thecapitol | I just wanna make you laugh, I just wanna see that smile

He'd slept in Wyatt's room the night before.

Not out of any real sense of anything so much as knowing that was where he was supposed to be. Wyatt wasn't there and though Maximus noticed, and it bothered him, he couldn't place it - the roiling pain in his chest already tumultuous enough to barely be touched by yet another stab. Wyatt was a free man, and could go and come as he wished. Even if the bed felt empty and cold without him.

He returned the night after, more out of habit than actually expecting Wyatt to be there. He was trying to remember when he'd last seen him. The morning before last? He tried to remember if he'd even said anything to Wyatt, of if he'd just left for the training hall without a word.

There was a strange, tense relief at seeing Wyatt perched on the edge of the bed, stoney faced. He hadn't been disappeared away.

He hadn't burned to a charred corpse.

But the look on Wyatt's face was hardly one of easy returns.

Maximus stopped just inside the doorway, closing the door behind him slowly, wondering if he was going to be told to simply leave. He could hardly blame anyone for not wanting his company, at the present moment.

He didn't move at first. He knew Max was there, knew what the sound of the door opening and closing meant, but even with all the hours he'd been waiting, he still wasn't ready.

Finally, after a long beat, his hands unknotted and he turned, eyes lifting to meet Max's.

He couldn't say what he expected really, but there was still something that tasted like disappointment in the back of his throat, looking at Max's guarded expression.

Maximus was never well known to be verbose. All things being equal, he talked little, unless with reason. Wyatt had become an exception to that - even though they'd barely shared five words with eachother upon their first meeting, Maximus had no trouble speaking to him now.

Or at least, before District 3, he hadn't.

Now his tongue was solid and heavy, a lead weight in his mouth, holding his voice down. He could tell that Wyatt wasn't well, could tell that he wanted to speak to him, but had no idea what to say for himself. So instead, he simply walked slowly through the room until he was standing before Wyatt.

They'd been partners long before they'd been anything else. Comrades. Brothers in arms. Equals. So it felt strange to sit there, shrunken and sad. To duck there, like a coward.

Both of them deserved better.

With a breath, Wyatt stood to face him, stomach lurching a bit as the liquor in it sloshed about.

"...I think it's time we square things," he said, without preamble. He didn't expect Max had been wringing his hands over it any, but he knew they both appreciated brevity.

It always through him, a little, whenever metaphors were used. He was used to Wyatt's method of speech, now, but he still had to think half a moment before he could really figure out what squaring something meant, and even then, things was so vague that it caused him to frown.

He straightened his shoulders, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Wyatt.

There was no way he could guess what was on the man's mind, beyond perhaps a need to be away from the despair, from the rage.

"Speak, then," He said, gruffly, the words like stones in his throat.

Wyatt should have been used to it by then, expected it at the very least, but it still stung some to see how little it mattered. How little it bothered Max.

But then, Max had been done with it for some time now, hadn't he? He was the one late to the party.

Spine tightening, he nodded. A sharp, up and down, of agreement.

Fine.

"Ya don't owe me nothin', Maximus," he said flatly. "Least of all pity. You don't want'a be here, ya don't have to."

The statement was so bizarre that it barely registered, and instead his brain fixated on the thing that seemed the worst, despite everything. His whole body stiffened, his voice taut.

"Since when have you called me by my full name?" He asked, a dark note in his voice.

Wounded animals always were the most dangerous.

Wyatt blinked, head pulling back a fraction in surprise. He hadn't thought about it, it had just come out. Formal and distant.

Pulling, as he was pushed.

"I 'spose right around the same time I stopped bein' anythin'," he replied, the words sounding like they were being ground between stones instead of lips.

Maximus' lips thing, his eyes slightly unfocused as if staring past Wyatt, slowly and methodically going over every possible way that he might have somehow given slight to Wyatt's honour, and coming up dry. It was Wyatt, who had not returned to their bed, and it was Wyatt who grew more and more distance.

