Today just wasn't his day. It was probably his fault though, considering he was the one to let himself have a few too many to drink. Funny how your friends are all too willing to provide that liquid motivation to cure divorce pains - but never there to numb the hangover.


It had been hell the last couple years, as Hannah grew more unpredictable, irritable, and yet wanting. It started out with her making stupid comments about his need to be focused on the job - and yet always waiting seductively when he got home. The back and forth was digging at him constantly as he never knew whether he'd be sleeping on the couch, or in the bed. 


After a year, he began trying to balance through it. Remaining calm, cool, collected as she blasted off in an emotional fit - and lightly declining her advances in an attempt to bring it back to a quality connection. 


She'd take none of it though. She needed a fight. She needed attention. She wouldn't accept anything else. 


And as he persisted on wanting a healthy marriage, she pulled further into chaos. Trying to make demands of his time, as if their marriage was desperately reliant on his cooperation, she started making choices without him. New upgrades to the house, an all new wardrobe, she bought herself a new car. 


He wasn't complaining. It technically was her money, she made three times his salary, investing in business ventures for her father's company. 


And one day, she finally decided to let him loose. Of course, in her mind, she was kicking him to the curb, punishing him, taking away his life support, sending him back home to his Mommy. In his mind, he was getting a break, a vacation, a comfort, space. 


And, in celebration, the gang had all pitched in to have a night out at a pool table. Of course, it was loud, as an Irish pub would be around this time of year. Celebrating the luck of the Irish on St. Patty's day, ironically of course, in the wonderfully capitalist United States. Of course they aim to make money off of another country's holidays. 


And in realizing his anger was spilling out among everything in life, he decided 'fuck it! Bottoms up!' As all his buddies cheered on! 


Though it didn't stop there. Max vaguely remembered a series of moments that now cast foggy shadows over his consciousness. They'd tried to get him hooked up with some random bar fly. They'd tried to get him to join a line dancing competition. They'd tried to get him into a bar fight. 


Well, truth be told - they didn't need to try so hard for that one. 


And he was pretty sure they'd even tried to pay a prostitute to take him away. "I'm a cop." He remembered drunkenly slurring, as she pushed away and flung the money back at him and his friends. 


By the end of the night, his body was already sore. He knew before falling asleep that he'd have the worst hangover. But it was a tomorrow problem, he decided as he'd crawled into bed. 


Max imagined all of them currently struggling to climb away from their pillows without puking their guts out. That made it worth forgiveness. But still, the lights and sounds were obnoxious this morning. Not to mention, it seemed the coffee maker was not cooperating either. This liquid is pretty much water, and not even making it into the cup.


Why does life hate me? He thought, grunting in defeat.


"Good morning, Maximus!" His mother's booming joy overwhelmed his throbbing ears. She snickered with a knowing sass, as she nudged him aside, to replace the empty K-cup, and moved the cup over an inch to the left. "I am glad I can still have opportunities to take care of you when you need it, dear. You want breakfast?"


He grumbled at the thought of filling his stomach with contents that wouldn't want to stay very long. He shook his head and placed himself up against the nearest stool. "I am not ready for food at the moment."


Joyce nodded, but continued to prepare for her own sustenance needs, as she continued her interrogation skills. "So, I take it that it didn't go so well with Hannah yesterday, did it?" 


Her softness lessened the blow to his guilt, but still, he couldn't help feeling as though maybe he isn't trying hard enough. "No. She is still insisting on divorce, and at this point, anything is better than this constant push and pull bullshit." Joyce nodded in agreement.


It was rather interesting to Max, how his mother could be such a dedicated wife, after 15 years without his father, she still went on as if nothing had changed that - and yet, she was so supportive and understanding of Max's perspective in wanting to be done with his marriage. 


"Yes, that woman is indeed undecided in what she wants. In my opinion, you should have signed the papers the moment she handed them over." On the one hand, he agreed. However, it felt stupid to give up on 6 years of memories, just because Hannah was growing resentment about his duties as a detective. What if he gives up too soon?


He lingered in silence, as he returned to his coffee cup. He needed a kick, cause today was going to be rough. 


Not only was he hungover, but the sky was Grey, the ground was wet, and They'd have a new case to investigate. And new cases didn't sit well with hangovers. New information, having to piece together more of what you don't know that what you do. He grimaced at the thought. 


"Well, enough dwelling on her... Do you want to accompany me to the cemetery today?" She attempted to change the subject, but quickly realized this one wasn't much happier.


Max had forgotten what day it was. Ironic this would be the time Hannah chose to send him home. He supposed that was a good thing though, at least Joyce would have someone to sit down to dinner with. She didn't deserve to be alone. 


"MMM. Happy Anniversary, Mom! I didn't even realize it." He kissed her forehead and sat beside her. "However, I can't. The only reason I crawled out of bed today is because those burglaries that have been happening are finally being turned over to our department, so I have to go question last night's victim." 


