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 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."

[whisted]

In the room beside him, Simpson is hissing harshly at his ear. In the room, the prep team are tsking and fussing, tugging his arms here and there, fussing at the hem of his pants as if the world depended on it. Just outside the room, Pellew's voice is echoing softly in the hall, hushing at Barbara and calling for Horatio in the same breath.

Horatio can't process any of it. His attention is entirely wrapped up in the image on the screen before him as James starts actually talking.

James is keeping calm. James is answering in broad, confident statements. James is licking his lips, and that's setting Horatio's ears into a warm pink flush.

Somehow, Pellew is at his elbow, shooing Simpson away. There's hiss against his ear, some instruction on how to carry himself if he's asked the same sorts of questions. Horatio can't force himself to concentrate on anything but the slight pause and gentle admission of facts whole crowds of people already knew.

[all_at_sea]

There's a constant low murmuring in the audience now, although James can't see them, there doesn't seem to be anything unpleasant or unhappy in it. There seems to be a great buzz of excitement, in fact.

"I... It was very nice, in fact. I would dance with him again, if we ever got the opportunity."

He continues, aware that those little human details might win them both a little more favour, when it comes to the arena. Barbara did say he was to try and endear himself.

Caesar's expression has melted a little, and he seems to be both reflecting and encouraging the crowd.

"Well I think you and Horatio may just have stolen every single heart in Panem, don't you think everyone?" He says, and there's a rush of agreement from the audience.

"I don't think I can bear it a second longer. Thank you, James. And you, Cutler, for speaking to us tonight. I know now we'd get the Tributes from District 2, but I really can't wait, I think we have to meet Horatio now. Will you all put your hands together for our brave boys of District One, James Norrington and Cutler Beckett, and welcome Horatio Hornblower and... Jack Sampson!"

And with that James is standing, disappearing off the stage and into the sudden dark and cool of the backstage corridors, where he's quickly shepherded away.

[whisted]

James's voice feels soft in his ears. The corners of James's lips are gentle as he stares at them.

Some piece of him is dimly aware that the crowd is making noises of approval. Some piece of him is faintly certain that Pellew is telling him to run with the thread. Most of him is fighting the flush in his cheeks for the fact that James would dance with him again.

Horatio doesn't have time to think as the entire room, it seems, is suddenly rushing him toward the stage. The Tributes from District 2 are whisked back in the wrong direction; somewhere, Barbara's sharp voice is echoing in the cramped backstage space. Just for a split second, Horatio thinks he sees James in the rush.

His fingers reach out, and he finds Jack Simpson has caught tight hold of his hand.

It's too stunning for Horatio to react properly. It's too overwhelming to suddenly be in front of the crowd, hand caught in Simpson's, light painfully bright and crowd somehow deafening with its soft murmurs. He finds himself stumbling as he moves forward, which does nothing for the redness in his cheeks as the crowd titters affectionately.

Somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears, Simpson is fielding the first question--some explanation or other that they're the oldest of friends (Horatio hears just enough to want to scream). It's clearly taking gargantuan effort just to try and hear the questions being addressed in his direction.

"He was-- showing me how." It isn't an answer to the blur of what Caesar had just asked, Horatio is almost certain, but it's what bubbles to his lips first. "I didn't know how to dance. James-- James just wanted to help."

It's terror and shame as much as anything else flushing his cheeks. The crowd is cooing all the same.

[all_at_sea]

The emergence of Horatio and his fellow Tribute with clasped hands is clearly not what Caesar is expecting, but he's good at his job- he can think on his feet and present whatever image he wants to the public beyond the cameras.

"I'm sure he did. I'm sure helping you is what he plans to do in the Arena." Caesar smiles, the expression gentle. He speaks as if there's no one else in the room, not even Simpson. "I'm sure you heard what he said a moment ago, when he was up here. He was very guarded with what he said. But do you think he's going to help you out once the games start? Are you going to help him? Have you talked about that?"

