Who: Max Rockatansky madman & Aramis amongthebravest What: Meeting the new baby When: Tuesday, September 15, afternoon Where: Aramis and Porthos's home Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Max has PTSD, schizophrenia, and happens to be rather odd. He is also the only survivor of his family so there could be mention of character death. Status: Closed/Completed GDoc
~*~
Baby showers weren't the usual realm of men. Max had been exposed to two new births in what felt such a short span of time. He had worries for the woman, Splendid, who served as his social worker. She was the sort he felt no one worried enough for because she was strong. Even a strong person needed someone to worry for them on the occasional; Max had worried for her until delivering the music maker. The sound of it soothed him. It had been---easy to give it to her. A weight felt lifted from his shoulders when he released it to her hands.
He had no such personal gift for Porthos and Aramis.
They were good men with many good friends who could worry for their new child with them. It was not up to Max to provide something unique. All he had to do was provide something useful which was far easier for him than unique. He had gone into the store in his old combat fatigues. They had been all he'd owned which was clean. The worn pants were missing pockets, but had no holes in them and he went without the jacket in favor of a plain cotton t-shirt. His boots remained the same as ever.
People stared at him when he walked through the baby aisles. None of them were willing to meet his eyes, but Max was unashamed of his task or his destination. He didn't try to force a smile for any of them. They were only people. He could hear the child before he could see her. It was easy to be drawn in by the sound of a baby. Max had a feeling it was something instinctual, a primitive need to care for something weaker, unable to care for itself, which was bred into them so they didn't go extinct. Man was too often trying to kill himself off. Seemed fitting whoever or whatever had designed Man would have put in failsafes to keep them from dying out before they'd served their purpose.
If they even had a purpose which Max highly doubted.
Life was pain as far as he knew it.
People could stare all they liked and they still wouldn't matter unless he allowed them to matter. That was how things went in the world. Max had learned only enough from his therapy sessions to make him largely harmless in public settings which had been the goal he imagined.
No one wanted him to be dangerous.
Max didn't have the heart to tell any of them he would always be dangerous.
Ringing the bell at Porthos's home, Max stood at an awkward angle on the stoop until Aramis answered the door. He held up the baby-themed gift bag to demonstrate why he was there. It was often easier for him to lead with action rather than words. Actions were easy. Words? Harder. Much harder on some days and Max had not spent much time speaking with Porthos's man alone.
"Brought rags. For spit up. Vomits happen often with babies."
It sounded repulsive out loud, but it was the truth.
"Sorry. Can come back later if it would be better?"
Where was Porthos?
Max felt certain he'd come at a bad time though he knew it was likely only his mind playing tricks on him.
~*~
Aramis hadn’t been entirely certain what everyone was thinking, leaving him alone with the baby. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, letting them do it. He had a knack with children, sure, and it was his daughter but his mind seemed so rarely with him lately. It was also somewhere else, thinking over scenarios he had no power to change, a symphony of what-ifs echoing through his mind over and over. It made him nervous. Restless. He felt nothing like himself and too much like himself all at once.
But the baby. She was a good distraction. There was a reminder there that things were very, very good for Aramis. He had a charmed life. The shoe would fall, inevitably, always. He was enjoying the ride. The ride needed to stop for a break, though. The passenger was tired and the driver - the baby, in this case - was wide awake. Cooing and gurgling and taking all of her father’s attention. Even the television was left on but abandoned.
Aramis wiggled his fingers at Viviana before he went to get the door, and he paused before smiling. “Max.” Yes, he was surprised. He felt bad, because Porthos wasn’t home, but he laughed. It was a thoughtful gift. “Thank you. I’m all right with it, but Porthos likes his clothes a lot more than I like mine.” A pause to clear his throat. “He’s not here right now. Work and everything. But you can come in? It’s just me and the little one, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra body.”
Stepping aside, Aramis motioned Max inside. He wouldn’t let the man leave anyway. It wasn’t hospitable. Besides, Max had done him a favour by helping with the basement. “Are you hungry? I could whip something up.”
~*~
Following the man's motions more out of habit than anything else, Max entered the home while wondering what he was to do with a man he could disturb and a baby who would likely not be able to understand he was anything other than an intruder in her world. Babies were interesting creatures. They took everything in from birth forward. Their brains were sponges for the world around them; it was easier to teach an infant something than to try it with a child who'd made it to school age.
