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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[all_at_sea]

"For what?" James asks, letting his grip ease, although he doesn't let go, his hand moving to Horatio's arm, gently brushing up and down the bare skin where his sleeve used to be. His skin feels cold, and James has to resist the urge to pull Horatio back against him.

"Don't be sorry for crying, okay? I think we'll both do plenty of it over the next few days."

He's certain of that. He's certain they'll need to. There's no helping that fact, and he's sure it's healthy to acknowledge that they'll do it, rather than pretend they're too tough for it, too proud to have emotions.

[whisted]

The reassurance is so instant. The message is so comforting. The moment relaxes something further in his heart, another low sob bubbling up over his lips as his head ducks to the older boy's shoulder again.

"W-We--"

He wants to just listen. He wants to just breathe through the tears and cling tight to James. He wants to exhaust himself out of reality for at least a little while.

"--w-we should be-- k-keeping watch."

[all_at_sea]

Horatio shouldn't be worrying so much. James is on watch, it's James' responsibility.

"I can see outside." He assures, not letting go of Horatio. He's been listening too, to try and hear if any one is approaching. But they're alone, for the time being, and that means Horatio can try to relax. It might not be possible, but they'll need to sleep at some point.

"Don't worry. I said I'd keep watch." And he will. But he's going to keep a hold of Horatio for as long as Horatio wants, all night if needs be.

[whisted]

Of course James is still watching. Of course James can look after him, warm and gentle and safe, while keeping the entry guarded.

It sends another shock-wave of tears through Horatio, half relief and half bitter exhaustion. He can't stop the heavy way his entire body drops against James's shoulder again, muffling the next volley of sobs.

Wearing himself out might take a while. Apparently, James has the time for him to sob himself into hiccoughing and sleep.

[all_at_sea]

He doesn't let go as Horatio settles into sleep. He doesn't try to move his head from where it's buried into his shoulder, and he won't pretend that it's comforting to feel Horatio's gentle warm breath on his skin.

Horatio needs his rest. He needs to recover, as much as possible in one night, from the events of the bloodbath. James could do with sleep too, but once darkness has settled over the arena he doesn't have the heart to wake Horatio. Let him have another hour or two, and James will get what sleep he can later.

He just doesn't want to close his eyes while Cutler's ghost lurks behind them.