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It's just Max's luck that his dominant arm breaks right before they start filming another season of the show. It's not the worst break he ever had-- that dubious honor going to a spiral fracture of his left leg-- but it leaves him unpresentable the morning they're supposed to start taping, between the scruff his left hand isn't sure enough to shave and the cast preventing him from putting on his uniform. Kinga stares at him while he pours a cup of coffee, gives him just enough time to drink it, and then orders him to follow her.
She leads him into her bedroom and then into her bathroom and pushes him to sit on the closed toilet. When she turns around with a naked straight razor in her hand Max almost passes out. She notices the color drain from his face and snorts.
"Oh, calm down, I'm going to shave you, not slaughter you."
"I'll believe it if I survive," he says, aiming for dry and falling short of the mark. She just smirks and sets the razor down on the sink before reaching for a shaving gel that smells vaguely herbal and inoffensive and smoothing it across his scruffy face. Her hands are surprisingly gentle on him. He half expects her to wrap a hand around his throat or at least threaten him in earnest, but she has a tolerant, almost fond expression as she picks up the razor again and gets to work. He's not tempted to say a word with a blade pressed to his skin, just thinks still thoughts and tries not to hyperventilate.
"It's a good thing that you're the second banana here," she says thoughtfully as she runs the razor over his left cheek. "I can't take orders worth a damn. Bud I don't think you have the temperament to fill my shoes either." He looks up at her, but she's focused on the curve of his jaw and not on his curious and slightly fearful eyes. "It'd be a whole different ballgame if you'd been the designated heir and not me." Kinga tilts his head back with her knuckles under his chin and he tries not to even breathe with her razor held to his throat. "But I guess I don't mind doing something for you once in a while."
This isn't for him and he's under no illusions that she thinks she's telling the truth. This is for her, to keep the show going smoothly and advance her agenda. But even if her motivations are selfish and this is one of the most terrifying situations he's ever been in, it's still... a little bit nice to have her pay this much attention to him. She finishes shaving along his throat and brushes his skin with the back of her hand to check her work, and while the razor is not an active threat he clears his throat. "Thank you," he says, figuring that's safe enough.
"My pleasure." That doesn't sound like a lie. She's enjoying this, one hand tremor away from drawing his blood, and for a moment he wonders if she'll do it deliberately if it doesn't happen by accident. "Hey, tell me something."
"What do you want me to tell you?" He'll say whatever she wants to hear, except for the answer to the question she asks him:
"Do you think you'd be better off without me?" She holds the razor off his skin but right in his peripheral vision, and Max swallows nervously.
"Like if we went our separate ways, or like if you were never born?" It's an important distinction, and also gives him a few seconds to figure out how not to make her mad.
"The first one."
"I would miss you every day." It's not an answer to her question, but it seems to please her anyways. He thinks he'll get away with it for a second before she angles the blade in an understated but highly threatening way and he scrambles to find a way to not admit the truth. "I think we'd both lose something we need if we left each other."
"Just say what you mean," she snaps. He wonders when this became an interrogation.
"I think I would be happier, in general, if you weren't constantly kicking me around," he says awkwardly. "But that doesn't mean I want to go away from you." Kinga stares at him for a moment and then turns his head with her hand on his smooth cheek and starts carefully shaving his chin. Her silence is less unnerving than he thinks it should feel. The amount of focus she's devoting to making him presentable almost tricks him into thinking she actually cares.
"I'm sorry I contributed to your arm breaking," she offers as she shaves his upper lip, her thumb across his lips like she wants him to stay quiet even though that's the only option he has. "And your... general sense of misery." She finishes shaving his cheek with a couple of sure strokes, drops the razor into the sink, and inspects his face with her fingers.
"I'm not miserable," he says. "I'm not happy, but I'm not miserable. I think I could be happy, but I don't really know how." She pauses with her hands on his cheeks and just when he's sure that she's about to kiss him, her hands drop and she turns away to rinse the razor off.
"You look less awful now. I had Synthia alter one of your old uniforms to fit over your cast, go find her and be ready to start the show in an hour." She jerks a thumb at the door. "Get out, I need to get ready myself."
"Sure thing," Max says, but he hesitates when he stands up. "Kinga?"
"Yeah?" He meets her eyes in the mirror over the sink and smiles.
"I don't mind being your second banana. But I still think I could do a good job in your place." Her eyes narrow at him before she rolls them.
"Get out," she repeats herself, but he catches her smiling before he turns to go.