#xmarshax

"Hey, what're you doin' up?" he yawned, covering his mouth.

"Makin' you breakfast," she said with a cheeky smile. Despite having gotten up at such an ungodly hour, she seemed plenty awake; Max supposed she must've already had her coffee. He was a little jealous of his partners; he'd have loved a little dose of caffeine in the morning, but it made him far too jittery.

"You're crazy," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and sleepily resting his chin on her head. "What time'd you get up?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she teased, and he gave her a playful squeeze. "You're startin' this week off with a full belly, Stringbean."

Marsha didn't have to be on top of Max to know he often neglected to eat breakfast. To his credit, he rarely had much of an appetite in the morning, but that's as far as his credit went. Where he went wrong was failing to make up for the skipped meal. He'd often miss lunch, too wrapped up in the day's tasks and bound up in a bundle of nerves anyway to eat much even if he wasn't busy, and it wasn't unusual for him to come home in the afternoon with nothing more than a granola bar and a bag of veggie straws in his belly. Today, he'd have a head start to balance out the veggie straws: a nice breakfast of mushroom and cheese omelette, bacon, and fruit salad.

"You didn't have to do all this," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"I don't have to move a worm off the sidewalk either, but it's still nice to do sometimes," said Marsha, and Max laughed.

"Wow, what a sweet comparison." She grinned up at him and slid the omelette onto a plate.

"I was starting to think I'd never get out," said Max with a weak chuckle. His stomach growled, and he considered going into the kitchen, but collapsed across the couch instead with a heavy sigh.

"Alfie made dinner," said Marsha. "There should be plenty left, unless he went ahead and ate the whole pan."

"Oh, ha-ha," said Alfie, bumping her with his hip as he came through the kitchen doorway. "There's a ton left, and it's still warm. Don't move, I'll get you some."

"You're an angel," Max called after him. He didn't think he'd be able to peel himself off the couch again if his life depended on it. Marsha plopped down on the couch beside Max and ruffled up his hair, and he sat up just enough to kiss her on the cheek before flopping back down again. Alfie returned from the kitchen with a well-filled plate and perched it on Max's chest, then lifted his long legs out of the way and sat on his other side.

"Hey, are you sure this isn't your plate?" Max sat upright, holding the dish carefully.

"Eat your dinner, Princess," Alfie retorted, and Max leaned down to kiss him on the cheek too. He didn't need to be told twice; he gladly dug in, thankful to finally appease his rumbling belly. Alfie had made a hearty dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes, and grilled vegetables, and there was about a double serving on the plate, more than Max typically ate in a day, but he wasn't complaining. He was ravenous.

"Have I ever told you you're a great cook?"

"Right now, I'm not sure that means a whole lot," Alfie chuckled. "You look like you'd eat the siding if I wasn't feeding you."

"Oh, please," said Max, rolling his eyes. Alfie wasn't wrong--he was hungry enough to be happy with just about anything--but he meant it. The food was delicious, and it was exactly the warm, comforting, filling meal he needed after such a long day.

Once the starved feeling began to wear off, Max slowed himself, and the trio chatted about their days. Marsha had met a positively delightful one-eyed, three-legged cat in a sweater named Milton and the oldest Yorkie she'd ever seen, and Alfie had gotten the thrill of working on a beautiful old car belonging to one of their neighbors. Max's day had been the least exciting, and he was glad to hear about his partners' highlights. It always lifted his spirits after a tiring day of his own.

As the trio talked, Max became almost too absorbed in the conversation to notice how much he'd eaten. That, and the fact that his brain was fried from exhaustion, and the fact that he'd barely eaten a thing since breakfast, and the fact that the food was too good to stop picking at it. It was a very large portion, but by the time Max realized how full he was beginning to feel, he'd put away two thirds of it.

"Hey, don't they let you eat at work? Since when do you have such an appetite?" Marsha looked at the half-demolished plate, amused, then at Max's tummy, pushing out gently against his shirt. He smiled sheepishly.

"It's been a long day," he said. "Your sister's killin' me with all those posters. I think I spent half an hour pullin' Sticky Tack off 'em."

"And you're a sweetheart for that," said Marsha, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "You know she loves her decor."

"She sure does. The kids love it too. That's how an art room oughtta look. Fun, colorful."

"Just like her," Marsha chuckled.

"Hey, you got it too, with those little Frenchie shoes."

"Well, I've gotta dress for the job, don't I?"

"I don't know, they don't look like they'd protect you from gettin' peed on," said Alfie, and Max laughed. "What you really need is some Frenchie-themed rainboots."

"Yeah, sure, Alfie, why don't you go find me some?"

The three went on talking, and Max, impressively, went on eating, though not for long. He finished with less than a quarter of the big meal left on the plate and a very full tummy. It didn't ache; he had the sense to stop before he started feeling bad, but it felt very snug, almost uncomfortably so but not quite, and stuck out past his belt. He set the plate down on the coffee table and leaned back with a sigh.

