Cancer

Max Steel no Chishiki Baiten

Cancer | Adios, Hermano

General disclaimer: Max Steel belongs to many companies, Kids’ WB!, two different computer animation companies, and a whole mess-o corporate executives. This story is my personal work derived from my inner child getting hold of an uzi and obliterating my good side.

Berto glanced the stop-watch in his hand with mild concern. Max’s times had just been going downhill over the last few months. The twenty-four-year-old agent hit the finish line a full five seconds slower than his time not two weeks ago. He was doubled over, gasping painfully for air, to boot. The tech stepped over to him, and placed a hand on the older agent’s shoulder.

“You feeling okay, Max?” he asked, the concern evident. Max grinned at him reassuringly, and straightened up. He wiped a few beads of sweat away from his forehead, and exhaled.

“I’m fine, bro. Just a little winded. Probably over did it on the last mission,” he said cheerfully, turning to head back to the starting point of the course. Berto grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing? After a run like that, you should be getting some rest, not trying to push yourself overboard,” the tech scolded reasonably. Max merely shook him off with a confident smile.

“Don’t worry, bro. Besides, after a run like that, I have to go and beat my time,” he said with emphasis, then jogged down to the starting point. Despite his feelings of hesitation, Berto reluctantly picked up the stop-watch. There was no point in arguing with the older man.

“You know the drill, Max,” he called, raising his arm. The brunette agent’s head dropped slightly, and he felt a blur of dizziness crash into his body. Reflexively he stood, and staggered back a step. The feeling passed after a moment. Stubbornly, he shook it off, and crouched again. He watched his partner’s arm drop, and bolted into the course. In a flurry of rolling, dodging, kicking, punching, and running, Max felt he had no time to spare the mild cramping he felt in his stomach. Pushing it aside, he took a running jump, and caught one of the bars hovering over the three foot deep pool. He swung a few times for momentum, then released. In mid-air, he felt a pain he’d never experienced in his life. It was as if his intestines had uncoiled and wrapped around his heart, squeezing and crushing it much the same was a boa killing it’s prey. He never made it to the next bar. Berto was already running towards him, even as he hit the water.

“Max!” the Spanish agent yelled, screeching to a stop by the pool. The stop-watch fell to the floor, and broke. Ignoring it, the younger man waded into the water, and retrieved his partner. Max was curled into a ball, groaning, arms wrapped protectively around his mid-section. It was impossible to tell if he had any injuries from the fall. Considering the size difference between the two men, Berto would have had considerable trouble hauling Max out of the pool. Instead of pulling or spraining something while attempting to drag his friend, the Spanish tech simply pulled the injured agent into the shallowest part of the water.

“Ugh...what happened?” the brunette agent groaned, turning his head out of the water. Berto shook his head helplessly.

“I’m not sure, hermano. Just relax, and I’ll get some help down here,” he replied, getting out of the water. He rushed to the table he’d left his headset on, and picked it up.

“This is Martinez. I need a medical team in Training Room 2B, ASAP,” he said rapidly into the microphone. A voice assured him that help was on the way. Spinning around, the tech hurried back to his friend’s side. Max raised his head somewhat to see him.

“I am an idiot,” he said quietly. Berto shook his head, and hesitantly helped maneuver the fallen agent up a little more out of the pool.

“You’ve got your father’s stubbornness,” he corrected, a small smile crossing his lips. Max chuckled softly, then groaned, hugging his arms tighter against his body.

“I think my insides have sprung minds of their own,” he mumbled. The doors leading into the training room shot open, and three of the medical staff, along with a stretcher, burst into the room. The Spanish agent waved them over, then stepped back to allow the team to help his partner. The leader asked questions in a casual, rapid-fire manner as they tried to access Max’s condition. Most of the questions were lost to the pain the brunette agent was engulfed in. Eventually, they hauled him onto the stretcher, and wheeled him out. Berto pulled off his headset, tossed it at the desk, missed, and rushed to follow them.

