thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"They have nutrients in the IV fluid. Basically, when you eat the nutrients find their way into your bloodstream anyway, so this is just skipping a few steps. It's not something they can do long term, but for a couple days it's fine."

She gestures toward the IV. "I used to be a doctor. I'm not sure if I've told you that."

"No. I did not know." It wasn't unheard of. He knew there were women who were healers, even if they only really treated women, and the future as he'd noticed had much fewer stipulations on gender roles.

"They had this technology, where you are from?" He asked, lowering his hand back to the side. If she wasn't going to mention the leg, then he certainly wasn't going to. "You used it?"

"Yes, and yes. It doesn't look like the technology has advanced much, which makes sense. It's a simple enough process. Their mixtures are probably more advanced, though."

It's somewhat nice, knowing that there are at least some things that have stayed the same, that she can relate to. Most of their medicine is so far beyond what she has used or even understands.

"At least one of us understands it," He grumbled, plucking at the IV before letting it go.

"It may as well be magic, to me."

"There's a saying from my time that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. There's plenty of technology here which may as well be magic to me, too."

She glances away, changes the subject.

"Has Wyatt been here yet?" Almost certainly, of course. He was probably the first to visit.

If his expression softened slightly at the question, he wasn't aware of it. Instead he simply nodded.

"Yes. He has been here." He paused, glancing at her. Trying to determine if she knew to ask the way everyone else did, or if she actually knew him.

"You're acquainted?"

She smiled, her fondness for the man apparent from her expression.

"We are. He was the first person I met here. Well. Aside from the stylists who sewed me into felt armor and the peacekeepers who muscled me onto the platform." She nods. "He's a friend."

"You met him in the Arena," he said, recognizing the story. It was close to his own.

"As did I. I did not know that you were friends."

"It's one of the reasons I trust you," she said, her voice soft and honest. "My initial impression of you wasn't exactly positive. You're a trained killer. You seemed like the sort of person I would put on my 'to be avoided' list. But he trusts you. Cares about you. It made me take another look."

"Your initial instinct was correct. I was trained first in the army, served several wars, and then was taken as a gladiator - all before being brought here. If there is anyone here truly trained to kill, it is I."

A flicker of a smile traced across his lips. "Yet your faith in him has extended to me." He paused, let out a breath, and looked down. "... You honour him."

"You've been trained to kill," she answered. "And you've killed people. But that doesn't make you a killer. It's a fine distinction, but an important one, I've found."

He paused, before looking back at her.

"... I do not kill for pleasure. That much is true." Revenge? Yes. Honour? Yes. "But even so, for one whose duty it was to save lives, it must seem strange to be making such distinctions at all."

"Well, more recently I was a consulting detective, which is sort of like a police officer." Not really, of course, but close enough. "I refuse to kill anyone who isn't directly threatening me or my friends, and even then, I'd really prefer to disable them. I'm not saying I agree with what you do. But I'm not afraid of you. Not here, and probably not in the arena either."

"Ah, like Wyatt." That was his only link to the idea of police. Rome had night watchmen, but it wasn't the same.

"You have no reason to be afraid, especially if you are a friend of his. And not anymore. I am solely a Mentor, now."

"Must be a relief, not having to compete in the arena anymore."

It was a gift that Wyatt gave him, even though she imagined it was not an easy one to take.

He hesitated, frowning as he looked away.

"... Of all that should be granted amnesty from the arena, I am not among them," He said, a little lowly, before glancing back at her. "I made it a solemn duty to always lead from the front line, rather than from behind. It will be... difficult. Being forced to watch and do nothing."

She blinked.

"I hadn't thought of it that way. It makes sense, though. It's hard to watch your friends die, and not be able to save them."

"It is worse, when you know the effects of constant war," He said, his voice low and hard. "I am accustomed to it - built for it - but for those who are not, it weighs both on their souls, and on their minds."

He hesitated, and frowned. "I had meant-- It was Wyatt, who was meant to win, not me. But I was too late."

Joan imagined that the fact that most people came back from death made the experience in the Arena different than most warfare. Regardless, though, there was still the fear and pain of dying, the fear and pain of watching people you care about die.

Like Wyatt.

"He made that decision for you," she said softly. "That must have been hard."

"He made the decision I had meant to make. That I should have made." He let out a hard breath.

"I cannot fault him for it."

He paused, though, uncomfortably, not certain he really wanted to continue to discuss Wyatt when the man wasn't there, before something occurred to him.

"You were a doctor. When-- Did they have these, where you came from?" He grabbed the pamphlet on the prosthetic he was receiving, covered in glossy photos.

She looked at the pamphlet and blinked, raising her eyebrows.

"Um...yeah. Wow. Usually they aren't so, I don't know...glamorous. I'm sure they're more advanced in some ways. I'd have to actually see one. I'd love to take a look at yours."

She was aware that was possibly awkward, but he brought the issue up, and she had found in her time in medicine that avoidance was ultimately more awkward than frankness in these situations.

He nodded. "Your opinion would be appreciated," He admitted easily. Neither he nor Wyatt came from periods where any of this was possible.

"They assure me that one will be built to suit my 'tastes and needs'," He added, skeptically.

"Taste and needs," she echoed, amused. "I can't wait to see what they think those are."

She looked down at the pamphlet again.

"In my time, there are these competitions called the Olympics. The best athletes compete in things like swimming and track and field. There was this one runner who had lost both of his legs...I don't know how. Cancer, maybe. But he had these special prosthetics that allowed him to run. He was one of the fastest people in the world."

Maximus found that extremely hard to believe but then he found the concept of prosthetics hard to believe at all, so he decided to remain polite.

"I'm sure I will learn, when it is shown to me," He said simply. "Until then, I am here."

"It shouldn't be too long. They made them pretty quickly in my day. I'd guess that they're even faster now."

She handed the pamphlet back to him.