2
author's note – 30 fics in 30 days? What was I thinking!! So I have borrowed inspiration from Nickledime-17's alphabet game. And so, here begins 30 fics about Max and Ames White...
ANYTHING
She was alone again in their cell while he was gone enjoying the newest round of pain-filled fun.
Max didn't like to think about how long she'd been here – even though she knew, give or take a couple of minutes, thanks to her impressive Manticore-given internal time-keeping.
It made her worry - about Terminal City, how things were going, what the people were doing; if they missed her, had failed in their rescue attempts, or had decided she wasn't worth the attempt at all.
Then common sense broke through her pity-party; she could save the world, dammit - of course they'd fight to get her back!
And the worry returned – with reinforcements: how many others were now locked down here, languishing, wounded - because of her, because of what she was...
Max blinked against the threat of tears – wherever she was, who ever she was with, they were always in danger. It never stopped.
For a moment she wondered if things would be better for her friends; hell, for everyone stuck in TC, if she quietly died here – maybe even today...
But these dark ruminations were interrupted by approaching visitors, two walking - although marching was a much better description. They were dragging a third, by the sound she could hear.
She glanced quickly around the cell but nothing had changed – no weapons, no advantage, no point (no hope...?)
So she sat with her back against the wall, clearly no threat, no danger; and tried not to watch as they threw him across the threshold, heavy door slamming shut behind them.
He lay in a heap for sometime. She was tempted to go and check his condition but they had a rule – she didn't ask him for comfort, and she didn't offer him any. He would never ask, so her gesture would always be an imposition; he was always alright – at least, he was when it was her who was looking.
Eventually he stirred, pulled himself off the cold stones and shuffled to lean against a wall - as far from her as he could get, without having to move very far.
Burning with the urge to ask if he was okay, she bit her tongue and tried not to wriggle.
The silence stretched on.
Her night vision was back, now that the light from the corridor was once more cut off by the door of their prison. She could see the recent damage, fresh blood gleaming wetly against the rusty dry stains of the old.
He raised his head where it had been resting on his chest as he sucked in deep breaths.
He looked bad this time. Possibly really bad.
"What would you do to get out of here?"
She jumped at the unexpected sound. His voice was cracked and rough. She wondered, not for the first time, if they had finally managed to break him.
Anything!" she replied without hesitation.
He swallowed, a silence drawing out between them. It was obvious that he was collecting the strength to continue. She waited, patiently – incarceration had taught her that trick when no-one else had managed to before.
"Would you hold me?"
The request was barely more than a whisper.
Max blinked but scooted closer to her cellmate. As she wrapped her arms around his shaking and wounded form, lightly so as not to cause him further hurt; she wondered if it was surreal or just in keeping with how weird her life always seemed to get – to be comforting Ames White...