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

[whisted]

Well. That's satisfying.

Somewhere in the distance, Horatio is certain he hears Pellew's voice. Worse, he's suspicious that the softer tones he can't quite discern must be Barbara's. None of that stops him from catching briefly at James's hand as his breath comes slow and careful.

It isn't the same as hitting back at Simpson. It's still a satisfying start.

"Hm."

They'll be caught up into their own worlds again in a minute. They'll be trapped in personal hells before they're thrown into a shared one. Horatio doesn't bother stopping the impulse to tug James's fingers to his lips and press a careful kiss to the taller boy's knuckles.

[all_at_sea]

James' cheeks are slightly pink, still flushed with heat but also with something softer, his heart thudding a gentle tempo in his chest when Horatio's lips brush across his skin.

He really is in love. There's no point not admitting that much to himself.

Pellew and Barbara are around the corner, but at least he and Horatio can head down the corridor holding hands, and put some more distance between them and Cutler's whimpering form.

In the few seconds they have, as they walk down the corridor, James lowers his voice. "It'll be alright, Horatio. We have a plan, we can stick to it. We will find each other in there. We will look after each other. I will get you out of there."

Hopefully, they will both get out of there. But that involves relying on others. James can do that, although he'd prefer to rely on Horatio, who is with him, who he can speak to. Barbara is smart and capable, but she's also cool and distant and James isn't so certain he can trust her to bring both of them out. At least Pellew and Matthews would go to the ends of the earth for Horatio. That reassures him.