Across this New Divide ~VT~ [Kay]

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

Mace had been both dreading and anticipating this day since his departure from the Capitol. His mind looped his last conversation with Julian Bryze, clinging to it the way he had clung to his time in the icy caves. It was not nearly as comforting as other memories, however. In fact it bothered him how much he wanted to think about that particular afternoon, when they had bantered, and fought, and Mace had officially met Serge. There was too much packed into those moments, too much he did not want to consider. It seemed, in part, a dream. Where else was he likely to just throw his jacket off at the slightest suggestion?

He had mulled it over and decided to blame the whole incident on the Capitol. After all, it was not so very long ago that he'd been there in different circumstances, traumatic ones. He was much calmer and saner back in Ten, where he spent his days tending to Whicker and generally avoiding everyone. Well, everyone but Elon. The youngest Emberstatt brother had made himself indispensable, cooking and cleaning and making sure that Mace remained a part of the human race, rather than devolving. Every now and again Mace felt a pang of regret; Elon was a gifted teacher and the other children at the community home no doubt would benefit from his instruction. But he needed Elon, too. And so instead he sent money and food and made sure they had more than enough - more than any of them could have dreamed, and Mace kept Elon for himself.

It as Elon, not Mace, who had chosen his outfit for the occasion. It was gaudier than Mace's usual preferences but nothing so outlandishly offensive as the indigo suit. A simple pair of dark wash jeans, a snug belt, and a black collared shirt. Paired with his stained boots, he looked every bit he well-to-do from Ten. Elon wiped some gel through his hair, spiked the ends which had been freshly cut, and declared him ready to go, even though he had not shaved for two days. The stubble distracted him on the short walk to the Justice Building, his hands rubbing against his cheek. He should have shaved. Julian would be shaved.

Mace closed his ghost eyes, put his arm against the back of the white building. Maybe it hadn't been the Capitol that had so entirely disoriented him. Maybe it had something else. Someone else. He took a deep, shuddering breath and truly wished, for the first time in weeks, that he had kept a little more morphling for himself. The black shirt captured the sunlight, kept him warm enough to ward off the trembling. For now.

He came around to the front of the building to a distinct lack of fanfare. Ten still cared about him, as they had few other Victors to admire. But this was a new sort of fervor, the type that a handsome Career could inspire, even so far removed. His lips quirked, flattened as he made his way easily through the crowd, up the stairs, and to one side of the building. The choice there, as ever, devastated him. He could stand in the sun, an obvious figure, and draw the eyes of those who still cared for him. Or he could fade into the shadows, where he wouldn't be noticed, and suffer the pain of shivering.

He swallowed and turned towards the people of his district, one leg in the shadows, one leg out. It seemed to take a very long time for Julian to make his way from the train, and his team of escorts arrived first. Mace made sure not to acknowledge Serge Bryze in any way - but he was aware of him the moment he came into the field of view. A few rough, choice phrases rested on his tongue, ready in case the older Victor got too close. This was Mace's district, and he would be fucking damned before he let Serge judge it harshly.

He was still mulling over what exactly he'd like to say (which, though vehement, was relatively few words), when the crowd began to buzz. Mace became one with the masses, watching Julian as he stalked forward, lithe and powerful. An image of the coyotes he used to chase off popped into his mind unbidden. Mace inched closer to the shade, words fleeing from his tongue, from his mind. Whatever anger he felt towards Serge cooled momentarily, suspended in the back of his mind as he locked eyes with Julian.

There was something markedly different about him. He was still learning Julian, couldn't sort out what made him seem off until he was very close. It was the dark circles under the makeup, the way he moved slowly rather than quickly and deliberately. The 59th tour had taken its chunk of flesh from Mace as well, and he swallowed the rest of the residual anger.