---

James feels slightly sick. If only because the dressing room is quiet and cold and the nervous sweat is chilling against his skin. Cutler is elsewhere- in the rush to get them off stage, to get the District 2 Tributes away and bring Horatio and Simpson out, they must have been separated.

He doesn't care. He'd rather find Horatio. But then he sees the screen, the volume muted, but there's Horatio, beautiful and nervous in front of those same bright lights.

He ducks forward, turning the sound up and catching the end of Caesar's question.

[whisted]

He's supposed to be earnest. He's supposed to be gentle and unassuming, a delicate underdog the Capitol can get behind. Now, apparently, he's supposed to be careful not to broadcast their plan more than necessary but stoke the flame of intrigue for the spectators.

If he closes his eyes for a heartbeat, he can picture James's calm features--and feel the warm sensation of James's hand on his hip, the bubble of a laugh when James tickled him. He can't quite manage a smile, but he can tug his hand back from Simpson's grip to ruffle through his own hair nervously.

"I-- don't know what will happen. No one knows what will happen." His shoulder hunch just slightly in on themselves, something exhausted and hopeful glancing over his features. "But I know that... that he's someone you should take at his word."

It's easier to talk about James than himself. It keeps the flush in his cheeks, but it's a happier fluster.

"I know that I'd dance with him again. I would-- love to dance with him again."

It clearly isn't what Simpson was expecting. It clearly is what the audience was hoping for, another soft wave of cooing rising from the seats. It's certainly something Caesar can pivot with, smile flashing back into place. "So he's taught you how to dance. What exactly have you been teaching him, hm?"

The flush in Horatio's cheeks burns brighter. For a moment, the weight of his own fluster ducks his head, fingers pressing over his own lips as he seeks a steadying breath.

[all_at_sea]

James shouldn't be smiling like this, not up at the screen where Horatio's cheeks look pink and warm. He can almost feel the slight heat radiate off them, can feel Horatio's breath as he speaks. Fro some reason it makes James' own cheeks flush, his hands reach out to close on the back of a chair, fingers holding tight.

It's good to hear Horatio echo his words- that no one knows what will happen. It's not quite true, James knows. He's going to fight by Horatio's side as best he can, as hard as he can. He has vague plans, it's hard to make anything more concrete till they know what to expect, till they're there.

But he doubts anything will make him change his mind about Horatio.

His lips manage to pull upwards as Horatio continues, the pink tones changing to red as dancing becomes the topic of conversation. He's glad they feel the same way. When and where they might get to dance again he doesn't know, but he will speak to Pellew (Barbara will certainly not approve) and see what can be done. Even if it's just dancing with him in their quarters in an evening, having permission to do so would be more than he could otherwise hope for.

James is barely listening to anyone else- to the crowd's coos or Caesar's questions, utterly dedicated to Horatio. He doesn't understand why Horatio's fingers go to his lips, hiding his mouth. His eyes have widened too, and the blush has spread. What on earth are they saying to him?

[whisted]

It's overwhelming. It's already too much, even if he focuses on the solid memory of James smiling here just moments ago. It takes a few deep breaths to begin to feel capable of speaking.

"Horatio?" Caesar isn't quite ready to pivot to the other Tribute yet, for all the boy is clearly champing at the bit to take the spotlight. This story--this odd star-crossing between Districts--is far more fascinating. "He said you have some... hidden talents?"

"N-No. It's-- It's nothing as special as that." Another deep breath helps. Focusing solely on the man in front of him (focusing internally on the faint twitch of James's smile) stops some of the unwieldy panic. "We just... We work well together. He knows things I don't, and... and I know things he doesn't. It's just-- It's like everything coming here from the Districts."

Horatio feels Simpson shifting beside him. It isn't such a bad reminder to watch himself.

"Just-- things are better, when they're together. Stronger. That's all."

"And you're stronger with James, Horatio? Is that right?"

Horatio's exhale is helpless, lips almost shifting toward a smile. "I am. And... And I hope he feels the same way."

That gets an entirely pleased rumble from the audience.

