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]

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.

[whisted]

Doubt is such a quiet, insidious thing. Thankfully, it's difficult to level against Horatio to a greater extent than he's already leveled it against himself.

It doesn't matter that he trusts, in a quiet unshakable fashion, that James has been honest with him. It doesn't matter that Pellew trusts the plan or that Matthews clearly believes in it.

Horatio Hornblower knows, as he watches the other Tribute retreat down the hall, that he's going to die in the Games. If it's at James's hands, painless or otherwise, so much the better.

If Jack Simpson dies first, he'll even count it as a victory.

His gaze flits briefly up to James again, features properly quiet again. "I'm sorry."

[all_at_sea]

Cutler is a snake. James knows this, Horatio will realise it too. The work of winning the Games starts now, as they all know. But it's not just training and wooing the Capitol and making what alliances they can. It's about dividing and conquering.

Horatio and Simpson were never going to be a team. James and Cutler, had they been inclined to work together, could have been deadly. But if Horatio and James break off their arrangement, perhaps the District 1 Tributes might yet form a team.

That's what James thinks Cutler is attempting, poorly. He just hopes those words haven't poisoned Horatio.

"No, I should be apologising to you." James says, his fingers still on Horatio's shoulder tightening possessively. "He's a singularly unpleasant creature. He believes if he can disrupt us, he has more of a chance."

James shakes his head, and turns a smile to Horatio. "He and Simpson are welcome to each other. I hope they're very happy."

[whisted]

James's fingers clutching at him help. James's voice soft and still close to his ear helps as well.

His own fingers shift up to pluck at the ones catching at him. It's better, surely, to get their hands caught together properly, tangled and safe.

"They'll both... go for me first, then."

Simpson certainly would.

[all_at_sea]

"That might be their plan. But I've no intention of letting them see it through." James says, fingers curling tight on Horatio's hand, squeezing to offer reassurance. "As soon as we reach the arena, I will deal with Cutler and Simpson. I don't think we want to be allowing them to fester any longer than we have to."

He glances down the corridor, wanting to make sure that neither of them can be heard.

"I've been thinking. About what we should do. I think we should help each other in the arena. You are far better at trapping than I could hope to be, and I have... well." James was good at killing things. "We have a better chance in their together than separately. If Cutler is going to make things hard for you, that's my fault. I'd like to help you as much as I can."

And then James falters slightly, glancing down at their joined hands.

"I... I don't like the idea of working... of working against you."

[whisted]

There's another rumble coming. Horatio can practically hear it in the air around them. Before they know it, the hall will be flooded again with District 3 moving into place and District 2 sweeping back into their dressing room.

His fingers tug slightly, something fretful in the gesture as he drifts forward half a step.

"You don't have to." They'll work together. They'll sort through how to survive the two definite violent threats aimed squarely at the back of the half less capable of handling them. "Can-- You can't come to our apartments, can you? Tonight?"

Surely, if anyone could find a way to manage that, it would be Barbara.

[all_at_sea]

James pulls Horatio away slightly, away from the press of people that disturb them and their conversation. He doesn't want Horatio to be pulled away from him again, not when he can feel the eyes of some of the escorts on them, sizing them up, glancing at their joined hands.

Do they, like Cutler, think this is some sort of act? Some popularity stunt? Why would anyone pretend to have a friendship? Why lie about a small fragment of happiness in such a horrible set of circumstances?

He frowns slightly at Horatio's question. They aren't meant to leave their own apartments after a certain time. But maybe after the interviews, there might be some sway. Maybe James can ask to take supper with Horatio.

He nods.

"I'll try." He promises. Barbara will let him. She has to.

[whisted]

"We should talk then. Or-- when we're working first thing."

Somewhere alone would be better. Somewhere quiet and without the constant threat of being overheard.

"About... all that."

How Horatio would try to keep safe with two killers on his scent. How James would make it through dispatching them as quickly as possible. How to find each other and keep each other safe once they were inside the arena.

"We'll work it out."