for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

[whisted]

Jack Simpson is enjoying this.

That, more than anything, is what has Horatio Hornblower feeling so painfully trapped. There had been a terrible sinking in his gut when his own name had been called during the reaping. There had been a heavy weight that lingered even after his mother's hand was dragged from his shoulder and his father's voice had vanished from his ears. For all that had ripped something from him, the odd inevitable hadn't been so terrible. A piece of him, even now, thinks he could manage to have properly accepted it.

But then, through the haze, had come the harrowing sound of Simpson's name. That had been far too much far too fast. That had been the worst sort of death warrant; the immediate shifting of hope toward dying at the hands of anyone but his District's other tribute.

None of the rest of it had helped, of course. Being dragged far from home was excruciating. Being poked and prodded and needled and explained to, by tense displeased voices, that he somehow didn't even stand and wear his clothes correctly was torturous. Even the odd comfort of being handed into the care of his mentor was undercut by the horrific fact of Simpson standing nearly constantly beside him, practically preening with a nauseating sort of pride.

In defense of the prep team, of course, Horatio apparently doesn't know how to stand properly. It doesn't matter that his fingers grip tight to the chariot, or that all he properly has to do in the Tribute Parade is actually stand still with the faintest bit of a smile. It's just a blessing, Pellew is certainly sighing to himself, that the Capitol seems to find a tribute managing to fall off the back of a chariot faintly endearing.

(Simpson will make his life hell for it later. Thankfully, Horatio doesn't anticipate having that much more life to have to suffer through.)

It will be better, he tells himself, when they can be separated in the Training Center. It will almost be enjoyable, perhaps, to have these few days of being able to make some small amount of space for himself before Jack Simpson thoroughly enjoys killing him.

Comments

[all_at_sea]

James laughs, but doesn't move to get up.

"You've still got the knife, haven't you? You're not dead yet. But ideally, you don't let them get you on the floor."

He shrugs, and then makes a face. Horatio looks thin and scrawny, but those shoulders are surprisingly painful.

"I didn't think you'd go for me like that. I'm impressed." And then a wicked grin crosses his face, and his hands find Horatio's ribs again, "But not impressed enough to give you mercy!"

Maybe it's childish. But so what? It's fun, thrilling to touch Horatio like this, to tug up his shirt and get to bare skin. Horatio could retaliate, James wouldn't mind. It would be good for him to do so- to try and get someone off of him, although James- with his sore nose and bruised ribs and something else that tingles rather than hurts- hopes Horatio doesn't try too hard.

[whisted]

Horatio does still have the knife. He does still have his consciousness. If they spend the rest of the time they have running this again and again, working toward the beginning of instincts, there's half a chance he'd survive a moment like this--might even prevent himself from falling into a moment like this.

That's something to build the tiniest bit of hope on.

Then, miraculously, James is grinning down at him again. Stunningly, wonderfully, James is tickling him, and the tension is flooding out of him again. This is something to hope on as well. This sensation, in the middle of sharp adrenaline and faint panic, is something to pin genuine hopefulness on, despite where they are.

His laugh is soft and faintly breathless as he squirms. Pieces of his mind are beginning to scatter here and there, considering where the knife might land, how his arms might angle for leverage. For a moment, all the same, he simply lets himself enjoy being pinned by someone he trusts, caught safe and warm and racked with the pleasant sensation of tickling as he gasps through a few more giggles.

"J-James--"

[all_at_sea]

They should be using their time better. There are far more mptgant things for the two of them to focus on. Within a week they'll be fighting for their lives.

But surely that means they should enjoy as much time as they can now?

James' fingers dance again, up and down soft pale skin, laughing as Horatio laughs. He just can't help it, there has been very little chance for laughter in his life thus far. It sounds musical, beautiful.

"Do you yield?" He asks, still tickling. "Do you yield and proclaim me victor of the first annual Tickle Games?"

He might stop if Horatio does yield. At least to catch his breath.

[whisted]

Pellew would say this is important. The mentor from District 11 would underline the importance of trust between people who are going to have to put their lives in one another's hand; how quickly people bonded when they had the chance to be happy together. Matthews would echo that letting children be children, even for just a few minutes of the day, could keep their minds from falling apart with what followed.