After being told that he was in no condition to be helping, for the moment, Berto made a quick stop at his room to change out of the soaked uniform he’d been wearing. He was only mildly surprised to find Rachel in the waiting area outside the medical bay when he returned. She looked considerably distraught, and looked up when he entered the room.

“Berto,” she greeted solemnly. The younger agent nodded in reply.

“Any word?” he asked, looking at the door. She shook her head, then turned to look at him head-on. The worry in her eyes was all to apparent.

“Berto, what happened?” she asked in a quiet voice. The younger agent looked at her hands. They were shaking slightly.

“I really don’t know. We were running through a training session, and he...cramped up, I guess,” the young man explained simply. Rachel nodded slightly, just as the doors opened. One of the nurses came out. Both agents were on their feet in a moment.

“Dr. Martinez?” she asked, looking at the Spanish tech. Berto nodded, and stepped forward.

“Yes?” he asked, trying to maintain professionalism. The woman smiled slightly at him.

“Dr. Hina would like you to come in back. You‘re the one who knows the most about Mr. Steel’s condition, and we really need your input,” she explained, gesturing for him to follow her. The dark-haired agent threw a reassuring look to Rachel, then hurried into the back. He followed the nurse in silence, wondering what he’d find when they reached the examination room they were keeping Max in. Something told him that it wasn’t going to be good.

All together, there were three nurses, excluding his escort, and one doctor present in the room when Berto arrived. He tried not to look at Max’s motionless, anesthetized body as he came up to the doctor. The man looked grave.

“What’s his status?” the Spanish tech questioned calmly, eyes inadvertently straying to his partner. A rustle of papers snapped his head back to the doctor. The man was holding out a few printouts.

“We thought you should have a look at this,” he explained. Berto took the papers, and skimmed over them. His eyes shot open in horror, seeing the last page.

“Madre de Dios!” he gasped in shock. It was worse than he’d thought. The agent threw a look a his best friend. Who was going to die.

Three days later....

Max woke with a splitting headache, and nasty stomach pains as well. He was barely aware of his surroundings, except that someone was holding his right hand. Slowly, he began to come back into the real world. He became aware that there were at least three other people in the room with him.

“I think he’s waking up,” Rachel’s voice said, close on his right. With much effort, the injured agent opened his eyes, and looked around. He had guessed correctly, Rachel was sitting on his right, her hands closed around his. His father was standing on the same side, just past the blonde agent. Berto was on his left, checking his IV and monitors. Everyone looked happy, in a sad way, too see him awake. Why? Am I dead? What happened back in the training room? he asked himself silently, letting his eyes slide from face to face.

“Hermano, can you hear me?” Berto asked suddenly. Max turned his head slightly.

“Hey, bro. What’s going on?” he asked weakly. The younger man made a motion for him to remain quiet. Confused, but feeling too tired still to do otherwise, the patient obeyed.

“Just relax,” Rachel told him calmly. He looked up at her, and smiled. She returned the expression, though it didn’t quite reach her large green eyes. After several minutes, his strength seemed to return, to a marginal point. He still felt drained, burned out, in pain.

“Can I sit up yet?” he asked finally. The three other occupants of the room nodded, then Rachel and Berto carefully helped him into a sitting position, legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

“How are you feeling, son?” Jefferson asked, with a little more fatherly concern than the injured agent expected, even from him. Max yawned slightly.

“Really bad stomach ache. What happened?” he replied, placing his free hand just below his ribcage. Rachel squeezed his right hand.

“Hermano, there’s a problem...” Berto started quietly. Max cut him off with a look.

“Don’t dance around it, bro. Just tell me,” he said in a soft, authoritative voice. The Spanish agent took a deep breath, while Max held his. It had to be bad if his bro was this hesitant to talk about it.

“Max, you’ve got a mutated strain of lymphoma,” the younger tech blurted finally. Max’s eyes shot open in shock.

“What?!” he demanded instantly. Rachel gripped his hand tighter, trying to comfort both of them.