Max knew as much from experience though his boy had never made it to school age.
"Could eat," he mumbled, "No worries though. Don't want to put you out."
His bad leg stretched out straight in the brace as he lowered himself to the floor in front of where the child was placed. Max drew his good knee to his chest, holding onto it with his thick arms as he studied her face for signs of understanding. She seemed happy enough. Had a long name. Max couldn't recall it offhand so he settled for a generic greeting.
"G'devening, little miss. Max. My name is Max."
Without looking up, Max asked, "What's her name? Long. Can't remember it."
~*~
“Trust me, it’s not a problem.” When it came to food, Aramis and Porthos were never put out. They were self proclaimed foodies who loved, more than anything, sharing that with others. And Aramis was a stress cooker, to be sure. Throughout the pregnancy he’d made trays and trays of baked goods and pastries. It kept him busy when he was restless. So, no, finding something to feed his unexpected guest was not an issue.
From the kitchen he could see the baby. He watched as Max settled in, unable to keep from grinning. Babies. They just had that effect on a person, and this one seemed delighted to have new company.
“Viviana Margaret Carter-du Vallon,” Aramis recited. There was pride etched into his voice as he said it, like he was speaking the words to a hymn. He’d needed a good Catholic name, one for his mother. Sharon had agreed on the grounds that her cousin would take the middle name’s spot. The last name was easy, but it was a mouthful, to be sure. “We’ve settled on calling her Viv. Vivi, too, sometimes.”
A tray was assembled of a variety of things. Aramis realized he had no idea what Max ate, or what he wanted to eat. An assortment seemed ideal. Sandwiches cut up, slices of fruit, small tarts, it wasn’t a real meal by any means, but it would satisfy an appetite for at least a while. He took a seat on the floor as well, back up against the couch. Dark eyes landed on Max to watch him.
“I think it’s really great you’re here.”
~*~
"Vivi," Max repeated, his accent making it sound strangely like the name of an exotic animal, "Like that. Cute. Female-like. Nice."
He reached over to the tray to pick up a handful of sandwich quarters. They were interesting to him. Fancy. Max wasn't much for fancy. Food tended to consist of whatever was served in the rest area he chose to sleep in or whatever he could microwave in his rig. It wasn't so important to him what he ate so long as he could keep driving. There were people who worried over such things. Max was aware of how nutrition was meant to be an important thing in a person's life. He simply didn't care much for how he---well, cared for himself.
Max tended to his body only enough to keep it in working order.
Methodically eating the little quarters, Max studied the baby as she looked at him. He wasn't too sure who she resembled. Babies could sometimes look a great deal like a parent while others? They looked as if they had no distinct features at all. It had taken until Sprog was older than a baby for Max to figure he resembled Jesse the most. Sometimes he remembered how soft Sprog's hair had been, softer than his or his Jess's hair, true enough. Strange how babies came in different than people. Max wondered if he'd ever been soft or if he'd been born hard.
"Food's good. Vivi's good. Me? Myself? Not so good. Not great, true enough. No worries all's the same. Making it. Better than can ask for most days. Liking things? Being a new dad?"
It seemed as if he were enjoying it. There was pride in him for his child. Max knew sometimes a man could talk to a stranger better than his lover so he figured he'd ask, offer to listen, do his part as a sounding board if nothing else. It was good to feel as if he had some use.
~*~
As Max studied the baby, Aramis studied Max. There was something beyond the initial exterior of Max that made him likeable, though Aramis had yet to put his finger on what it was. A natural charm, maybe, bogged down and buried under years of things decidedly not charming. But he was a friend of Porthos, and Porthos wouldn’t make friends with anyone less than good at heart. Aramis was not that way. It took him a long time to decide how he felt about a person, but he was coming around to the idea of Max.
“I am. I always wanted to be one. My family’s big, so I always wanted a little one of my own. Granted this is a bit different than I’d imagined it would happen.” But it had happened all the same, and Aramis wasn’t one to overlook a blessing. He had to trust that God had a plan for why things happened and when. That made it easier. “It’s a bit overwhelming though. There’s a lot going on, it seems, always. But Vivi keeps me focused.”
