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catboyklug · 1 month

Text

Regaining Morality, or something to that effect

summary: Based on the famed epic "Max has a kind of weird but mostly pretty good day and has thoughts about it" characters: Sam (he/him), Max (he/it), cyber-grandma (she/her), convenient crook (he/him) warnings: doggy dementia; extremely vague, canon-typical violence note: wahoo

---

Another slow day at home.

The office was down for refurbishment still, so Max was stuck at home. Cleaning. Again.

Though he hated it, they definitely didn't have enough money to hire a maid (or maidbot or whatever), especially considering the lack of cases as of late.

The Freelance Police's reputation took a bit of a hit after...

After everyone found out what was wrong with Sam.

It's not that they suddenly became infamous, just... everyone they met seemed to pity them.

Though, to Max, that was definitely worse.

He didn't exactly enjoy the constant reminders of his friend's condition. Especially considering that, with that condition, his friend couldn't retort along with him. That his friend had no idea that so many people looked down on him, how they acted like his continued existence was such a tragedy...

Max had, admittedly, mellowed out a lot over the years. But if he hadn't, and if he were even half as energetic as he used to be, he'd do unspeakably horrible things to everyone who treated Sam so terribly.

He wouldn't just sit idly by and let these people patronize his sidekick, he'd get up, grab 'em by the neck and-

The sound of a familiar hoverchair stopped Max's thoughts in their tracks, causing him to swivel his head around, ears bobbing as they tracked the noise.

"...'Morning, Sammy!" Max grinned, "You should really consider letting me put a bell collar on you sometime, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

That was so far from the truth he wanted to grimace in pain at his own selfishness. Really, the only reason he said that was to try and prompt the call-and-response he had gotten so used to before Sam's... withdrawing.

...But, something seemed different today.

"Max,"

He felt his heart skip a beat.

"...What the hell are you wearing those cheesy sci-fi glasses for?"

His chest practically fluttering, Max took a step back...

...Then took a running leap at his best friend, nearly barreling him over and off his chair if it weren't so secure.

"SAAAAM!!!"

"Hey, little bunny," Sam chuckled, quickly recovering from the attack and putting his hand on the entirety of Max's melon-shaped head, "You're acting like you haven't seen me in weeks."

"That's 'cause I-" Max begins, then suddenly shakes his head, "Awh, who CARES! I missed you, Sam!"

"Well, if you missed me, I probably missed you, too," Sam hums contemplatively, "Unless I ran off to get away from your annoying but ultimately endearing voice and distasteful, tactless jokes, that is."

"You'd never! As in, never run far enough to escape me," Max giggles

"Adorably ominous as always, little buddy... Never change."

It's obvious to the both of them that he has changed, though. Even ignoring the stupid sci-fi glasses he wears to hide his cataracts, the way his fur's gone from fuzzy to scruffy, the slight discoloration of said pelt of fur.. He's more mature, somehow, even if he is the same Max.

He holds himself differently, even. Not as straight. The years of odd loneliness have rounded out his grin into what only those close to him could recognize as a frown, so it seems even more strained than usual when it's genuine.

But, in this moment, they both choose to ignore that fact. All the little differences that pile up, all the years since their last conversation, seem so tiny in the face of the affection they give to each other now.

"Now, wanna catch me up to speed on why we're sitting at home and not either solving a case or watching television, little pal?"

"Oooh, well..." Max hisses a bit, moving to sit on the dashboard as he prepares to explain, "Another jackass crashed their stupid spaceship into our office, so it's down for repairs... I've taken the time to clean our house, so we don't get black mold mixed in with the asbestos."

"You, cleaning..."

"I know, right?!" Max huffed, "There's so many rules, like 'don't mix peroxide with vinegar', 'don't mix bleach with ammonia', 'don't mix bleach with...'"

"I'm going to assume you skipped the 'research' part of figuring these things out and went straight to 'development'..." Sam hummed, putting his hand to his snout in thought of the wonderful sight of the lagomorph experimenting with deadly chemicals.

"Well, without much in the way of cases, what was I supposed to do?" Max huffed, "The Commissioner, damn fed that he is, hasn't called us since we dismantled Stinky's empire, and I've been too busy twiddling my thumbs and cleaning to go out and catch some Freelance Deed-doers!"

"Freelance deed-doers..." Sam thought for a few moments.

"...If the Commissioner's all but abandoned us--" "DEFINITELY abandoned, no 'all but' 'bout it!" "--Quiet, Max. If he's abandoned us, and you're suddenly free, why don't we make like freelancers and find our own work again?"

"Oboy! Can we, Sam? Can we?!" Max pleaded, full of glee at the prospect of pummeling someone again.

"Can't see why not," Sam shrugged, "Might as well start in the most crime-ridden place we know (outside of our own office) - central park!"