He could hardly blame him, and he didn't - he had been almost thankful, for the space, at first, but this--

Right around the same time I stopped being anything.

So Maximus was right. Wyatt was tired of him, and had been for a while. No wonder he had simply stopped coming to their bed.

His face contorted, unsure if he was angry or if this was just another wound to add to the rest.

Ashes and dust.

"I see," He said, firmly, though he really didn't. He had made a promise, he had thought. But Wyatt hadn't, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered.

His eyes narrowed, watching Max's face. A muscle ticked low in his jaw. He could see the anger there, of course, but the man was always angry anymore.

Angry. Silent. Distant.

A little more a stranger every day. 'Max' was his friend, his partner, his lover. This man, here, had Max's face, but wasn't any closer to Wyatt now than that man on the ice had been.

"Is that it?" he asked roughly. Maybe he should have been glad, that it could end so simply, but he wasn't. It had meant so much-- it hurt so much. "There's really nothin' else?"

"I would have thought you would have discussed it with me, but you've made your decision," Maximus replied, unable to keep the hurt and anger out of his voice, even if his face was stone.

He had so little defenses left, and none for Wyatt. He'd pulled down all those walls months ago, and now it left him barren.

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps Wyatt merely wished to release him. To let him find his death.

He'd never deserved a second life in the first place. "If you've decided that we are nothing--" He cut off, biting his tongue, keeping the bitter words from his lips.

"Me!"

It happened quickly. He could almost hear it, a snap, sharp in his ears. A rib maybe, as his heart slammed against his ribs.

He'd held his tongue for so long. He'd been trying so hard, knowing it was difficult for Max. Knowing he was hurting. Knowing he couldn't, that it wouldn't, help. But just like that, Max throwing it all back in his face, his restraint broke.

"Me?" He stepped closer then, that hollow shrunkness disappearing, as the anger filled him. Made him determined get Max to look at him. To face him. To finally see him again. "I have tried every damn thing I could think of. I followed ya, I let ya be, I waited for ya, I watched ya with them--" He close enough to smell sweat, to feel heat. "I know what the Capitol did is unforgivable, an' I know I ain't... I know now I can't help, but don't ya dare tell me I didn't fuckin' try."

Edited 2014-09-21 04:51 (UTC)

"Try to what?"

He stiffened when Wyatt stood, but something about the anger rippling through the other man was actually satisfying. Maximus would rather fight than just watch Wyatt sullenly let go, and Wyatt being angry almost validated the fact that he was getting increasingly angry himself.

"What have I ever asked of you that required so much difficulty?" he hissed, leaning in. He had no idea what Wyatt meant by help, because who could help anything in this place? "What the Capitol is - what it has done - that is beyond either of us, in this moment, and I have never required you to solve it."

"Hasn't stopped ya from punishin' me for it though, has it?"

Deservedly, a low voice rumbled in the back of his head, but he barely heard it over the buzz in his ears, the rush of heat in his chest. He'd felt so little, for so long, besides the sinking, the emptiness, the anger was good. Hot and strong -- even knowing the truth he didn't want to give it up.

Especially as it seemed to have finally gotten Max's attention.

This was easily the most they'd spoken in... a very long time.

"When was the last time ya spoke more than two words to me, Max? ...When was the last time ya touched me-- when have ya even looked at me?"

The words were worse because he couldn't refute them - because the obvious pain and anger behind them were completely justified. When had he last touched Wyatt? He couldn't exactly recall - he had been so caught up in everything--

It didn't exactly quell the anger, though.

"You know very well that everything I am doing now is to secure something of freedom for us," He replied hotly, his voice raising, despite suddenly (and maybe finally) realising that he might be completely wrong. "If I have given you any slight, it was only because my mind was on the future--"

"Any slight." The word was snorted, a bitter sound, a hard humorless bark of laughter. "I've had to watch ya cut me out a little more every day, knowin' there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. I've had to watch ya turn away from me an' go roll around with them--"

He cut himself off, the image coming back, tightening his chest until it was fight just to breathe.

