Disclaimer: I don’t anyone from Across the Universe that you recognize. However, I do own Anna.

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry I haven’t been around in awhile…I was on Spring break for a week in Florida. And while on the 26 hour bus ride, I got this cool idea for a Max/OC fic. I know there’s a lot of them out there lately, but I wanted to give it a try. Hopefully you’ll like it. Oh, and on a side note, for all of you who read ‘Dizzy Miss Lizzy’, a new chapter will be up sometime this week.

July 1969

The news report plastered on the television told of yet another up-to-date casualty count over in Vietnam--something that was unfortunately all too common these days. The numbers were staggering; rising almost daily. It was quite literally enough to make Max Carrigan sick. Guys his age, men who were fathers or grandfathers, and guys who were just barely eighteen were dying in a war that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Max had been there--he’d experienced it first-hand. The pain, horror, death…he’d watched many of his Brothers in Arms die during battle; images that still continued to haunt him whether he was awake or asleep. He seemed to relive it every moment of his life. There wasn’t much of an escape…well, with the exception of smoking pot and drinking an ungodly amount of alcohol.

With a disgusted sigh, Max turned off the T.V.--he hadn’t the slightest idea of exactly why he had been watching the news anyway--and plopped back onto the couch, springs groaning under his weight. He sprawled out across the worn cushions, feet propped up onto the lower arm and his head resting on a pile of mismatched pillows. Max leaned over to pick up the box of Cap’n Crunch that was sitting on the floor next to the couch; a box that he had been eating from for the past half hour and was now nearly empty. He dug out a large handful of the golden, square-shaped pieces and began eating them like movie theater-style popcorn while observing his surroundings, which didn’t make him feel any better about his current situation.

Lucy and Jude had fallen asleep curled up in an armchair, Lucy’s head resting on Jude’s chest and Jude’s arms wrapped around her protectively. There was a content expression on his sister’s face, which seemed to be there all the time, now that Jude was back. Sadie and JoJo had retreated to Sadie’s bedroom for some “alone time”, and Prudence had gone out shopping with Rita, who had found the gang in New York and was now staying with Prudence in the apartment.

Everyone was with his or her significant other…except Max, who didn’t have one. All he had was the occasional one night stand with a beautiful girl he managed to pick up with his charming antics and good looks. Those girls were hardly soul mate worthy. Max wasn’t sure if he wanted to give up his skirt chasing ways. He didn’t know if a steady relationship with just one girl was in the cards for him yet. He didn’t know if it was even possible for him--always the womanizing bachelor--to settle with one person for an extended period of time.

But maybe…he really did need someone to love.

Max decided it was a better idea to escape the confines of the humid apartment, as the silence was beginning to bother him. He picked himself off the couch, slid into his favorite pair of Converse, and scribbled a quick note to his friends that he had gone out and would be back later. Once he ran down the seemingly endless flights of stairs, he walked out the door into the muggy, hot summer air. The sun scorching, and there wasn’t much of a breeze, but he figured it was better than being holed up in the apartment watching shitty television all day.

The elder Carrigan moseyed down the sidewalks, hands stuffed into the pockets of his faded jeans. He noticed that practically the entire population of New York City was out on the streets, finding ways to beat the heat. What was worse, every time Max tore his gaze from the ground, he saw a couple walking hand-in-hand sharing kisses or meaningful glances with each other. Max shook his head, feeling a small twinge of jealousy.

Originally, he was going to do his best to avoid consuming any alcohol while he was out, but he suddenly felt the need to change his mind. He headed toward the nearest entrance to the subway, knowing it would be a faster route to his favorite bar. As he descended the steps, the air immediately became cooler, which was a relief from the boiling rays of the sun. Max waited for the subway train to return, pacing back and forth, kicking at a rock on the dirty cement that was littered with ancient pieces of gum, papers, and other garbage.

When his train came, Max boarded and sunk down into a seat in the corner, moving as if he was on autopilot. People moved and talked around him, but he sat staring out the window blankly. Max wasn’t himself, and he hadn’t been himself since he returned home from war. The war changed him drastically; he was beyond messed up from what he had witnessed over there. Sure, he made the occasional joke or smartass comment, but it wasn’t the same as it had been before.

Max was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. His doctor told him he was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and depression; the alcohol and weed wasn’t making it any better. Max could hardly even remember the last time he laughed, much less cracked the slightest of smiles. He didn’t feel things anymore; just the numbness, exhaustion, constant nightmares and flashbacks invading his dreams. His vices were probably the only things that made him happy, even if it was for a short amount of time.

And so here he was, sitting at the same bar, nursing another drink. He wasn’t alone; there were a few other guys--all of them much older than he was--around, drowning their own problems in alcohol as well.

Max looked up from his glass to see his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. He looked like shit, plain and simple. Even he could admit that. He had deep circles under his eyes from spending many a night wide awake in front of the television, afraid to go back to sleep. His shaggy, golden blond hair was completely disheveled and hadn’t been combed in days, and his facial hair made him look scruffy. Max wasn’t his young, carefree self anymore, and he wasn’t sure if he could go back to that frame of mind ever again.

“Can I get ya another drink, Max?” The bartender, a heavy man with graying hair and a bushy mustache asked. Max glanced up to see the man leaning against the counter, giving him somewhat of a sympathetic look. It was sad that he now knew him by name; Max frequented this bar at least twice a week.