"Bout time you showed up," And he canted his head to one side, a grin just ghosting over his lips. It was not an expression he wanted to share with the public. "I can't fucking stand to be up here. How much will they lecture you if you just disappeared?" Mace made a vague movement towards Julian's styling team and then shoved both of his hands into his jeans pockets. His gaze flickered to Julian's blue eyes, ready to escape with any sort of indication that Julian wanted to.

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

The grin had just faded back to its proper place, locked away somewhere inside his rib cage, when Julian laughed. It was quick and light and totally unexpected. He had no idea what could have been funny - perhaps that he had sworn? - but it didn't matter. It was clear that the other victor was not ridiculing him, and the feeling rolled over him like a warm summer's breeze. That's all he ever wanted any more, was to be warm throughout, from his finger tips to the pit of his stomach. He hadn't felt that way in over a year and though Julian's laugh was soft, it did more to warm his skin than the sun.

And suddenly he desperately wanted to get off the stage. He'd never wanted to be there in the first place, but he was willing, for a time. His flight instinct kicked in, and Mace lowered his gaze to the stone at his feet, his hands balling into fists that just barely fit into the pockets of his jeans. Every fiber of him told him to run, to find the closest fire and burn in it, rather than face the crowd and the cold any longer. But the thing is, Mace had never been a runner, and he'd never been smart, neither. It would have been better to run years ago, when Cygnus had first leaked the idea, but he hadn't, and now here he stood, talking to a boy who befuddled him, a boy with whom he had the worst kind of commonality.

He swallowed, prepared to bolt no matter what Julian said, to find him smiling widely, flashing perfect teeth as he agreed to Mace's proposal. He wasted not a breath, nodding and walking forward at the same time, ready to be anywhere but under the eyes of Capitolites and Tens and Julian's family. "Good," he muttered darkly his mood shifting with the shade as he stalked around the side of the building towards the Victor's Village. For a rare moment Mace was caught in his own head, reviewing the things he'd like to say to Serge Bryze, trying desperately to find some more warmth because it was clear the shivering was not far at bay. He was so concerned with staying in the slants of sunlight that he almost missed it.

Almost.

It took him far too long to process it and by then Julian had his hands firmly at his side, his face ruddy and undoubtedly warm. Mace bit down on the interior of his lower lip, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He began to run through the myriad -what was that? what just happened? - when it occurred to him that he hadn't minded at all, if it had been on purpose, and he really doubted Mr. Mighty Career accidentally touched things. There was nothing to be said about it, though, mostly because Mace hadn't a damn clue where to begin that conversation. So it was a relief when Julian asked him a simple, diverting question.

"My home. You know, the one the President gave me." He arched a brow at Julian, the only outward acknowledgement of what had just happened, and then turned abruptly. They stood in front of a house, quite like all of the others on the lane, with two roof-high columns and a white wrap-around porch. Mace gave his head the tiniest shake before he took in a deep breath and tromped up the five stairs to the double doors. Unlike any of the other homes, most of which were unoccupied, his had flowers in every front-facing window. As he fished the key out of his pocket, Mace checked the one to his immediate left and frowned.

Daffodils, and they had only just sprung up. "You're likely to meet one of my brothers. Uhm, his name is Elon." Mace looked over his shoulder at Julian, unsure if he had studied Mace's life in the detail that Mace had studied him. It seemed like a good idea at the time and now made him feel creepy because he shouldn't know so much about someone who he -

And he stopped the thought dead in his tracks. Being with Julian on his porch was already making his palms tingle. He took in a slow, steadying breath, and then pushed the door open to reveal a wood foyer, complete with fancy rugs from eight and all the other trappings of a victor from an outlying district. Nothing electric, to be certain, but there was art and flowers instead. He tucked the key back into his jeans pocket and stepped back so that he was flushed against the open door. "After you," he murmured, his eyes dark in the shade.

