help is not the end | {aranica/kieran}

There had been a hesitance in him: a reluctance to admit defeat. Because, if only for a moment, things had been perfect when he'd just aged out of the reaping and he and his father spent months restoring a house and he somehow managed to trick Paige into loving him forever. It was a weird sort of bliss: the kind that was so good it could only make him think of how long it would last before everything came tumbling down.

When Emerson was born, Paige began to crack until there were pieces of her sliding out of place. And though he was sure others saw the strain having a baby had put on the two of them, Kieran was determined to do as much of the heavy lifting as he could. He could take night duty, and morning duty. He could do the playdates at grandpa's, and figure out daycare. He took Emerson to the doctor's appointments and dealt with the crying that came with vaccination days and teething months. He could do belly time and burping class, and ripred knows he was going to eventually figure out the potty training deal if it killed him. He didn't mind. Because she was going to get better.

"She still loves you.
Even if she doesn't act like it.
Remember that."

If Emerson caused Paige to crack, Elonna caused her to shatter. And now he felt so alone and so helpless and so confused that he did not know what to do. He had two small children who were depending upon him, and a woman who looked like his wife, but didn't- as long as he'd known her, Kieran couldn't recall her eyes looking quite so hollow.

He often found himself wondering if he was selfish: if he was just a stupid boy who didn't understand, or if he'd pressured her to do this before she was ready, or that he should be ashamed of himself for expecting her to do more, be more than she could afford to be. And he couldn't ask Saffron for help because she would've said something along the lines of "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he couldn't ask Reggie because she would've along the lines of "let me take the kids for a while," and he couldn't ask Mace because he would've said something like "why don't you guys just move back home with us?"

All in all, he couldn't admit defeat. Because he didn't want to think of this as defeat and he hated what giving it a name meant. The end? No, fuck that. She wanted to be a good mother, he knew that. There was no world where she wanted to sleep so much, or forget to change her clothes, or never leave the house. He knew better than that. But what was he supposed to do, find a therapist? In District Ten of all places?

He waited until nap time one Tuesday and he paced within the kitchen- back and forth at least a dozen times before he picked up the phone. His fingers hesitated above the keypad. It isn't defeat. It isn't defeat. It isn't-

He dialed the numbers before he could stop himself and waited for the ringing to stop after the third or fourth ring. Just as he had expected it to. Just as it always had.

"Mom?" he said into the receiver, "Is that you?"