As sure as God made black and white...

[the_marshal]

WHO: Wyatt and Maximus
WHAT: Discussing Maximus' actions at the Crowning.
WHERE: Maximus' suite in District 3
WHEN: After this, same night.
Warnings: Possibly some language. Will add more warnings if they become necessary.



He should have waited, Wyatt knew that even as he punching the button for three in the elevator, but there he was, not even waiting for his long-missed pants before he was heading after the Roman.

They already knew - certainly had to suspect, at least, after that asinine display at the crowning - what difference was a few minutes going to make now?

(And what if they were already making plans to come for him? What if the Peacekeepers were already on their way? He needed to be there.

Wyatt wasn't going to watch Max's execution.)

Pointedly ignoring the stylists who stared as he crossed the common room - their conversation dropped to whispers as he passed, an excited hissing back and forth - he turned down the hall to the tribute suites and was pounding on Max's door before he'd even given thought to the idea that they might have already moved him into the mentor's quarters.

Comments

[gluteus]

Maximus was nearly beside himself with anger, his shoulders beginning to shake, teeth clenched hard enough to make his jaw ache. His eyes never left Wyatt's.

"Then tell me what I must do!" He snapped, the anger making his voice quake along with his shoulders.

"Because if there is another choice, Wyatt, I can't see it. I will not sit here and have everything that we have done be for nothing!"

[the_marshal]

"Of course ya can't, Max."

He was a stone in the swirling eddies of Max's anger. It pounded at him, dragged away the earth around his feet, but he held firm.

This was one thing Wyatt wasn't going to stand with him on.

"'Cause you don't want somethin' to fight for, you want somethin' to die for."

[gluteus]

He couldn't even begin to reply. His breathed hard, jaw so tight it could crush a man's skull, fists tight at his sides. The silence stretched out until finally he broke it by raising his hands and angrily scrambling with the pin to remove the heavy golden cloak from his shoulders and toss it to the bed behind him too.

"I'm already dead," He said finally as he went to his bracers next, needing something to do with his hands lest he punch through a wall instead. "I've been dead for nearly two thousand years, Wyatt, along with everything else I ever knew. What possible difference does it make."

[the_marshal]

"It makes a difference to me."

The words were soft, nearly lost beneath the furious rustling of fabric and creak of leather as Max fought with his clothes, but they were honest.

A simple, direct truth, whether Max liked it or not.

[gluteus]

He kept fighting with his bracer for a heart beat, a heart beat more, and then gave up - letting his breath out in a rush, eyes to the floor, the anger rushing with it.

Deflated, and defeated.

He tried, again, to pull the leather straps free from his arm.

What could he say? He had given his word, and now had broken it, without even attaining his goal. What kind of honour could he claim, in this?

[the_marshal]

The striped cat watched from the corner of the room, the end of its long tail twitching rhythmically. Their eyes met, blue against gold, when Max wouldn't - or couldn't - face him.

Distantly, Wyatt wondered what would happen to it, when they came for Max.

Kill it, he supposed. They'd spare it and themselves the trouble and put it out of its misery.

There was something, in his gut, at that thought. Something sharp and dark, something that felt remarkably like envy.

"Go on an' do what ya think ya have to," he said finally, a low, weary whisper. "I can't stop ya."

His eyes flicked back, rested on Max's face. A weighted stare, even if the man wouldn't look at him.

"...But I wish I could."

[gluteus]

"Don't."

He finally managed to tug the bracer free, and he tossed it dejectedly onto the bed to lie with his cloak, the tiger's eyes following it.

"You've made your point, Wyatt," He said quietly as he rubbed the skin where the bracer had lay - the golden armour having left red lines across his skin.

He finally raised his eyes.

"I gave you my word. We're in this together."

[the_marshal]

It was what he wanted to hear, and he knew he should take it and be content, but he couldn't ignore the flat way the man said it. As if resigning himself to a great burden.

He couldn't help but recall Howard, telling him much the same thing.

That whatever kinship they had, just wasn't worth the pain of living.

"I'm sorry our friendship has become such a chore for ya, Max." He nodded at the door, and shifted to slip around him. "But don't worry, I'll see myself out now."

[gluteus]

"Wyatt--"

The hand came out, instantly, clasping on Wyatt's shoulder and keeping him from moving any further towards the door.

His jaw worked as he tried to find the words he wanted, but he refused to let Wyatt leave with those as his last words.

Finally he just pulled Wyatt to him, hand slipping to the back of the man's neck instead, fingers curling in his hair as he pulled him into a hard, gruff hug.

"Your friendship has brought me nothing but Honour," He said finally, after a moment, when he released the grip but left his hand on Wyatt's neck. "Even when I dishonour myself."

[the_marshal]

He resisted, only a heartbeat, then he was meeting Max's embrace with one just as fierce. Maybe he couldn't hold Max to this life, maybe he didn't even have a right to try, but there in that moment, he wanted to believe he could.

And dared to hope Max wouldn't resent him for it.

He pounded Max's back, one, twice, then curled his fingers under the edges of the hard armor and griped at the golden fabric beneath.

"I need ya to be here, when I get back." His voice was thick again, but not with anger this time. Now, it was more of a hard desperation. A whispered demand.

[gluteus]

Maximus let out a long breath as he nodded.

"No more stupid stunts," He agreed lowly, barely above a whisper. "I'll be here, Wyatt." He patted the back of Wyatt's neck one last time before he let his hand drop.