"I don't blame ya for goin' to find someone who can actually be what ya need, but don't pretend like ya didn't know what ya were doin'."

It was his neck that his anger turned red, first, before it blotched up into his face.

"Roll around with --" He cut himself off, his voice now quite a few decibles louder. "What exactly are you accusing me of, Wyatt?" He snapped, almost a roar, his whole body bristling. He was never a tall man (neither of them were) but he had the tendency to come off like a giant when he wanted to, and now was one of those times.

"I have spent nearly every waking hour training, and I recognize that I have disappointed you, but how dare you accuse me--"

"You got'a problem, Max," he fought back, holding his ground. A lot of people - more than a lot, even - tended to think Max was all the power between the two of them, because Wyatt was the mellower of the two men. The work horse, to Max's war. But he wasn't a pushover, by any means, and he wasn't about to be trod on by anyone.

Not even by someone he loved.

"You got a problem, an' ya won't come to me. Ya shut me out, an' go to Nasir, or Gannicus, or Shepard. You'll go to them, before you'll come to me. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm jus' 'sposed to be happy bein' yer second choice, is that it? Yer fuckin' obligation at the end of the day?"

"I don't go to them," He snapped back hotly. "We need every ally we have, Wyatt. You and I don't need to discuss it. I have never doubted for a moment that your will is one with mine, and your arm also. But none of this will happen alone. I won't turn back anyone willing to train, and rise with us."

He stepped right into Wyatt's face, wall to wall, stone to stone.

"I have never doubted you for a second."

"It's about more than allies an' you damn well know it."

They were close enough now Wyatt could see the flecks of gold again in Max's eyes. (There they were, those damned stars.) His hands flexed, an instinctive jerk -- unsure if he wanted to shove him back or pull him closer.

"This is about us. About you not bein' here, even when ya are, about bein' unhappy, an' me not bein' able to do a thing to change it."

"Neither of us will be happy until we are free," Maximus growled, low enough and dark enough to not be caught by the camera. "And I am doing everything in my power to secure that. Do you think I would care anything for it, if not for you?"

He couldn't help it, reaching out to grip each of Wyatt's shoulders, fingers digging into flesh as he gave him a tight shake.

"You are. Everything. To me. If I have failed in my duty to make that clear, then so be it, but everything I do, is for you. Everything else is ashes and dust."

Stiff under Max's hands, Wyatt was torn. The words were what he wanted to hear, but pretty as they were, they didn't solve anything.

"So what, then, Max? I jus' pretend I don't exist until you've got time enough for me?"

He wasn't like her either.

"I jus' wait here an' hope someday you'll have gotten everythin' ya need an' you'll remember me then?"

His lips thinned, fingers released their iron grip and fell back to his sides.

"... Have I failed you so completely?" He asked finally, the fire fading from his eyes.

He could have said - my wife waited. He could have said - I waited. But he didn't. Because Wyatt was not his wife, and this world was not his world. His wife was left behind because she had to be, not because he wanted to.

It had been a touch out of anger, but still he missed it when it was gone. Felt even emptier for it, well Max pulled away, taking Wyatt's anger with him.

Leaving him tired. And sad.

"I ain't her, Max," he said lowly, as if reading the man's mind. "Ya didn't leave me a world away, unable to follow. I'm right here, every day. I can see ya, but I can't--"

He started to reach out, but stopped, his hands falling back too. Curling at his sides.

He took a breath, pushed it back out.

"...But maybe someday bein' Wyatt'll be enough. If we both make through to then, we can try again."

He should his head - slowly at first - but with increasing intensity. He had failed Wyatt, utterly, completely, and he hadn't realised it, and now it seemed too late.

If we both make through to then, we can try again, Wyatt's words echoed, and it made his throat tighten and dry up. He reached out, fingers gripping the back of Wyatt's neck, pulling him firmly until their forehead's touched and holding him there.

