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For all the years that he’d tried, Maxwell could not fit into any mould he’d been placed in, not even the ones he made for himself. He was a gentleman, but not in the way his father wanted. He was a good fighter, but never found his place at Revington outside of the ring. He was enthralled by adventure, but spent most of his life grounded. When he did finally make it to the skies, he was told time and time again that he lacked whimsy and that sky-eyed look that defined an adventurer.
He never wanted the life expected of him. He didn’t see the appeal in settling down somewhere quiet, couldn’t fathom why a piece of jewelry and contract was so important to people. It had never made life any more pleasant for his parents. Bert and Van had felt so far removed from what he knew of marriage, he was certain that they must be the outlier, the lucky few. Now that he’d gotten a taste of what it was like to be in the skies, changing worlds, doing things that matter, he didn’t know if he’d ever want to be grounded again. Not everyone could be so lucky as to find someone willing to let them live this life, that much was proven with how even Comfrey had started to push away Daisuke from the dangerous lifestyle she lived.
Maxwell Gotch didn’t have luck. He was the seventh son, cursed in probably more ways than one. He accepted life for what it was and set off down his singular path, so close to the one his friends walked but never intertwining, always missing something that seemed so obvious to them and never quite sure what he was doing wrong. It’s a tone issue, they’d remind him. He still didn’t really know what that meant.
When he met Torse, he thought he’d found another person without belonging, they were a group of the groupless. The automaton had seemed to think so at the time too, with no knowledge of any remaining brethren. Trekking through the strange wonders of Zood no longer felt so lonely as long as Torse remained.
Relighting the spark of the Zernai had been something neither thought possible, but when the automaton fell to his knees beside him to weep with a joy he thought he couldn’t possess, Maxwell recognized this as his destiny. The fate of the Bell had been foretold in his hands, and there was no more worthy a cause than this. Perhaps that was why he was willing to hand off the keys, so that they could find their way back to Cadswitch in his time, or however that worked. It felt as though nothing greater could be accomplished with it than that.
Maxwell had lowered to kneel next to Torse, wrapping him up in his arms the best he could. His metal frame was too bulky to fully encase, but that didn’t seem to matter to the automaton as he tucked his helm against his shoulder, letting the oil of tears stain the white fabric of his shirt. Not that Max cared, he was already a mess anyway, and he wasn’t about to let something like that stop him from being there for his… his companion. It was the first time he’d seen Torse cry, he hadn’t even known he was capable of it—but after growing up in a house that discouraged such an emotional display, he knew the kind of toll it took. He’d never do that to anyone else.
They could not let themselves think of any outcome other than victory. If Torse felt hope, then it was for good reason. No one would diminish that. Before they boarded the Zephyr Mark II, Maxwell was preparing himself for inevitability that when all was said and done, when they all survived to see the day where Zern could thrive again, he would have to say goodbye to his clockwork friend, to let him establish the life he’d never been allowed to have before.
When he’d slipped his fingers through the retrofitted golden heart, however, it felt too right. Torse’s laugh drew him in, filling him with a sense of pride at being what seemed to be the first to make him so do. For the first time in his life, Maxwell didn’t feel as though he were missing something. Everything slotted into place and felt just as it should be, like there was nothing more he could ask for than to live this life. He never wanted to leave Torse’s side, for as long as he was able.
He never understood why a ring seemed to change the nature of a relationship, but feeling the weight of super gold over his knuckles made him start to reconsider its absurdity.
(There was something particularly satisfying in getting to punch his father to death with the very heart that taught him that not fitting in did not mean he would have to be alone.)
When victory was earned, they were all thoroughly exhausted, hanging on by a thread. Adrenaline still lingered long enough for celebration, but Maxwell only looked for the company of one. Lucky enough for him, the hulking figure of metal was easy enough to spot.
Torse kept to the outskirts of the group looking inward, not excluded but instead keeping a purposeful distance. One of their great successes had been to save Ludmila from herself, letting her find home in Marya’s arms as she wept. The young protégé was being overwhelmed by the welcomes of Wind Riders that had once known her, with the addition of Olethra in hopes of finding connection. When Maxwell approached the automaton, not wanting to intrude on the delicate moment the rest of the crew shared, he noticed the quicker pace at which mechanisms churned even above the sound of distant chatter.