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

Mace had spent the vast majority of his life ranching, counting cattle in fields that ranged the width of Ten. So he could hardly be faulted for studying Julian with the same scrutiny and intensity. He did consider his Career status or his pretty face (although certainly it was distracting). Instead he considered things like the flex of his biceps when he moved his arms, the shadows under his eyes, the color of his skin. All of these things the Capitol could theoretically obscure, but he'd been gone from their salons for so long. Still, Julian looked every bit as fit and healthy as he had been. Maybe there was something to be said for Career training.

And Mace slammed down on the thought so hard that it radiated from him, made him grip the door knob and yank the door shut with a bang instead letting it slide back into place. He made no apology for it as he edged forward towards Julian. It was strange to be standing in the foyer, a place he spent virtually no time because it was one of the entirely too many rooms in the house without a fireplace. He could feel the flames of the nearest fire in the kitchen whispering to him, beseeching him closer. But it was nothing compared to the call of the boy in front of him, even as he twisted his mouth into a smirk.

"Sometimes I act so grown up they actually let me pick out my own clothes," he muttered, appraising Julian's outfit. It only occurred to him then that it really wasn't the right style for him at all. Very Capitolite and yet entirely too much of Ten mixed in. Hell, he might even like a stylist that put him in such a get up instead of the insanely bright vests he'd been forced to wear for the 60th. "They do pinch the pinky toes, a little. Just wiggle them a couple of times - ain't so bad. You'll see." And Mace caught Julian's gaze for just a moment under the broad rim of his hat. Yes, he decided, he definitely appreciated the stylists' efforts. Just this once.

And he felt the whoosh of air as the back door opened at the other end of a hallway that connected the foyer to the back porch. Mace lifted his gaze away from Julian's, wholly unready to face the youngest of the Emberstatts. "Career face on," he muttered as quietly as he could before folding his arms over his chest, knuckles curling against the opposite bicep.

Elon dashed down the hallway, his red hair shaggy over his eyes, his cheeks sunburnt to a warning red. Words were already on his lips, parting them, when he spotted Julian as well as Mace. His brows lifted as he wiped his soil-darkened hands down his khaki coveralls. "I was going to yell at you about not staying longer, but," Elon left that thought hanging as he came to stop an arm's length from Julian. "Would offer to shake your hand but I've been in the garden all day." He inclined his head ever so slightly to the daffodils, bringing Mace back into the field of view.

"Right, so, Elon - Julian, Julian - Elon." And why he felt flustered baffled Mace and only proceeded to make him more flustered. Elon cocked an eyebrow ever higher before looking back to Julian. Mace did not like the way his brother's eyes - much larger than his own - seemed to reflect Julian's, blue to blue.

"Let me take you on a tour," Elon offered, sweeping out his arm in front of himself. He started off once Mace grunted a reply, and while Mace had intended to fall into step with Julian - as they had on the walk to the house - Elon beat him to the punch and smoothly came up along Julian's side as they moved from the foyer into the main sitting room. Mace portrait had been hung above the fireplace, and otherwise gifts from the Capitol abound. Elon, truly the curator of the home, gave a few details about the best works. Mace began to tune him out as they moved into the next room, which he considered the piano room and Elon had some fancier name for. All the while Mace watched Julian, and watched Elon, and felt conflicted about both, which was new and unsettling.

He was still pondering what it meant to have Julian Bryze in his home when Elon steered them down the hallway to the rickety two-person-wide staircase. By this point Mace had gotten quite used to standing behind them, and it took him just a moment too long to process what was about to happen.

Elon opened his decidedly cleaner palm to Julian, his bright eyes lighting over the sharp planes of the victor's face. "The second step sags. Allow me."

Mace felt his jaw unhinge. First the memory of teaching Elon a few ways to touch, and touch subtly but well, and then the conversation during the Games where had sworn Julian was just not his type. And the anger came fast and heavy, slowing Mace's breathing, sharpening his focus. It took no strength at all to elbow Elon back, and all the control in the world not to throw him out of his house. "I bet Julian is hungry," he hissed, eyes darting to the kitchen and back.

