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

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.

From:

all_at_sea

James should be blinded by the studio lights. He should be deafened by the noise around him- the applause and the announcement but all he can see is Horatio, all he can feel is the way his own mouth becomes a brilliant smile as he reaches out for the other's hand.

Just as promised, as their fingers slide together, grasping tight to each other, there is a sudden flash. It's slightly blue, jumping out and earthing itself in the stage, radiating out from the pair of them. It's beautiful, albeit brief, and prevents James from gathering Horatio into his arms.

He'd like to, it's his natural inclination, but Horatio looks so wide-eyed and startled that James doesn't think pulling him into an embrace now, in public, would be the best idea.

As it is, he just manages to say (or mouth, really) you look very handsome before some of the fuss dies down and Caesar is at their side, still clapping.

"Wasn't that simply shocking, everyone? What an entrance boys, what an entrance! Come on, come and sit down. What a week you've had, haven't you? A week of new experiences and surprises?"

From:

whisted

It's much easier to breathe deeply when their fingers are tangled together. It's much easier to let his smile, small but genuine, flicker back onto his lips as James grins through the flash and sparking. It's much easier to stand a little taller with the older Tribute murmuring through the din.

His fingers stay clinging tight to James's as he moves to sit. His attention stays half-stuck on the other young man. Thank goodness they're meant to look foolishly in love--it comes strangely easy.

"Certainly-- quite a few new experiences. I think we've been-- very lucky, having each other to-- work through them with."

From:

all_at_sea

James fingers gently squeeze, support and adoration and pride all out into that one small gesture. Horatio has answered the question well, although there is a small knowing smile on the face of the man interviewing them.

"My sources tell me that you've been virtually inseparable all week. And that you were given permission to do something unheard of in the history of the Hunger Games. You were allowed to visit each other in the evenings, isn't that so?"

There's a gentle murmur from the audience, a soft "awwww" that gives James a moment to think.

"We were, and we'd like to thabk the Gamemakers for allowing us to do so. When Horatio and I are together, the world seems to make more sense."

That isn't a lie at least. There are still so many things that don't make sense, but at least Horatio helps him see them more clearly.

"Is that how you feel Horatio? When you're with James do the clouds part and the way becomes clear?"

From:

whisted

Thank goodness James is there. Thank goodness the taller boy and his calm, steady voice are at the ready to take the next question while Horatio processes.

He can feel his cheeks turning pink. He can feel the tips of his ears already burning warm, even as he forces himself to focus on the hand squeezing his. He's amazed that his voice comes out even partly even as he forces himself to start fumbling through an answer to the direct question.

"Being with James makes me... happy."

It's that simple. It's that quietly honest.

"And I think, when you're happy, you-- do better. I think we'll both do better because we've got someone to help us remember to breathe properly."

From:

all_at_sea

James' head ducks for a moment, to try and hide the smile from the cameras, from Horatio, from Caesar. Whether Horatio is saying this just for the audience, or whether he really means it doesn't change the bubbling warmth that spreads through James. It's happiness, pure and unsullied, and he's only ever felt it once before.

That was last night, when Horatio pressed their lips together.

He has to remember to breathe properly now, so Horatio's hand still holding his is a blessing. It grounds him, and he manages to focus on what is being said, something about them capturing the hearts of Panem. How they have managed to do such a thing, he has no idea, but he is sure Matthews and Pellew, and possibly Barbara, are all involved to a greater and lesser extent.

"We're lucky to have each other. Neither of us expected... this to happen. Any of it. But Horatio makes me a better man; he's the strongest and bravest person I have ever met. I will help him in the Games however I can."

From:

whisted

It doesn't matter that they've done it by the simple, natural twisting of their own hearts. It doesn't matter that they've done it by some degree of truth and some degree of words and actions being twisted by others into a half-true narrative.

All that matters is that the audience is practically cooing over something they'll be able to maintain easily through the Games. All that matters is that they've captured something in the popular imagination--something that might inspire even simple scraps of assistance while they fight for their own survival.

The flush in his cheeks is brighter as he forces himself to let out a nervous little laugh. At least he has a good excuse to look solely at James for a moment, grounding himself slightly.

"Strongest? I don't think 'strongest' is right."

Maybe Caesar will let them be distracted by each other for a moment. Maybe they'll be able to catch their breath by letting the world narrow down to each other.

From:

all_at_sea

James' thumb strokes gently, softly, over the skin of Horatio's hands. Hands that have been burnt by sun and bitten by cold, skin scarred by knives and covered in flour in his mother's kitchen.

Horatio is undoubtedly the strongest and bravest person in the world, that strength is more than wielding heavy clubs or drawing bows, but James can't explain those things now. Not here. He can't explain that Horatio grew up in the shadow of Simpson and never gave up, he watched the most important person in his life die on a screen and still carried on. He faces unknown hardships every day, and yet he still laughs, and smiles in ways that make James' heart skip beats.

