My Feral

17

Max wakes up the next morning with a start, the cold water seeping into the fabric of his jeans from the icepack duct-taped to his bum knee jolting him into consciousness. The bed is empty except for him, which makes his heartbeat pick up faster than it probably should. Flashing back to the incident last night, when Max thought Nux was going to jump off the roof of the hospital, the all too familiar tendrils of an attack start to tickle his brain.

However, before he is sucked down into an anxiety attack, there's a calloused hand clapping down onto his shoulder. He looks up then, into the deep facial scars and white teeth of none other than Slit. "Maxy," he says, bending over to unwind the tape from the other man's knee, "you have got it bad."

"I don't feel sick," Max deadpans, knowing full-well what Slit means. Then, because anxiety is still niggling at his already pretty frayed nerves, he asks, "where's Nux? He's getting discharged today."

Slit briefly looks up from where he is strapping on Max's knee brace, and Max is about to ask when this became a thing, when Slit replies, "he's down in the cafeteria with your friendly fiery redhead, eating breakfast."

Max nods, taking Slit's hand and hauling himself only semi-painfully to his feet. They make their way to the elevator, and Max marvels at how well-adjusted Slit is to being a father and not letting the demons of the past consume his almost every waking moment.

Down in the cafeteria, Nux sits across from Capable and Furiosa, eating a sandwich that looks a bit too gourmet to have come from the hospital cafeteria. Not that he would ever say that, because the food from the caf is usually the fanciest and most tasty he ever eats.

Nux looks up from his sandwich, mayonnaise smeared on his cheek, and Max notices with something akin to delight that the bandage around his boy....his friend's head is gone, replaced instead by little butterfly bandages. He looks so much better, back in his "civilian" clothes. God, Max thinks to himself, Nux is just good looking in general.

That's when the heat starts to creep up his neck and into his face, making him want to curl up into himself. This very noticeable outward physical response to obvious attraction is thankfully pushed aside when Furiosa runs at him and jumps into his arms.

He swings her around, momentarily picturing his own child as they would be now, at almost nine years old. After one rotation, he seamlessly sets Furiosa up on his shoulders, marveling how his knee, after the turmoil and trauma it endured yesterday, hasn't buckled.

Nux stands then, coming over to them and nuzzling into the crook of Max's neck. Capable snaps a picture from where she's sitting, and Slit grins the widest he has so far. The older man is immensely happy for his idiot baby brother, and the broken man that is slowly being mended.

Slit breaks the comfortable silence by asking, "so, Maxy. Furi and I are going to the beach for a few days, and I need someone to babysit Nux so doesn't go getting himself killed on the track too soon." Max looks him full in the face then, emotions skidding across his features before landing on one that could be only described as mildly incredulous. Nux has about the same expression on his face, too.

"I don't need a babysitter, Slut," Nux retorts, petulantly using his old brother's nickname from when they were kids. Slit only grins and whacks him upside the head.

Capable breaks what is starting to become kind of an awkward silence by saying, "Maxy here would love to babysit Nux."

Max nods, bringing Furiosa down off his shoulders and setting her on the ground. He then grabs a napkin from off the table, dips it in a water glass and uses that to wipe the ketchup off of Nux's cheek. The younger man turns bright red all the way to the tips of his ears, and then Max realizes what he's just done. It really is ridiculous and annoying how little things like this have the ability to send him into a tailspin of guilt and flashbacks.

It is now, however, any of the other adults that pull him back from the brink this time, but Furiosa as she grabs his hand, saying, "let's go get Nux's stuff from his room."

----

A few hours later, after Capable all but forces Max to give up the rest of his shift and go home, he and Nux are laying on the couch. They're not talking, but the silence is one of the most comfortable things that Max has ever felt. The two men are kind of draped over each other, with Nux resting his head on Max's chest and Max running steady hands through Nux's short black hair.

It's a domestic and comfortable scene, and Max thanks the gods that his knee isn't acting up at all. In fact, none of the usual aches and pains, mental or physical, are present. There's no guilt either, and Max finds himself thankful for that, that there is no lingering sense of letting Jessie down for having feelings for another person.

As if reading his mind, Nux says drowsily, "there's no shame in feeling things, my feral."

Max hums appreciatively, burrowing deeper into the couch and his friend's arms.

----

Much later, after the two have eaten a largely improvised dinner of tuna melts and banana slices, Nux goes to take a shower. But, before he can, Max is grabbing his good hand and placing a plastic bag over his broken arm, securing it with duct tape. Nux smiles, Max's stomach suddenly becomes home to a million butterflies, and the bathroom door closes.

----

Nux comes out of the bathroom, hair spiked up, towel wrapped around his waist. Max cracks his eyes open, and is met with the massive tattoo of a V8 engine block on Nux's chest. It's an impressive, expansive piece, with hardly any bare skin left. Max finds that he wants to trace the design with his fingertips, imagines the sounds that Nux would make.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" Nux asks. "I usually only sleep in my boxers at home, but didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Max nods, getting up from his bed and going to dig a semi-presentable short sleeve out of his dresser drawers. He hands Nux the shirt, trying not to make the fact that he is staring obvious when Nux turns around, stepping into his boxers and going to pull on the shirt.

When the towel drops, so does Max's jaw, and his heart. Nux's back is covered in deep, grooving scars, most of them obviously from a leather belt.

He takes a faltering step forward, pressing a hand to bare skin. Nux looks at Max over his shoulder, looking sheepish when Max withdraws his hand and goes to sit down on the bed.

"They don't hurt anymore," he says, sitting down beside Max.

Max stands up, not knowing what to say to that, so he undresses down to his boxers and T-shirt as well, setting his knee brace on the bedside table before going and laying down.

"I'm sorry," he says once Nux has lain down, too, on the side of the bed up against the wall. When Nux looks at him questioningly, Max says quietly, "I should have killed Joe myself. Gods know I wanted to so many times."

Turning over on his side to face Max, Nux reaches out a hand and strokes it over the couple days old stubble on Max's face. "You've nothing to apologize for, my feral," he says. Max sighs, breath ghosting over Nux's hand. They kiss then, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Because, finally, they do.