Work Text:
On nights when Senator Gale et al had somewhere to go—so all of them, in practice—it had become Max’s habit to linger for a while in January and River’s bedroom after coming back to Songshu. It was a glorious, slow kind of wonderful; for an hour a night, Max stripped down to their shirtsleeves and trousers, took down their hair, and let the mask relax just that tiniest bit. It never lasted, though—right before January and River went to bed, Max reassembled their uniform and retreated to the guest room across the house.
It wasn’t their choice, not really. They would have loved to stay. But there were lines, in an unorthodox situation such as this; the staff might talk. Besides, they couldn’t shake that creeping fear that they wouldn’t be welcome if they asked. Better not to know. Max had plenty of practice not knowing.
All of this to say, it was that time of night now; when it was all over, River and January divested of their many-layered finery and into loungewear. Max had already gathered up the remaining bits of their uniform and redressed in the bathroom; now, puppeted by that same instinct that wouldn’t let them call January by his first name in public or wear their necktie even the slightest bit looser than regulation, they were putting their hair back up.
Suddenly, something glinted in the mirror. When Max looked closer, they couldn’t stop themself from gasping; there, at the front of their hairline, were four or five silver hairs, like filigree against the black. They shook their head, disbelieving. They knew it happened to people, of course—Max’s Apollo was nearly entirely grey from stress. But the fact that it was happening to them threw them, oddly, for a loop.
Max exited the bathroom, clambering onto the bed across from River and January. River—sitting against the headboard and working on mammoth translations—looked up, surprised. Max nodded, as if to say I know, I know.
“Are you seeing these?” Max inquired, pointing to the part in their hair. They were still using вы with January and River, too; another line. Max got away with it most of the time—plural partners, plural pronoun—but they would never forget the time January pointed out that ”using the intimate second-person is probably fine, considering the three of us have already, you know, been intimate.” Max had blushed right up to their ears and refused to continue the conversation.
Max could see January opening his mouth to argue with them now, but River reached over and squeezed his shoulder before he could. “Oh, Max—don’t worry, you’re still lovely.” he said instead, a wry smile twisting his mouth.
Max laughed. “No, I—shit, January, that’s not it at all.”
“Well, what then?” River inquired.
“I didn’t really think I would live long enough to go grey,” Max explained without thinking. River was too well-controlled to let their feelings show on their face, but they did flinch, so minutely that the average observer likely wouldn’t have noticed. January had no such scruples, his eyes so wide Max could see the full circumference of his pitch-black irises. The pair of them exchanged a glance, concern plain if one knew where to look.
Max sighed, suddenly repulsed with themself; that same sinking, creeping shame as when they looked up in the middle of telling a very funny story about, say, their first battle, only to find everyone else horrified.
They wouldn’t change a thing about their service to Tharsis; everything it took from them would have been freely given anyways. But if they could have somehow changed how their peers saw them for it, it would have been a blessing—as it was, they could only play at being ordinary for so long before someone realised, before the truth of what Max was bobbed back up to the surface. Privately, they thought that the whole “being human” thing was a lot like language acquisition; there was a set window for learning. You could figure it out afterwards, of course, but it would never be quite the same, and everyone would be able to tell.
Max saw the question in January’s eyes; if Max accepted, January would have swept them up in his arms, holding them like something precious and worthy of protection. It would have been a relief—and would make Max feel even more pathetic and shameful than they already did. They shook their head. You’re an adult, hissed a voice in Max’s chest, spitting and snapping like a kerosene fire. You shouldn’t need reassurance. Buck up, soldier.
River, thankfully, didn’t push it. “Well, while we have you, we might as well go over the Schedule to End All Schedules; we have quite the week coming up.”
“Really, River, it’s like you’re trying to drive them off.” January said lightly.
River didn’t respond, simply smiling a little half-smile. “It’s the standard issue, mostly,” they explained, eyes fixed on the middle distance in the way that Max knew meant they were looking at something on the virtual layer. “Interviews, appearances, parties—the whole nine yards. I’m out for a business trip the week of Spring 102—“
January’s eyes widened. “Yuan’s going to lose it.”
“No they won’t. We’ll make a day of it; they’ll come with us to drop you off, then they and I can go somewhere fun. So long as you call them that night, it should be fine; it’ll take them a minute to realise you’re coming back, but once they do, they’ll be set.” Max informed them. They were good with Yuan; they were inexplicably relieved that Yuan liked them. Children, Max found, tended to be decent judges of character.
River smiled their slow, real smile, their eyes gleaming the same way they did when they bested someone in mahjong.
Whatever game they were playing, January had apparently caught on too, now. “Oh, by the way—Max, Mx. Francis wants to know if you’re available…around this time next year.” His voice had a touch of a laugh to it as he realised the absurdity of the question. “It’s a long way off, I know, but you know how fast our schedules fill up; they need all three of us to film some content for the reelection campaign.”
Max blinked at the two of them, thrown. It didn’t make sense; the re-election campaign wouldn’t start for another year and a half. Max doubted they would still be around, then.
It wasn’t that they intended to leave—they had sworn their life to January and River, they would never—but the good things never tended to last for Max. They just couldn’t—deployments ended. People died. Spouses got some insane notion of breaking free from House Song and decided shooting you would be the best course of action.
It was fine; nobody was entitled to be loved. But pathetically, Max had begun to anticipate it, to brace for it. Had begun to shake Yuan awake at night, just to make sure they were still breathing; begun to retreat to the safety of their own room at night before they could be asked to leave January and River’s, as though by keeping sufficient distance they could ward off the devastation to come.
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place, the reason for River’s triumphant smile and January’s levity clear as morning. “G-ddamn it, you two.” Max shook their head, amused at their own obliviousness. And to think they had once been trusted to run a regiment.
Max pulled their phone from their pocket to check their own calendar.[1] “Yes, I do believe I am available then. I understand perfectly; such is the life of the Consul, one supposes.” Though they couldn’t say it out loud—that wasn’t the rules of the game, the rules of life here—they knew January and River would understand them. I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try.
River inclined their head in acknowledgment. “Excellent. I’ll let them know.” You have nothing to be sorry for. So long as you try.
Max rose; January watched them with bated breath, sighing with relief as Max unbuttoned their jacket and settled back down.
“I know,” Max said gently. They leaned over, placing one of their hands over River’s and one of their hands over January’s; in the low light of the bedroom, Max’s ring glinted like the light at the end of a long darkness. “I’m so terribly lucky to have you—both of you.” ты, this time, not вы.
[1] River had offered about a thousand times, but Max still didn’t want haptics. They’d take missing out on the fun patterns in people’s clothes in exchange for invulnerability to the biggest security risk Max had ever seen. return to text