---

"Well, here we are at central park!"

After Stinky's swift and cruel elimination, a group of hippies had managed to start planting trees again, and the fifth-best example of the newfound greenery was central park.

When it wasn't so early spring not a single tree had leaves yet, that is.

It was practically empty, now, most people enjoying their living plants at home, and completely devoid of obvious criminals doing criminal things like networking and taxes.

"It's quiet," Max growled, "Too quiet. I think we missed all the perps, Sam."

"If that's the case, we might as well wander around aimlessly until we find someone to arrest, right, little pal?"

"I suppose so..." Max sighed, the only thing staving off the boredom of wandering aimlessly when there are better crime wells to search being the sheer joy he felt at seeing Sam again.

So, the two set off, walking - or, er, hovering, - through central park, not doing anything much other than enjoying their time together, like some mushy, permanent-honeymoon-phase old couple. Which, admittedly, they kind of were.

After a long while of walking past bare trees and frosty grass, Sam had a thought. Surprisingly.

"Hey, Max.."

"Yeah, Sam?"

"...Wanna try that 'nostalgia' thing again, now that we're a bit older?"

Max can't help but chuckle, the concept of even considering that being somewhat hilarious to him. Though, practically anything could be funny to him, now that Sam's back.

"As long as I get to go first!" he grinned, "Lemme think... Ooh, remember that time when we wildly accused half of our associates as being part of the reformed sect of Prismatologists bothering the neighborhood?"

"I remember you accusing one of our associates, and a member of the freelance police," Sam shook his head, "For shame, Max."

"What can I say? The rookie's hilarious when they're scared!" Max giggled, then let out a happy sigh, "Those panicked hand gestures will live in my heart forever..."

"You really are one sick-and-twisted lagomorph... Anyway, I think it's my turn."

"Do you remember... When we fought that one country-pop music star in a bit to end her plan to poison the Earth's soil so she could entirely reinvent 'country' as a genre, and actually came out victorious?"

"Lemme think..." Max hummed, lost in thought as he tried to remember all the country-pop singers they had ended the evil schemes of over the years, "OH! That was good ole' T. Speedy, right?"

"Right on the money, little pal," Sam grinned, "I remember... didn't you use one of her own privates jet to bring about her untimely but lucky demise?"

"One of the proudest moments of my career!" Max nodded, "I was kinda disappointed that I didn't get to properly torture her, but rolling around in all that money of hers once the case was closed was payment enough!"

"Shame we didn't get to keep any of it..."

"Whatever, it was totally worth it!" Max retorted, though it was clear he really wanted to keep at least some of the bounty...

"Now, it's my tu-HU-HOOOOH!"

"SAM! PERP AT INTELLEGIBLE-24-HOUR-TIME!"

Right where Max vaguely said and pointedly pointed he'd be was an incredibly convenient thief, running from a cyber-grandma waving her fists and angrily complaining about her lack of lazer eyes.

"Seven feet and seven-leagues, you're right!" Sam gasped, "...Seems I forgot my gun at the dry-cleaner's again, though."

"Oooh, ooh, ooh, Sam, say it!" Max begged, "Please! Tell me to do the thing!"

"The... Oh, right."

"SIC 'EM, MAX!"

At Sam's command, Max was off, putting his dorky but oddly tasteful hoverboard at top speed as he approached the villain.

Right before the board would hit the lawbreaker, he jumped off, allowing it to jab into his stomach and send him flying into the wall.

The crook now completely at his mercy, Max stood over him, and...

Well, a deed certainly got done, all right.

In all the carnage, the purse (now slightly bloody) had fallen to the ground, and it was now Sam's job to pick it up.

...Hm...

Maybe if he tries to get off his hoverchair like-

No, that's no good. Alright, what about-

...Nothing doing. Fine, that's alright with him. So, he checks his inventory..

Huh.

Well, that's interesting..

After a while of sifting around, Sam managed to find something useful - a trash grabby thingy, or "trash grabber" to the unamused.

Carefully, he managed to trash-grabby the handbag with only minimal added dirt to it, and dilligently returned it to its owner.

Meanwhile, Max finally finished his havoc-wreaking, and trotted over to Sam, carrying his battered hoverboard, and obviously covered in blood.

"That guy tasted horrible, Sam!" Max complained, "Can we go wash it out with something wholesome before I puke his blood out everywhere?"

"Sounds good to me," Sam nodded, pretending to ignore the amused look of the cyber-grandma as she went on her merry way, "How about icecream? It should be tastefully underpriced, since it's so cold out that nobody else would want it."

"...I love you, Sam."

...

For a moment, the two stood awkwardly in silence.

Max didn't mean to say it like that. Not at all. It was rare that he was so direct with his affection, and rarer still that he

And Sam, not having heard those word for several years, had no idea how to respond.