The ticking of the iron heart was different from his golden one, but Max had been just as quick to attune himself to the sound. Admittedly, that led him to notice the slight uptick that would happen every time he approached, but he’d never let himself think too deeply about it until now. This time, it was already whirring as such before he had company, a sign of nerves. The red of Torse’s eyes still dimmed in intensity to something softer, shifting to a lighter hue that hinted at the gold it’d been before, as Maxwell stopped beside him.
“Maxwell,” he greeted with a pleasant rumble. Sometimes the man wondered if Torse simply liked saying his name as much as he liked hearing him say it.
“Torse,” Max responded in turn, as it felt natural to do now. “Are you… How are you feeling?”
With a bow of his metal head, Torse answered, “I am grateful. To you and your friends.”
“I made a promise to help your homeland, and I had every intention to keep it.” Maxwell was drawn closer to him by an invisible force, their proximity feeling as natural as breathing air. “But are you sure you’re alright?”
“You have done more for me than I could have ever asked for.” It had only been hours since he’d learned he was not the last of the Zernai, a prospect that gave him relief as much as it scared him, unsure what life would be going forward and what they might think of him. If they would still accept him, in all the ways he’d changed. The automaton looked over again at the circle of celebrating adventurers, most of which he’d consider his friends. That was also contributing to the nervous ticking. “I’m afraid I do not have a word for this feeling. Perhaps I am a bit… confused.”
“Do you want to talk about it? Can’t promise I’ll know any better, but I can try.”
Something within clockwork mechanisms hissed, a slow release of steam in a sigh. Maxwell would not cast judgement upon him, but Torse still hesitated. A hand of flesh reached for one of metal, carefully avoiding blades and holding him tenderly. The silent assurance still eased him, drawing his gaze back to the Gotch boy.
“I cannot help but think how the… Ludmila has hurt Marya, for something that was not her fault. And yet, your captain holds her in no bad faith. We almost died on this day, and a great many losses have occurred by her hand. I do not understand this forgiveness,” Torse selected his words carefully, keeping an even tone. Broken as Ludmila may be, he could still only see the face of his Queen. But there was still more to it than that, something else that would take greater effort to admit.
Max glanced over as well then, to watch the scene that the other was now avoiding. The former protégé was tucked at Marya’s side, unsteady on her feet and head turned down to evade meeting anyone’s gaze. Marya seemed to be supporting her weight despite her own injuries, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and lips moving in soft whispers meant for only the two of them. It didn’t appear as though Ludmila had offered any response, nor that Marya was deterred by her silence. They were content to exist in each other’s presence as they’d been unable to for years—countless more on Ludmila’s side.
“I think… it’s easy because they love each other,” Maxwell offered. He knew his view on love had been quite skewed in his upbringing, but recent circumstances have started to teach him differently. “I mean, that doesn’t fix everything. The reason why Ludmila was so angry, how the Corrodi got through to her in the first place… It still doesn’t change what she did. No one expects you to forgive her. They’re just- family, something more, I don’t know. Marya’s going to take her home, and she won’t hurt anyone here ever again.”
“I see,” Torse responded, though it did not lift the heavy weight of unease.
It was Maxwell’s turn to hesitate, worrying he might be overstepping or reading between lines that weren’t there. He continued anyway, squeezing the iron hand he still grasped, “I will say, no one blames you for the things she made you do. There was nothing to be forgiven because it wasn’t in your control. I- we were more worried for you than anything.”
It was a foreign feeling, to have someone worry or even care about him. Torse had first allowed himself to accept it when the Wind Riders spoke up on his behalf in Zumhara, encouraging the Zoodians to listen and take action in aiding his home land. When he awoke in the Amphereon, he had truly believed that they would have been better off killing him for the danger he posed to them, but they had proven him wrong. They managed to give the most hopeless of the Aganti Zerni hope. While he would still be grateful to never be faced with the former Queen of Zern again, perhaps she would be bettered by their company as well, far away in the land of Gath.