More focused than Porthos could these days. Aramis’s restlessness was only calmed by the presence of the child. The moment he was apart from him, his mood slipped away again. He was glad for the moment alone with her. He was even glad for the distraction of a new acquaintance. Max didn’t know him that well, so Max couldn’t wonder what was going on with him. That was nice.
~*~
A lot was always going on inside Max's troubled mind. He was used to a constant world of chaos. He lived it every day, heard it in his head, dreamed it at night in his sleep; there was never any peace for him. Max was not a man who would know what to do with peace. He found the chaos comforting. It was at least something he could count on in a world where he couldn't even count on his own mind to do right by him.
"Never wanted one meself. Had one. Accident. Lost him. Same way. Accident. Wasn't sure if you knew. Some know. Some don't. Not a secret. Hard to talk on. Hard to remember. Hard losses always hard. Everything about them? Hard. Think you'll do better than most. Advice from a madman?"
Max looked up from the child to meet Aramis's eyes.
"Embrace the chaos. It doesn't last forever and when it's over? You'll miss it."
Children didn't stay young long. They grew and grew and grew until they were adults. Some became good people the same as their good parents while others went the opposite direction to become bad people. It was not always good people raising good children or bad people raising bad. Sometimes the worst of men could be the best of fathers and their children could become the best of the world. Max had once hoped his Sprog would become a good man in a lost world.
That would never happen now.
No one could bring back the dead.
~*~
Aramis simply frowned as he listened to Max. It was little more than a downturn of the corners of his mouth and a furrowed brow, and there was something inherently sympathetic in the look. At heart, he was a sensitive soul. For a living, his job involved killing, and frequently he did what he had to without batting an eyelash. But he didn’t enjoy hearing about losses or hardships. Especially when it came to people who weren’t bad people, just lost in the world. Aramis wanted to reach over to touch Max, lay a hand on his shoulder or his arm, but he quelled the impulse. Max didn’t seem like the sort who liked touching.
“I should,” he agreed. His eyes turned to the baby, his face softening. What would he do if he lost her? How would he cope with that? How had Max coped with it? “Chaos and I haven’t ever agreed. Which is sort of funny, since that seems to be all life is. Especially here, right? … Well, I guess no one ever agrees with chaos.”
His lips quirked up. It wasn’t very funny at all, and the whole thing made him feel sad. Too sensitive.
“What have you been doing with yourself lately?”
~*~
"Agreeing with chaos."
Max grinned at Aramis as he replied. There was little to say about his life. He wasn't a particularly interesting man as far as he could tell. He drove his rig. He handled his loads. He came back to the beach where he sometimes taught a young Russian man some driving. He checked in with his mandatory meetings with Social Services. That was the full extent of Max Rockatansky's life. It was a sorry list of errands which he couldn't manage to move forward or back away from without feeling lost.
All his life he'd needed a purpose.
Max figured now? His purpose was to keep traveling The Road for as long as his mind let him be able.
"Not nearly so interesting as your girl, Vivi."
He got to his feet with a bit of a struggle from his bad leg. It wouldn't ever heal properly. The doctors at the VA hospital had done all they could for him. No doctor was a true miracle worker though. Max knew he was lucky to be able to walk at all. Driving was still easy for him. They'd saved him his ability to travel The Road. They'd given him enough as far as he was concerned. Anything else? Well, he wasn't that hard of a man to please.
"Tell Porthos he's a beautiful daughter and a fine man. You. You're a fine man. I'll come 'round again. Need to get over to the beach. Make sure spot stays clear for rig."
It wasn't much of an excuse, but it was the best Max could manage under the circumstances. He didn't feel comfortable staying longer. He'd run his mouth too much.
~*~
As his guest stood, so did Aramis. He found himself smiling under the compliment - whether Max was sincere in it or not, it didn’t matter. Some part of Aramis needed to be told from someone not that close to him that was he all right. Fine. He’d try to remember that.
“Well, he already knows about the daughter, but I’ll pass on the other part in case he hasn’t realized yet,” he teased. Aramis walked with Max to the door, which he opened and held for him. “I hope you do. Come around again. Our door is always open to friends.”