whisted | for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

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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From:

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?"

From:

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."

From:

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?"

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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."

From:

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?

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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."

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

all_at_sea

"Hopefully tomorrow's lesson will be how not to tie your fingers together," James says, although he's not that bad. Still, he is nowhere near Horatio's expertise, but maybe, if somehow they...

He doesn't finish that thought, and instead goes back to gently stroking his fingers over Horatio's shoulder. It's nice just to sit and not speak, actually, just enjoy how close Horatio is sat to him, the measured, gentle breathing.

It is, actually, the most relaxed moment not just in the last week, but in the last few months. The run-up to the Games always means a flurry of activity in District 1, and this is really the first time he's to himself. It's wonderful to share that moment with someone else.

"I'm surprised Lady Barbara didn't think our dance would be talked about." He says after several long moments, his voice low and sleepy, warm. He can't help voicing the idle thought either, it's been plaguing him all evening.

From:

whisted

"You--"

Horatio doesn't want to ruin the moment. He genuinely doesn't want to break the soft space they've made for themselves, at least for the space of these few heartbeats. The words come bubbling over his lips all the same, honest and completely trusting.

"--volunteered."

It feels intrusive, once he's said it. His head ducks, an unconscious sort of nuzzling apology. He lets his fingers twist slightly in the other young man's shirt, as if terrified that the audacity to bring up something personal would send the other Tribute bolting.

"I'd have thought... that was more interesting."

From:

all_at_sea

There's no need for any sort of apology. No need for any regret at all, because although perhaps at the time it was not exactly planned, his sudden brave gesture had led him to Horatio.

Still, he can't complain about the gentle way Horatio nuzzles into him.

"It was just... an impulse." James said, as if the fact he'd volunteered was of very little importance.

"Personally I find dancing with you far more interesting. And far more enjoyable."

He grins, although he knows Horatio can't see it. Dancing with Horatio, spending time with Horatio, it was well worth having volunteered.

From:

whisted

The words have the sensation of a smile to them. It relaxes something unconsciously tensed in Horatio's spine, his entire body shifting and settling slightly into place.

"Really?"

It isn't a genuine question. Even now, it's easy to trust that James is telling him the truth. The word drops out thoughtfully anyway.

"You barely know me."

From:

all_at_sea

"But I trust you with my life."

It's quiet, like a confession. Not whispered, exactly, but something meant only for Horatio. No one else needs to hear it, no one else needs to know how James feels. It's exposing the chink in his armour. He already cares for Horatio too deeply. Barbara knows it, Cutler and Simpson know it. He's sure it's obvious to everyone, actually, but this is saying it.

Saying it to Horatio, moreover.

"You don't know me either. But I hope you trust me, at least to do my best for you."

From:

whisted

It feels, oddly, like he's been handed something small and fragile. Horatio can practically feel the weight of the soft words settling into his heart; heavy at first before his entire body starts to feel oddly light and wonderful.

He wants to look the other young man in the face. It's too terrifying to think about making a similarly brave confession with James's bright eyes boring into his own.

"I trust you with my life."

It's easier to be brave tucked here, safe and snug under the taller boy's chin.

From:

all_at_sea

There's a moment of stillness after those words. Still perfection, like a calm before a storm. James' heart is pounding in his chest, leaping and bounding and trying to escape the cage of his ribs and yet, he still feels so ground with Horatio curled into him.

Horatio is his to protect, he knows. He must look after him and keep him safe, just as Horatio will protect his heart, the gentle admission some precious treasure.

He barely knows what he's doing, but he can't stop himself, he head tilting down, his lips pressing an intangible kiss into Horatio's soft dark hair.

From:

whisted

For a moment, Horatio almost feels certain he can hear the patter of James's heart over his own. For a moment, it feels as if everything in the universe is reduced to this quiet space between them and the easy syncing of their hearts.

His eyes drift shut just for the length of a heartbeat. He has to keep watching the door across from them. It's still wonderful, for the briefest moment of time, to breathe.

"Tell me something I d-don't know?"