"I would not make it to any future without you," He said, roughly, gravel in his throat. "Don't, Wyatt. If I have lost us so much time, do not force me to lose more."

He ached, in his chest - the hole there under his ribs, and deep in the pit of his gut. His breath washed against Max's lips, in a warm shudder.

"I love ya, Max. More than I--" He reached up without meaning to, but needing to, his palm rough and warm on the side of Max's neck, thumb brushing his jaw. "Yer what makes this place worth it. Despite everythin', all of it, I'm glad they took me, 'cause I met you... but for all that, I don't want ya here, if ya don't want to be."

"I don't want to be here," He mumbled roughly, quiet and only for them. He didn't pull his hand back, didn't pull away.

"I don't think anyone should be here. But I want to be with you. The rest... is meaningless."

He wanted to stay quiet, to just accept that, but he had more to say - that he had to say, or this was just going to come back up again. That wriggling worry he'd set aside, hoping for a better time that had never come.

"I'll never be like them. I'll never know what it's like to be Roman, to be a gladiator..." His forehead wrinkled against Max's as his mouth pulled and twisted. His fingers flexed on the back of his neck. "An' I'll never be like her. I'll never-- I can't give ya a family...."

"I've never wanted you to be them," He murmured lowly. "Nor do I--" He cut off, unsure how to word it. "You have already given me a family, Wyatt. I don't require sons, or daughters. I've no wish to replace my son, and no wish to replicate the life I might have had."

He pulled back just enough to be able to meet Wyatt's eyes - his own sad, apologetic, and worried.

"I have only ever wanted you, as you are."

Wyatt's eyes opened, tracking uncertainly over Max's face as he spoke. Flashing with a cautious hope, a flicker of warmth, as they tangled with the other man's.

He swallowed thickly, his mouth opening, closing, and then leaned in to touch his lips against Max's forehead. A light, hesitant touch that turned into a gentle kiss before he pulled back again.

"Yer all I've ever wanted, even back before I really knew why. ...We ain't, I don't know--" He paused, not knowing how to put it, it wasn't something he had experience with, the idea preposterous in another life. Before. "But this is it, for me. I know it. You an' me."

He drew in a deep breath, let it out through his nose, and nodded, his grip on Wyatt's neck tightening slightly before he pulled him close, replying to Wyatt's careful kiss with a much more sure one of his own, pressing his lips to Wyatt's with a firm agreement.

"This is it," he rumbled lowly. "I will not fail you again, Wyatt."

"You've never failed me, Max. Upset me some, but I expect that's mutual."

His mouth dared to twitch, a small curl at one corner, and he moved to lean his forehead against Max's again. That small connection he'd missed so terribly.

"I've been a fool too." He took another kiss, lingering as the long month's of tension eased. "I'm sorry."

He didn't smile. Whatever Wyatt said, he knew the failure that sat heavily on his shoulders. But he took the kiss, returned it, slowly, carefully.

"Forgive me?" He asked in a quiet rumble. Wyatt didn't need his. He'd done nothing needing forgiving.

Wyatt truly didn't believe there was anything to forgive, the fault lay with both of them, a misunderstanding for his part, let go too long. Foolish jealousy. A small pettiness. But he knew Max well enough to know the words were important to him.

"I already did," he murmured, kneading the back of Max's neck. "...Will ya come to bed now?"

Edited 2014-09-22 10:38 (UTC)

He nodded, pressing his forehead to Wyatt's.

"I hadn't realised that I had left it," he murmured lowly, before leaning in to take another long, slow kiss.

His hand wrapped around Max's bicep, fingers brushing the pad of muscle in the wide arm of his tunic, thumb circling warm skin. A firm, rhythmic massage.

"I won't ask anythin' of ya that ya don't want'a give," Wyatt told him, lips moving slowly against Max's, breath mingling with their kisses. "But for the love'a God, Max, don't shut me out. We do this together, er not at all."

"You never have," Maximus assured him in a quiet rumble as he slowly took a step toward the bed, pulling Wyatt along with him.