“Cancer, son. You have cancer,” Jeff said in a strained voice, then hugged his son. Max was rigid with panic. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. Yet, it was, and it was happening.

“But, mutated? How? If it’s those chili-cheeseburgers from Cafe Cafe, man, I’ll--” he started, trying to joke. Berto placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, silencing him.

“The max-probes. Or the transphasic. Maybe both of them. Either way, it was due to the small amounts of radiation the probes retained. Over the years, it’s built up,” the younger agent explained calmly. Max was silent for a moment, staring straight ahead at the wall behind Jeff.

“How much has it spread?” he asked finally, just above a whisper.

“Your entire body, hermano. It’s spread almost anywhere the probes are,” Berto told him quietly. Max looked down at his left hand. It was shaking, badly. Rachel still clutched his right in a reassuring, vise-like grip.

“How much time to I have left?” he questioned next, still staring at his free hand.

“I’m not sure. A few weeks. Three months tops,” the tech replied. Max sighed, and hung his head.

"Dad, Berto...could I talk to Rachel alone for a minute?" the brunette agent asked, looking at the other two men. Both nodded, and left the room quickly. Rachel moved to sit on the bed beside him, her hand still entwined in his.

"I wish this wasn't happening," the blonde agent said softly. Max nodded, looking at the floor.

"I do too. Rach, I love you. I don't want to lose you, or you me. Why is this happening?" he said, in a childish voice. Rachel slipped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you too, Max. I want there to be a way to cure this. There has to be," she told him in her most encouraging tone. Tears began to form in his eyes. He blinked rapidly.

"I hope you're right. I--" he started, but couldn’t finish. The tears were coming, no, they had come. Rachel rested his head against her shoulder, and rocked him gently. Her left hand reached up and stroked his hair soothingly.

"Shh...shh...it'll be okay, Max," she said comfortingly, as he broke down and sobbed in her arms. She didn’t say anything after that, merely rocked and held him, trying to keep her own tears at bay, until he fell asleep, almost ten minutes later. However, she was out almost immediately after him.

The next morning, Rachel was surprised to find herself still in the medical bay, and furthermore, with Max leaning against her, still asleep. She smiled slightly to herself, looking down at him. He looked so peaceful, even with the dried tear-streaks running down his cheeks. Gingerly, she reached up and stroked his left cheek with the back of her hand. The gentle motion was enough to wake him. His blue eyes opened slowly, and looked right into hers.

“Good morning, Max,” she greeted softly, yawning. He smiled slightly, and carefully moved so that he was sitting up on his own power.

“Please tell me last night was a really bad dream,” he pleaded quietly. She sighed, and slid her arms around his waist again.

“I honestly wish that were true, Max. But it wasn’t a dream. But, there is still hope,” she said, barely above a whisper, her lips almost touching his ear. He hung his head.

“What hope?” he asked sullenly.

“Radiation treatments. They’ve worked on many people,” she offered optimistically. He shook his head in reply, and sighed.

“Those people are normal. I’m not,” he replied, a trace of bitterness in his voice. It was Rachel’s turn to sigh.

“That’s true, you’re not normal. You’re better than normal, Max,” she said comfortingly, just as the door opened. Berto and Jefferson came in, neither looking as if they had gotten much sleep.

“Morning, hermano,” the Spanish agent greeted, a small smile on his face.

“How are you feeling, son?” Jefferson asked, coming over to the bed. He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. Max yawned again.

“Better than I felt last time I woke up,” he returned. Rachel carefully disengaged her arms, and got up.

“Possible good news, hermano. We have the facilities to try and send the cancer into remission,” Berto offered. Max brightened considerably.

Half an hour later, Max wondered what the heck this machine was supposed to do for him. They’d stuck him into it, filled it with a reddish light, pulled him out, stuck him back in, and then taken him back to his room.

“I probably never will understand how that thing could have helped me,” the young man was complaining a little later in the day. Rachel nodded in understanding.