After several more seconds, Max opened his mouth, ready to offer a horrible joke to brush it off with, or a thinly-veiled apology beneath one, when-

"I love you, too, little buddy,"

Moving a bit closer, Sam pat his pal's scruffy little head, and smiled at him.

And Max gave an odd, yet not quite crazed, smile back.

---

After several more hours of gallivanting across NYC, buying tastefully underpriced icecream from every establishment they could fit Sam's hoverchair in, the two had arrived back home.

it was almost dark now, and Max suddenly acquired a craving that definitely came with age - a deep desire to eat actual, healthy food.

Trying not to be mortified and horrified by the development, the lagomorph had dragged Sam into the kitchen to watch him work.

And...

"...Max."

"Since when can you cook?"

Grinning, Max flipped a pan entirely full of various vegetables - and sticks the landing, not dropping a single one.

"Since a certain somebody insisted that cooking your own food was a hundred times cheaper than ordering takeout, apparently!" he responded. And that mysterious somebody stopped being able to cook for himself, he refused to add.

Sam simply gave a "hm" in response, too intrigued by Max's intense cooking skills to really think of interrogating him at the moment.

Actually, Sam seems distracted by more than just Max's awesome cooking skills...

Trying hard to focus on the food, Max ended up sort of ignoring him, but he could feel the intensity of Sam's loving gaze burrowing deep into his skull and causing his neurons to misfire until some part of his body signalled for him to blush.

Which he did.

Intensely so.

He missed this attention...

By the end of his insane cooking spree slash bid for attention, Max had made an entire feast for the two, with vegetables, meat, tubers and grains abound.

Even with its terrifying healthiness, everything Max presented, from the tiny stuffed potatoes to the massive pot of stirfry, looked incredibly appealing...

So, without even a modicum of restraint, the two dug in.

It took about an hour and a half for them to eat their fill, and even after all of that there was a massive amount of leftovers.

"Looks like we won't have to cook for the rest of the month, little buddy," Sam remarked, clearly impressed, "Maybe we should listen to our souls for once and try donating this to... someplace."

"Wuh... Could you repeat that, Sammy?" Said Max, obviously incredibly drowzy.

"...Nevermind, little buddy," Sam sighed affectionately, shaking his head.

Against his better judgement, Sam decided to clean up at least some of this by himself, putting the food in various containers and shoving those in the fridge, and placing every unused dish into the sink - which was miraculously clean, much to his surprise.

Once he was finally done, he adjusted his seat to put him in a slightly lower position, and hovered his chair over to the half-asleep Max.

"Adorable..." Sam hummed, gently picking the lagomorph up in his arms and practically cradling it, which it didn't even think to protest at.

With it in his arms, he thought for a moment.

He couldn't even begin to imagine how long Max has been caring for him. He remembers the date of the timecard from that case oh so long ago... but, not having seen the office, he can't tell if that's now or even later.

Either way, this tiny bunny's been keeping itself and him alive, probably for years now.

And there's no way for him to repay it.

...If he had a choice, he never would've left.

...

Holding the rabbity thing a bit closer to himself, he hovers over to their bedroom, and gets ready to sleep.

---

The morning light takes a while to reach the windows of Sam & Max's bedroom, but once it finally does, the golden rays of sun flood the living space, bathing everything in light orange.

...And giving Max a rude, groggy awakening.

He blinks, rubbing his eyes with his free hand -

...His free hand?

He rolls over a little, just to come face-to-face with the biggest, wettest nose he's ever seen.

...Sam went to bed with him.

Suddenly, all of yesterday comes back to him like a tidal wave, filling him with an undeniable sense of disgusting warmth and abhorrent joy.

And, despite himself, despite every facet of who he is, despite every action he's taken before now,

He cries.

His crying awakens the dog whose arms wrap so warmly around him, and, just as sleepy as he was a moment ago, Sam simply lets out a curious, concerned whine at the sight.

"I-" he sniffs, "I'm okay, Sammy, I'm okay,"

Not quite satisfied, Sam curls up closer to him, placing his head in its arms in a show of dogged affection.

So, even though the emotions haven't dried up one bit, Max stops with the uncharactaristic show of them, drying his eyes on his scruffy arm and using his dry hand to pat Sam's scruffy, rounded-triangle head.

...Yesterday was nice.

Today might be as well.

But, for once in its entire life, Max has realized something.

Even if Sam forgets all of this, even if he goes right back to being in his own world...

His love for the lagomorph never really left, did it?

...

Today's going to be a good day. Max is sure of it.

#sam & max #sam and max #freelance husbands #samuel dog #max the lagomorph #fanfiction #fanfic #klug's writings #angst #hurt and comfort #i fucking guess.....?

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