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.

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[whisted]

It isn't a promise. It can't be a promise. Nothing, after all, can be a genuine promise anymore.

Horatio's heart is set pattering when the soft knock echoes through the quiet apartments. It's all he can do to keep sitting still while Pellew goes to usher the other Tribute in without a word. There's nothing to say, after all. There's only the matter of the mentor locking the door again quietly and vanishing again.

Once Pellew has turned away again, Horatio lets himself shift to his feet. It's almost intimate, having James here--not because the rooms feel at all like home, but because he's not certain there's ever been a moment together not wrapped in uncomfortable sparkling clothes or the odd stricture of their training garb.

"--thanks."

[all_at_sea]

James grins, eyes landing on Horatio the moment he steps into the apartment. It's surprisingly like the one used by District 1, but James barely recognises that. Horatio looks so different here, not made up for an event, not in his training kit, the light softer.

"Thank you for inviting me." He says, mostly to Horatio, but also to Pellew, who had to agree to all of this, before Horatio's mentor goes back to whatever he was doing.

And that leaves them alone. It's very difficult not to feel slightly nervous. It's hard to believe that they're trusted enough not to require a chaperone.

"So-" James begins, trying to hide the sudden rush of nerves. "A battle plan?"

[whisted]

Holding hands had been comforting. The memory prompts Horatio forward the rest of the way, fingers catching fretfully at the older boy's.

"Beginnings of one, at least."

It's best to keep an eye on the door Simpson might come out of, distracted though the other Tribute is. That, as much as anything, prompts Horatio to tug them both back to the couch, perching himself where he can keep watch for the other young man from District 11.

"Think through... what the start of it all will be."

[all_at_sea]

James lets Horatio guide him. For some reason, the way Horatio's fingers tug him gently but earnestly towards the seats make his heart skip a beat, but he ignores it. There's nothing more to read into it, nothing more to say than Horatio is being a good host.

It's nice to sit with him on something more comfortable than the mats in the training room, and although it's the same sort of sofa in the apartment he is staying in- this one seems nicer. Maybe it's because he gets to sit on it with Horatio, and not Cutler.

It's hard not to smile at Horatio, even when they're talking about this. It's not a pleasant subject. But being with Horatio is nice, every second of it should be cherished.

"I have been thinking about it, believe me." He says, settling close to Horatio. He knows Horatio's attention isn't wholly on him, but watching for Simpson is a good idea. He doesn't much want to be overheard.

"I want you to get away as fast as you can. Let me deal with the... the start. Cutler and Simpson may not work together, but I can not allow them the opportunity to do so. If I can offer a distraction to them both, and stop them following you to a suitable hiding place, I think that would give you the best start."

[whisted]

This close together is wonderful. This close together, Horatio can feel the faintest bit of warmth radiating off James. Maybe he's imagining it, but he can't be bothered to care.

Being close is important. Being together is important.

His thumb smooths fretfully over the back of the other Tribute's knuckles, sorting through this beginning of a plan. "I don't..."

Horatio had long since learned to keep his features fairly still. In this properly quiet moment, it's far easier to keep his thoughts trapped somewhere far beneath the surface.

"I can't speak to-- Beckett, but... Simpson-- Simpson won't be distracted. I can promise you that."

[all_at_sea]

James' attention moves from Horatio's face to their hands, to the thumb gently brushing over the ridges of his knuckles. It's soothing, but his attention goes back to Horatio's face after only a moment.

He had expected the same of Simpson, honestly. That's why he intends to go after him first. Hopefully he can use the confusion of entering the arena to his advantage. Cutler he can get afterwards, while the other boy is still preening for the cameras.

"I know. I intend to get him before he gets near you." James says gently, "I am not going to allow them free run of the arena. I don't believe anyone else poses so much of a threat."

He could let Cutler bump them off for him, but he doesn't really like the ideas. It seems so cowardly, and frankly, he doesn't trust Cutler not to make a bee-line for Horatio. The sooner they are both out of the way, the better.

[whisted]

"It would be-- quicker for you to get to Beckett first."

That was part of the bloodbath's appeal, in theory. It was apparently fascinating to see who would turn on a teammate instantly and who would attempt to cling together through the fray. It had always turned Horatio's stomach.

"I can... I can outrun Jack."

It would be easier, somehow, in the arena. Horatio couldn't put it into words, but he knew it would be true. He hadn't always made it out of the other boy's grasp before, but he hadn't been doing it for someone else.

"If that will help."

[all_at_sea]

"It's not much good to me if I leave Simpson time to get to you." James points out, but he knows Horatio is right. It might be the work of a few moments to dispatch Cutler, which leaves him free to go after Simpson. That is if none of the other Tributes get it into their heads to take out their biggest threat. Hopefully, they'll be inclined to seek shelter in whatever environment they find themselves in, take stock, and then attempt to pick James off from cover.

