thecapitol | I wished to stay among my people

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I wished to stay among my people

WHO| Wyatt and Maximus
WHAT| Wyatt's victorious return from the arena
WHERE| District Three
WHEN| After the mini-arena
Notes/Warnings| Probably some talk of the arena, general Wyatt and Max warnings (come on now), but nothing specific at the moment really.

They kept Wyatt for a time after the arena. Tending his wounds, cleaning him up - making him presentable again. He'd argued at first, especially after they ignored his requests to see Max and Howard, but relented and allowed them to work when they promised he could go as soon as they were done.

A stiff, unhappy surrendering, but still easier by far.

They slathered him in a lotion that soothed his burns. Made him breathe through a mask that made it easier to breathe. Dabbed medicine over the dozens of small cuts and bruises, the little hurts melting away in hours.

By the time he stepped off the elevator in District Three, one might not have even known he'd been in the arena if not for the weariness in his eyes. If not for the footage and the way the screens kept going on about his victory. How deserved it was, how happy his fans were, how they'd known it was only a matter of time.

(The speculation of what it would mean now. Wagging eyebrows and sly grins flashing in the corner of Wyatt's eyes as he passed through the common room.)

He didn't care. Not about the talking box, the silly people who thought they knew him. Not the fancy new clothes his stylist had pushed on him, not even the effort the doctors had put in to make him good as new. Victory meant only one thing to him.

There was only one thing he wanted for.

He rapped a knuckle on Max's door even as he opened it. Eyes already sweeping around the room.

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He'd spent half the day watching Wyatt the other half trying not to. It wasn't that he was afraid, exactly, but when the fire had started he had found it too painful to watch, and he'd turned off everything and gone back to his room. He'd spent hours watching his ceiling before finally turning the games back on. Then he'd sat unmoving until the games came to a finish.

It was only after Wyatt won that he allowed himself to breathe.

He'd immediately gone to Wyatt's room, but his Escort told him that they were keeping Wyatt for 'clean-up', which he understood very well, having had to go through it himself.

So he went back to his room, pacing back and forth, every minute feeling like a hundred years. He swung around instantly, his reflexes instant when the door opened.

"Wyatt--"

Wyatt managed to close the door behind him, but he thought for little else. Before Max could say more than his name, he was crossing the room to take the man in a fierce embrace. His exhaustion, the haunted ache in his muscles - his very bones - momentarily forgotten as his arms wrapped around Max.

This was what he fought so hard to come back too. Had been determined to win for.

This moment. This feeling.

He didn't deny he was a selfish bastard.

"Sorry, Max," he rumbled against Max's ear, a tired chuckle tumbling around in his throat. "Looks like yer stuck with me now."

He returned the embrace, clasped hard and fast as if it would be impossible to be released, holding so fiercely tight that nothing in the world would pry him away before he allowed it.

Everything was far from over, and yet--

"It has been a long time since my prayers were ever heard and answered," He murmured, choking on the words.

Something caught in Wyatt's chest, bumped and rattling against his ribs. Something hard and hot that worked its way up into his throat, tripping up the words he wanted to say.

His grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric stretched across Max's back. Hands fisting in it, as if expecting to pulled away again - and ready to fight to stay. He let his eyes close, just wanting to feel, to be, for just a moment.

Just one moment (a lifetime), just like this.

"You'll have to give some thought, to gettin' one'a them swords up here," he said, the words rough and thick as they squeezed past the lump in his throat. "I can't promise you'll get rid'a me now otherwise...."

He didn't pull away, instead grounding himself in Wyatt's firm presence, chest to chest, as if he could feel Wyatt's heartbeat against his own.

"I would never ask you to make that promise," Maximus said, his voice rough as gravel, simply through his overwhelming relief. "But I will fetch a sword simply to fight any many who would ask me to."

His exhale rushed across Max's ear, an airy chuckle washing over the man's skin before Wyatt shifted to bury it in Max's throat. A hard, sound kiss. Then another, on his jaw as he finally drew back.

Just enough to be able to see him. To meet the wild blue gaze that made the arena, and everything he'd done in it, worth it. (His hands lingering because it made him happy to let them.)

"If they come again, we go together," he said simply, a statement of fact because it was to Wyatt.

He might have rathered, Max in the Capitol, if he was made to go back in, but he knew the Roman wouldn't stand for it. Same as he wouldn't, if it went the other way.

In the arena, in the Capitol -- didn't matter, so long as they were together.

Maximus only nodded. It wasn't even a question, in his mind. He had nothing left to lose, save Wyatt, and they had both fought to ensure that they could be together.

Fought harder than any men should need to.

The Capitol would have to kill him, to separate them again.