And it was hard to tell with the sunburn, but Mace liked to think Elon blushed. The younger boy mumbled some semblance of an apology, risked another look at Julian, and then disappeared into the other side of the house.

Which left Mace standing on the first step, having dismissed chivalry in favor of spending more time with Julian himself. There was nothing wrong with the second step, insofar as he knew. And yet... Mace unfurled his fingers. "I have total faith that you could kick a broken step's ass any day of the week, but I'd hate to have that on my conscious," he explained, because he was not entirely sure Julian would accept him otherwise.

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

It was as though Mace detached from his own body, floating not quite above himself, as he watched Julian throw his own words back into his face. He heard them, and somewhere deep the anger kindled embers, but it was distant, as though it was happening to someone else. Because surely no one would ever be so rude to him. And surely he would not feel the overwhelming need to laugh if anyone had insulted him so. Still. his body had some presence, and his fingers curled back to his palm slowly, as though they had encountered an object nestled therein.

And he certainly had something lodged in his throat as he watched Julian amble up the stairs. He felt closer to understanding his feelings for Julian in that moment - or maybe it was just that, for a second, they were clear. He felt fully annoyed by Julian's dismissal, which was clearly a border, or a wall, or a gilded cage that he kept his feeling in. Well, two could play at that game. Mace snorted as he turned, ready to scale the steps between them as Julian hunted for an apology. But Julian beat him to that punch, too. He tried to listen with patience, tried to work around the lump in his throat, tried to forget the fact that he'd just been laughing like a school boy with his brother.

But the fire was already in his eyes, turning them liquid silver.

Stay away from him? The idea was ludicrous. He wanted to be around so very few people he couldn't afford to avoid any of them. And besides, the thought very clearly came from a dark, broken place. He had one of those, too. Mace ran a calloused palm over the top of his dark, gelled hair, disturbing the little ridges Elon had worked so hard to craft that moment. He rested it, his rejected hand on the back of his neck as he looked first at the step and then slowly up to Julian. This was not a game he was prepared to play, but it was not entirely foreign to him either.

Slowly he let the hand fall, and took a step forward, across the length of the step, towards Julian. And then another, and then another. Mace certainly had the advantage of height, but not training. Still he pressed his luck, his breath heavy as he closed the distance between them. Sometime around the second or third step his heart rate leaped into his neck, made the edges of the world go fuzzy. And while he was not a man of many words, he had a few, and he hoped they were enough. "Far enough away for you?" He asked, his fingers itching at his sides. This close to Julian there was no denying the healthy flush in his cheeks, his smooth skin, the intensity of his eyes.

But he was not about to push, to make Julian a victim of someone's game. They would meet as equals, or not at all. Mace stood there, practically panting from the wanting, from wanting to touch, to understand, to just not be fucking rejected every time.

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

Mace felt it, that undercurrent of electricity between them. It burned and it cloyed, made him want to run and also take that last step to eliminate any space between them. Instead, he did neither. Mace held his ground, grey eyes darting across Julian's face, trying and not quite succeeding to read the emotions flickering across. He'd never been very good at that, which probably explained his string of brief, night time-only romances. It was just much easier when people said what they meant. Julian wasn't exactly likely to do that, either, but he was much more expressive than most people Mace had met.

Or maybe it was just that he was good at expressing anger, which is really one of the few emotions one needs to recognize in order to determine when to push an argument and when to shelve it. And there it was, plain as daylight, as Julian glared up at Mace. It was strange, because for the first time Mace truly realized how different they were in height. Julian was quite a bit shorter, while also being leaner and more wiry. He'd also just of Julian as being the same height, just a different weight class. This close, though, there was no illusion.

He almost grinned - suppressed it - when Julian let out a deep breath. But then he shielded his eyes and Mace lost that tenuous grasp on what was going on inside of Julian, and he felt the flight instinct (something so new he could barely control it) light up like a beacon inside of him. This was too close and too new and too crazy. He should have stuck to Plan A and just made the rounds in Ten, taking what was offered and forgetting about complication - because that's what Julian was. A giant fucking wrinkle in his otherwise routine world.