[all_at_sea]

James isn't sure what the feeling in his chest is, the weird sort of knotting, butterfly-flapping happy nervousness that fills him, but it makes it impossible to just keep standing there. There's no minders about to stop him, and the door to the dressing room isn't locked, so why not? He needs to practise his sneaking as it is.

The corridor beyond the dressing rooms is full of bustle. District 2's Tributes are being manoeuvred back towards the stage, Matthews seems to be there waiting to collect his charges.

James has never actually spoken to Matthews, but his stance implies he's spotted James already, but he's not about to get anyone into trouble. So James moves down the corridor, where the sounds of the stage are muffled, and stop by Matthew's shoulder.

He doesn't say anything, straining to hear the interview beyond, but stops listening to intently when it's clearly Simpson now answering questions.

"Is... is Horatio alright?" He asks quietly. He was nervous enough up there, Horatio had far harder questions to answer, and the inclination to be nervous as it was. As worried as he is, that warmth in his chest still hasn't faded. It's nice, fighting back some of the concern. Horatio thinks they're stronger together. He'd like, no love to dance with James again.

James doesn't know why, but his cheeks are beginning to hurt. Maybe it's all the smiling.

[whisted]

Half of Matthews's attention has to be on the screen just off stage. Someone has to be guiding these boys from District 11, after all--and Pellew really shouldn't be stepping away from making certain that Barbara is actually still on board with the plan.

The other half is set easily enough on the Tribute slipping quietly through the fuss. His arms stay crossed and his gaze stays forward, but marking James's approach is easy enough from the corner of his eye.

"He will be." Particularly, Matthews would guess, if the boy came off-stage to see the taller Tribute waiting for him. His arms uncross, one hand catching firmly at James's shoulder. "Not happy, I'd imagine, but he'll survive. He's seen worse."

Besides, it wouldn't last much longer. Simpson (not quite managing to hide the scowl in his features as Caesar continued his thoughtless 'Sampson's now and again) was clearly a far less interesting interview subject. The crowd would be far better charmed by pulling the pair from District 2 onto the stage sooner than later.

Through the wave of applause as Horatio and Simpson begin to disappear from the screen, Matthews gives James just the faintest shove forward. "Check in on him, hm?"

Matthews, after all, needs to catch Simpson instantly by the scruff of the neck, dragging the boy down the hall with a mountain of notes on personability.

Which leaves Horatio, hunch-shouldered and shaking slightly, alone in the wash of people hurrying back and forth in the hall.

[all_at_sea]

James isn't expecting the hand at his shoulder. He's not really expecting anything so fatherly, but he nods along with Matthew's words. The interviews weren't bad, although it wasn't easy, James had left feeling exhausted but also relieved, full of adrenaline.

The applause from the studio is enough to raise his heartbeat all over again, and he takes Matthew's last words to heart as the little corridor becomes a mass of people once more. Horatio and Simpson are at least easy to spot- they're the only people going in the opposite direction to the tide. It's not hard to slip into the press of bodies, although trying to get to Horatio while in it was much harder. He forces his way through though, catching hold of Horatio's hand and then pulling him out of the way, out of the knot of people.

He doesn't say anything, but wraps his arms around Horatio in a hug. They could both do with that, he thinks. A bit of support, unspoken but understanding. Matthews didn't need to ask him to check on Horatio. He was there to do it anyway. Horatio would have done the same for him, of that he has no doubt. Besides, everyone in Panem now knows they're working together, despite their poor denials. They are going to have to take care of each other, inside and outside of the arena.

That's what friends do, isn't it?

"Well done Horatio." He murmurs at last, in the boy's ear. He's so proud, he doesn't really have the right words to tell Horatio that. He hopes the hug goes some way to doing that.

[whisted]

A hand catching at him out of the throng is, somehow, instantly known. Horatio doesn't protest in the slightest as he's pulled to the side, even before he catches proper sight of James's face.

He only sees it for a second. He only opens his mouth for a heartbeat before he's crushed into a hug. He's all right with that.

