Family // [Mace + Regalia 94th Oneshot]

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

Dinner had been District Ten perfection: meat, potatoes and wilted greens. Mason had joined them which was increasingly unusual, as well as Regalia, which was increasingly common. After, Reggie had offered to do the dishes and the rest of them had dispersed. Mace checked on the horses first and then with twilight fast fading he retired to the study.

It remained one of the most formal rooms of the house originally decorated by Capitol stylists. Most of the books had been exchanged in the intervening decades. Now, instead of reading tax encyclopedias, one could study the biographies of the most famous Ten farriers. The chairs - heavy, overstuffed things - couldn't be reasonably moved so everyone in the house had done their part to break them in. There were flowers from the rambling backyard garden but most of the decor had been gifted from the Capitol following his victory. He couldn't explain why he'd kept it all when the rest of the house had been transformed to suit his lovers, his children, his grandchildren. But this room, it was a museum.

And a reminder.

He sat behind the heavy wooden desk, staring far beyond the last remnant of sunset.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Reggie's singsong voice had more gravel in it as she slid through menopause. He thought it suited her.

Mace grunted.

"Or should I tithe it to the church?"

The sigh that left him sounded far more tired than he felt. "Already talked to Kieran 'bout it. It's just a fad."

She crossed her arms. "A fad that's recruiting our family."

Mace finally dragged his gaze from the window to settle on his sister. He knew Saffron shared her worries. It wasn't illogical; cults were dangerous in the best of times and this was far from that. But what was he supposed to do? Whip the villagers into a frenzy and descend with pitchforks?

His gaze settled over Reggie's head. Above the fireplace mantle, lit by edison lamps, was a beautiful oil portrait. Every time he looked at it - and he'd done so many, many times over the years - he felt as that if he blinked his entire life would unravel.

"Mace?"

As though the tide of time was as thin as a piece of canvas.

"You wanna know what I was thinking about?" He lifted a palm, indicating the portrait of Marcus Emberstatt for whom he was named. "I was thinkin' that family can't be taken. That if people wanna be family," he dropped his palm a few inches so that it was reaching for her, rather than the victor of the eigth hunger games, "they will be and ain't no one's gonna recruit them nowhere."

For a second Regalia did not move. Then, without turning to look at the portrait, she put her two delicate hands in Mace's calloused palm. "Us Statts forever, right? All thanks to --" Reggie jerked her head back to the portrait and smiled. "You know who was always good at making and cementing families? We outta visit Ma. She's not getting younger."

Mace squeezed her hands. "Yer prolly right. Soon, before the reaping."

"Why? You don't have to go any more. Andal's more than wolf enough to mentor and Saff could guide him if they needed -"

"No."

He could see the confusion and hurt play out across Regalia's features as he withdrew his hands. Slowly he stood, wary of the aches in his knees. Another glance at the portrait and then to his sister. "I won't abandon the tributes. I tried that once and it didn't work. They didn't come back neither. We'll go to the orphanage tomorrow. I wanna get an early start so you'd best be off."

"Mace, I only meant --."

"I know. But I ain't goin' out to pasture yet, Reggie. You sleep well now." By the time he made it upstairs to the bedroom his hands had begun, once again, to shiver.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh


running up that hill
-placebo-

[dars]