One could only imagine what Barbara would have to say about the way the boys were smiling at each other.

Horatio's sides are shaking happily, but after a beat he forces himself to focus through the spasms. Elbowing James in the gut is harder from this angle, more scrambled than his previous blows, but there's half a chance it could begin to dislodge James.

Getting them rolled over would be a victory, inelegant though it would certainly be.

[all_at_sea]

James should have known asking Horatio to yield was too much. Still, the elbow does catch him, a little lower in the stomach than he personally would have aimed for, but he appreciates that it isn't easy in Horatio's position.

He has the advantage of a better position and despite the surprise of the blow, he reacts fast. His knees close in, squeezing at Horatio's sides, to keep a grip on him if he does try to roll and toss James off. And at the same time, he catches at Horatio's wrists as best he can, pulling the boy's arms up and planting them firmly against the mat above his head.

Which means that he is stretched out over Horatio, chest to chest with him, face to face, in the attempt to keep Horatio pinned and the knife out of the picture.

If Barbara would have been unhappy before... well. She really would not have liked this.

"So..." James begins, sure he can hear Horatio's heart thumping. "If I let go, what are you going to do?"

[whisted]

For a split second, there's a flash of panic. Having his wrists pinned hits something uncomfortable in the recesses of his mind, the same brief flicker of nerves that came when James's fingers had come too far along his spine.

This is easier to breathe through. This comes with the jolt of adrenaline that triggers fight over flight. This is what it will be like in the arena, Horatio suspects; a shot of angry panic rather than terrified panic.

(This is also easier because James's face is too close to be mistaken. There's something under the faint scent of soap that clings to the older boy's skin; something faintly metallic Horatio can practically taste in the back of his throat. It's comforting in its own right to have his senses full of James.)

The flush in his cheeks likely feels warm to the taller Tribute, settled together like this. "...t-try again?"

[all_at_sea]

"That's not an incentive for me to let you go." James says, although not loudly. So close like this speaking in a normal volume is pointless, besides there is something about this shared space, listening to each other breathing. It's comforting.

Comforting or not, James let's go and straightened up again, keeping his green eyes fixed on Horatio.

"Move me." He says, he's going to end up with bruises, but Horatio needs to try this out. He needs to be able to get away if someone has him pinned. James will take a few knocks and bruises if it gives Horatio the confidence he needs.

[whisted]

He's still holding the knife. He's got the faintest bit of mobility back. His cheeks are still a warm pink, but it's easier to blame exertion for it when they aren't quite so close together.

Horatio's breath comes shaky for a moment before he can stabilize himself. A heartbeat of concentration helps steady his heartbeat.

Right now, he's safe. Right now, he can try and fail and learn. Right now, they're going to make it just a little easier for him to survive just a little longer once they're released into the Games.

Another deep breath, and he forces himself up slightly at the hip. His arm not holding the knife is thrown toward the older boy's throat. His other hand switches around the hilt of the knife, twisting it around to slam it as best as he can toward the other Tribute's ribs.

[all_at_sea]

James expected Horatio to try and roll. He wasn't planning for theft and to fly to his throat or the heavy hilt against his ribs.

The knife is the one to avoid. It's hard to strangle someone, especially in this position. He blocks as best he can, lifting his arm and trying to knock the knife away.

He will have to move. To regain an advantage he needs a new stance but that involves pulling away from Horatio.

That means Horatio wins. There no problem with that. He just doesn't want to lose.

[whisted]

James is moving. James is destabilized, even slightly.

Abruptly, almost properly for the first time since he arrived in the Capitol, Horatio has the spark of realization that he wants to live.

His breath comes in a sharp rush. His arm with the knife is knocked away, but the momentum helps push his own skull toward James's jaw. His legs squirm, scrambling to start moving himself back from under where James he's being held down.

[all_at_sea]

James has a couple of options. He can give in, let Horatio win withiut hurting him, or push back and possibly cause the young man some pain.

If it was Cutler or Simpson or Elizabeth he was fighting with, he wouldn't hesitate. But he's not fighting anyone with experience. He's not fighting someone who knows their chances are good.

He doesn't want to cause Horatio pain.