“It’s supposed to. Just have faith, Max,” she told him firmly. He smiled at her.

“Have I said thank you, for being there to support me, yet today?” he asked. She shook her head. He leaned forward, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Thank you.”

Berto sighed, and grumbled something in Spanish at the print-out. It wasn’t working. The radiation treatments had done nothing to slow or stop the cancer cells. If anything, they’d possibly speeded up the growth of the cancer cells. This wasn’t a good sign. Max’s time was quickly running out. Considering this was a strain of cancer never before seen, that made it all the harder to figure out what to fight it with. Obviously, radiation wasn’t the answer. With a sigh, the tech got to his feet. He’d have to let Max know. It took less than time than he expected to reach the medical room. He paused outside the door, trying to think. How do you tell someone that you’ve failed them, that they’re going to die? he wondered, just before a hand landed on his shoulder. Spinning around, he saw Rachel standing there, a serious look on her face.

“Berto. Is something wrong?” she asked calmly. He shrugged, then sighed.

“The treatments aren’t working. They might just be making him worse,” he explained, his voice just beginning to crack at the last syllable. Rachel placed her hand on his shoulder, then drew him into a sisterly hug. He returned the motion, and felt a small sob rise up.

“It’s okay, Berto. I’ll tell him,” she offered gently, letting him go. The young man shook his head stubbornly.

“No, I should,” he insisted. Rachel gave him a stern look.

“Rather than give him the bad news, go figure out how to change it to good news,” she instructed authoritatively. Berto knew better than to argue with that tone. He waited until she’d gone into Max’s room, then headed back to his lab. Rachel approached Max, who was sleeping soundly, drained of energy, as he usually was these days. Rather than take the chair by the bed, she settled on the bed itself, at about his waist. She reached out and placed her hand on his hospital-gown covered chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft thud of his heart beat. He wasn’t asleep for long after she arrived, jolting from his doze almost as if he’d been zapped. He yawned and smiled at her.

“Is it time for another radioactive light show?” he quipped weakly. Rachel shook her head slightly.

“No, Max. You’re not going to have the treatments anymore,” she told him. A spark of excitement flared in Max’s eyes as he sat up, with some help from her.

“Does that mean I’m getting better?” he asked hopefully. She sighed, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Max. It doesn’t mean you’re getting better,” the words left her mouth barely above a whisper. The younger agent seemed to wilt.

“So this is it,” he murmured softly, looking down at the tiled floor. Rachel placed her hand on his back, and blinked back a well of tears. The look in his eyes just before he’d turned his head, he may have well have been dead at that moment. His spirit was gone.

“Don’t think like that, Max. You’re still alive. Be glad for that. I’m sure Berto can find a way,” the blonde agent reasoned encouragingly, gently stroking his back. He sighed, shuddered violently, and suddenly fell off the bed, doubled over, hugging his stomach and groaning loudly. With a panicked gasp, Rachel knelt on the ground beside him, trying to calm him down.

“It’s okay, Max. Breathe,” she told him in a calming tone, gripping his shoulder. The instant he’d relaxed, she got up and grabbed her headset from the table near the door, mentally screaming at herself for not wearing it. She rushed back to Max’s side as she slipped it on.

“This is Leeds. I need Martinez and a medical team in Steel’s room, now,” she rapped out quickly, calmly, efficiently. By this time, Max was coughing on top of his previous symptoms.

“Man...this hurts,” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Immediately, Rachel placed a finger on his lips.

“Shh, don’t talk,” she instructed softly, just as the ordered agents arrived. Rachel stepped aside to let them do their work. After a moment of talking to him, they fixed an oxygen mask over his face, and lifted him back onto the bed. He was still writhing and trying to curl into a ball. A needle was inserted into his arm, and he relaxed.

“Will he be okay?” Rachel asked Berto, touching his arm lightly. The Spanish agent looked up at her.

“What happened right before the convulsion started?” he asked in reply. Rachel thought for a minute.

