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

Of course James knows. Of course James understands, in a quiet instinctive way. Of course James wants, despite the easy with which Horatio himself tamps everything down, to protect him before they're even in the arena.

His fingers shift fretfully, smoothing against the soft hair and warm skin at the back of the taller boy's neck.

"Not always. Not usually, here."

From:

all_at_sea

James takes that in, quietly accepting, his fingers still gently holding Horatio close to him. He wants to keep him safe, that is true. There's no one else that can help them as much as they can help each other.

"What can I do to help?"

Horatio will tell him what is bothering him, if he wants to. James can only be there, offer his help and a friendly ear, and do whatever is in his power to make Horatio relax, to make sure he is in the best state he can be to go into the arena.

From:

whisted

"Don't goad him. Please."

It's too vulnerable. It's not what James needs to hear right now.

It isn't much better when he spins toward the other thing keeping him awake, of course. "And..."

How does he explain that being here, in the comparative safety of these apartments, is like a punch to the gut in its own right?

"...the apartments are-- the same, aren't they? This is where the Tributes from District 11... always stay, isn't it?"

From:

all_at_sea

"I won't."

It's an easy promise to make. He shouldn't be provoking Simpson anyway- they have enough on their plate without making more work for themselves. It's just so hard not to push Simpson's buttons, not to take him down like he deserves. He shouldn't be allowed to treat Horatio like he does- he shouldn't treat anyone like that. He's too cocksure.

But Horatio is right.

The next question makes him frown, his tiredness fading away as he shifts gently, trying to look at Horatio without disturbing him.

"I think so." He says, and for a moment he's not sure why this is a concern. Then he realises that Horatio will have known some of the past Tributes from District 11.

And James knows that none of the Tributes from District 11 has gone home for a long, long time. Not since Pellew was a young man.

"I'm sorry."

From:

whisted

Horatio can't imagine it isn't difficult, in its own way, for the Careers. Even recent victories from District 1 had been only one of a pair of friends coming home. Even growing up with the intent of possibly being sacrificed to the Games couldn't completely stop the hurt of losing other young men and women who had held a real space in one's life.

It's just that Archie had gotten so close. It's just that Horatio had foolishly started to hope.

His breath comes shaky. There's no help for that. Having James's arms tight around him does, at least, keep him from getting completely lost in his own thoughts.

"It's just... I-It was only last year."

From:

all_at_sea

There is, unfortunately, a simple understanding in District 1. Whoever you go to the Games with you will have to kill, or be killed by. You might have been friendly before, but once the Games start, there is no friendship, even between children who grew up across the street from each other. They're trained and taught to accept this, to know that friendships are fleeting things.

James is sure that for everyone else in Panem this isn't the case.

He has to cast his mind back to last year's games. He had watched it- everyone had- and in District 1 they dissect it too, every move, every fight, every death. They tried to do it dispassionately, and it helped to try and be removed, to not see each body as a person, but a thing.

Now he knows better than that. He can remember what happened. He can remember the boy, not any different in age to Horatio.

He pulls Horatio suddenly closer, his hand moving from his shoulder to the back of his head, soothing as best his can a hunt that he has no means of healing.

From:

whisted

Nothing fixes this hurt. Nothing fills this gap in his life. Nothing makes it any less terrible to lie awake in this bed at night and try to keep breathing steadily.

Nothing brought back Archie.

This doesn't fix anything either, but it pulls a shuddering breath properly from his throat. Pressing his face in against the hollow of James's neck at least takes away the way the room looms around them.

There aren't any tears left to cry. It's still better to bury his face in against a warm quiet shoulder. Surely he's allowed a few minutes to breathe.

From:

all_at_sea

All James can do is hold Horatio. He should have realised, he should have thought, but the idea had never occurred to him. He'd never considered how well Horatio might have known the previous Tributes, how their loss would impact him. Or how having reminders of that loss constantly would hurt.

All he can do is try to Horatio through it. All he can do is hold him tight and turn his head down again, to press his lips into Horatio's hair.

There aren't any words, not at the moment, nothing that he can find to say to soothe all the hurt. But he'll find some, and he will keep Horatio from the same fate. He has promised that much already, but the way Horatio clings to him makes him all the more determined.