Horatio doesn't need to think to pull himself in snug and safe against James. He doesn't need to plot his way through nuzzling his face in against the hollow of the taller boy's neck. He doesn't need to analyze the way his fingers catch and cling to the back of James's jacket.

That's what happens with friends, surely. That's what caring and being cared for means.

"Not... not as well as-- you did."

It doesn't matter as much anymore. The panic and stress is already bleeding slowly from his limbs, turning back into quiet calm.

[all_at_sea]

James feels so much better now. Horatio is safe, or safer at least, with him. James can make sure that no one asks Horatio questions he doesn't like, he can make sure no one hurts him. He can feel the relief flooding Horatio too, easing his muscles from their tight knots.

He doesn't want to move, not with Horatio's head tucked so close against his neck, Horatio's breathing hot against his skin. For some reason, it doesn't stop his pulse racing, but that's unimportant. It's just good when they're together. That's what Horatio said, wasn't it? It was better when they were together. Stronger.

James can believe that wholeheartedly.

"I didn't have Simpson trying to hold my hand though." James counters, with gentle teasing. "Matthews has taken him away; hopefully, to give him a hiding." A smack around the ear might take Simpson down a peg, but James doubts it will have any lasting effect.

"Come on, come sit down. The Mentors will be looking for us soon enough."

[whisted]

Simpson is being taken away for at least a few minutes. James is holding him snug and safe. The rush around them is dying down.

"In..."

Horatio doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to let go of this brief moment. It's small, perhaps; two young men hugging off the nerves of unexpected questions and public performance. It isn't something most people would remember for more than a few minutes, maybe for the lazy length of a day.

But they aren't most people anymore.

This is what's going to get them through. Remembering this moment is going to make the rest of the week more tolerable. Holding onto this is going to make whatever time they have in the Games remotely tinged with hope.

"...in a minute. Please."

[all_at_sea]

James nods. They can stay like this a moment more. He trusts that Matthews will keep Simpson well away, and frankly Simpson isn't as frightening as Barbara anyway. He suspects she's away doing some sort of damage control.

The nods bring his face close to the top of Horatio's head, and James doesn't hesitate to breathe deeply, resting like that for a moment. He should know better, but if any of the studio staff are watching, at least it all backs up what happened on stage.

But there are no studio staff. The one figure still in the corridor, besides them, is Cutler.

"Please, do you two think about is going to believe this nonsense?" He drawls with clear disgust. Cutler makes no move to come any closer to them- he and James are evenly matched, and he isn't Simpson. There's no point wasting energy now when in a few days they'll be at each other's throats anyway.

"Don't mistake his intentions, Hornblower. If one of you gets out of the arena, do you honestly think it's going to be you? I suppose if he gets what he wants then he might at least make it painless."

[whisted]

This still feels safe. Even with words pinging against his spine (digging into a latent insecurity Horatio has been too exhausted to be worried after), being held by James is an incredibly certain place to be.

His breath comes steady even as the squirm runs up his spine. His cheeks aren't flushed and unhappy as he pulls himself back from the embrace.

(He had asked Pellew about this. He had worried after the possibility until James's hand had moved from his back while they stumbled through his first waltz steps. It lingers uncomfortably around the edges all the same.)

"Do-- you honestly think it's going to be you, Beckett?"

That's better, surely, than owning up to the fact he won't mind dying.

[all_at_sea]

Despite the small movement away, James' hand remains on Horatio's back, a slight tremble of anger evident against Horatio's shoulder blade before James gets a handle on himself. Hold it back, use it later.

"Do you not have better things to do, Cutler? Might I suggest practising your manners? They're as poor as your sword drill."

It would be very satisfying to punch his fellow Tribute, but he knows better than that. He's already walking a thin line with Barbara, and fighting Cutler will probably push his luck too far. Besides, they're too close to the stage where District 2 are being interviewed- any fight will be overheard.

Cutler simply shrugs at the pair of them. "I am going into the arena with my eyes open, Hornblower. My suggestion is that you do the same."

And with that Cutler moves away, apparently quite pleased with himself.