“I told him about the radiation treatments, he started shaking, and then it happened,” she explained simply, shuddering a little herself at the memory. The younger man nodded, checked on Max, then left, a thoughtful look on his face. The rest of the medical team packed up their things, and moved to clear out.

“Leeds,” one of them called, catching Rachel’s attention. She turned around, and nodded.

“He’ll be out of the anesthetic in about half an hour,” another informed her. The blonde agent smiled in reply, and moved to take her place back at Max’s side. She looked down at the sleeping form, and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. A tear slid down her cheek. It was but the first of many. She’d been the stoic, sturdy anchor for Max and Berto. Now she needed an anchor herself, but the only person she trusted enough to be that anchor was currently unconscious in the bed she sat on. Rachel could only take comfort in his presence, and weep alone.

By the time the half hour the anesthetic would work was over, Rachel had cried herself out, and cleaned up enough that when Max opened his eyes, she was there, just as she had been before. She smiled at him, and took his hand as he slowly touched back down in reality.

“Sorry if I scared you,” Max was the first one to speak. Rachel smiled slightly, and sighed.

“It’s all right, Max. However, mind not doing that again?” she chided him. He chuckled softly, then groaned, his free hand moving to his stomach. Rachel placed her hand over his. A moment later, it stopped.

“That was weird,” the brunette agent muttered.

“Not exactly,” a voice said from the doorway. Both agents looked over to see Berto standing in the doorway. He strode over to them.

“Not exactly what?” Rachel queried, raising an eyebrow. The younger agent held up a few papers.

“The cancer cells have gotten your nervous system, hermano. Instances of heightened negative emotional stress can bring on the kind of convulsions you had today. You’ll have to be careful,” the youngest agent cautioned. Max snorted in disgust.

“Great. What next?” he grumbled. Rachel placed her hand on his arm.

“You have to stay strong, Max,” Berto interjected. The brunette agent sighed irritably.

“Strong for what? I’ve got less than a month left. There’s no hope,” he retorted, his voice cracking on the end note. Fearing another convulsion, Rachel tightened her grip on his arm, almost to the point of injuring him.

“Stop thinking like that, Max,” she scolded. He looked sheepish, but said nothing.

“We’re all strung out by this. Let’s not make it worse,” the youngest agent reasoned and pleaded at the same time. There were no arguments.

Max was getting progressively worse. Anything that startled him could almost guarantee to induce a convulsion. His nerves were shot, it was like watching a drug addict on his first day sober. Rachel and Berto were doing their best to help him, but this seemed to be something only he could control.

“Let’s face it. There’s no point in going on. Even if I did recover, I’d probably just land back in here when the radiation build up again,” was Max’s reasoning. Rachel came near slapping him, but held herself in check. Instead, she threw her arms around him, and looked him in the eyes.

“Come on, Max. If you won’t do it for you, do it for Berto and I, for your father,” she pleaded. He sighed loudly, still looking her head-on.

“It won’t work,” he tried. She gave him a look that plainly said “you are going to, wether you like it or not,” and kissed him. It was all Berto could do to bite back the chuckle at seeing them, acting like how he remembered them to be, before they found out about the cancer.

Rachel may have convinced Max that surrender is not an option, but there was still the problem of how to assure that. It was quite clear that this cancer wasn’t planning to just up and vanish on its own, and kemo-therapy had failed. It was a question Berto mulled over again and again, and it irritated him that he couldn’t find the answer. He was supposed to be the genius, he’d saved Max’s life five years ago, and hundreds of times in between then and now. There had to be some simple, or complicated, reasoning on how to cure his best friend. Of course, it’s my fault that he’s even forced to go through this. I could have caught it earlier, somehow, or...he thought, mindlessly flipping through more papers. A sudden thought struck him. If I hadn’t come running up with my idea five years ago, he wouldn’t be going through this, his mind reasoned, making him feel worse. It was true. In a way, he was responsible for this mess. However, it gave him good reasoning to search all the harder for a cure, an answer. To make up for the wrong he had committed.