He slipped a hand into Wyatt's hair, pressing lips to his forehead as he breathed in deeply, enveloping himself in Wyatt's earthy scent. He wondered vaguely if the Capitol would let them retire - if they had done their duty, and earned some peace... But he did not voice the thought aloud, would not want to trouble Wyatt.

He would have liked to leave it like that. To give into one, if not all, of his warring desires for sleep and for food and for Max. To ease his bones in a hot bath; to simply lie in the easy quiet, Max in his arms.

But he knew there was more he had to say.

Knew Max preferred to do his mourning alone.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long stretch of quiet. "About Venus...."

After Joel, he'd carried extra guilt with him across the finish line. A gnawing ache in his gut as he realized he should have killed her as well. Should have tried to guarantee her return.

Maximus frowned. "Why should you be sorry for Venus?" He asked, honestly confused. "You did as well be her as one could possibly hope."

He had no idea that the tributes had been told that they would die - only knew that they had all returned even before the victors did, while the latter were being prepared and looked after.

Wyatt stared at him, confusion momentarily stilling his tongue.

"They-- told us we weren't comin' back," he said slowly, brow furrowing as he watched Max's face. "They said unless somebody killed us, er we won, they weren't goin' to bring us back this time."

A hope, a fear, tickled under his ribs. His fingers curled in Max's tunic.

"Did they-- are they back, Max?"

Maximus' face darkened as Wyatt spoke, a hand raising up to cover Wyatt's and squeeze it gently.

"Then they deceived you. They returned, once the winners had been decided. They are all, as far as I am aware, safe and well."

Wyatt's hand shifted under Max's, squeezing back as the relief swept through him. He exhaled it, a long sigh as the tension released, a knot coming undone in his gut.

"Son's a bitches," he muttered under his breath, leaning his forehead tiredly against Max's. "I swear they don't breath it don't come out twisted."

And thank God for it.

He leaned up to press his lips to Wyatt's forehead, running his fingers through the man's hair, his other hand firrmly on Wyatt's.

"Likely thought it would make a better show," he mused lowly. "But you need not be concerned... they are all safe."

All back. All safe.

It was then that it all began to really sink into him. With Max's word that his friends were alright, his victory settled over him.

That it was over - for now, at least, if not forever.

And he intended to start as he intended to end.

"I'll need to see 'em," he said softly, pulling back enough to look Max in the eye. "I'm hungry enough to eat that mangy cat'a yers, an' I know I stink of that gunk they rubbed me down with. But first, I jus' want to be here with you."

"That doesn't preclude solving your hunger," Maximus pointed out, offering a smile.

"I could have food called for, if you wish."

"Dinner in bed?"

Wyatt smiled back, tired, but fond.

"Careful, Max," he teased. "Talk like that, yer gunna get me all spoiled."

"And why shouldn't I spoil you?" He asked, his voice losing it's teasing tone and taking on a much softer one, as he ran the back of a knuckle along Wyatt's jaw.

"I think we have now both firmly earned that right."

Wyatt reached up, catching Max's hand in one of his own; turning his head to touch a kiss to the man's palm. A tickling brush of mustache, a soft press of lips.

"Everythin' I wanted, I already got," he murmured.

Hands linked, he let them rest on his chest, heart thumping steady and strong beneath them.

He smiled, love and humor in his eyes.

"But I ain't goin' to say no to a little pamperin'."

Maximus chuckled, giving Wyatt a warm kiss. "Then take to my bed," He rumbled in a low, promising voice.

"And I shall find something to satisfy you."

Humming against his lips, a rumbling sound of pleasure, Wyatt patted Max's hip and pulled back.

Offering him a game nod and fond smile.

"At your word, General."

Maximus gave him a little playful shove toward the bed as he slipped out of the room. A few minutes later he returned with a large place - meats, cheeses, grapes, and pear slices - that apparently the avoxes had already prepared.

Under his other arm was a bottle of wine.

"I hope this is enough," he murmured.

Wyatt was laughing when Max returned. A low, soft, rumbling sound of amusement. He'd begun undressing, but had stopped, distracted, to tease Ferox with the bolo his stylist had whipped around his neck as he'd made his escape.

A kitten in tiger's clothing, the cat nipped and batted at it, rumbling to match Wyatt as he bounced the shining silver coin in front of Ferox's nose.

Looking over his shoulder (the skin still red, the burns healing, but his flesh still mottled), he grinned and cleared his throat.

"I'm sure it will." He casually dropped the bolo down for the beast and turned to see what Max had brought. "Yer a man of good judgement, Max."

Maximus grabbed a piece of the meat and tossed it to Ferox, who let out a rumbling purr of happiness as he scarfed it down, Wyatt's bolo still trapped between his claws.

Maximus smirked as he slid the tray down onto the bedside table and then joined Wyatt back on the bed.