But oh, to feel the fire from within again. That was worth it all.

He was ready to stand there for as long as it took, his breaths shallow and sometimes stuck, when Julian suddenly buried himself against Mace, his smooth hands sliding along his own. Mace let out air he didn't know he had in his lungs, a long whoosh of relief. His heart thumped, spurred by the spark, as he gazed in total grey shock at the wall.

His smile curled off to the left side of his face, dimpling the right as it widened at Julian's words. "I dunno," he murmured. "I think this might be my new favorite place in this mansion. Not a lot else to see after that."

And it occurred to him that he wouldn't have any idea what to do, at all, with Julian Bryze in his bedroom, which was a place of fire and nightmares. He wasn't ready to introduce Julian to that part of him. With reluctance he leaned back, gripping both of Julian's hands as he did so. "I do believe that concludes our tour of the Emberstatt Home." He pitched his voice just so, a very butchered approximation of a Capitolite accent. With great care he released Julian's left palm so that they could walk down the steps, still connected by one hand. He felt sure that it would be a short lived thing, but he wasn't going to be the first to break the connection entirely.

Mace said nothing as he led them into the backyard. Elon had made himself conspicuously absent, which was good. Mace still had every intention of tanning his hide once Julian had left. And he would leave, Mace realized, all too soon to continue on his victory tour. He paused on the back porch, deep in the cool shade. "How much longer will you be in Ten?" He tried to make it sound casual, and very nearly succeeded.

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

It was breezy on the back porch, not entirely unpleasant if your veins weren't filled with ice. Mace focused on the warmth in the center of him, willed himself not to shiver as they watched the wind toy with the tall, manicured weeds in the backyard. His gaze wandered alongside Julian's to the stables. He thought he saw a brush of grey from Whicker's tail, but over the golden weeds he couldn't quite be sure. He had a feeling he'd be spending even more time than usual with the old stud after Julian left. That thought drew him closed, made his shoulders slump even as he squeezed the other victor's hand.

His jaw tensed as Julian contained their time together to a day. Less than, much less than now. He should've found his resolve earlier, met Julian at the train instead of waiting so long. But to be there, in front of the masses... they could never stand like this. Mace kept his gaze on the stable, waiting for another hint that Whicker was nearby.

When he finally dropped his gaze back to Julian, the other boy was staring down at his finely clad feet. Mace cocked his head to one side, felt his fingers growing cold even as he held fast to that connection. The icy blood in his veins, though, it wanted to be in his thundering heart. His body betrayed him, which was nothing new, not since the 59th. He wasn't quite sure how to explain his freezing fingertips to Julian though, and was rescued by his question.

And he very nearly snorted. The sound stopped somewhere in his throat, more of a grunt. "Sure you can call me," and then he stopped abruptly. Usually Elon answered the phone. Mace's grey gaze flickered over his shoulder towards the dark house. "But maybe it's better if I call you." Again he thought he saw just a movement, this time a twitch of the golden curtains. His nostrils flared and he resolved, only barely, to once again put Elon from his thoughts and concentrate, concentrate, concentrate on this fleeting moment.

He ran his thumb, rough as it was, over the smooth back of Julian's hand, felt his slender bones beneath the sinewy muscles. He drew a slow circle, stopping when Julian referenced Midas, the dead boy who lived between them. With a roll of his shoulders Mace stood more upright, and then turned so that he could face Julian, rather than be at his side. "You are never going to miss me," he said hoarsely. "There's hardly anything left to kill, anyhow, I reckon. But I ain't going nowhere," his voice rose a little, confidence rounding his words. "And you neither, you hear? Won't be long til we see each other again. Some way. And this time we'll be equals." Which was, to Mace at least, an enormous relief. He never wanted to talk to Julian about who to kill and who not to kill ever again.