And that means he let's the movement underneath him go unchecked. He doesn't try to fight the wobble as Horatio shifts and the control moves from one of them to the other. James gives on, letting his body roll to the side and rather than jumping back up, which he would usually do, he gives the younger tribute that moments advantage.

[whisted]

This, of course, is exactly what Barbara had been worried about.

Then again, this is something Matthews might have praised. This is the faint glimmer of hope a Tribute like Horatio surely needs to make his way into the arena with more than an acceptance of his own death-wish.

His free hand catches at the older boy's face as he follows the movement of their bodies. It gives better leverage as they twist to slam James's head down into the mat, sheathed knife finally properly brought around to stop short at the older boy's throat.

It's dizzying. It's nauseating. It clearly throws Horatio off to find himself abruptly in this new position, entire body freezing up all over again.

[all_at_sea]

There's a wince of pain that James can't help as his head hits the mat. It's not as painful as hitting the hard floor, it's not as bad as having your head repeatedly slammed against a wall or a table, so that's mercy enough. But it does hurt, and he wasn't expecting Horatio to go this far.

It takes a lot not to fight but to reach up and catch hold of the hand holding the knife to his throat. It's an uncomfortable feeling, having it so close- sheathed or not.

"You win," He says, not willing to try again until his head stops spinning. He'd rather not attempt to move either, not for a little while.

"You... are you okay?" He asks, because there's something in Horatio's face. He's scared, that much is clear. Scared of what he's doing, what he might have to do? That's normal. James has never killed anyone either.

[whisted]

Being surprising is good. Being small and angry is a fantastic way to catch other people off-guard. The problem, really, is that it seems to have caught Horatio off-guard as well.

His fingers are trembling as they shift. The impulse to smooth protectively at James's hair is apparently an irrepressible instinct. A careful breath stops the slight ringing in his ears. It's still an incredible relief to simply rest here for a moment.

"Have...?"

He should be moving away. He should be at least sitting up properly. He's terrified to move away from where he can see James's features this clearly.

"...have you ever-- killed a rabbit?"

[all_at_sea]

Now the threat of being knocked over or stabbed seems to have passed, James realises how heavily he's breathing, his chest heaving up and down. His heart beat has slowed a little, even if the hand in his hair prevents it from calming completely. He wasn't scared for his life, not really. The idea that Horatio might actually have killed him then and there never entered his mind, at least, not while they were fighting.

Now it does, in Barbara's voice. He should be careful. He shouldn't fail to remember that deceit is part of the bread and butter of the games. All this might yet be an act.

James hopes it isn't. But he's probably not the first person to fall for wide innocent eyes and a clumsy manner.

"Yes." James admits. They had killed things- birds, rabbits and other animals, to get used to the idea. Killing an animal is no longer a frightening thing. But an animal isn't the same as a person, with a name and a voice and a laugh.

[whisted]

"Will it... Will it be like that? Hurting people?"

For a few seconds, it had been easy. For a few seconds, he had seen the piece of himself that had something like an instinct for self-preservation. And now, James is lying on the floor under him, breathing through what had sounded like pain.

"Where at some point, it... starts to feel... okay?"

A human being isn't an animal. A human being, even an unknown one, surely would never be easy to kill.

But maybe it would become automated. Maybe it would become something that could be blocked out long enough to accomplish the task quickly and efficiently.

That's a terrifying thought.

[all_at_sea]

James shakes his head- and then stops, eyes shutting tight. His head does hurt, but he is trying to fight it. This was his idea, after all. Horatio's done well, really well. It isn't easy to hurt someone, not if you haven't trained for it all your life. It's even harder if you aren't defending yourself.

"I don't think so." James murmurs. There's no point lying about it. "I think it will always be difficult. If it's easy or okay, then... then there's a problem."

An image of Simpson comes to mind- he's no doubt someone that would enjoy killing. And then there's Cutler, who feels nothing about it at all, but does it cold and detached and unconcerned.

James would rather feel hurt than nothing at all.

[whisted]

That flicker of pain is incredibly uncomfortable to see. His fingers still clinging to the knife drop it completely, both hands moving to catch protectively at James's cheeks.