"I think it is."

It's quietly spoken, meant only for Horatio, but they're wired up to microphones, and those private words don't stay private. The look in James' eyes, utterly awed and completely adoring, is solely for Horatio.

"And you lend that strength to other people although I don't think you know it."

From:

whisted

If he just looks from the shoulders down, Horatio can see the ghost of a young Peacekeeper. There's something sharp in the other Tribute's shoulders, something solid in his build; something dangerous in the movement of his body, even here under these bright lights and wrapped in this fine fabric. The young man holding his hand could imagine killing another human being--would kill another human being dispassionately before the end of the Games.

But that's not James.

James is the boy with fairly pointed features smiling at him now. James had seen the pathetic scrap of a Tribute from District 11 and offered an olive branch. James had dragged him from the sea of people and held him gently, the way a person might hold a nervous bird. James is holding his hand now and looking at him with the absolute earnestness of a man who properly sees the person before him.

James is the man he kissed. And James thinks he's strong.

"O-Oh." Horatio leans just slightly. He doesn't actually press his forehead to the taller Tribute's, but the impulse is apparently clear even from the audience--another audible 'aw' rushing over the crowd. "To-- you, I hope."

They can't ignore Caesar forever. The flush is brighter as he forces himself to look back to the Games' host, fingers clutching tighter at James's.

"We make a good team. We make-- each other better. And we're both entirely grateful for that."

From:

all_at_sea

Caesar is aw-ing too, both encouraging and copying the audience. "That is beautiful, isn't it ladies and gentleman? Never have I seen two young people so obviously in love."

James feels his face heat up a little bit at the word, and he's not entirely sure that Horatio will like having that thrown around the room. It might be accurate to describe how James feels, at least as far as he understands the term, but it's difficult having it thrust at you.

Unaware of James' discomfort, Caesar moves in his seat, shifting closer to the pair, and theatrically lowering his voice.

"Did it start with the dance?"

James shakes his head just a little. "The dance helped. But I already thought he was cute." Not just cute, but beautiful too, sparking a reaction in James that felt like fire. The same reaction he'd felt at the kiss.

He really wanted to kiss Horatio again. But not here, not for an audience, not for the Capitol. Somewhere away, where it was just them.

From:

whisted

'Love' is a big word. 'Love' is a word that had, until this week, been such a singular and painful thing.

It sets Horatio's skin burning a bright red as his attention drops briefly to the ground. His fingers tangle a bit tighter in James's, seeking the other young man's pulse against his skin.

A deep breath helps keep him steady. "I'd say the dance just... solidified it. Made it feel real."

That's partly real. It's also partly a matter of concealing something real.

No one else had to know about the kiss. No one else had to know that his lips had been all but tingling since the night before. No one else had to intrude on the fact that this might actually be love.

From:

all_at_sea

Love is a frightening word. Love means something more than the sum of its parts, it means dedication and self-sacrifice and teamwork. It means realising their individual weaknesses and celebrating their strengths.

This is what he and Horatio already have, to some degree.

Those feelings which had begun to blossom in his chest but had been unacknowledged bubble up again, and it's an effort not to lean in towards Horatio and just kiss him now. Kiss him and pull him tight and just stay like that. Although perhaps not exactly like that. James suspects that Horatio is far more innocent than he is, but he wouldn't have minded if they had had time for a few more kisses last night.

He can still feel Horatio's lips against his, perfect and soft, and ever so distracting. It's a miracle that he can still follow the questions being put to them.

"And tomorrow you have to face another very real thing. The Games. I heard that you'd been given special permission to meet in the evening to discuss your plans and tactics." There's a brief pause and a knowing glance towards the audience before Caesar's attention is on them again, "That's never happened before. And I know you won't tell me if I ask- but have you got everything planned out? Everything ready?"

He looks between them, prompting them. The unspoken question on his lips is obvious- only one of you can come out of the Games, who is it going to be?

"We've... made our plans." James says. "But you're right Caesar, we aren't going to tell you what they are."

From:

whisted

Nothing sobers the mind quite like a reminder of the Games. Nothing dampens this briefly pleased sparking of emotions like the unspoken truth that, no matter what they call this, it ends with the Games.

Shifting closer to James is entirely unconscious, but it keeps Horatio breathing. Having James speak first helps push Horatio's thoughts back in the direction they need to be.

"Just that we're hopeful."

That hits the same soft spot, surely. That makes them look like a pair of star-crossed lovers, clutching at the scraps they're given as they fight to hold onto their love.

That, hopefully, is something to soothe his parents so many miles away, watching their screen the way he had watched the year before.