly serve Norma. But then, no one cared for her as he did.

Surprisingly, despite what had been a rather nasty and messy divorce, she still trusted him. So much so that when he randomly showed up and began taking control of her staff she barely batted an eye. He had always known what was best for her, even when she hadn't quite known herself. And she supposed that, deep down, she still cared for him. What other reason was there for how easily they existed together?

And this was a very special year, in more ways than one. This was the year she turned fifty, but of course they both ignored that. No, it was special for a different reason. They had been together thirty-four years in some shape, way, or form. They acknowledged it in the back of their minds, and if she showed him a little more affection or he went even further than he usually did to please her, well, it just happened.

And of course he still loved her. Yes, Max Von Mayerling would easily admit that he was still deeply in love with a woman young enough, even now, to be his daughter. Perhaps that was why he so readily let her drape herself across him one afternoon in late November. She was in one of her moods, the ones that tended to be dangerous if not dealt with properly. She had called for him, and of course he came.

He found her sprawled in one of the chairs in what he liked to call 'The Sanctuary'. It was the room with all the pictures of Norma throughout her career, and it also housed the oil painting that would rise to reveal a hidden projection screen. He knew she had been thinking about her untimely fall from grace, the look on her face said it all.

"Yes, Madame?"

"Max, come here."

He crossed to her obediently, subtly checking to make sure she hadn't harmed herself. As he got closer he noticed how exhausted she looked. She hadn't been sleeping well, something he wished he could remedy.

"Sit down."

He started to sit in a chair across from her, but stopped when he saw her face. She was watching him calmly, but her eyes, the same eyes that had once moved millions to tears, revealed her irritation. He thought for a moment before seating himself on the very edge of her chair. It was the closest they had been in years, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. She shifted beside him, making more room.

"Well slide back, I won't bite."

'Oh, I beg to differ,' he thought as he remembered a particularly drunken night in the bedroom not long after they were first married. But he obeyed anyway, curious as to what she had planned.

"Max, do you think I could work again?" Oh, no, not this again. Anything else, he prayed, just not this. "I miss it so much, you know. And I think I could revive silent movies if we make Salome."

No, God no. Her script was terrible, he knew that much from glancing at it in passing. The studio would never even consider it.

"I want DeMille to direct. It will be marvelous! The two of us, together again. Can't you see it, Max?"

She looked so happy and hopeful. As always, he kept her illusion alive.

"Yes, Madame. Soon everyone will know you are the greatest."

She sighed happily and laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed, the sensation foreign after so many years. She shifted to get more comfortable, and he could tell it wouldn't be long before she fell asleep. She needed it, heaven knew. They sat in silence for several moments before he got the courage to lightly rub her back.

She sighed again and curled closer to him, and he accommodated her by shifting so that she was cradled against his chest. It struck him again just how small and fragile she was. He couldn't let her hopes get dashed, it would crush her. He felt her growing heavy against him and knew she was almost asleep. He continued to draw soothing circles on her back, and in mere minutes she was sleeping soundly.

He relaxed and leaned back, allowing himself to enjoy the moment. He was almost asleep himself when the doorbell rang. He jerked awake, cursing in his mind at whoever dared interrupt them. Norma stirred, but remained asleep. He eased out from under her and went to the door, vowing that if whoever was behind it woke Norma he would kill them.

To his shock and surprise, Lina Lamont stood outside the door, looking as bubbly as ever. She had aged of course, as had all Norma's friends. He had no idea why she was there, as she had been one of several who were quick to abandon Norma when it became apparent that talkies weren't for her. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that she was in need of something, most likely money. Straightening his suit, and making himself as intimidating as possible, he opened the door.

"Max!" the blonde gushed as he was revealed. "Who knew you'd be here?"

Her voice was just as grating as he remembered it. He looked her up and down in distaste. She still dressed as if it were still the twenties. He hair was obviously dyed, as such a garish yellow could only have come from a bottle. Max never understood how Don Lockwood had tolerated her.

On top of it all, she was practically screaming. If he wasn't so professional he would have cringed and covered his ears. As it was, he swore if her high pitched screaming woke Norma he would kill her with his bare hands.

"Miss Lamont, what can I do for you?"

"I thought I'd pay Norma a visit. It's been so long since I've seen her after all."

Max dropped all pretenses of friendliness. He scowled at her and as cowered back.

"Why are you really here?"

"I-I've hit a-a rough patch, you might call it. I was hoping she would help me out."

Max's eyes darkened even more, and he seemed to grow even taller.

"Miss Desmond does not wish to see you, nor does she give handouts."

This seemed to trigger something in the woman, as she straightened her spine and glared right back.

"Who do you think you are, speaking for her? I bet she'd love to see me! Norma! Norma!" she yelled, trying to get passed Max.

"Miss Lamont, Miss Desmond is resting. It would not be wise to disturb her. I suggest you leave now."

"You don't own this house! You have no say!"

He stepped toward her and cowered over her. Fear flashed in her eyes, but she didn't move.

"Oh, but Miss Lamont, I do. You see, Miss Desmond may own the estate, but I keep it running. Now, Miss Desmond is resting and does not wish to be disturbed. She will not give you money, and she does not wish to see you. If you don't leave I will be forced to call the authorities."

Lina's eyes widened and she backed away slowly. Max stayed on the front stoop until her car was out if sight. Satisfied, he then returned inside.

"Max," Norma called when she heard the door close, her voice heavy with sleep. He was at her side instantly, crouched down beside her. "Who was at the door?"

He could tell she was only half awake, and thought Miss Lina Lamont should count her lucky stars she didn't wake up fully. He thought fast, not wanting her to know who had really been there.

"No one, only a delivery boy at the wrong house. He argued with me about the address, but I sent him away."

"Oh." Even half asleep, her face crumpled, and he knew what was coming next. "I was hoping it was someone to see me. Have they forgotten me, Max? Doesn't anyone love me anymore?"

She began to cry, and he had to strongly refrain from replying that of course someone still loved her. He loved her. Instead, he opened his arms invitingly and she collapsed into them, desperate and craving comfort and familiarity. He held her as she cried, her tears soaking through his suit jacket and shirt. After a bit, he noticed her sobs slowing and his knees hurting.

He eased them both back up onto the overly large chair, Norma once again draping her body across his. Gradually, she stopped crying and just laid there, breathing heavily. His hand had found her back again at some point and seemed content to rub circles once more. She didn't scream at him to stop, which he took as a good sign. The crying had worn her out, even more than she had been before, and she muffled a yawn and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

"No one loves me anymore, Max," she whispered, her voice scratchy. "No one but you. And you'll always be here, won't you?"

"Of course I will, Madame."

He felt her smile into his neck before she fell back asleep, and couldn't help but kiss the top of her head lightly. He then proceeded to lay his head back and remember the days he had been married to her, how wonderful they had been. He drifted to sleep hours later, never noticing the way Norma clung to him as if he was a lifeline.