"I'm right here with you," he whispered quietly. "Together. I promise."

Wyatt's breath plumed, a sound rumbling into his chest - half-amusement, half-affirmation.

"Ya better be, ya bastard." It was said only with affection, the only bite in the nip of his teeth at Max's jaw, his arm coming around him, palm slipping through the arm of the tunic to skim across the warm plane of the Roman's back. Fingers finding purchase in the valley of his spine. "I'm a miserable cuss without ya."

A very small smile came to his lips, slowly, his eyes softening slightly.

"... I think neither of us does very admirably without the other," He admitted in a quiet rumble. He pulled in a deep breath, Wyatt's warm hand on his back something he hadn't realised just how much he missed. He reached out, carefully undoing the first few buttons of Wyatt's shirt.

His head dipped to watch, liking just the sight of Max's hands, steady and strong. Enjoying just the moment, the simpleness of it.

Of feeling for the first time in - longer than he cared to think about - how the ground felt steady beneath his feet again. How the world felt righted, now that Max was back in it.

The problems weren't solved, by any means, but laying them out, facing them together... that's all he'd wanted.

"Oh?" he murmured, mouth twitching. His eyes flashing as he glanced back up. "You were daydreamin' about snatchin' off all that fine hair'a Nasir's too, were ya?"

"No, mostly death," He admitted, not joking at all, though he recognized that Wyatt was attempted to tease him.

He was very methodically working his way through buttons.

"I have... difficulty... thinking of much else, sometimes, without you."

Wyatt went silent, the room filled only with the sound of fabric, rustling softly beneath Max's hands.

His fingers skimmed slowly along Max's spine, a rough caress, up and down, and back up again.

"There's a lot'a things I didn't realize about myself until I met ya," he said softly, slowly, a whisper between them. "I'm -- better, when I'm with ya. Stronger, braver. I dream more. I hope for things, want things."

He breathed, muscle brushing against Max's fingers as he inhaled.

"I'm happy. So much happier for jus' sharin' my day with ya."

For even a moment, a string of heartbeats, his day was that easy to make. ...He'd never know that about himself either. That he could be so easily contented.

That it would be possible through one person.

"It all goes grey without ya. Like somebody went an' stole my sun."

"I'm sorry, Wyatt," He murmured again, low and contrite, his eyes on his hands instead of on Wyatt's face. The last button came undone and he pushed the shirt from Wyatt's shoulders, spreading his hands out over bare skin, instead.

He leaned in, pressing a firm kiss to Wyatt's throat.

"I won't steal it again."

"Max--"

Wyatt moved back with the kiss, arms slipping away as he found the edge of the bed and sat again as he had when Max had first come in. But this time he met Max's gaze easily, readily, as he reached up and curled his fingers in the hard leather belt.

"I ain't mad. I wasn't even really mad before. I worried, is all." He gave him a shake, enough to rock him lightly on his heels. "Yer my everything, Max. I know, yer hurtin', an' I knew I wasn't helpin'. I jus' foolishly started thinkin' I was makin' it even worse."

"You never would," Maximus murmured, before slipping a knee onto the bed at Wyatt's side, and gently pressing him down to the bed with a firm kiss.

"You could never make it worse," He repeated again, low gravel in his throat, lips on Wyatt's before they trailed down his throat.

Warmth was blooming under Max's lips, small tingling brands left in Wyatt's skin as the man moved. A familiar tightening taking hold in his chest, in his gut.

A low kick of lust, yes, but also so much more. Something so much stronger.

He reached for him, taking him into his arms again, a knee pressing against the hard column of Max's thigh.

"I'm sorry," he rumbled again, fingers threading through Max's close-cut hair. "I shouldn't have doubted." He shifted to prop himself up on an elbow, fingertips pressing against the back of Max's neck to coax him back, taking another kiss.

"It's enough, now, to know. I can wait," he whispered, roughly. "Ya don't have to--"

I just wanna make you laugh, I just wanna see that smile

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