"Be careful what you wish for," He teased, "I lived off of army rations for many, many years." And then worse, later.

Wyatt chuckled, snagging a few slices of pear from the plate, and shifting to lean back against the headboard. The cool wood feeling nice on his tormented skin.

"I lived on stale biscuits and salted jerky more often than I care to think about," he said, crunching into one juicy slice.

He chewed, and smiled, holding out another to Max.

"My stomach'd probably think it was home again."

He chuckled, leaning in to take the pear from Wyatt's fingers with his teeth, leaning forward to brush a whiskery kiss to his finger tips.

"Well, perhaps I should attempt to allow your stomach that illusion," He rumbled lowly. "If I can't grant it to the rest of you."

A cheek full of pear, Wyatt's mouth curled.

"I know where I am," he said easily, knowing just as well the truth in the words. "An' it's exactly where I want'a be."

It could be here, that sturdy little house he still sometimes dreamed of, or somewhere else entirely. Home now, was where Max was.

He looked around the room, finishing off his slice and reaching for another.

"But maybe now that we're both out, they'll let us work on the view some."

"One can only hope," He said, offering a slightly pained smile. From what he'd understood, he doubted the Capitol would let them move, regardless of what he wanted (or, likely, what was better for them). But he wasn't about to spoil Wyatt's good mood.

"Regardless, we should celebrate."

Wyatt was well aware that was unlikely, but he saw no harm in picturing it. They'd have to deal with the reality of it all again soon enough, just then he just wanted to live in the moment.

"That ain't what we're doin'?" he asked, fishing up another pear slice for Max.

"I had a few other ideas," He said, his eyes twinkling. "But no, I meant with the others."

He leaned forward, lips parting to pluck the piece of pear from Wyatt's fingers.

Wyatt laughed, a low rumbling chuckle as he leaned, reaching for the wine. Before coming here, he'd have been able to count all the times he'd had wine on one hand, now -- he'd developed quite the taste for it.

"Maybe we could all take a night at the Speakeasy," he said, freeing the cork with a muted pop. "Forget what we're really here for a few hours."

He held out a hand for Max's glass, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"An' show the Capitol how a party's really done."

Maximus grinned, handing Wyatt his glass happily, resting up on one elbow.

"I think I could teach you a thing or two about parties," He teased lowly. "If Rome knew anything, it was how to drink wine and what to do with yourself afterwards."

"Did'ja now?" Wyatt grinned, splashing wine into the glass and passing it back. "Jus' what sort'a things you plan on teachin' me?"

He'd never been much the social butterfly, that was more Bat if anyone, but somehow Wyatt figured he'd find quite a bit more enjoyment in a party with Max.

"Not sure half the parties I attended would be legal, here," He said with a grin as he took the glass, holding it out to tap it against Wyatt's when it was done. "I saw a house go up in flames, once, after a particularly good party."

Wine and women, generally, but he didn't think the later was necessary to mention.

Wyatt set the bottle down on the little stand by the bed, carefully as he laughed.

"You, Max? 'Causin' such a ruckus? I dare not believe it." He took a hearty mouthful from his glass, swallowing slowly. Enjoying the lingering tart on his tongue. Enjoying the little tickle of memory, of how often he'd tasted just the same on Max. "I wish ya could'a seen the one they had in 10 for us when we were there. Quite the shindig that was."

"I was young once, too," He said, smirking, as he took a drink. It was a good year - Maximus had grown fairly particular about his Capitol wine.

"Once I was made general, of course, I had to be a little more respectable," He added with a grin. "Shindig?" He asked, the meaning completely eluding him.

"Once," Wyatt echoed, eyeing Max speculatively through narrowed eyes, his mustache twitching with good humor. "I'd say ya still got a few good years in ya before we'll have to put ya out to pasture."

He shifted on the bed, slipping down the headboard into more comfortable position beside Max.

"Shindig, hootenanny, party. It's all the same thing, an enjoyable time with friends an' fellows."

"Mm, well my retirement was put firmly on hold," He teased quietly, before repeating 'Hootenany' with a chuckle and taking a sip of wine.

"Soldiers always have parties of incredible caliber," he murmured as he took another piece of pear. "None more so than when you face death the morning after."

"Smoke 'em while ya got 'em," Wyatt murmured, amused, the wine and his nearly empty stomach already beginning to effect him. Deepening his contentment, relaxing the last of his weary muscles, numbing the small tinges of pain still lingering around his new scars.

"I wasn't ever a soldier, but we did somethin' like that on the trip West. At the night the wagons would be circled up an' there'd be one big fire for everybody to share. Food'd get passed 'round, drink too. Somebody'd pull out a fiddle - even saw a weddin' once."

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I wished to stay among my people

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