(no subject)

[gluteus]

Who| Maximus and OPEN
What| Maximus lost his leg to an alien and is in hospital while they build him a new one.
When| a few days after aliens
Where| Hospital
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of severe violence/trauma, depression, possibly suicidal thoughts

It was a desperate time. Even with the Capitol's extensive and immediate health care, there had been enough time between Maximus being hurt to being brought into critical care for him to lose a lot of blood - the mangled leg as unsalvagable as anyone could have imagined. The entire thing had been amputated from mid-thigh down.

The surgery had only taken a few hours but he needed time to recover, so no visitors were allowed until twelve hours later. Though they were making him a prosthetic, it would take a few days to build and tweak - so in the meantime he was stuck in the hospital.

Maximus was awake. They'd tried to force painkillers on him but he'd refused, so they'd slipped a minimal dosage into his IV without telling him and let him rough out the rest, gripping the pristine white sheets as he stared up at the ceiling. The form under the sheets strangely incomplete.

The nurses gave him a wide berth and spoke in hushed voices as they led any visitors to his room - though they would not allow Ferox in the hospital, so he went without his hard won companion.

Comments

[gluteus]

Something hitched in his chest - a strange sort of pain just beneath his throat, a tightness spreading. He let out a hard breath as if to force it away, his fingers flexing and clenching again.

"Wyatt--" But that thought haulted, abruptly, and he revised.

Wyatt deserved whatever honesty he could muster.

"Wyatt, I cannot-- I will do all I can, but I will not be the man I was, and if you- I would not wish to drag you down with me."

It was rare that Maximus ever had halting speech, but he certainly did so now - the admission of weakness one that he'd never before had to perform.

"I already owe you my life, and more besides, so if you don't--"

[the_marshal]

"We'll get there," Wyatt echoed, cutting him off with that soft, confident drawl. "But' even if we don't, that'll be alright. What matters to me is still here."

He gave in then, reaching out again. This time he rested his palm on Max's chest, the papery gown crinkling beneath his hand. A warm, brief touch, before his fingers slipped to band around his arm again.

"Wasn't in the leg." His mouth dared to twitch, a small curl. There and gone. "As nice as it was."

[gluteus]

The tightness only worsened, hot and sharp in his chest under Wyatt's touch, as brief as it was. He sank into the sheets, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again.

"You really do prefer me alive," He murmured, mostly to himself. He'd known it before, but it really hit home, now. After everything. That Wyatt was perhaps the only person he knew that did not wish him an honourable death.

There was a hard pause before his arm moved, his hand slipping to grasp Wyatt's forearm in turn, a true Roman handshake as he turned his eyes and they met.

"I hope you will not regret it."

[the_marshal]

Preferred.

That was another of those words he wasn't quite sure did justice to the feeling, but he didn't dig at it. This wasn't the time, not here.

...And he was afraid, of what he might see. What it would mean.

"There's lots of things I regret, Max. 'Specially here." His head shook slowly, and cocked gently. His thumb tapped against the inside of his arm. "But you ain't one of 'em."

[gluteus]

Maximus let out a hard breath and just nodded, trying to let the twist in his chest settle and relax. He squeezed his fingers slightly in return, grasping as if to the last island of his sanity.

And perhaps Wyatt was, in a way. But there was something about the man's friendship that nagged at him more than it should, but he could never bring himself to think about. Shoving each twisting thought further into the back of his mind. (Fear was not a word he would use, but fear it was.)

"Nor you, my brother," He said hoarsely, the word not meaning all that he meant but he had none better. "We should just retire. We've paid our dues to this place."

Because slaves could ever retire.

But a man could dream, through a haze of pain.

[the_marshal]

His head kicked back, a low snort rumbling up from his chest.

"Has a nice to ring to it, gotta admit."

For a moment, just a heartbeat there, he could feel sunlight, see the crops, hear the gentle creaking of wood against wood as his chair rocked beneath him on the porch of that little farm they sometimes talked about. That quiet joke shared after too much drink.