From:

whisted

Breathing here is a little easier. Letting himself hurt here is a little safer. It's just that he can't stay here forever.

"...sorry."

Horatio doesn't shift back entirely; just enough to let himself see the door he's meant to be watching. His fingers stay just a little tight against the scruff of James's neck, not quite able to fully let go.

"I wasn't-- good at sleeping when I was younger, either. It's just... always been difficult."

Worse since Simpson. Worse since losing Archie. Worst since coming here.

From:

all_at_sea

There's no reason for Horatio to apologise, none at all, and it's all that James can do to pull him gently closer in a slight squeeze, a hug within their current embrace. Horatio is still clinging to him, still holding on as if he's afraid to let go, as if letting go will cast him adrift.

"Do you want me to stay here?"

He knows it's probably pushing their luck. But it's already dark outside, late in the evening and why bother the guards to take him back again when he can stay here? He can't cause any real problems after all, not with Pellew and Matthews somewhere about.

"I will. I'd like to, if it helps."

It might. He's happy to hold Horatio like this, all night if he has to, If it helps Horatio sleep. He may not sleep longer or deeper, but if he gets some sleep, James will be grateful.

From:

whisted

"We'll get in trouble."

They hadn't, thus far. There was little proof they would, with the rules already bent this much in their favour. The Gamemakers and escorts might even enjoy it--more scandal to throw on the apparent embers their dance together had begun to stir. There was nothing that seemed to obviously stand in their way of spending the night exactly where they were.

"You shouldn't."

It would be so much worse to say 'yes' and then have the guards come drag James away.

"But-- thank you, James."

From:

all_at_sea

James would like to say they're already in trouble, but it won't help. He simply nods, not wanting to press Horatio any further. He might well not want James here overnight, he might want to spend some time by himself, gathering his thoughts. They've spent a lot of time together since they met, but James doesn't think Horatio is the sort of boy that likes a lot of company.

He probably spent a great deal of time with the boy killed last year.

James' fingers stroke gently again, trying to comfort the younger man.

"I'm sure Pellew could arrange something, if necessary." He muses, but it's not serious. He'll stay a little longer, until the guards come to collect him. Until then, he'll enjoy Horatio's company, the press of him so close.

From:

whisted

That's easier to nod about. They have less than a week--and this is likely already spending what little patience they've been allotted by those above them. It's still a comfort to think forward--to imagine that they might steal even this much time away from prying eyes in the days to come.

"Maybe I could... come down to you."

This already helps, but it would be even better to breathe where he didn't have to worry about Simpson popping out and ruining things. This would be even better without the sensation of a ghost just beyond the smoothing of James's fingers.

From:

all_at_sea

It will be a miracle if they have any free time at all to do anything, never mind curl together like this. James knows the schedule- there's group training and then individual assessments with various weapons, there's fittings for outfits and there's interviews and parties. Somewhere they have to find time to eat and rest.

But the very idea of Horatio coming to spend a little time with him, even just an hour, in District 1's apartments would be fantastic. Barbara might not like the idea, but if she'd allowed James to come here, she'd have to allow Horatio to come to them.

"I think that would... that would be very good. I'd like you to." He's trying not to sound so very eager, but it's almost impossible.

From:

whisted

It would be a break from constant worry about Simpson. It would be a break from the room he knew with painful clarity Archie used to pace in, brow furrowed and thoughts miles away. It would be more time with James's reassuring warmth to rest against.

And, from the edge of the older boy's voice, it would make the other Tribute happy.

"I'll ask."

From:

all_at_sea

"I'll make our case to Barbara," James says, aware they will need her permission as well. He may well need to behave, to do as she says and nothing else, to win her over to the idea, but he will do, if it means having Horatio with him.

It's easier now to settle back down, to let ruffled feathers smooth and his breathing find that lazy pattern, halfway between sleep and consciousness, with Horatio tucked into his side and his legs thrown across James' knees. It's comfortable and easy, and if nothing else is so from now on, this his a blissful memory to hold onto.

From:

whisted

The guards return not long after, but it isn't such a difficulty to untangle himself from James. They have a plan. They have a glimmer of hope in the next few days--if not beyond them. Horatio, at least, has a lingering warmth against his side that sticks to his ribs, following him when he finally goes to curl up in his own dark silent bed for the evening.