He can deal with that. Or rather, he can, once he's found Horatio.

"If you can get away, and hide from him..." James says. "We can... meet up. Together. Once everyone has dispersed?" He's not sure if Horatio will want to. He's not sure if he won't prefer to take his chances by himself. James doesn't like that idea- he doesn't like the idea of being somewhere else and hearing the cannon fire. The very thought makes his stomach turn.

He has to squeeze at Horatio's hand again, to reassure himself that Horatio is there, with him. Safe.

[whisted]

The entire moment feels protective. The way James is sitting, the plan they're laying out, the hand squeezing around his own--it all feels entirely calculated to look after him. To keep him safe. To make this nightmare just a little less overwhelming.

For a moment, Horatio has to duck his attention away from the door again to simply study the lines of James's face. He doesn't deserve this, surely. He would be such an easy target--would be even with a Career looking after him--and yet, here they were, plotting to put James into much greater danger. Here they were, with every aspect of the taller boy seemingly hellbent on keeping Horatio from even the unpleasantness of thinking about the future.

It doesn't occur to him for even a heartbeat that James could be lying.

"I can hide." That much is easy to promise. That much he can almost believe, even. "Do... Do you know many bird calls?"

[all_at_sea]

James has decided that, whatever else he might have been here to accomplish, getting Horatio to the end of the Games is his new purpose. James has to make sure that he sends Horatio back to his parents. Horatio deserves that at least. He deserves to go back to his District as a survivor, someone who will have a comfortable house and good food the rest of his days, someone who will try to do the best for the people in his District.

He moves, shifting a little and pressing his back fully against the couch, trying to be closer to Horatio without moving the other boy from his perch.

James knows Horatio probably has more skill at hiding than he does. Hiding goes hand-in-hand with trapping and hunting. James missed out on that much, better at fighting out in the open than trying to hide his tall frame. Still, he does know one or two calls.

"I wouldn't say many." He admits. "You'd probably know them as the Lesser Spotted Bird Impersonation."

[whisted]

There's something so charming about the small shift. This isn't someone who wants to crowd and overwhelm. This isn't someone who wants to stake a claim and possess. This is just James, worried and protective.

Horatio's heart gives an unconscious patter before he exhales, quiet and thoughtful. If he shifts slightly as well, his attention can flit back to the door while his cheek rests, delicately, at the older boy's shoulder.

"Would you recognize them? Thrush songs, maybe?"

[all_at_sea]

James considers this, properly, because if he focuses on the question, it means he can't focus on how Horatio's hair tickles the skin just above his collar, a few strands just brushing against him, unexpected but wonderful.

He doesn't move, just in case Horatio thinks that somehow James is uncomfortable. He can't think of a more comfortable way to sit in all the world.

"I'm certain I would. Although how would I know it was you, and not an actual thrush?"

It's a fair question. He can't expect the other Tributes to be completely ignorant of these things. He doesn't want to somehow give them away because they picked a bird too outlandish, or because Horatio's call went on too long or was in the wrong season.

But Horatio knows what he's doing, James is sure.

[whisted]

"Can decide on a pattern."

Not a song--not really. Tunes didn't stick in Horatio's mind (although, to be fair, that was usually because he could barely hear them at all). A soft patter, however, something light and easy as an actual bird call but recognizable if a person was listening?

"It's how..."

This is a safe place to breathe. This is a safe place to curl just slightly closer, cheekbone nudging more firmly into a spot against James's shoulder.

"...how a friend and I used to keep track of each other. When we were hunting."

[all_at_sea]

James at first thinks that the gentle way Horatio lays his head down is a sign that he's comfortable, relaxed. But the way he speaks seems to be sad and distant and James isn't sure if Horatio really is relaxed at all, or speaking some sort of comfort.

He's not sure how to ask, or if he should, but he does gently shift, to wrap his arm around Horatio and ease him closer.

"It sounds like a very good idea. The sound travels quite a distance?" He asks, voice gentle. He wants to ask who the friend is, ask about these hunting trips, but there's an unpleasant twist in his stomach that tells him that isn't a good idea.

[whisted]

The gesture fits naturally, somehow. Horatio briefly dislodges his head, glancing down at the hand circling around to his shoulder. There's no tensing beyond that; no sign of nerves or uncertainty, only an absent sort of curiosity.

Following the careful squeeze of James's arm is entirely easy. One knee knocks against the older Tribute's before Horatio simply gives into the movement fully. The couch is more than big enough for both of them, but there's something reassuring about pulling his legs up into James's lap and nestling his head in properly against the other young man's neck.

"Far enough to stop you starting to go in the wrong direction, at least. If... I'll go in as straight a line as I can. If you're going the right way, it should be enough to get your attention."

[all_at_sea]

James is actually surprised by the movement, although it lasts for only half a moment before his free hand rests on Horatio's shin, keeping him pressed close. It's an oddly intimate position, so close together, but it means their voices can drop a little lower, that there's no chance of being overheard.