It hadn't been meant to be real, he was sure, but he liked the picture it made.

How it made him feel.

And what else were dreams for, then what couldn't be?

"Someday. When they've finally had their fill of us."

[gluteus]

"You'll have more than your share of work, tending a farm with a cripple," Maximus said quietly. Despite the words, however, he was calmer now than he was - fingers clasped around Wyatt's arm rather than gripping desperately into the sheets.

If he thought about it, he wouldn't be able to pin point when the day dreams of his farm included Wyatt. And if he thought about it, he would have noticed that those same day dreams no longer took place after death, and that the family he'd left back in history wasn't waiting for him there when he closed his eyes. Just Wyatt.

It was probably a good thing he didn't think about it.

[the_marshal]

He shifted, pushing out of the chair enough to reach back and turn it, sliding it up against the bed so he could sit comfortably. Holding onto Max as if he did it every day.

If he thought about it, he'd realize just how he did. All the different ways he did. Like a drowning man to a preserver.

But that was another of those things he didn't dig at.

"We'll manage," he promised, unconcerned. "An' I'll get ya rocker for the porch jus' in case."

he probably doesn't know what a porch is either but whatever 8D

[gluteus]

He didn't seem disturbed by the continuing hold and certainly didn't try to break it - it felt as natural and comfortable as breathing and it barely broke through his thoughts.

"... A rocker," He said instead, arching his brow with a long sigh. "Do I even want to know what a 'rocker' is?"

[the_marshal]

Wyatt laughed, a low, warm chuckle, like heavy stones rubbing in the depths of his chest.

"It's a chair, but the legs are on a curve--" he held up his free hand, demonstrating by flattening out his fingers and curling up the tips, "--so when ya move, ya rock back and forth."

His mouth remained curved, smile in the corner as he sent Max a considering, side-long look.

"I'd bet my hat you'd like it. All snug as a bug."

[gluteus]

"A chair that rocks."

He didn't quite smile but he did seem to relax slightly, his thumb brushing almost absentmindedly against the inset groove of Wyatt's arm.

"I cannot say the idea appeals. The point of a chair is to stay stationary." He paused, a weariness settling on his shoulders. "... If this leg works, Wyatt, it will be a long time before I will ever want to be stationary."

[the_marshal]

"It will work."

He sounded like he believed, because he did. Because he had too.

He didn't want to think about it failing. Didn't want to imagine Max's pain.

He needed Max to be okay. Needed him to be happy. Couldn't stand anything else. Feeling the torment as if his own.

His fingers squeezed, a rhythmic flex.

"An' you'll be back to runnin' circles 'round the rest of us in no time, I have no doubt."

[gluteus]

He nodded, stiffly, just once, not looking at Wyatt's face. He wasn't so sure himself but he was done giving into the self pity.

If he was still alive, then his duty was not yet done.

He just wished he knew what it was.

"I could do it now, if you sat still a moment," He said lowly, a sort of half-hearted joke. An indication that at least he was trying to be okay.

[the_marshal]

It lacked the usual humor, but it made Wyatt smile all the same, his blue gaze warm and fond.

"Well, we can do that if ya like, or..."

His free hand dipped into his coat and pulled the dog-eared deck of cards out of the interior pocket.

"Ya can get back to robbin' me blind."

[gluteus]

A real smile appeared then, however small, and it did not disappear.

It would have perhaps been the natural point to let go of Wyatt's arm, and there was a flickering thought through his mind about doing so, but he dismissed it just as quickly, shoving the whole idea down into the dark where he could forget it happened.

"I would be extremely thankful for the distraction," He admitted.

[the_marshal]

"That's what I'm here for."

He patted Max's arm and slowly withdrew. Almost reluctant, even though he enjoyed a good game as much as the next.

Mouth twitching, he pulled on the band that held the deck together and started shuffling.