It's the beginning of a shift. It's the first genuine step toward something other than breathing just well enough to survive. It's the start of an almost terrifyingly familiar ache in the pit of his stomach when he sees James in the training room in the morning.

Pellew doesn't agree straight away. It's already enough, the mentor grumbles, that the two of them are so constantly together when they train. It's enough that the prep teams keep ducking together to plot this and that for the final interview. It's enough that Horatio is eating better and seeming to sleep through more of the night. It isn't a time to push their luck.

It's nearly the last night when Horatio is allowed to slip through the building down to the apartments reserved for District 1. The nagging in Horatio's gut hasn't left.

"I shouldn't... stay much longer."

From:

all_at_sea

James lifts his head up from the pillow, looking at Horatio. It feels like he's only been there a few minutes, but it's probably been two hours. The sky was burning orange when he arrived, it's now such a deep inky blue that you would be forgiven for calling it black.

It is late. Horatio is right on that point- soon he will have to go, but even though logically he must, James' fingers still gently curl tighter on Horatio and draw him closer again.

"In a few minutes," He says, although it doesn't sound like a plea, in a way it is. Not to Horatio, but to the world in general. Tomorrow is their last day before the arena, tomorrow is going to be a day of busy preparations and until the interviews in the evening, James isn't sure how much time he will get with Horatio.

No matter how long it is, it won't be enough.

He's sure Matthews knows. Matthews watches them, when they train. James reaches out to touch Horatio more than he should, he leans in towards him, he can't help but allow his lips for form ridiculous grins whenever they talk. And for all of Matthews' failings, he knows the signs. He knows James is no longer acting, he knows that James' attentions are not those of an ally or a team-mate.

And if Matthews knows, Pellew knows and Barbara... well she has probably known for days. There's nothing James can do about it now anyway; he can't stop them knowing and he can't stop the way he feels. He just has to control it.

"I was hoping that they might forget you were here, at least until morning. There's more than enough room for you to sleep here."

From:

whisted

It's a unique thing, being clutched like this. It's unique to be someone's last bid at normalcy, after all--the last thing a person can properly call his own before the world gives out beneath his feet.

That's what it feels like, at any rate. That's what swirls through Horatio's veins for a heartbeat as he's pulled in snugly against the taller boy again.

"There is," he has to concede, legs giving an experimental squirm. It wouldn't be enough room to spread out, but they didn't need to. They fit together. They fit together so naturally that it twisted his heart whenever James's hand so much as left his shoulder. "But they won't."

They had already taken more than their fair share of the Capitol's patience. It would be a wonderful breaking story, surely, when he was hustled less than surreptitiously back up to the District 11 apartments. He could imagine the impetuous little toss of Barbara's head as she fielded questions about this second night visit; could practically hear Pellew's soft sigh as he attempted to talk about anything else in the world.

"You'll sleep better without me."

From:

all_at_sea

"I beg to differ," They won't get the opportunity, of course. There isn't anything he can do to change that, even if he would like to get the chance to sleep curled with Horatio now, while they have the chance. There's no telling what will happen the day after tomorrow, whether either of them will survive to see a sunset in the arena.

He has no intention of letting either of them die, the last few days he's trained harder than he ever has before, with hunger gnawing at his stomach, to try and make sure there isn't anything to ruin their plans.

He only has to make sure they survive a few days. That should be enough for Barbara to get all of her plans in motion. A few days is nothing. He can protect Horatio until the sign comes, until they are the only ones.

He lets his breath out slowly, hand moving from Horatio's side, gently up over the length of the other youth's arm, to rest lightly on his jaw, fingers tracing the gracile lines.

If something does go wrong, he wants to commit this to memory. He wants this to be the last thing he thinks about.

From:

whisted

Horatio has been growing new instincts since arriving in the Capitol. He's been grinding the impulse to fight back into his bones. He's been forcing himself to make striking and making distance routine. He's been working to make a knife feel natural in his hand while slamming into another human being.

This instinct is older. This instinct comes from his life before this hellish week of being dressed and watched and pushed closer to being an animal.

James's fingers are calloused but wonderfully warm against his skin. James's breath is such a beautiful longing exhale. There's barely any distance to close between them to begin with.