“Yeah, sure.” Max muttered quickly. The bartender took his empty glass for a refill, leaving the sullen Vietnam veteran to scowl at his pathetic reflection again. If he had any ideas about trying to find his own soul mate before, those thoughts had suddenly flown out the window now. There wasn’t a chance in hell that any girl would want to get involved with his sorry ass for more than one night. He was a depressed, alcoholic college drop out who drove taxis for a living. Not to mention the horrendous nightly flashbacks. That wasn’t exactly what women were looking for.

It took Max only a few short minutes to finish the drink once the bartender placed it in front of him. He paid for the drinks, thinking it was best to leave before he had any more. He went down to the subway again, legs moving at a leisurely pace. The ride back to the Village was just as uneventful as the ride to the bar, except this time Max was forced to share a seat with a mother and her two whiny kids who kept crying and yelling at each other. Max had never wanted to leave the subway so badly. When the train stopped and the doors opened, he bolted out into the crowd of people. Maneuvering through the swarm of New York City residents was a task in itself, as Max was pretty sure he elbowed a few people in the process. He was almost in the clear, until he ran into someone head-on. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Max Carrigan, who somehow had a natural aptitude for running into people. It was how he met Jude at Princeton, after all.

“Shit,” Max mumbled, giving the person whom he had run into--a young girl, probably a year or two younger than himself--an apologetic look. “Sorry.” The girl barely glanced up at him; she tucked a few stray strands of raven black hair behind her ear and bent down to pick up the spiral bound notebook that had slipped from her hands when she collided with Max. Max grabbed it before she could, which resulted in a slightly annoyed look from the young woman. Max had just enough time to glimpse at the page to see it covered in a flowing script with many cross-outs and scribbled over words before she took hold of the other end.

The young girl stared at him, still annoyed, her deep green eyes pleading. “I kind of need to catch my train…” She peered over his shoulder, noticing that many of the passengers had already boarded.

“Oh, yeah…” Max gave the notebook back, a small smirk managing to grace his lips for the first time in months. She closed the notebook, adjusting the bag that was slung over one of her shoulders. She also had a guitar case in her other hand. She was wearing jeans and a long sleeved, lilac purple tunic, despite the high temperature outside. “Sorry.” He was pretty sure he had already told her that, but strangely enough, he couldn’t form any other coherent sentences.

“It’s fine,” she told him hurriedly, “Thanks.” Then she walked away toward the train. Max watched her retreating form, knowing that this was probably the first time he let a pretty girl walk away from him without introducing himself or working in a decent pick up line. He was seriously loosing his touch. Then again, he hadn’t felt these kinds of emotions in months. Without a second thought, Max followed her, catching her just as she was climbing aboard. He reached out to place his hand on her arm to stop her. The young woman paused, throwing him a look of horror; she flinched, tearing her arm away from his touch.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” she demanded. She knew it sounded harsh, but she didn’t like people--especially complete strangers--touching her.

“Sorry…it’s just--” he stumbled over his words, “I’m Max.” He settled with introducing himself, regardless of how stupid he sounded right now. He never remembered having this much difficulty when talking to the opposite sex. Then again, the countless other women he’d encountered hadn’t exactly objected his advances. Max held out his hand for her to shake, but she ignored it, growing impatient.

“I’m not interested.” she answered. She had noticed how his breath smelled of alcohol, a factor that worried her a little. She didn’t want some drunk man trying to take advantage of her or something. It was already obvious that he was desperately attempting to hit on her.

“Listen, I--”

“I have to go.”

She finally climbed onto the train, the doors closing behind her. Max stepped back, defeated, and watched as the train sped away, taking the pretty young woman with it. Max doubted he would see her again. New York City was a huge place--there was a slim chance that the two of them would meet for a second time. There was a part of him that wished they would, in spite of her being totally uninterested in him.

Max sauntered away, mentally kicking himself. He didn’t even get her name, which bothered him more than anything. He only had the image of her face engraved in his mind. Long, straight raven colored hair, beautiful green eyes, curved, full lips. He shook his head, thinking that maybe it was a good thing that he hadn’t gotten her name.

For one thing, it would be easier to forget about her.

Only, he couldn’t. He tried, of course, because there was no way he could just fall in love with some random girl he ran into on the subway. Nevertheless, Max was still thinking about their awkward meeting while he and his friends were all sitting in the living room of the apartment that night. Everyone noticed the change in Max’s demeanor; he seemed preoccupied, but not with his usual problems. This was something different.

“What’s up with you, Max?” Lucy laughed, punching her brother lightly in the arm once she sunk down next to him on the couch.

Max snapped out of his trance-like state. “Huh?”

“Is something bothering you?”

“I’m fine, Luce.” he reassured her. Sadie, who had been listening to their short conversation, laughed at the young Vietnam veteran.

“I know that look,” the singer smirked, “The boy’s lovesick.” Six pairs of eyes directed their attention to Max expectantly.

“What?” he asked nervously.

Jude raised an eyebrow. “What’s her name, mate?”

“Who’s name?”

“The girl you’re hopelessly infatuated with.” Prudence supplied, speaking in a dramatic tone, giggling.

“Girl? What girl? There is no girl, okay? Lay off.” Max lied defiantly. He stood up with the intention of retreating to his bedroom, far away from everyone’s questions and constant staring.

“I don’t know, man. You’re getting pretty defensive.” JoJo pointed out. Max proceeded to ignore them, making a beeline for his bedroom. He muttered something that was almost inaudible about how he wished people would stop prying into his personal problems, and then slammed the door shut. There was no damn way he was going to let them know that he--who was the most notorious for one night stands and hitting on every attractive young woman in sight--had fallen for just one girl. A girl whose name he didn’t know. (Which wasn’t usually a problem…)

A girl he had to find again.