It isn't violence, a piece of him suspects. It isn't that hurting someone else is such a terrifying thing. It's that this is the friendliest face he's seen in what was beginning to feel like it had already been a week, a month, a year. This is the one bright point--the friend who had moments before pulled a laugh from his lips in the midst of all this terror.

The fussing is fairly gentle, one thumb tracing at James's cheekbone as his fingers caged to keep the older boy's head from moving. It would be better in a moment. It would be better if James stayed still and breathed slowly.

"And you want to... carry that? For-- both of us? In there?"

[all_at_sea]

It's impossible not to smile. His head hurts a little- just because his brain has rattled around in his skull. But it doesn't hurt to smile up at Horatio, who looks so concerned, his eyes even larger than usual, his hand so gentle.

James really could stay here a little longer. He should get up but... well. Horatio seems happy for him to stay here, at least till he feels better. It's nice to have someone care so much, to be so tender. He doesn't think he's ever felt like this with anyone- no one has ever cared so much for him if he's limped away from training.

There's no way, with Horatio looking at him like that, with the softness in his features and the gentle movements of his thumbs on James' face.

"I will." He says, without hesitation. "It would be my honour."

[whisted]

Horatio doesn't quite smile back. His features aren't properly trained for the expression, always halting and fluttering with uncertainty. Now, it isn't really that he smiles at the young man beneath him.

It's more that he slumps slightly in deep, genuine relief.

Maybe they're going to die in a week. Maybe neither of them will make it past those first brutal moments. Maybe this will end with that terrible sensation of harrowing loss that comes with seeing a friend killed.

It still feels like something to have hope about.

Somewhere beyond a door, soft feet are approaching. Horatio's fingers still entirely as he glances up, features caught in brief calculation. He moves carefully as he shifts off of James, one hand shaking free of the taller boy's cheek to instead catch at James's hand.

"Can... you stand?"

[all_at_sea]

Horatio shouldn't be here. James believes that with every fibre of his being, but neither should any of the others. But he's they are, and they will do what they must. James has already said his piece on that front.

He hears the steps just as Horatio does, and even with the ache in his head a dull ache, he's impressed by his quick reaction.

He nods and moves, accepting the help and he's on his feet and dusting himself off by the time the door opens.

[whisted]

Simpson comes sweeping in first. The boy clearly radiates displeasure, a dirty look already chambered to shoot toward Horatio. Thankfully, his intent is clearly already elsewhere. He and the other early-rising Tributes that enter all move quietly enough toward their weapons of choice, largely ignoring the pair already working.

It takes a heartbeat or two for Horatio to realize his fingers have caught nervously at James's again.

It feels safe, somehow. Even simply letting his fingers clutch lightly is reassuring. Even the sudden wash of having the other Tribute from District 11 appear doesn't particularly bother him.

That's good to know.

"Come on. Traps."

It will let James take a beat for his head. It will also let them sit quietly ducked together for a space.

[all_at_sea]

James has had more new clothes in the last week than he has in the last two years. It seems infinitely wasteful, considering he'll only wear most of them once. But it's the done thing- especially now. This is, according to the man putting the finishing touches to his make-up, the chance for him to get all of Panem on his side, to charm them into pledging donations and gifts to his cause in the arena.

It sounds utterly distasteful in James' opinion, but it must be done. And although he feels like a doll, dressed up and painted, he will admit the cut of the clothes suits him, the makeup isn't really noticeable. He doesn't look a fool.

He just hopes he won't sound like one.

He and Cutler are destined to go first, as District 1's Tributes. Horatio will be someone else in the maze of corridors and dressing rooms, awaiting his turn. He wishes he could find Horatio now, and tell him he's nervous. But there's no way he can- they're chaperoned from the room to the stage by Barbara and a selection of television staff- keeping them in line and providing very last minute advice.

Horatio will no doubt be watching though, from the screens in his dressing room, and hopefully, he won't think James does too badly.

That's the last thing James thinks before he's pushed from the darkness of the backstage and into the studio, someone hissing Smile into his ear as he emerges. He has no intention of smiling. It's hard enough not to blink at the overly bright lights, or stumble into the seats he and Cutler are offered.

