(no subject)

Max is seated in his office, working through some notes and checking he's happy with a student's work, though his mind is only half on what he's working on.

The other half is still on the letter he received over a month ago, and the letter he'd sent back almost immediately, without consulting with his government. Not that they really had any say in this. Or that they mattered, but he'd done his duty, and kept the appropriate people in the loop. The career civil servants, the ones who'd seen 5 changes in government already, and would undoubtedly see another 5 before they retired. They were the ones who really set long term policy, because while the public face changed, the cogs kept moving in the same direction.

He knew that he shouldn't necessarily expect any responses too soon, but airmail, expensive as it is, certainly had reduced the time it took for the world to feel connected.

(no subject)

When he gets home, Doris is practically waiting for him. She sees the box in his hands and instantly forgets whatever she was going to say.

"Max?" she asks in a quizzical voice. He never brings his work home if he can at all help it. And given the call he made earlier today...

Max, meanwhile dumps the box on the couch. "Hmmm?"

"What's this about Max? You call to tell me we're having a dinner guest on an afternoon's notice, and now you're bringing work home?"

Max smiles gently at his wife. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you that this might happen. I wasn't sure when he'd get here, though. Jack's come from Australia to help me," he says, watching as her eyes widen at the last statement. "Yes," he continues, "it's about that. Hence why we couldn't talk when he came to see me at work."

Doris settles down on the couch and flips open the lid of the box. "So, are you actually going to tell me any details about that?" she asks, looking at, but clearly not understanding what the stuff inside the box is.

"Well, given I expect it is going to come up at dinner, yes."

Doris looks shocked for half a second, her eyes flickering between the door to the kitchen where the tourtière sat, cooking steadily, Max's face and the box of stuff he'd brought back with him.

"Okay," she says after some time.

Doris gets up, heading back to the kitchen to finish up the preparations. Max meanwhile, sets to getting things out of the box and into place for later on. After a little while, he joins her in the kitchen to assist with the preparations. It's comfortable, and the two of them have developed a good routine out over the years.