Besides, James tells himself, Horatio clearly needs the comfort. The fact that his breathing comes a little easier now has nothing to do with anything.

"That does sound a little more subtle than shouting I'm over here," He agrees. He's not so sure about Horatio climbing through the tree tops. What they don't need is Horatio with a broken leg, or worse, because he was trying to keep up with James and a branch gave way.

"I'll try not to move too quickly. You can always throw pine cones at me, rather than trying to follow me."

[whisted]

"If it comes to that."

It all feels farther away now. Here, warm and close and with all his senses overwhelmed slightly by the very obvious presence of someone he trusts, Horatio can almost let the end of the week drift away. That nagging bit of hope comes back.

"If... If I can't shake him, what--?"

What if following Horatio meant coming upon Simpson? What if Simpson suspected James would be following along and lay in wait?

[all_at_sea]

"Then we kill him." James says. There's nothing more to it than that, nothing else to say on the matter. Given the opportunity, James will kill that bastard and feel no guilt about it, of that he's sure. If he's hiding and waiting for James... that might make killing him harder, but James will do what he can.

"Does he know how to hide well?" James asks, but it's still in that unconcerned, gentle manner of speech. If Simpson is good at hiding, James will just have to be as careful as he can be. He can't run through the arena brazen and unaware anyway. It's not just Simpson and the other Tributes they'll have to contend with, and James doesn't intend to be poisoned or bitten to death.

"I'm quite sure we can deal with him. Don't worry." He smiles, fingers gently squeezing at Horatio's shoulder. There's nothing they can do about it until they get there, after all.

[whisted]

It almost sounds possible, the way James says it. It almost sounds like this might work--like it might be as simple as Simpson being taken from their lives.

That's faintly terrifying, in part because it's also faintly thrilling.

"He's... He's not bad at it."

Horatio's lips press together briefly, a knot in his stomach needing to be breathed through before he can continue. His attention is still locked more or less on the door across from the couch; on the possibility of interruption.

"He doesn't usually take things seriously. It's... It'll be different, in there. He just isn't particularly inclined toward hiding. You-- saw him."

[all_at_sea]

He can't help but laugh. He shushes himself as quickly as he can, he certainly doesn't want anyone coming in to find out what's going on. Even with the laugh stifled, he can't help but smile widely at Horatio.

"No, I can't imagine him being quiet."

Quiet isn't Simpson's style. He's a bull in a china shop. Wave a red flag, or Horatio, in front of his face and he'll not be able to hold himself back. They can use that to their advantage, James is certain.

"He'll certainly not be thinking clearly." James says gently. "He'll make mistakes. If you can double-back on yourself, head back the way you've come, do something he won't expect, I imagine you'll keep him off your back."

[whisted]

This is easier and easier to trust. This is feeling more and more like reality, possibility; something to genuinely believe might happen.

Horatio's fingers curl comfortably into the fabric of James's shirt. This is another moment, he's fairly certain, that will make the arena tolerable.

Even if they get separated, even if they can't make things work, it's better to have something wonderful to cling to like a small ember of hope.

"And you'll... you'll find me."

[all_at_sea]

James can't help himself, relaxing a little more, body sliding down the couch until he's comfortably slumped, low enough now to gently rest his head against Horatio's. It's nice, to just exist like this, warm and cuddled together. He's not exactly in a hurry to move.

He takes a slow, gentle, happy breath, still smiling.

"I'll find you. I promise."

He will. He'll find Horatio, safe and sound. Probably up a try, but as long as Horatio is in once piece, that's the important thing.

[whisted]

"I'll just-- run."

With Simpson at his heels. With James fighting for his life against Beckett. With the rest of the bloodbath to slip and slide and drag himself through as safely as he could manage.

"And you'll find me."

If he says it often enough to himself, it might start to feel true. If he breathes in the genuine comfort of sitting here, with James solid and real beside him, it might start to be genuine.

"We can... figure it out from there."

[all_at_sea]

James nods, his cheek brushing into Horatio's hair, tickling and caressing his skin. His fingers stroke over Horatio's shoulder, his other hand is still resting, reassuring and gentle, against Horatio's leg.

"One thing at a time," James agrees gently. "We do what we have to, till we can find each other, and then together we'll... we'll work on it." He says. Maybe they can just let everyone else kill each other off, and stay safe and away from it as best they can.

"Don't worry about it now. You've still got a lot to teach me about snares."

[whisted]

He's being held. He's being really, properly held. Horatio can't remember the last time he had been so completely held onto, snug and utterly secure.

The knowledge puts something entirely contented in his sigh as he nestles against James's nodding head and comfortable shoulder.

"You're not-- so bad, hm? Be good at it before the end of the week, I bet."

Amazingly, he's not properly worried about the end of the week. It's somewhere in the distance, not terrifying and almost not real.