"As long as you come back, I will be here." And if they didn't bring Wyatt back... he'd simply bring hell to them.

[the_marshal]

"I'll come back, Max. Wait for me..."

He had the strange urge to keep holding, even after Max let go, but with a deep breath, he shook it off and took a step back. His hands slid up to Max's shoulders, squeezed firmly, once, and then fell away.

"An' we'll get out of this together. It's only a matter of time."

[gluteus]

He wasn't sure how well he could believe it - almost certain that the Capitol would do everything in its power to make sure it never came to pass - but he nodded anyway.

"Together," He agreed lowly. "I will wait."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt exhaled, and nodded.

"An' I'll come back."

It wasn't the easiest of accords he'd ever made, and Max still looked a bit like he was swallowing glass, but it would work.

It had to.

[gluteus]

He let out another long breath and a nod. His anger was dissipated but his chest was still tight, and any time he even attempted to figure out exactly what he was thinking his mind churned inwards on itself, sharp and dark, and he retreated.

Best to simply not think at all.

Instead he went for his second bracer, tugging at the leather.

"Are you going to try to win?" He asked, almost casually, but his voice was tight.

[the_marshal]

"I-"

He paused, mouth holding open, as he wished silently for better words.

"I don't think winnin's for me, Max."

He could last, and survive, with the best of their fellows; better, even, than a good number of them. But he didn't have that instinct that so many of the victors did - including Max.

That drive to do whatever it took, eyes only for the bottom line.

"...An' even if it were, there'll always be someone who deserves it more."

[gluteus]

He didn't like the answer. Of course he didn't. And part of him, a small petty part, wanted to throw it back. That Wyatt was perfectly happy to sacrifice himself in the arena, but wouldn't allow Maximus to honour that same debt.

But more of him - the reasonable part - knew that wasn't fair. That it wasn't the same. That ultimately, the arenas were a game, if a brutal one. That a sacrifice there wasn't a farewell.

At least not always.

"I wouldn't ask you to act against your honour, Wyatt," He said carefully.

[the_marshal]

Max didn't have to say it, because Wyatt felt it too - the sting of hypocrisy. But it wasn't as if he could take it back, and even if he could, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to bring himself to do so.

There was only one way out of the arena - they never would have taken them both - and he had come back. Death still apparently fluid even so long before they had come for their bodies.

Here, there was no such promise of rebirth. If Max had succeeded... Hell, even if he'd failed, even if he'd only gotten closer....

Max wouldn't come back from the gallows.

He reached out suddenly, chasing Max's fingers away from the mess he was making of the ties holding the gauntlet closed and loosening them himself.

"I'll do what I can," he said softly, barely more than a whisper. "An' last as long as I'm able."

[gluteus]

He let Wyatt take over, holding out his arm like a patient child, all too happy to have someone else do it for him. (A brief, flashing memory of Cicero.) His armour had never been meant to be put on by himself.

He nodded, solemnly.

"I'll do what I can. I can send supplies. If you can somehow message to me what you need--"

[the_marshal]

A wry sort of smile flashed around his mouth as his fingers worked under the laces, pulling until they were loose enough to tug the leather down over Max's wrist and off.

"I expect it'll be rather obvious, should I need somethin'," he replied, holding the bracer out. "But I'll be sure an ask, jus' the same."

Not that it would make much difference either way, if Max didn't watch, which Wyatt wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

There was a part of him that actually hoped he wouldn't.

[gluteus]

Maximus was slowly relaxing - the tenseness in his shoulders slowly letting go as Wyatt tossed the bracer to the bed. He rubbed his wrist lightly and then turned his hands to the clasps at his side, to get his breastplate open.

"They're teaching me how to use the - ah - screens," Maximus says lowly. He'll be watching. "And I've been training R to give a signal, should his hunger begin to overtake him."

[the_marshal]

Without prompting, he reached for the closures on Max's other side, pulling them open as Max worked on the ones opposite, and then helping to lift the armor away.

"Yer trainin' R?" he asked, not a little surprised.

There was a friendship he wouldn't have bet on.

[gluteus]

As soon as the bulky golden breastplate was removed, he felt a hundred times lighter. (He preferred leather armour, any day of the week.)

"I am, yes. He asked it of me." He carefully set the breastplate down on the bed and then sat next to it, pulling a leg up onto his knee so he could remove his leg braces. "Claimed he did not wish to repeat his mistakes, in the last arena." Maximus looked up, catching Wyatt's eye. "Specifically, that he did not want to harm his friends. So I agreed."

[the_marshal]

God having decided to make him a man, Wyatt had never really given much thought to care women must have took in moving about in their fine skirts, but when Max sat and suddenly folded a leg up, he had an all new appreciation.

Ease of movement, indeed.

Amused, and struggling back a chuckle, his gaze flicked away, hands returning to his belt as he decided Max could handle his own sandals.

"Mighty good'a of the both of ya," he replied with a little cough, watching the tiger's wide pink nose flare with its breath.

[gluteus]

Maximus didn't seem to even notice, having worn tunics all his life and spent years in the army.

He'd seen more men naked or half naked than he would ever possibly wish to count. He was hardly prudish, in this particular area, so it didn't even occur to him. He made quick work of the bracers, and then pulled up his other leg to do the other one.

"I cannot imagine a worse fate than his," He said, frowning down at his feet while he worked. "I've no wish to see you succumb to it, Wyatt, even if only in the arena. I would not wish it on any man."

And he'd seen the aftermath of when Howard had.