James knows what will be asked- Cutler will no doubt he asked about his great-grandfather, who was a District 1 champion years and years before. James will be asked about the fact he volunteered in place of Elizabeth Swann. Barbara has helped him rehearse his answer, considering he had originally intended to tell the truth. But telling the Capitol and the rest of Panem that Elizabeth was still a child, and sending a child into the arena was immoral was not the way to become a favourite. At least, according to Barbara.

Cutler is the first to be questioned, to be introduced, to be shown off to the cameras and the audience out beyond the lights. He does well- he's always been charming, although frankly James doesn't know why. However Cutler manages it, the interviewer's animated face beams smiles, nodding as Culter speaks and James has to refrain from rolling his eyes.

There's clapping at the end, before the man and his very mobile features turns to James. He swallows, and tries to remember what Barbara told him.

"Now, James. James! Another of District 1's bright young stars. I've heard from a little birdie that you've made a friend since arriving at the Capitol, isn't that so?"

James blinks. This is not what he is supposed to be asked.

"I-" He begins, glancing to Cutler and then back to the interviewer.

"A tribute from District 11, my informants tell me! Young Horatio Hornblower, who we will all meet a little later. Now, tell me James. Are you and Horatio going to be working together in the Arena?"

[whisted]

It's all a matter of focus, Horatio is beginning to properly understand.

Fighting is a matter of focusing on his anger at the situation. Teaching James is a matter of focusing on the fact that there's at least one person he desperately wants to help drag out of this hellhole. Dancing is a matter of focusing on how safe it feels to trust himself into James's care.

Waiting for his own interview to begin is, unsurprisingly, a matter of focusing on the screen where he can blessedly keep track of the tall Tribute from District 1.

There are other little bits and pieces of reassurance, of course. It's a relief to see, as the prep team buzzes around him, that he isn't being dressed to match with Simpson. It's a comfort to have Pellew's voice in his ears, reassuring him that he wouldn't have to pretend that District 11 had brought a unified team to the Games this year. It's good to know that the subtle piping in his suit is the same faint metallic sheen of James's suit, small and silly though that knowledge is.

His mentor has drifted off to chat quietly with Barbara. His attention, as he breathes through the discomfort of being fussed into excessively expensive fabric and makeup, is locked on the screen where James is radiating calm during the District 1 interview.

Then the first question comes, and Horatio feels his stomach drop out.

Somewhere down the hall, Pellew is hissing softly and holding Barbara back from her impulse to throw something. Somewhere in the dressing room, Simpson is snarling angrily that this is ridiculous, that this is far from fair, that this is Horatio's problem to solve if he wants to make it to the Games at all.

Horatio can't focus on any of that. He can't hear anything but the pounding in his ears as his heart leaps into his throat. He can't see anything but James's still features lighting up the screen in front of him.

This is it. This is the point they can't turn back from.

[all_at_sea]

James is sure it's an eternity before his muddled brain manages to put some words together, before he manages a smile. It might be a slightly forced smile, because the last thing he wants to talk about in front of a stranger and a wall of TV cameras is his feelings towards Horatio, but it is a smile.

"Caesar, I've had the pleasure of meeting a lot of new people this week." He says, trying to be as charming as Cutler. Or at least, more charming than he usually is. "Your good self included." He pauses, allowed a moment's respite as the interviewer turns to the crowd, pleased, and mouths I like this one.

He needs that moment, honestly. He needs to remember how to breathe.

"Horatio is a fine fellow and- and his District should be very proud of him. He has a great many hidden talents." There's a murmur, and some giggles, and James quickly corrects himself, "I mean, he has a lot of skills that will help him in the Arena." He licks his lips, growing a little more comfortable with his topic.

"Panem is all about celebrating our different skills and specialisms, coming together-" another set of giggles, "Working together for everyone's benefit. But Caesar, you know I can't tell you what will happen in the Arena. No one knows till we get there."

Caesar nods, leaning forward in his chair, his chin supported in his hand, and he drops his voice conspiratorially. The microphones still pick up every word, but it's the look of the thing.

"But is it true that at the Tribute's Ball last night, you danced with him?"

James pauses, and realises there's no point denying it. Not when the damage is already done, the question is already out there.

"We did dance together."