“Thank you for saying so.” Maybe he should be concerned about the depth of which Maxwell seemed to understand him, but there was no threat in being known by him. He was beginning to learn that vulnerability was not always a weakness. “I still do not recall what happened following the moments of the portal to Zern opening, before Olethra’s… best friend fixed me.” Despite lacking the ability to grimace, it was still evident in his voice as he recalled the obnoxiously cheerful trio of robots that greeted him.
The corner of Maxwell’s lips quirked upward in a sheepish smile, the tips of his ears twinged with pink. “Oh, nothing you would approve of,” he dismissed.
“Maxwell,” Torse huffed, a voice of warning.
“We all survived! There’s no need to worry you retroactively.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“I saved the man I love, isn’t that what matters?” Maxwell tried to deflect, only for his face to run hot as he became more aware of the words that left his mouth. He quickly averted his gaze, letting go of the other to fold his hands behind his back instead, the practiced way he’d carry himself in front of his family. A poor attempt at formality to distance himself from his mistake. “It really doesn’t matter, as long as you’re still here.”
“Maxwell.”
Maybe Torse did realize how much he liked hearing his own name in that deep, resonant voice. He tried to suppress the shiver that ran through him, only to go completely still as a hand moved to his back, not for the first time that day. Maybe he was being tortured. Maybe this was how he died, of pure embarrassment. It took him another moment to realize this was an attempt to get his attention before he hesitantly raised his eyes to face the other again.
He found Torse’s visor fully alight with a familiar golden glow, only then hearing past the static in his mind to notice the further acceleration of the ticking heart.
“I am glad that you did,” the automaton’s voice came out soft despite the intensity of his look.
Maxwell’s mouth went dry, but he would blame the residual effects of blood loss from their battle for his lightheadedness. Having clearly not learned his lesson from mere seconds ago, he deflected again with a change of topic, “When everyone’s healed up and we can get the ship in the air again, we’ll get you back to Zern.”
There was a slight tilt of Torse’s helm, regarding him for his avoidance. For the moment, he did not press. The words likely expected in return did not come easily to him, but he hoped his acceptance and reciprocation was made clear nonetheless. Instead, he responded, “I hope you will return someday, so that I might show you what my home land was meant to be. I would like to introduce you to my people as well.”
The fading blush returned fiercely, but Max smiled with ease as he leaned against sturdy iron, head resting against Torse’s ribs and face bathed in the warm light emanating from his chest. Metal fingertips slid across his back until an arm wrapped fully around him, holding him close. It unintentionally mirrored the closeness of Marya and Ludmila that had left Torse uneasy just moments before. He took the affection to mean that his invitation would be accepted in lieu of getting a response, but it came after another moment.
“I don’t really have anything waiting for me back in Gath,” Maxwell managed to say, eyes turned toward hand that now rested at his side. It was lined with blades, as was the arm that surrounded him, but he only felt secure.
“Where do you plan to go, then?” Torse did his best not to sound too hopeful. With as long as he’d been separated from his home, it had felt too selfish and cruel to ask the other to leave his own. Having watched a majority of the Gotch family fall to the hands of the seventh son, perhaps it should not have been such a surprise.
“That depends.” The pugilist craned his neck to find the other still watching him intently. “Would you let me come with you?”
“Please do,” came the response a bit too quickly. Zern was still a long way off from its former glory, it was likely it’d never truly be what it was before, but it had a chance now. That was more than it had for over a thousand years.
“Then I guess that’s where I’ll be.”
Tomorrow, Maxwell would tell the others. He wondered how Wealwell would take it, now that neither of them had family to return to and, to the land of Gath, were presumed dead. He couldn’t find his brother among the gathered crowd, but he didn’t see Sylvio either, so he drew his own conclusions and would not make any attempts to look further. Samwell was still out there, somewhere. Finding him would be part of Max’s mission when he stayed behind, but there was no telling if he was even in this time.
He was just starting to find his place among the crew. It’d be a shame to say goodbye, but he wasn’t sure how much he’d be missed anyway. Based on what he'd heard (and barely understood) about unfrumpling time, passing between worlds to visit would not be so impossible going forward, so maybe he's still see them again. Someday down the line, he'd also find the words for a better confession, because Torse was owed that much even if it'd already been said. For now, he felt too tired and sore to deal with anything else, but he also felt safe.
Torse would make sure he always did.