He closes the distance anyway, lips pressing delicately against the other young man's.

From:

all_at_sea

James has been kissed before. It's never been a surprise before, but some awkward, shy thing involving the bashing of teeth and strange breathlessness.

This is different. It's gentler, for a start, almost shy. It makes James' heart sing out, his fingers still against Horatio's jaw to try and draw out the kiss.

In truth, he never expected Horatio to kiss him, he never expected there to be any kiss. This sort of thing is going to get them all the more distracted, he's sure. But despite that, he'd like to stay like this just a little longer.

He can't. There's heavy knocking on the door into the apartment, so loud that it echoes around James' room.

From:

whisted

James isn't pushing him away. James isn't freezing up out of disgust or nerves or anger. If anything, James's fingers on his jaw feel almost as if they'd like to keep Horatio lingering in the kiss a little longer.

It has Horatio's heart pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to stop him hearing the pounding on the door.

That only lasts a second before he tugs himself away, cheeks burning red and tongue too tangled to make even the softest sound of apology. He can't manage much of anything at all before his proper instincts take over and he's skittering off the bed, stumbling out of the room to throw himself back into the custody of the guards at the door.

It had been a foolish thing to do. It had been an incredibly reckless gesture; more reckless still that James had kissed him back. The moment sat oddly in his stomach, half wonderful and half petrifying. It rattles oddly through his mind as he lies awake most of the night; fidgets in the back of his thoughts as the morning brings another torrent of business in anticipation of the final interview.

Pellew's fingers find the back of his neck often enough to keep him breathing. The murmured reassurances--that he'll be standing with James, not Simpson; that they'll be made to look a proper unit this time--only keep his mind whirling with confusion and guilt.

From:

all_at_sea

Horatio kisses like a phantom- one moment there, pale and beautiful and with hesitant soft lips against James' own, and the next moment he's gone, with no sign of him at all in the room aside from the slight hollow in the bed.

James might have thought he'd dreamt the whole visit, if not for Cutler's snide remarks the next morning.

But he has no time to dwell on it. He has no time to think about the sweetness of the kiss, the softness of Horatio's lips, or the warmth of them being pressed so closely together. He would have thought on it a long time if he could, about the slow heat that flowed through him at the memory, but there was no chance for a private moment of reflection.

The day goes by in a blur, until he finds himself back in the dressing room, the final adjustments being made to another exquisitely tailored suit. The man carefully fastening the jacket buttons speaks quietly, confidently, and there's something about him that James finds likeable, even if he can't put his fingers on it. Possibly it's the fact his voice, low in the bustle of the room, murmurs instructions, secrets, messages.

If James focuses, he can see tiny little wires in the fabric of his sleeve, and there is an oddly heavy weight in the back of the jacket. It's only there when he focuses on it however, and when he looks himself over in the mirror, he can't see wires nor weight at all.

Then there's a sudden excited frenzy. He's ushered out of the room, Barbara by his side reminding him of what to say and how to look at Horatio (smile at him, dote on him, talk to him and not the audience) but he doesn't need the advice. He knows what they are trying to set up. He knows what they want of him. It won't be difficult to portray himself as dedicated to Horatio.

It will be the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe that's why he isn't nervous, climbing the steps onto the stage as he and Horatio are introduced.

From:

whisted

It's easier to focus when he hears James's name ringing in the air beside his own. It's easier to to shut everything out when he can see James moving into place, wrapped in the sharp lines of the same heavy suit weighing him down as well. It's easier to breathe knowing that all he actually has to do now is make his way to James.

Pellew's voice is like a buzz in his ear even as he takes his first step forward--look to James, hold hands properly, make more of this than it is. What an odd thing to think about as he steps into the overly bright and infinitely deafening room.

Hadn't he already made it more than it is?

His breath comes shaky until he blinks the stage lights from his eyes. It smooths instantly as soon as James comes into view on the other side of the stage. He almost stumbles as he moves to meet the other Tribute, feet too eager and mind too exhausted to do anything but rush to meet James.

His fingers are reaching out before they're close enough to meet. There's a strange heat in his arm as they sweep closer together.

For a heartbeat, he almost thinks he's imagining the sparks.