"Hey, look at you," said Alfie, giving Max's full belly a pat. Ordinarily, with his small appetite, he might've eaten about half the food on the plate, if that much. An Alfie-sized serving was hardly equal to a Max-sized serving.

"Ain't it nice to see him eating good?" Marsha slipped an arm around Max's waist and rested her head against his shoulder.

"I'll tell you, Marsha, it is nice to see him eating good," Alfie declared, and Max rolled his eyes.

"What'd you get again, Stringbean?"

"Salad."

"Well, I'm not seeing any salad," she said reluctantly. "Just a whole lot of pasta." Max's heart sank.

"I'll call 'em back," said Alfie, leaving the kitchen.

"Thanks, Alf," he sighed quietly.

"I'm sorry, Stringbean," said Marsha, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure they'll send somebody out with the right order."

"I just hope they send 'em sometime today," he said with a halfhearted chuckle. "I guess it's a good thing Junie's staying over at Ross' place tonight." Junie had inherited the gift of celiac disease from her father, and had she been home tonight, she just might have been out of a meal as well, but Max could at least take some comfort in knowing his daughter would be well taken care of at her friend's house.

"They said they'll send the salad over right away," said Alfie, leaning in the doorway. "We'll wait for you. Hopefully it won't take too long, right? I mean, it's lettuce."

"No, don't wait," Max insisted, waving his hand. "Eat while it's hot. You know it's never gonna be as good."

"What, leave you standing around all pitiful like a starved puppy while we eat?" Marsha gave him a playful squeeze. "We could never do that to our poor old Stringbean. Well, maybe Alfie could. I wouldn't." Alfie shot her a look of mock annoyance.

"Seriously, don't wait for me. Who knows how long it'll take. I'll be fine. Promise. I won't even stare at you." Max leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek and retreated to the living room, doing the same to Alfie as he passed by him. He dropped back onto the couch with a sigh. His stomach growled impatiently, tensing up as a deep, longing pang twisted through it. Suddenly, he felt a weight beside him and a hand on his belly, and he turned to see Marsha at his side once again.

"Alfie's putting the pasta in the oven to keep it warm," she said, holding a finger to his mouth to shut him up before he could even begin to protest. "We're not eating without you. We'll be fine, believe me. Alfie's been snackin' all afternoon."

"Yeah? How about you?"

"I had a late lunch," she assured him. "I mean, I could certainly eat, but another half hour isn't gonna kill me."

"Might kill me," he chuckled, and she gave his tummy a gentle rub. His stomach felt hollow under her hand, and she could feel the vibration as another aching growl buzzed through it.

"Poor baby." She laid her head on his shoulder, and he draped his arm over hers. Alfie soon joined them and flopped unceremoniously onto the couch beside Max, giving his partners a good jolt as he landed.

"Now we wait," he declared, laying down and resting his head on Max's lap. Marsha ruffled his hair.

"You could be eating right now," said Max.

"Don't remind me. No man left behind," said Alfie, reaching up to give him a pat on the cheek. Max rolled his eyes.

"Well, I appreciate it. We can all sit here and suffer together like a family." Max wrapped his arms around his partners and gave them a fond squeeze.

It didn't take nearly as long for Max's salad to arrive as the original order had, but it still felt like ages to his empty stomach. Unlike Marsha, he'd had a pretty early lunch, and unlike Alfie, he hadn't had any snacks to tide him over. He'd already been starving when the first delivery girl came, and by the time the second arrived, he felt about ready to keel over, his aching tummy twisting up angrily as it begged for something to eat. Finally, though, about half an hour later, they were sitting together at the table, beyond eager to dig in. Max's belly rumbled impatiently at the smell of the chicken as he opened up his salad. It was up there with his newborn children on the list of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen, the golden-seared chicken still steaming upon the bed of fresh, crisp lettuce, decorated with cucumbers and tomatoes and olives, tortilla strips in place of croutons, crumbles of feta, juicy pepperoncini, a variety of delicious little additives that made for a filling, flavorful meal.

"Worth the wait?" Alfie asked through a mouthful of ziti. Max nodded, a look of blissful relief on his face as he savored the first few bites. His stomach grumbled eagerly as it took in its long-awaited dinner, the ache finally easing up with each bite.

Ordinarily, Max would likely have only eaten about half of the salad, saving the rest for the next day. Tonight, he finished the whole thing. It wasn't a massive salad, easily a single serving for most people, but it was certainly big for him, and by the time he finished his belly felt comfortably stuffed, just teetering on the edge of too full, pushing out snugly against the waist of his pants. He leaned back in his seat with a hand on his tummy, feeling thoroughly satisfied.

"Hey, since when do you clean your whole plate?" Marsha teased, reaching out to give his full belly a friendly pat.

"I'm compensating." He stifled a soft burp and remained still in his seat, feeling sleepy and content and wanting to give his stomach time to settle before straightening up the kitchen. Right now was the best he'd felt all day, and he didn't want to screw it up by upsetting his belly right away.