Joyce found a bit of relief in Max viewing her suggestion in a positive light, but couldn't help but chuckle at how much he resembled his father - always driven to go out and fight crime. It was hard being married to law enforcement, much harder to raise a child into it, but she couldn't understand Hannah's sudden resentment. She knew who she was marrying, why now? However, as a mother, Joyce was committed to her son's happiness.


"Ahh, third times a charm!" She winked, having figured that case would land on his desk. "Two burglaries with seemingly identical patterns, I figured it was coming." 


Joyce was always keeping up to speed with the crimes happening in and around the city. She would watch and wait to see if any of those cases would get turned over to her son. She wasn't exactly thrilled when he'd chosen to follow the path of his father - but she'd accepted it. Especially because he had a natural skill for solving mysteries, and he was fearless when it came to apprehending criminals. 


He took another sip of his black pool of bean juice. "I will let Stammets know you are heading over there; in case he wants to join you. It will give him a chance to get out of that stuffy little office, for once." 


Picturing it in his head, he imagined the Captain sitting behind his desk, taking calls, managing the drama of the press, flipping his blinds open and closed when he was brainstorming intensely. He definitely needed to get some time away from the office.


Max kissed his mother goodbye, but she stopped him from stepping away. "Max, your father would be so proud of the man you have become. I hope you know that!"


He squeezed her hand gently. "I believe that whole heartedly. My only worry is if I have reason to be proud of myself. I'll get there though, I know. You tell me every day!" 


Max recalled it differently. He remembered always being curious about what his dad was doing. Always excited that his father captured bad guys. Always wanted to help solve the mysteries. But Detective Daniel Clyde was always too busy, the mystery was too dangerous, Max had school to focus on. 


But, it wasn't for lack of love. He knew his father loved him, he just never seemed to want Max to be part of his world. To some degree, Max really couldn't determine whether he'd made him proud or not.


Joyce wiped a tear from her eye, and grinned a somber, loving smile towards her son as he retreated out to the world of criminal activity. 


Max pulled up his GPS and entered the address for the victim's business office. Sending a quick text to Stammets about visiting his father's gravesite, he pulled out and made his way downtown. 


Max wasn't sure if he was delighted that the sun had actually come out, or if he was embarrassed that he had been wrong about the weather forecast. However, it was a bet he placed with himself, so he figured it wasn't worth dwelling about. 


The sun was cruel, construction noises beat at him like a pickaxe, and he couldn't make up his mind - is it too hot for this suit-jacket, or too cold to roll the window down? Today is quite literally, hell. 


He tried to refocus on to the case, maybe he can distract himself from dwelling on the pain. Two burglaries, a few days apart - and while there were so many similarities, they weren't quite sure they were related - until last night. A third burglary, a faulty security system, missing surveillance footage. It's now a pattern. It has to be related.


Max turned into the parking lot of a small car lot, already crawling with inquisitive shoppers, looking for their family mini-van, or their mid-life crisis muscle car. He picked a spot furthest away from the chaos, though it meant trekking across the Sahara just to get to the front entrance. 


Approaching the front desk, he revealed his badge and requested to speak with Miguel Rodriguez. The receptionist nodded and dialed her phone. "Miguel, Detective Clyde is here to see you, would you like me to send him over?" She paused, grinning and pointing in a direction down the hall to signal her boss' approval. 


He made his way into the office, to find a scattered older gentleman, preparing his screen to be viewed by the detective. "Good morning, Detective, thank you for meeting me here - I just have so much going on, I couldn't sit waiting at home today." 


The man had an office that could barely fit his desk. With barely enough room for a sitting chair, Max decided to pull the chair out to the open space available near the door that had just shut behind him. However, the space behind the desk seemed to have tons of space, available for the man to be rolling around in his chair, back and forth as he went several directions just to do one task. 


Out on the streets, Max might have confused him for a meth head, but he assumed it took alot of energy to run a car lot. Max didn't envy his position. 


"Not a problem Mr. Rodriguez - your office is actually closer to my route to the precinct, so you are actually doing me a huge favor!" Miguel seemed to relax with that note and settled himself to face Max across the table. 


"Okay, thank you Detective. Where should we start?"


"Alright, it sounds as though there were issues with your security system, can you elaborate on the things you noticed?" Max had already seen the original notes taken by the officers who arrived on scene - but sometimes the shock factor overwhelms the victims, so he figured he would try to get a clearer picture now that a few hours have passed by. 


Miguel nodded, and pointed to his screen, as he hit his keyboard to trigger the video to start playing. 


Max observed as the video relayed a visual of the front entrance of the Rodriguez' home. 30 seconds of absolutely no movement, until suddenly, the video flashes through several different images, too quick and blurry to make out. A logo became visible on the corner of the screen, but it wasn't familiar at first glance. He would need to have Harris dive into some nerd work for that one. 


A few more seconds passed, providing an opportunity for a voice to inherit the speakers. Clearly masked with a deep and fuzzy voice, they listened intently. 


"Ask for Detective Max Clyde. I have a gift for him."